"Omigod, Damen's here!" Haven squeals, arms waving, face all lit up—well, as much as a heavily powdered, fang-wearing, blood-dripping, vampire face can light up. But the moment she sees his costume, realizing he came as Count Axel Fersen, the not-so-secret lover of Marie Antoinette, her entire face dims, and her eyes turn to me, glaring accusingly.
"So, when'd you two arrange it?" she asks, advancing on us, trying to keep her voice light, neutral, but more for Damen's benefit than mine.
"We didn't," I say, hoping she'll believe it, yet knowing she won't. I mean, it's such a bizarre coincidence I'm beginning to doubt it myself, wondering if I somehow let it slip, even though I know that I didn't.
"Complete fluke," Damen says, hooking his arm around my waist. And even though he only keeps it there for a moment, it's still long enough to leave my whole body tingling.
"You've got to be Damen," Evangeline says, slinking up beside him, fingers plucking at the ruffles on his shirt. "I thought for sure Haven was exaggerating, though apparently not!" She laughs. 'And who're you dressed as?"
"Count Fersen," Haven says, voice hard and brittle, eyes narrowed on mine.
"Whoever." Evangeline shrugs, stealing his hat and perching it on top of her head, smiling seductively from under the brim before grabbing his hand and leading him away.
The moment they're gone, Haven turns to me and says, "I can't believe you!" Her face is angry, fists clenched, but that's nothing compared to the horrible thoughts that swirl through her head. "You know how much I like him. I confided in you, I trusted you!"
"Haven, I swear, it wasn't planned. It's just some freaky coincidence. I don't even know what he's doing here, and you know I didn't invite him," I say, wanting to convince her, yet knowing it's useless, she's already made up her mind. 'And I don't know if you noticed, but your good friend Evangeline is practically humping his leg over there."
Haven glances across the room then turns back to me, shrugging when she says, "She does that with everyone, she's hardly a threat. Unlike you."
I take a deep breath, striving for patience and trying not to laugh as Riley stands beside her, mimicking every word, reenacting every move, mocking her in a way that's definitely funny though not at all kind.
"Listen," I finally say. "I don't like him! I mean, how can I convince you of that? Just tell me and I'll do it!"
She shakes her head and looks away, shoulders sinking, thoughts turning dark, redirecting all of that anger back on herself. "Don't." She sighs, blinking rapidly, staving off tears. "Don't say a word. If he likes you then he likes you, and there's nothing I can do. I mean, it's not your fault you're smart and pretty and guys are always going to like you better than me. Especially once they see you without your hood." She tries to laugh, but doesn't quite make it.
"You're making something out of nothing," I say, hoping to convince her, hoping to convince myself. "The only thing Damen and I have in common is our taste in movies and costumes. That's it, I swear." And when I smile, I'm hoping it plays more real than it feels.
She gazes across the room at Evangeline who's taken hold of Zorro's whip and is demonstrating the proper way to use it, then she turns back to me and says, "Just do me a favor."
I nod, willing to do just about anything to put an end to all this. "Stop lying. You really suck at it."
I watch as she walks away, then I turn to Riley who's jumping up and down, shouting, "Omigod, this has got to be your best party ever! Drama! Intrigue! Jealousy! An almost-cat fight! I am so glad I didn't miss this!"
And I'm just about to tell her to shush when I remember how I'm the only one who can actually hear her and how it might look a little strange for me to do that. And when the doorbell rings again, despite the fish tail flopping behind her, this time, she beats me to it.
"Oh my," says the woman standing on the porch gazing between Riley and me.
"Can I help you?" I ask, noticing how she's not dressed up, unless California casual counts as a costume.
She looks at me, her brown eyes meeting mine when she says, "Sorry I'm late, traffic was a bite—well you know" She nods at Riley as though she can actually see her.
"Are you a friend of Sabine's?" I ask, thinking maybe it's some weird nervous tic that keeps her eyes darting to where Riley is standing, because even though she has a nice purple aura, for some reason, I can't read her.
'I'm Ava. Sabine hired me."
"Are you one of the caterers?" I ask, wondering why she's wearing a black off-the-shoulder top, skinny jeans, and ballet flats instead of a white shirt and black pants like the rest of the team.
But she just laughs and waves at Riley, who's hiding behind the folds of my dress, like she used to do with our mom whenever she felt shy.
"Im the psychic," she says, brushing her long auburn hair off her face, and kneeling down beside Riley. "And I see you have a little friend with you."
Apparently Ava the psychic was supposed to be this fun surprise for everyone. But trust me, no one was more surprised than me. I mean, how did I not see it coming? Was I so wrapped up in my own world that I forgot to poke around in Sabine's?
And it's not like I could just send her away, even though I was tempted. But before I could even react to the shock of her seeing Riley, Sabine was at the door, inviting her in.
"Oh good, you made it. And I see you've met my niece," she says, ushering her into the den where a table is set up and waiting.
I hover close by, wondering if Ava the Psychic will try to mention my dead little sister. But then Sabine asks me to fetch Ava a drink, and by the time I return she's giving a reading.
"You should get in line before it gets any longer," Sabine says, her shoulder pressed against Frankenstein, who, with or without the creepy mask, is not the cute guy who works in her building. He's also not the big, successful investment banker he pretends to be. In fact, he still lives with his mother. But I don't want to tell her any of that and destroy her good mood, so I just shake my head and say, "Maybe later."
It's nice to see Sabine enjoying herself for a change, good to know she has a whole network of friends, and from what I can see, a renewed interest in dating. And even though it's fun watching Riley dance with unsuspecting people and eavesdrop on conversations she probably shouldn't hear, I need a break from all of the random thoughts, vibrating auras, swirling energy, but most of all, Damen.
So far I've done my best to keep my distance, to act cool and ignore him when I see him at school, but seeing him tonight, dressed in what is clearly the other half of a couple's costume—well, I'm not sure what to think. I mean, last I saw, he was into the redhead, Stacia, anyone but me. Enchanting them with his charm, good looks, charisma, and inexplicable magic tricks.
I bury my nose in the flowers he brought me, twenty-four tulips, all of them red. And even though tulips aren't exactly known for their scent, somehow these are heady, intoxicating, and sweet. I inhale deeply, losing myself in their fragrant bouquet and secretly admitting I like him. I mean, I really like him. I can't help it. I just do. And no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise, it doesn't make it any less true.
Before Damen came along, I'd resigned myself to a solitary fate. Not that I was thrilled with the idea of never having another boyfriend, of never getting close to another person again. But how can I date when touch feels so overbearing?
How can I be in a relationship when I'll always know what my partner is thinking? Never getting the chance to obsess, dissect, and guess at the secret meaning of everything he says and does?
And even though it probably seems cool to read minds and energy and auras, trust me, it so isn't. I would give anything to get my old life back, to be as normal and clueless as every other girl. Because sometimes even your best friends can think some pretty unflattering things, and not having an off switch requires a heck of a lot of forgiveness.
But that's what's so great about Damen. He's like an off switch. He's the only one I can't read, the only one who can silence the sound of everyone else. And even though he makes me feel wonderful and warm and as close to normal as I'll ever get to be, I can't help but think that there's nothing normal about it.
I sit on one of the lounge chairs and arrange my full skirt all around, watching the water globes bob and change color as they glide across the pool's shiny surface. And I'm so lost in my thoughts and the amazing view before me, that at first I don't notice when Damen appears.
"Hey." He smiles. And when I glance at him, my whole body heats.
"It's a good party. I'm glad I crashed." He sits down beside me, as I stare straight ahead, aware that he's teasing but too nervous to respond. "You make a good Marie," he says, his finger tapping the long black feather I stuck in my wig at the very last moment.
I press my lips together, feeling anxious, nervous, tempted to flee. Then I take a deep breath and relax and go with it. Allow myself to live a little—if just for one night. 'And you make a good Count Fersen," I finally say.
"Please, call me Axel." He laughs.
"Did they charge extra for the moth hole?" I ask, nodding at the frayed spot near his shoulder, though choosing not to mention its musty scent.
He looks at me, his eyes right on mine when he says,
"That's no moth hole. That's the by-product of artillery fire, a real near miss as they say."
"Well, if I remember right, in this particular scene you were pursuing a dark-haired girl." I glance at him, remembering a time when flirting came easy, summoning the girl I used to be.
"There's been a last-minute rewrite." He smiles. "Didn't you get the new script?"
I kick my feet up and smile, thinking how nice it feels to finally let go, to act like a normal girl, with a normal crush, just like anyone else.
"And in this new version it's just us. And you, Marie, get to keep your pretty head." He takes his finger, the very tip of his index finger, and slides it across the width of my neck, leaving a trail of warm wonderful sizzle as he lingers just under my ear. "Why didn't you get in line for a reading?" he whispers, his fingers traveling along my jaw, my cheek, tracing the curve of my ear, as his lips loom so close our breaths meet and mingle.
I shrug and press my lips, wishing he'd just shut up and kiss me already.
"Are you a skeptic?"
"No—I just—l don't know." I mumble, so frustrated I'm tempted to scream.
Why does he insist on talking? Doesn't he realize this may be my last remaining shot at a normal boy-girl experience?
That an opportunity like this may never present itself again?
"How come you're not in line?" I ask, no longer trying to hide my frustration.
"Waste of time." He laughs. "It's not possible to read minds, or tell the future—right?"
I shift my gaze to the pool, blinking at the water globes that have not only turned pink but are forming a heart.
"Have I angered you?" he asks, his fingers cupping my chin, bringing my face back to his.
And that's another thing. Sometimes he uses California surf speak as well as anyone else around here, and other times, he sounds like he just walked straight out of the pages of Wuthering Heights.
"No. You have not angered me," I say, laughing in spite of myself.
"What's so funny?" he asks, his fingers sliding under my bangs, seeking the scar on my forehead and causing me to pull away. "How'd you get that?" he asks, hand back to his side, gazing at me with such warmth and sincerity I almost confide.
But I don't. Because this is the one night of the year when I get to be someone else. When I get to pretend that I'm not responsible for the end of everything I held dear. Tonight I get to flirt, and play, and make reckless decisions I'll probably live to regret. Because tonight I'm no longer Ever, I'm Marie. And if he's any kind of a Count Fersen he'll shut up and kiss me already.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say, blinking at the water globes that are now red and forming into a tulip.
"What do you want to talk about?" he whispers, gazing at me with those eyes, two infinite pools luring me in.
"I don't want to talk," I whisper, holding my breath as his lips meet mine.
If I thought his voice was amazing with the way it envelopes me in silence, if I thought his touch was incredible with the way it awakens my skin, well, the way he kisses is otherworldly. And even though I'm no expert, having only kissed a few guys before, I'm still willing to bet that a kiss like this, a kiss this complete and transcendent, is a once-in-a-life time thing.
And when he pulls away and gazes into my eyes, I close mine again, grab his lapels, and bring him back to me.
Until Haven says, "Jeez, I've been looking all over for you. I should've known you'd be hiding out here."
I pull away, horrified to be caught in the act, not long after swearing that I don't even like him. "We were just—"
She raises her hand to stop me. "Please. Spare me the details. I just wanted you to know that Evangeline and I are taking off."
"Already?" I ask, wondering how long we've been out here.
"Yeah, my friend Drina stopped by, she's taking us to another party. You guys are welcome to tag along too—though you seem pretty busy." She smirks.
"Drina?" Damen says, standing so fast his whole body blurs.
"You know her?" Haven asks, but Damen's already gone, moving so fast we scramble to follow.
I rush behind Haven, anxious to catch up, desperate to explain, but when we reach the French doors and I grab onto her shoulder I'm filled with such darkness, such overwhelming anger and despair, the words freeze on my tongue.
Then she pulls away and glares over her shoulder, saying, "I told you, you suck at lying," before continuing on.
I take a deep breath and follow behind, trailing them through the kitchen, the den, making my way to the door, my eyes fixed on the back of Damen's head, noticing how he moves so fast and sure, it's as though he knows just where to find her. And by the time I step into the foyer, I freeze when I see them together he in his eighteenth century splendor—and she dressed as a Marie Antoinette so rich, so lovely, so exquisite, she puts me to shame.
"And you must be..." she lifts her chin as her eyes land on mine, two glowing spheres of deep emerald green.
"Ever," I mumble, taking in the pale blond wig, the creamy flawless skin, the tangle of pearls at her throat, watching as her perfect pink lips display teeth so white they hardly seem real. I turn to Damen, hoping he can explain, provide some logical explanation for how the redhead from the St. Regis ended up in my foyer. But he's too busy gazing at her to even notice my existence.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice nearly a whisper.
"Haven invited me." She smiles.
And as I glance from her to him, my body fills with a cold hard dread.
"How do you know each other?" I ask, noting how Damen's entire demeanor has changed, suddenly growing chilly, cold, and distant—a dark cloud where the sun used to be.
"I met her at Nocturne," Drina says, gazing right at me.
"We're headed there now, I hope you don't mind my stealing her away?"
I narrow my eyes, ignoring the twitch in my heart, the pang in my gut, as I struggle to get some kind of read. But her thoughts are inaccessible, sealed off completely, and her aura nonexistent.
"Oh, silly me, you were referring to Damen and I, weren't you?" She laughs, her eyes traveling slowly over my costume, until coming back to meet mine. And when I don't respond she nods when she says, "We knew each other back in New Mexico."
Only, when she says, "New Mexico," Damen says, "New Orleans." Causing Drina to laugh in a way that never quite reaches her eyes.
"Let's just say we go way back." She nods, extending a hand to my sleeve, her fingers trailing its beaded edge, before sliding down to my wrist. "Lovely dress," she says, clasping me tightly. "Did you make it yourself?"
I wrench my arm free, less from the shock of being mocked and more from the chill of her fingers, the frigid scratch of her cold sharp nails freezing my skin and shooting ice through my veins.
"Isn't she the coolest?" Haven says, gazing at Drina with the sort of awe she usually reserves for vampires, Goth rockers, and Damen. While Evangeline stands beside her, rolling her eyes and checking her watch.
"We really need to go if we're going to make it to Nocturne by midnight," Evangeline says.
''You're welcome to join us." Drina smiles. "Fully stocked limo."
And when I glance at Haven, I can hear her thinking: Say no, say no, please say no!
Drina glances between Damen and me. "Driver's waiting," she sings.
I turn to him, my heart caving when I see how conflicted he is. Then I clear my throat and force myself to say, "You can go if you want. But I need to stay. I can't exactly leave my own party." Then I laugh, attempting to sound light and breezy, when the truth is, I can barely breathe.
Drina glances between us, brows arched, face haughty, betraying just the briefest glimmer of shock when Damen shakes his head and takes my hand instead of hers.
"So wonderful to meet you Ever," Drina says, pausing before climbing into the limo. "Though I'm sure we'll meet again."
I watch as they disappear from the driveway and onto the street, then I turn to Damen and say, "So, who should I expect next, Stacia, Honor, and Craig?"
And the second it's out, I'm ashamed for having said it, for revealing what a petty, jealous, pathetic person I am. It's not like I didn't know better. So I shouldn't feel so surprised. Damen's a player. Pure and simple. Tonight just happened to be my turn.
"Ever," he says, smoothing his thumb over my cheek. And just as I start to pull away, unwilling to hear his excuses, he looks at me and whispers, "I should probably go too."
I search his eyes, my mind accepting a truth my heart would rather refuse, knowing there's more to the statement, words he failed to include—I should go—so I can catch up with her.
"Okay, well thanks for coming," I finally say, sounding less like a prospective girlfriend and more like a waitress after a particularly long shift.
But he just smiles, removes the feather from the back of my wig, and guides it down the length of my neck, tapping the very tip to my nose as he says, "Souvenir?" And I've barely had a chance to respond before he's in his car and driving away.
I sink down onto the stairs, my head in my hands, wig teetering precariously, wishing I could just disappear, go back in time, and start over. Knowing I never should've allowed him to kiss me, never should've invited him in.
"There you are!" Sabine says, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me to my feet. "I've been looking all over for you. Ava agreed to stay just long enough to give you a reading."
"But I don't want a reading," I tell her, not wanting to offend, but not wanting to go through with it either. I just want to go to my room, ditch this wig, and fall into a long, dreamless sleep.
But Sabine's been hitting the party punch, which means she's too tipsy to listen. So she grabs my hand and leads me into the den where Ava is waiting.
"Hello, Ever." Ava smiles as I sink onto the seat, grip the table, and wait for Sabine's inebriated energy to fade.
"Take all the time you need." She smiles.
I gaze at the tarot cards laid out before me. "Um, nothing personal, but I don't want a reading," I say, meeting her eyes before averting my gaze.
"Then I won't give you a reading." She shrugs, gathering the cards and beginning to shuffle.
"What do you say we just go through the motions so we can make your aunt happy? She worries about you. Wonders if she's doing the right thing—providing enough freedom, providing too much freedom." She looks at me. "What do you think?"
I shrug and roll my eyes. That hardly qualifies as a revelation. "She's getting married, you know."I look up, startled, my eyes meeting hers.
"But not today." She laughs. "Not tomorrow either. So don't worry."
"Why would I worry?" I shift in my seat, watching as she cuts the deck in half before spreading the cards into a crescent. "I want Sabine to be happy, and if that's what it takes—"
"True. But you've experienced so many changes this past year already, haven't you? Changes you're still trying to adjust to. It's not easy, is it?" She gazes at me.
But I don't respond. And why should I? She's yet to say anything remotely earth shattering or insightful. Life is full of change, big deal. I mean, isn't that pretty much the point? To grow and change, and move along? Besides, it's not like Sabine's an enigma. It's not like she's all that complex, or hard to figure out.
"So how are you handling your gift?" Ava asks, turning some cards, while leaving others face down.
"My what?" I peer at her, wondering where she could possibly be going with this.
"Your psychic gift." She smiles, nodding as though it's a fact.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I press my lips together and glance around the room, seeing Miles and Eric dance with Sabine and her date, and unbeknownst to them, Riley.
"It's hard at first." She nods. "Believe me, I know I was the first to know about my grandmother's passing. She came right into my room, stood at the foot of my bed, and waved good bye. I was only four at the time, so you can imagine how my parents reacted when I ran into the kitchen to tell them." She shakes her head and laughs. "But you understand, because you see them too, right?"
I stare at the cards, my hands clasped together, not saying a word.
"It can feel so overwhelming, so isolating. But it doesn't have to. You don't have to hide under a hood, killing your eardrums with music you don't even like. There are ways to handle it, and I'd be happy to show you because, Ever, you don't have to live like that."
I grip the edge of the table and rise from my seat, my legs feeling shaky, unsure, my stomach unstable. This lady is crazy if she thinks what I have is a gift. Because I know better. I know it's just one more punishment for everything that I did, everything that I caused. It's my own personal burden, and I just have to deal with it. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I finally say.
But she just nods, and slides her card toward me. "When you're ready, you can reach me here."
I take her card, but only because Sabine's watching from across the room and I don't want to seem rude. Then I fold it in the palm of my hand, squishing it into a hard, angry ball, as I ask, "Are we done?"anxious to get away.
"One last thing." She slides the deck into a brown leather case. "I'm worried about your little sister. I think it's time she moves on, don't you?"
I look at her, sitting there so smug and knowing, judging my life when she doesn't even know me. "For your information Riley has moved on! She's dead!" I whisper, dropping her crumbled-up card on the table, no longer caring who sees.
But she just smiles and says, "I think you know what I mean."