It's the right thing to do. It's the only thing to do.

And with the way things are going, with my social exile from school, Ava's pretty much my only friend left. Which means I'll need her to pick up any stray pieces I might leave behind. I bring my teacup to my lips, then set it back down without drinking. Tracing my fingers around the curve of the handle as I take a deep breath and say, "I think someone's poisoning Damen." Seeing her eyes bug out as she gapes. "I—I think someone's tampering with his—" Elixir "—favorite drink. And it's making him act—" Mortal "—normal, but not in a good way." I press my lips together and rise from my seat, barely giving her a chance to catch her breath when I say, "And since I'm banned from the gate, I'm gonna need you to help me break in."

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Okay, we're here. Just act cool," I say, crouching down in the back as Ava approaches the gate. "Just nod and smile and give her the name I told you." I pull my legs in, trying to make myself smaller, less obtrusive, a task that would've been a heck of a lot easier just two weeks ago, before I was faced with this ridiculous growth spurt. Crouching down even farther and pulling the blanket tighter around me as Ava lowers her window and smiles at Sheila, giving her the name of Stacia Miller (my replacement on Damen's list of welcomed guests), who I hope hasn't come around quite enough yet for Sheila to recognize her.

And the moment the gate swings open and we're headed for Damen's, I toss the blanket aside and climb onto the seat, seeing Ava gaze around the neighborhood with obvious envy, shaking her head and muttering, "Swanky."

I shrug and glance around too, never having given it much notice before. Always viewing this place as a blur of phony Tuscan farm houses and upscale Spanish haciendas with well-landscaped yards and subterranean garages one has to pass in order to reach Damen's faux French chateau.

"I have no idea how he affords it, but it sure is nice," she says, glancing at me.

"He plays the ponies," I mumble, concentrating onthe garage door as she pulls into his drive, taking note of its most minute details before closing my eyes and willing for it to open. Seeing it rise and lift in my mind, then opening my eyes just in time to watch it sputter and spurt before dropping back down with a very loud thud. An unmistakable sign that I'm still a long way from mastering psychokinesis—or the art of moving anything heavier than a Prada bag. "Um, I think we should just go around back like I usually do," I say, feeling embarrassed for failing so miserably.

But Ava won't hear of it, grabbing my bag and heading for the front door. And even when I scramble behind, telling her it's no use, that it's locked and we can't possibly enter that way, she just keeps going, claiming we'll just have to unlock it then.

"It's not as easy as you think," I tell her. "Believe me, I've tried it before and it didn't work." Glancing at the extra door I accidentally manifested the last time I was here—the one that's still leaning against the far wall, which is exactly where I left it since apparently Damen's too busy acting cool and chasing Stacia to take the time to get rid of it. But the moment I think that, I wish I could erase it. The thought leaves me sad, empty, and feeling far more desperate than I care to admit.

"Well, this time you have me to help." She smiles. "And I think we've already proved just how well we work together." And the way she looks at me, with such anticipation, such optimism, I can't see the point in refusing to try. So I close my eyes as we both join hands, envisioning the door springing open before us. And just seconds after hearing the dead bolt slide back, the door opens wide, allowing us in. "After you." Ava nods, glancing at her watch and scrunching her brow as she says, "Tell me again, exactly how much time do we have here?"

I gaze at my wrist, seeing the crystal horseshoe bracelet Damen gave me that day at the track, the one that makes my heart swell with longing every time I see it. Yet I refuse to remove it. I mean, I just can't. It's my only physical reminder of what we once had.

"Hey? You okay?" she asks, her face creased with concern.

I swallow hard and nod. "We should be okay on time. Though I should warn you, Damen has a bad habit of cutting class and coming home early."

"Then we best get started" Ava smiles, slipping into the foyer and looking all around, her eyes moving from the huge chandelier in the entry to the elaborate wrought-iron banister that leads up the stairs. Turning to me with a gleam in her eye when she says, "This guy is seventeen?" I move toward the kitchen, not bothering to answer since she already knows that he is. Besides, I've got much bigger things at stake than square footage and the seeming implausibility of a seventeen-year old who's neither a pop star nor a member of a hit TV show owning such a place. "Hey—hold up," she says, reaching for my arm and stopping me in my tracks. "What's upstairs?"

"Nothing." And the second it's out I know I totally blew it, answering far too quickly to ever be believed. Still, the last thing I need is for Ava to go snooping around and barging into his "special" room.

"Come on," she says, smiling like a rebellious teen whose parents are gone for the weekend. "School gets out at what? Two fifty?"

I nod, just barely, but it's still enough to encourage her.

"And then it takes, what? Ten minutes to drive home from there?"