Not knowing if it’s a message of some sort, a sign of some kind, or maybe even just some crazy powerful intuition, I follow it anyway. Every time I ignore one of my stronger instincts I live to regret it, so this time I pull a quick U-turn and follow its lead.
Disappointed when I find myself at a place I’ve already checked. That Miles and I already checked, but still going ahead with it anyway. I approach the door, thinking how even though she claims it’s hers, having lived here for months now, I can’t help but think of it as Roman’s, as a flood of memories come rushing back.
Remembering all the times I came here before—the times I knocked down the door, the times I fought with him, nearly succumbed to him, the time I watched Jude kill him—then pushing the thoughts aside as I make my way around a confusing maze of furniture. Stuff that up until recently lived in the store, and now that it’s been moved here, allows for only the slimmest path down the hall and into a den that’s also so jam-packed it requires a moment to take it all in.
My gaze roaming among the antique armoires, the silk and velvet settees, the shiny Lucite coffee table that looks l
ike a reject from the eighties, and over to the huge stack of oil paintings in ornate gold frames, all piled up against each other, leaning against the far wall, while various items of clothing, from all different time periods stretching back hundreds of years, are strewn over practically every available surface, including the bar where Roman kept the crystal goblets he filled with elixir, as well as the couch where I, ruled by the dark flame within me, tried to shamelessly seduce him while wearing a façade that made me appear to be Drina. The same couch where everything changed the night I made Haven drink Roman’s special brew.
My gaze traveling past all of that and all the way over to the blazing, stone hearth, where Jude cowers. Looking scared, shocked, defeated, and confused, while Haven stands before him, clutching the stained white linen shirt in one hand and Jude’s arm in the other. Having made the transformation back to a slightly healed version of herself, or at least where her teeth are concerned, though she’s still a long way from the old Haven, still completely ruled by her own overwhelming addictions and anger.
“Well, well,” she says, turning to me, her eyes red and squinty. “Did you actually think you could trick me?”
I shake my head. I’m as confused as she is as to what’s really going on here.
My gaze darting between them, seeing the way Jude cowers, caught in her grip, clearly horrified at having been caught doing—well, doing what I’m not sure. I can’t quite make sense of what I’m looking at or what his goal could’ve possibly been.
Has he figured out the truth behind the shirt—the promise it holds—and he’s trying to obtain it as a sort of peace offering for Damen and me?
Or, even worse, and far more likely, is he here to steal it, destroy it, having only pretended to be friendly with Damen, to forgive him for the past, when really he’s been planning for this moment all along, refusing to give up on his final revenge?
And before I can do anything to stop it, she’s on him. Fueled by the juice that rages within her, the juice that I gave her, she lets go of his arm only to catch him by the throat. Lifting him high into the air as his feet kick and dangle beneath him, shaking the shirt before her, shaking it at me when she says, “What the fug is going on here?”
“I don’t know,” I say, careful to keep my voice low, steady, slowly approaching her with my hands held where she can see them. “Really. I have no idea what he’s doing. Perhaps you should ask him?”
She glances at Jude, sees the way his eyes bulge, the way his face grows swollen and red, and she drops him just as quickly, her grip switching to his arm to keep him from bolting, as he sputters and coughs and fights to catch his breath.
“You two plan this?” She glares at me.
“No.” I glance between her and Jude, wondering why he always has to show up at all the wrong times.
Why he always wrecks everything.
Knowing one thing for sure—it’s not a coincidence. There’s no such thing. The universe is far too harmonious for such randomness as that.
So what then? Why is it that every time I’m so close to getting exactly what I want, Jude shows up at just the right moment to thwart all my plans?
There’s got to be something more to it—some sort of reason or meaningful explanation behind it—but what that reason or explanation could be, is completely beyond me.
Haven holds up the shirt, scrutinizing it, inspecting it, trying to determine why I’d want it, why Jude would risk so much to get it, what possible significance it might hold for anyone other than her.
Then she switches her gaze between us, noting how he gazes at the stain, noting how I watch him gazing at the stain—and that’s when she knows.
That’s when the lightbulb goes on and it all comes together.
That’s when she loses herself in peals of shoulder-shaking laughter.
Laughing so hard she can barely contain herself. Bending forward, one hand on her knee, she heaves and coughs in a series of thigh-slapping spasms, until she finally gets hold of herself, rights herself, and says, “I totally get it now.” She dangles the shirt from the tips of her fingers as a hideous grin spreads across her cheeks. “I do, I do indeed. But, unfortunately for you”—she points at me—“or, maybe, even possibly you—” She jerks her head toward Jude. “It seems like Ever here has a very big decision to make.”
thirty-seven
She turns, eyes darting between us as she says, “You know, at first I kept the shirt with me all the time. Carried it everywhere I went. To school, to the store, I even slept with it just so I’d never have to be far from his scent.” She shrugs. “I pretty much looked upon it as my last connection to Roman—the one remaining thing I’d ever truly have of his. But now I know differently. Everything you see here is mine. Roman never planned on dying, so he didn’t bother making a will. Which means no one else has any claim to his things, and I dare them to try. This is my connection to Roman.” She waves the shirt through the air, the fabric gently swaying as she points at the collection of antiques. Using her other hand to tighten her grip on Jude’s sleeve as she adds, “This house, these things, everything, all of it, belongs to me. I have reminders of him everywhere I look, so it’s not like I need some dumb white shirt anymore. No, you’re the one who needs it, Ever. This is all about the stain, right? It’s left over from that infamous antidote you came so close to getting if it wasn’t for this guy.” She grips Jude harder, causing him to flinch, but he refuses to cry out, refuses to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s actually causing him pain. “And now it seems he’s done it again.” She turns to Jude, tsking as she shakes her head. “If this guy hadn’t gotten in the way, you’d be living happily ever after now, wouldn’t you? Or, at least that’s been your version of the story anyway. So I ask you, you still willing to stand behind that? You still willing to blame him for everything?”
I look at her, keeping my gaze steady, my body tensed, ready for anything, though refusing to answer, refusing to fall into whatever trap she has set.
But she just rolls her eyes, not at all dissuaded by my silence, saying, “Well, it’s not like it matters anyway, because what’s done is done, and it’s not like I need you to know what’s really going on here. You honestly managed to convince yourself that all the answers live here.” She wags the shirt before me. “In a big, green blob of a stain on a white linen shirt. You honestly plan to drop it off at some crime lab or, better yet, take it to the science lab at school so you can get extra credit for breaking down all the components, as well as finally getting your hands on the recipe that’ll allow you and Damen to, as Roman would say: shag your bleedin’ hearts out!” She laughs and shakes her head, her Ouroboros tattoo flashing in and out of view as she shoots me a pitying look, as though she can hardly believe the foolishness of it all. “So tell me, Ever, how am I doing so far? Am I right? Am I pretty much on track?”
But even though she continues to eyeball me, even though she pretty much nailed the truth on its head, I don’t answer, and I’m careful not to let on. I just continue to stand there, warning Jude with my eyes not to do anything as rash and stupid as the last time, while keeping watch over Haven, who’s still a long way from being at the top of her game, but is still able to do a good bit of damage and wreak a good bit of havoc, from what I’ve seen.