Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Shadowland: Chapter 14

After a long day at school without Damen, the second the final bell rings, I get in my car and head for his house. But instead of making a left at the light, I pull an illegal U-turn. Telling myself I should allow him some space, give him a chance to bond with the twins—when the truth is, between their hero worship of Damen and Rayne’s glaring animosity toward me—well, I’m just not ready to face them again.

I head toward downtown Laguna, figuring I’ll stop by Mystics and Moonbeams, the metaphysical bookstore where Ava once worked. Thinking maybe Lina, the store’s owner, can help me replace a solution to my more mystical problems without my divulging just what it is that I’m after. Which, considering how suspicious she is, should prove to be quite a feat.

After manifesting the best parking space I can, which in overcrowded Laguna happens to be two blocks away, I stuff the meter full of quarters and make my way toward the door, only to be met by a big red sign reading: BE BACK IN TEN!

I stand before it, lips pressed together as I glance all around, making sure no one is watching as I mentally flip the sign over while making the dead bolt retreat. Silencing the bell on the door as I slip inside and head for the bookshelves, relishing the chance to browse on my own, free of Lina’s scrutiny.

The tips of my fingers graze the long row of spines, waiting for some kind of signal, a sudden warming, an itch at the tips, something to alert me to just the right one. But not getting anything, I grab one near the end and close my eyes, pressing my palms to the front and back covers, eager to see what’s inside.

“How’d you get in here?”

I jump, bumping into the shelf just behind me, knocking a pile of CDs to the floor.

Cringing at the mess at my feet, scattered jewel cases everywhere, some of them cracked, as I say, “You scared me—I—”

I drop to my knees, heart racing, face flushing, wondering not just who he is but how he could’ve possibly managed to sneak up on me when it should be impossible to do so. A mortal’s energy always announces itself long before their actual presence does. So is it possible that he—isn’t mortal?

I sneak a quick peek as he kneels down beside me, taking in his tanned skin, defined arms, and heavy clump of golden brown dreadlocks spilling over his shoulder and halfway down his back. Watching as he gathers the damaged jewel cases into his hands, searching for some kind of sign that’ll out him as an immortal, maybe even a rogue. A face that’s too perfect—an Ouroboros tattoo—but when he catches me looking, he smiles in a way that not only displays the most disarming set of dimples perfectly punctuating each cheek, but a set of teeth that are just crooked enough to prove he’s nothing like me.

“You okay?” he asks, gazing at me with eyes so green I can barely remember my name.

I nod, standing awkwardly and rubbing my palms on my jeans, wondering why I’m so breathless, unnerved, forcing the words from my lips when I say, “Yeah. I’m—fine.” Inadvertently tacking a nervous laugh onto the end that’s so high pitched and foolish I cringe and turn away. “I, um—I was just, browsing the merchandise,” I add, realizing just after I’ve said it that I probably have more right to be here than he does.

Glancing over my shoulder to replace him gazing at me in a way I can’t read, I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back. “I think the real question is, how’d you get in here?” Taking in his sandy bare feet and wet board shorts hanging dangerously low on his hips, averting my gaze before I can see anything more.

“I own the place.” He nods, stacking the fallen CDs, the ones that aren’t cracked, back onto the shelf before turning to me.

“Really?” I turn, eyes narrowed when I add. “Cuz I happen to know the owner, and you don’t look a thing like her.”

He cocks his head to the side, squinting in faux contemplation and rubbing his chin as he says, “Really? Most people claim to see a resemblance. Though, I have to admit, I’m with you, never seen it myself.”

“You’re related to Lina?” I gape, hoping my voice didn’t sound as panicked to his ears as it did mine.

“She’s my grandmother.” He nods. “Name’s Jude, by the way.”

He offers his hand, long, tanned, fingers extended, waiting for mine. But even though my curiosity’s piqued, I can’t do it. Despite my interest, despite my wondering why he makes me feel so—flustered and off balance—I can’t risk the barrage of knowledge a single touch brings when my psyche’s disturbed.

I nod, responding with this stupid, embarrassing sort of half wave, as I mumble my name. Trying not to wince when he gives me an odd look and lowers his hand again.

“So, now that that’s covered—” He slings his damp towel over his shoulder, sending a spray of sand through the room. “I’m back to my original question, what are you doing in here?”

I turn, feigning sudden interest in a book on dream interpretation when I say, “I’m sticking with my original answer, which was browsing, in case you’ve forgotten. Surely you allow browsers in here?” I turn, meeting his gaze—those amazing sea green eyes reminding me of an ad for a tropical getaway. Something about them so—indefinable—startling—and yet—strangely familiar—though I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.

He laughs, pushing a tangle of golden dreads off his face and exposing a scar splicing right through his brow, gaze landing just to my right as he says, “And yet, after all the summers I’ve spent here, watching customers browse the merchandise, I’ve never once seen someone browse quite like you.”

His lips pull at the sides, as his eyes study mine. Then I turn, cheeks heating, heart racing, taking a moment to compose myself before turning back to say, “You’ve never seen someone browse the back cover? That’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

“Not with their eyes closed.” He tilts his head to the side and focuses on the space to my right once again.

I swallow hard, flustered, shaky, knowing I need to change the subject before I sink any deeper. “Maybe you should be more concerned with how I got in here instead of what I’m doing in here,” I say, wishing I could take it back the second it’s out.

He looks at me, gaze narrowed. “Figured I left the door open again. Are you saying I didn’t?”

“No!” I shake my head, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my cheeks color and heat. “No, that’s—that’s exactly what I’m saying. You did leave the door open,” I add, trying not to fidget, blink, press my lips together, or otherwise give myself away. “Wide open in fact, which is not only a waste of air-conditioning but totally—” I stop, my stomach going weird when I see the smile at play on his lips.

“So, a friend of Lina’s, huh?” He moves toward the register, dropping his towel on the counter in a wet, sandy thud. “Never heard her mention you before.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly friends.” I shrug, hoping it didn’t look as awkward as it felt. “I mean, I met her once and she helped me with—wait, why did you just phrase it like that? You know, all past tense. Is Lina okay?”

He nods, perching on a stool, grabbing a purple cardboard box from a drawer and flipping through a bunch of receipts. “She’s on one of her annual retreats. Picks a different one each year. This time it’s Mexico. Trying to determine if the Mayans were right and the world will end in 2012. What’s your take?”

He looks at me, green eyes curious, insistent, boring right into mine. But I just scratch my arm and shrug, never having heard that particular theory before and wondering if it applies to Damen and me. Is that when we’ll head for the Shadowland, or will we be forced to wander a barren Earth—the last two survivors responsible for repopulating the land—only—irony alert—if we touch, Damen dies—

I shake my head, eager to escape that particular thread before it can really take hold and mess with my head. Besides, I’m here for a reason and I need to stick with the plan.

“So how do you know her? If you weren’t exactly friends.”

“I met her through Ava,” I say, hating the feel of her name on my lips.

He rolls his eyes, mumbling something unintelligible and shaking his head.

“So you know her?” I look at him, allowing my gaze to travel his face, his neck, his shoulders, his smooth tanned chest, making my way down to his navel, before forcing myself to look away again.

“Yeah, I know her.” He pushes the box aside, gaze meeting mine. “Just up and disappeared the other day—into thin air from what I can tell—”

Oh, you don’t know the half of it, I think, carefully watching his face.

“—called her house, her cell, but nothing. Finally did a drive-by to make sure she was okay and the lights were on so it’s clear she’s been dodging me.” He shakes his head. “Left me with a bunch of angry clients, demanding a reading. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be such a flake?”

Yes, who would’ve thought? Certainly not the person who was foolish enough to place her deepest darkest secrets right into her greedy, outstretched, hands…

“Still haven’t found anyone good enough to replace her though. And let me tell ya, it’s pretty much impossible to give readings and take care of the store. That’s why I stepped out just now.” He shrugs. “Surf was calling and I needed a break. Guess I left the door open again.”

His eyes meet mine, sparkling and deep. And I can’t tell if he truly believes he left the door open, or if he suspects me. But when I try to peer into his head to see for myself I’m stopped by the wall he’s erected to safeguard his thoughts from people like me. All I have to go by is the brilliant purple aura I failed to see before—its color waving and shimmering, beckoning to me.

“So far all I got are a stack of applications from amateurs. But I’m so desperate to get my weekends back, I’m ready to toss their names in a bowl and pick one just to get it over with.” He shakes his head and flashes those dimples again.

And even though part of me can’t believe what I’m about to do, the other part, the more practical part, urges me on, recognizing the perfect opportunity when it’s standing before me.

“Maybe I can help.” I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. But when my only response is a set of narrowed lids accompanied by the slightest curling of lips, I add, “Seriously. You don’t even have to pay me!”

He squints even further, those amazing green eyes practically disappearing from sight.

“What I meant was you don’t have to pay me all that much,” I say, not wanting to come off as some weird desperate freak who gives it away for free. “I’ll work for just over minimum wage—but only because I’m so good I’ll be living off the tips.”

“You’re psychic?” He folds his arms and tilts his head back, gazing at me with complete disbelief.

I straighten my posture and try not to fidget. Hoping to appear professional, mature, someone he can trust to help run his store. “Yup.” I nod, unable to keep from wincing, unused to confiding my abilities to anyone, much less a stranger. “I just sort of know things—information just sort of comes to me—it’s hard to explain.”

He looks at me, wavering, then focusing just to my right as he says, “So what exactly are you then?”

I shrug, fingers playing with the zipper on my hoodie, drawing it up and down, down and up, having no idea what he means.

“Are you clairaudient, clairvoyant, clairsentient, clairgustance, clairscent, or clairtangency? Which is it?” He shrugs.

“All of the above.” I nod, having no idea what half those things mean, but figuring if it’s got anything even remotely to do with psychic abilities, then I can probably do it.

“But you’re not mediumistic,” he says, as though it’s a fact.

“I can see spirits.” I shrug. “But only the ones that are still here, not the ones who’ve crossed—” I stop, pretending to clear my throat, knowing it’s better not to mention the bridge, Summerland, or any of that. “—I can’t see the ones who’ve crossed over.” I shrug, hoping he doesn’t try to push it since that’s as far as I’ll go.

He squints, gaze roaming from the top of my pale blond head and all the way down to my Nike clad feet. A gaze that makes my whole body quiver. Reaching for a long-sleeved tee stashed under the counter and yanking it over his head before he looks at me and says, “Well, Ever, if you wanna work here, you’re gonna have to pass the audition.”