Shadowland (The Immortals #3)

Originally the party was supposed to be Saturday, but with Miles leaving early next week, and with so much to do between now and then, we moved it to Thursday, the last day of school.

And even though I know better, even though I’m fully aware that Damen is a man of his word, I’m still disappointed when I walk into English and find he’s not there.

I glance at Stacia, her eyes narrowing, lips smirking, extending her foot as I try to move past, as Honor sits beside her, playing along despite the fact that she can barely meet my eyes—not with the secret we share.

And as I take my seat and gaze around the room, one thing is clear—everyone has a partner, a friend, someone to talk to—everyone but me. Having spent the better part of the year befriending someone who refuses to show, his seat beside mine, woefully empty.

Like a big block of ice where the sun used to be.

So as Mr. Robins yammers on and on about stuff no one really cares about, including him, I distract myself by lowering my shield and aiming my quantum remote at all of my classmates, filling the room with a cacophony of color and sound, remembering how my life used to be—my life before Damen when I was constantly overwhelmed.

Tuning in to Mr. Robins who’s looking forward to the moment the final bell rings so he can enjoy a nice long summer free of us, then Craig who’s planning to break up with Honor by the end of the day so he can make the most of the next three months. And over to Stacia who still has no memory of her brief time with Damen, though she’s definitely still into him. Having recently discovered where he surfs, she’s planning to spend the summer in a revolving collection of bikinis, determined to start senior year on his arm. And even though it bugs me to see that, I force myself to shrug it off and move on to Honor, surprised to see her agenda’s full—having nothing to do with Stacia or Craig—and everything to do with her growing interest in the craft.

I narrow my focus, tuning everyone out in order to better see her, curious to know what’s driving this sudden interest in magick, assuming it’s some harmless crush on Jude, and surprised to see it’s nothing like that. She’s tired of being the shadow cast by the spotlight, the B that follows the A. Tired of life on the second rung, and is planning the day when the tables are turned.

She glances over her shoulder and looks right at me, eyes narrowing as though she knows what I see and dares me to stop her. Still holding the look when Stacia nudges her arm, looks at me, and mouths the word freak.

I roll my eyes, starting to turn away when she swings her hair over her shoulder and leans toward me, looking me over when she says, “So, what happened to Damen? Did your spell stop working? Did he find out you’re a witch?”

I shake my head and lean back in my seat, legs crossed, hands folded on my desk, projecting a picture of absolute calm as I shoot her a look so long and deep she can’t help but squirm. Convinced I’m the only witch in the room, having no idea that her minion has her own magick coup planned.

Flicking my gaze back toward Honor, sensing her defiance, a newly summoned strength she never exhibited before, our gaze holding, stretching, until I finally look away. Telling myself it’s none of my business—I’ve no right to interfere in their friendship—no right to intrude.

Shutting out all the color and sound as I glance down at my desk, doodling a field of red tulips onto my notebook, having seen more than enough for one day.

When I get to history Roman is there, loitering just outside the door as he talks with some guy I’ve never seen before. The two of them stopping the moment I approach, turning toward me to get a good look.

I reach for the door just as Roman blocks it, smiling when my hand accidentally skims his hip, and laughing even harder when I cringe and pull away. His deep blue eyes meeting mine when he says, “Have you two met?” He nods toward his friend.

I roll my eyes, wanting only to get to class and get it over with, put this whole miserable junior year behind me and fully prepared to knock him out of my way if I have to.

His tongue clucking inside his cheek when he says, “So un-friendly. Seriously, Ever, your manners are lacking. But far be it from me to force it. Some other day perhaps.”

He nods at his friend, prompting him to leave, and I’m just about to barge into class when I glimpse something on the periphery—the lack of an aura—the physical perfection—and I’m sure if I looked hard enough I’d find an Ouroboros tattoo to confirm it.

“What are you up to?” I say, my gaze switching to Roman. Wondering if his friend is one of the long-lost orphans, or some unfortunate soul he’s more recently turned.

Seeing the smile that widens his cheeks when he says, “It’s all part of the riddle, Ever. The one you’ll be called upon to solve very soon. But for now, why don’t you just head inside and brush up on your history. Trust me.” He laughs, opening the door and waving me in. “There’s no need to hurry. Your time will come soon.”