Authors: Linda Lamberson
“Oh, that’s right, you didn’t say anything right away, did you?” he asked playfully.
“C’mon, tell me,” I replied.
“I don’t know. Maybe I would’ve assumed it was too late—or maybe not. After all, even when I suspected you had a boyfriend, it just made me want you more.” He paused for a moment and a serious expression flashed across his face. “The thought of you with someone else made me jealous, which was something I hadn’t felt in a while. But,” he continued, smiling self-assuredly, “the minute I saw you at the frat party, I knew I could win you over.”
“Oh, did you?” I teased. “I’ve never thought of myself as an easy mark.”
“Trust me, you’re not—for most guys.” He leaned in and kissed me. “But I’m not like most guys.”
“No, you are definitely
not
like most guys,” I agreed, smiling. “So tell me, what gave me away?”
“Well, for one, you looked far from a mess that night.”
“It was a party. What did you expect me to wear?” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know … a black t-shirt and jeans, maybe?”
“You know,” I grinned reminiscently, “that was pretty much my standard outfit when I went to parties.” It suddenly dawned on me that Quinn’s statement was based on prior observations—
of me
. “You’d seen me before.”
“Only once or twice at Adam’s house,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
“And you weren’t interested enough to come talk to me then?”
“It wasn’t a question of whether or not I was interested in
you
, it was more about what I was interested in that night.”
“Ah, so I wasn’t one-night stand material in your eyes?” I asked, a little insulted, although I had no idea why.
“You almost sound disappointed,” Quinn said, looking as confused over my reaction as I felt. “At least I noticed you, which apparently is more than you ever did when it came to me.”
“For the record, I might not have seen you
out
until the night you invited me to the party at Adam’s fraternity, but I did notice you the first day of psych class.”
“Oh, really. And you weren’t interested enough to come talk to me?” Quinn always had a knack for throwing my words back at me.
“Hey, I was in a relationship,” I replied proudly.
“And yet you still met me at that party,” he countered, equally as proud.
“I came to test myself—to prove I could resist your charms.”
“I guess you were wrong.” He grinned.
“I guess so.” I grinned back.
“You know, there was a moment or two that night when I thought you weren’t going to show—when I thought maybe I hadn’t been charming enough.”
“You? Not charming enough?” I chuckled, raising my brows.
“Well, you kept me waiting long enough. You made me begin to doubt my skills. But when you finally did show, I knew you were
intrigued
.” He smiled.
“You
knew
, huh?”
“Yup, I knew I had you—well, for about five minutes.” He chuckled. “Then your boyfriend called, and I was back to square one.”
“So, why did you keep pursuing me?”
“You were different. I felt a connection with you I’d never felt with anyone else. I couldn’t explain it, but I couldn’t let it go either, you know?”
I nodded.
“And after I kissed you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He took my left hand in his and traced the contours of my ring. “That never stopped you know. Even after the car accident, after you were gone, it’s like you haunted me sometimes.”
“What do you think would’ve happened between us if there was no such thing as Servants or Shepherds—if I would’ve survived and stayed at IU? Do you think we would’ve ended up together?”
“You mean after I convinced you to get rid of your boyfriend?”
“It wouldn’t have taken that much convincing,” I conceded.
“I don’t think I would’ve cared if it had taken all damn year. I wouldn’t have quit until you gave me a legitimate chance.”
“And then?”
“And then, I’m sure you would’ve turned my life just as upside down as you have already.” He chuckled. “But, I know I would’ve fought just as hard to keep you in my life.” He smiled at me. “I don’t know about you, but it was never all that difficult for me to picture us like this—in some house,
our
house, together.”
“Already engaged?”
“No, probably not. I think I would’ve waited until you graduated college.” He paused and narrowed his eyes as if in deep thought. “Actually, I take that back. I would’ve asked you when
I
graduated. I wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone in Bloomington hanging around all those guys without some claim on you for the world to see.”
“Ah, so the ring is really just your way of throwing me over your shoulder and dragging me back to your cave,” I teased. “You know, if you were really that worried, you could’ve just added another minor and graduated with me. That way you could’ve kept an eye on me twenty-four-seven.”
For a moment, he really looked as though he would’ve considered it.
“I was joking! Quinn, out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind—not for us anyway. Besides, it doesn’t even matter.” I leaned over and kissed him. “I only asked the question because I think if we were a ‘normal’ couple, time wouldn’t always feel like it was slipping through our fingers. No one would feel pressured into marriage.”
“Is that how you feel? Pressured?” he asked, concerned.
“No!” I said emphatically. “But that’s because our reality is so different from the hypothetical ‘us.’”
“Maybe, but I know one thing would’ve stayed the same regardless.”
“What’s that?”
“I would’ve have asked you when the time was right. And, last spring, when I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I felt a certain urgency about it. In fact, the sheer stress of keeping that kind of secret was enough to make me not wait very long to ask you.” He flashed me a crooked smirk and ran his hand through his hair.
“How long did you wait?” I asked, burning with curiosity.
“Less than a day.” He chuckled, shaking his bowed head. “I wanted to plan something more romantic, but I think I was too nervous to come up with anything good. Plus, I wasn’t sure of your answer.”
“You really didn’t know?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“A little.”
“Well, I don’t recall a resounding ‘yes’ from you when I did ask.”
“I was in complete shock. I had absolutely
no
clue you were going to ask me to marry you.
Zero.
”
“To tell you the truth, I shocked myself. But I’m glad I asked.” He caressed my face. “I always will be.”
I turned to kiss his hand. “Me too.”
Dylan stopped by that evening to report that all was quiet in the world, but that neither he nor Minerva had any leads on who might’ve taken the Journal or what the Servants were up to over the next few days. In fact, he said that rumor had it that all the Realms seemed to be remarkably inactive at the moment, as if waiting in muted anticipation to see how the next chapter unfolded.
Dylan’s latest update did nothing but stir my nerves. I didn’t like how quiet everything was on the outside. It was too quiet—like the calm before a storm. And, apparently, I wasn’t the only one on edge.
That night Quinn slept restlessly, tossing and turning, until he woke up suddenly in a cold sweat, shaking. “Evie?” he asked anxiously, looking around in the dark for me.
“I’m here.” I gently touched his shoulder, letting him know I was next to him in bed. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Without saying a word, he rolled over and wrapped me up tightly in his arms, curling his entire body around mine.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” he replied. “Just—don’t leave, okay?”
“Okay, I won’t,” I agreed without hesitation.
“Okay.” He sighed and buried his head in my hair before going back to sleep.
“Do you really think we need the Journal to save me?” Quinn asked the next morning as I rinsed his dishes from breakfast and he loaded them into the dishwasher.
“I think it’d help, but no, I don’t think it’s the only thing that will save you.” I immediately wondered if his question was tied to his nightmare last night, but he’d been so shaken I didn’t want to make him rehash it.
“What did Ruben tell you the other day that made you so upset?” Quinn asked.
I’d been waiting for this question—actually, I’d been dreading it because no explanation I gave Quinn would soften the blow. I took a deep breath, turned the tap off, and dried my hands on a nearby dishtowel, using the delay to try to come up with the best way to begin.
I turned to face him, leaning my hip against the edge of the countertop. “He said that if we stuck to our plan, you should be fine through the eighteenth—that no harm would come to you.”
“
But,”
Quinn added in the wake of my silence. This was a big conversation—one I wasn’t about to have while doing dishes.
“Come on.” I took his hand, led him to one of the couches in the living room and then sat next to him, turning to face him.
“So?” he asked.
“So, given the information Ruben and Ronald had at that time, and the possible futures based on that information, he said the Servants would find a way to attack us eventually. And when they did, it didn’t seem likely that both of us would walk out of this unharmed.”
The color in Quinn’s face drained and his expression hardened. “It’s me. I’m the one who’s not going to survive—that’s what Ruben told you.”
I looked at my entwined fingers in my lap, knowing I couldn’t hide the pain in my eyes.
He sighed and ran both hands through his hair before rubbing his temples. “You know, deep down, I think I already knew. I could see it in your face that day. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“Quinn, you have to understand, what they saw isn’t set in stone—it’s a
prediction
based on facts that can always change. If we change our choices—take the unexpected road, introduce unexpected variables—we can change the future. I think that’s why Ruben told me in the first place, so we’d be motivated to explore new paths, find new options.”
“And have we?” he asked warily.
“Yes! I made the decision to bring the Journal down here
after
Ruben met with us. That’s good.”
“But it was stolen—that’s bad.”
“Not before I read some of it—a lot of it, actually.”
“Will you tell me what you read in the Journal?”
I told Quinn everything I remembered reading about the Servants’ origins and their structure. And I told him about how the Servants and Shepherds entered into an Agreement, which led to the birth of the Curse of Three.
“Have they ever broken the Agreement and gone after someone more than three times?”
“I don’t know. Initially, I thought they had when I was reassigned to you, but Tara explained that they weren’t trying to kill you in April—only kidnap you.”
“Just so they could kill me later,” he tried to joke, but his shallow chuckle couldn’t mask the fear in his voice. “Evie, what happens to my soul if the Servants convert me? Does it go to Hell?”
“Quinn—” I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, replaced with a thick, asphyxiating dread.
“Just humor me.”
“There’s nothing funny about this.”
“Evie, please.” The tone of his voice had changed from harsh cynicism to a kind of anguished determination, like he was preparing himself for the worst. It scared me—
he
was scaring me. But I’d promised to tell Quinn the truth, as ugly and awful as it might be.
“Your soul is destroyed.”
“How?” he asked so matter-of-factly it was almost as if he hadn’t heard what I just said.
“During the conversion,” I continued hesitantly. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Look, Quinn, I know I told you I’d be honest with you about everything, but
please
don’t ask me to describe the details of the ritual to you. I’m asking you to let it go.”
“That bad, huh?”
I couldn’t respond for fear my voice might crack.
“Do you think the Servants are worried I’ll become a Shepherd if I die? Do you think that’s why they’re out to make me one of them?”
“That’s a pretty loaded question. Any one of the Servants’ targets could become a Shepherd, and they know that. But the truth of the matter is they don’t have any better idea of who will become a Shepherd than I do. Only the Order can decide. I mean, if we were able to predict who would become a Shepherd, both sides would end up stacking the deck by determining which humans should receive more or less attention in an effort to boost the numbers in their favor.”
“But there’s still a chance.” Quinn was treading carefully, too carefully, setting warning bells off in my head. I remembered having a similar conversation with Tara when I was first reassigned to Quinn, and I didn’t like her answers to my questions any more than I liked the direction this discussion was heading.
“Quinn, you have to understand the odds of that happening are low. Targets rarely become Shepherds when they die. Even if the eligibility conditions are met, the selection process is completely under the Order’s control.”
“Does Ronald influence those decisions?”
“I have no idea.”
“What made you eligible?”
“Quinn—”
“I want to know.”
I sighed heavily, knowing full well my answer might only serve to fan the flames of whatever crazy notion was brewing in his head. “Peter once told me the eligibility criteria—on the list is having your soul and spirit fuse before or at the time of death.”
“Well, how does that happen?” he asked.
“You can be born with it—as in the case of an old soul. A radical near-death experience can be strong enough to fuse a soul and spirit. It can also occur when a human’s fate is manipulated by someone other than the Three Sisters.”
“Like the Servants.”
I nodded.
“So being a Servants’ target is one of the prerequisites to becoming a Shepherd.”
“It’s more like being one of their
victims
,” I clarified, also remembering what Peter had told me shortly before I returned to protect Quinn.