I shake my head, knowing I can't tell her that Damen and I never get hungry. Just because she knows we're psychic with the ability to manifest stuff both here and in Summerland, doesn't mean she needs to know the other part of the story, the—Oh, yeah, did I mention we're both immortal—part too. All she knows is what I told her—that I've a very strong suspicion that Damen is being poisoned. What I didn't tell her is that he's being poisoned in a way that's breaking down all of his psychic abilities, his enhanced physical strength, his vast intelligence, his carefully honed talents and skills, even his longterm memories of what went before—all of it's being slowly erased, as he returns to mortal form. But while he may appear to be just your average high school junior—well, one with screamin' good looks, fistfuls of money, and his own parent-free, multimillion-dollar pad—it's just a matter of time before he begins to age. And then deteriorate. And then—ultimately—die, like I saw on that screen. And that's exactly why I need to switch out these drinks. I need to get him back on the good juice so he can start building up his strength and hopefully repair some of the damage that's already been done. While I try to figure out an antidote that'll hopefully save him and return him to the way he once was. And if his messy house, remodeled room, and well-stocked fridge are any indication, Damen's progressing much more quickly than I assumed.

"I don't even see these bottles you're talking about," Ava says, peering over my shoulder and squinting intothe refrigerator light. "Are you sure this is where he keeps them?"

"Trust me, they're there." I rummage through the world's largest condiment collection, before spotting the elixir. Sliding my fingers around the necks of several bottles, which I then hand to Ava. "Just as I thought." I nod, finally making some headway.

Ava looks at me, her brow raised as she says, "Don't you think it's weird he's still drinking it? Because if it really is poisoned, don't you think the flavor must've changed?"

And just like that, I begin to doubt. I mean, what if I'm wrong? What if this isn't it at all? What if Damen just grew tired of me, if everyone just grew tired of me, and Roman has nothing to do with it? I grab a bottle and bring it to my lips, stopping only when Ava cries, "You're not going to drink that, are you?"

But I just shrug and take a sip, figuring there's only one way to know for sure if it's poisoned, and hoping one tiny taste won't do any harm. Knowing the second I taste it why Damen didn't notice a difference—because there isn't one. At least not until the after taste makes itself known.

"Water!" I gasp, rushing toward the sink and sticking my head under the faucet, gulping all the tap water I can until that awful taste is diluted.

"That bad?"

I nod, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. "Worse. But if you've ever seen Damen drink it, you'd know why he didn't notice. He gulps that stuff like—" I start to say like a dying man, but it hits too close to home. So I swallow hard and say, "Like someone who's very thirsty."

Then I hand Ava the remaining bottles so she can set them beside the sink, positioning the poisoned ones along the edge, after pushing all the dirty dishes aside to make room. Both of us working in such smooth seamless tandem I've barely given the last bottle to her, when I'm already bending down to retrieve the "safe" bottles from my bag. Knowing they're safe since Damen last supplied me a few weeks ago, long before Roman appeared. Intending to place them right where the others once were, so Damen will never suspect I was here.

"So what should I do with these old ones?" Ava asks. "Throw them out? Or save them for evidence?"

And just as I look up to answer, Damen walks through the side door and says, "What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

Chapter Thirty-Four

I freeze. Two bottles of untainted brew dangling halfway between the fridge and me. Realizing I'd been so preoccupied with thinking about Damen that I forgot to tune in and sense if he was anywhere near. Ava gapes, her face displaying the same wide-eyed, open-mouthed mask of sheer panic I'm trying to hide. Then I look at Damen and clear my throat before saying, "It's not what you think!" Which is pretty much the lamest, most ridiculous thing I could've said since it's exactly what he thinks. Ava and I broke into his house so we could tamper with his food supply. Pure and simple.

He drops his bag and moves toward me, his eyes focused on mine. "You have no idea what I'm thinking."

Oh, but I do.Wincing at the horrible thoughts scrolling through his head, his mental accusation of: Stalker! Freak! And things far worse than that.

"And how the hell did you even get in here?" he asks, glancing between us.

"Um, Sheila let me in," I say, not quite sure what to do with the bottle I still hold in my hand. A vein throbs in his temple as he shakes his head and clenches his fists, and I realize I've never seen him this angry before, didn't even know he was capable of it, and feel pretty cruddy to know I inspired it.

"I'll deal with Sheila," he says, his temper barely in check. "What I meant was, what are you doing in here? In my house ? Messing around in my fridge—" His eyes narrow. "What the hell do you think you're up to?"

I glance at Ava, embarrassed to have her witness my one true love talking to me in this way.

"And what's up with her?" He points at Ava. "You bring your party psychic along to cast some kind of spell?"