I fall back from my seat, landing on the ground in a tangle of limbs, still caught in his grip. Finally coming around just as the entire school breaks into a shrill mocking chorus of "Spaz" And watching in horror asmy spilled red elixir races across the tabletop and drips down the sides.

"You all right?" Roman asks, gazing at me as I struggle to stand. "I know it's tough to watch. Believe me, Ever, I've been there. But it's all for the best, really it is. And I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me on that."

"I knew it was you," I whisper, standing before him, shaking with rage. "I knew it all along."

"So you did." He smiles. "So you did. Score one for you. Though I should warn you, I'm still a good ten points ahead."

"You won't get away with this," I say, watching in horror as he dips his middle finger into the puddle of my spilled red drink, allowing the drops to fall onto his tongue in such a deliberate, measured way, it's like he's trying to tell me something, give me a nudge.

But just as an idea begins to form in my head, he licks his lips and says, "But see, that's where you're wrong."

Turning his head in a way that displays the mark on his neck, the finely detailed Ouroboros tattoo now flashing in and out of view. "I've already gotten away with it, Ever." He smiles. "I've already won."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I didn't go to art. I left right after lunch. No, scratch that. Because the truth is I left in the middle of lunch. Seconds after my horrible encounter with Roman, I sprinted for the parking lot (chased by a neverending chorus of Spaz!), where I jumped in my car and sped away long before the bell was scheduled to ring. I needed to get away from Roman. To put some distance between me and his creepy tattoo—the intricate Ouroboros design that hashed in and out of view just like the one on Drina's wrist used to do. The undeniable symbol marking Roman as a rogue immortal—just as I'd thought all along. And even though Damen failed to warn me of them, didn't even know they existed until Drina went bad, I still can't believe it took me so long to get it. I mean, even though he eats and drinks, even though his aura is visible and his thoughts are available to read (well,for me anyway), I realize now it was all a facade. Like those buildings on Hollywood back lots that are carefully crafted to look like something they're not. And that's what Roman did—he purposely projected this happy-go-lucky, jolly young lad from England veneer, with his bright shiny aura, and happy, horny thoughts, when all the while, deep down inside, he's anything but.

The real Roman is dark. And sinister. And evil. And everything else that adds up to bad. But even worse is the fact that he's out to kill my boyfriend, and I still don't know why. Because motive was the one thing in my brief but disturbing visit to the inner recesses of his mind that I failed to see. And motive will prove very important if I'm ever forced to kill him, since it's imperative to hit just the right chakra to be rid of him for good. And not knowing the motive means I could fail. I mean, would I go for the first chakra—or root chakra, as it's sometimes called—the center for anger, violence, and greed? Or maybe the navel chakra, or sacral center, which is where envy and jealousy live. But with no idea of what's driving him, it'd be far too easy to hit the wrong one. Which would not only serve in not killing him but would probably make him incredibly angry as well. Leaving me with six more chakras to choose from, and at that point, I'm afraid he'd catch on.

Besides, killing Roman too soon will only hurt me—ensuring he takes his secret of whatever he's done to Damen and the rest of the school along with him. And that's one risk I just can't afford. Not to mention that I'm really not all that big on killing people anyway. The only tunes I've ever gotten physical in the past are when I was left with no choice but to fight or die. And as soon as I realized what I'd done to Drina, I hoped I'd never have to do it again. Because even though she killed me many times before, even though she admitted to killing my entire family—including my dog—that doesn't do much to alleviate the guilt. I mean, knowing I'm solely responsible for her ultimate exit makes me feel awful. And since I'm pretty much right back where I started, I decide to head back to the beginning. Turning right on Coast Highway and heading for Damen's, figuring I'll use the next couple hours while they're all still at school to break into his house and take a good look around.

I pull up to the guard post, wave at Sheila, and continue toward the gate. Naturally assuming it would open before me, and having to slam on my brakes to avoid major front-end damage when it stays put.

"Excuse me. Excuse, me!" Sheila shouts, storming toward my car as though I'm some kind of intruder, as though she's never seen me before. When the truth is, up until last week, I was pretty much here every day.

"Hey, Sheila." I smile in a nice, friendly, nonthreatening way. "I'm just heading up to Damen's, so if you could just open the gate, I'll be on my way and—"

She looks at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together in a thin grim line. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What? But why?"

"You're off the list," she says, hands planted firmly on hips, her face betraying not even the slightest trace of remorse after all those months of smiling and waving. I sit there, lips pressed together, allowing the words to sink in.

I'm off the list I'm off the permanent list. Blackballed or blacklisted or whatever it's called when you're denied access to a glorious gated community for an indefinite time. Which would be bad enough on its own, but having to hear the official breakup message delivered by Big Sheila instead of my boyfriend—makes it even worse. I gaze down at my lap, gripping the gearshift so hard it threatens to pop off in my hand. Then I swallow hard and look at her when I say, "Well, as you've obviously been made aware, Damen and I broke up. But I was just hoping to drop in real quick and retrieve a few of my things, because as you can see—" I unzip my bag and quickly shove my hand inside. "I still have the key." I raise it up high, watching as the noon day sun catches and reflects the gold shiny metal, too caught up in my own mortification to foresee that she'd reach out and snatch it.