Hoping I can still reach the one and only place where I’m still me.

Taking in his alarmed, perplexed gaze and knowing if I don’t do this quick, it’ll be too late for me.

Too late for all of us.

I’ll be with Roman.

The dark magick will win.

Voice shaky and unsteady as I say, “I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to close your eyes and imagine a portal of shimmering gold light right before you. Concentrate with all your might, and don’t ask any questions. Just trust me on this.”

sixteen

We stumble through the portal, the two of us, side by side, landing on that wonderfully buoyant grass before springing lightly to our feet. And the first thing I do is turn toward Jude, motioning to his arms when I say, “Look!”

He gazes down, eyes going wide as he glances between his bare arms and me, not quite comprehending.

“Surely during the course of your metaphysical studies you came across a mention of Summerland?” I smile, my face and shoulders lifting—everything lifting—freed from the monster within me—no matter how temporary.

He glances around, peering through the hazy, shimmering mist at the shivering trees, branches hanging heavy with ripe juicy fruit, the large colorful flowers with pulsating petals, and the quickly flowing rainbow-colored stream just beyond. “This is it?” he asks, face stamped with awe. “It really exists?”

I nod, any apprehension I had at bringing him here suddenly gone. Just because it was a bad idea to drag Ava along, doesn’t mean the same thing will happen with Jude. They’re totally different. He’s different. Way more evolved than Ava could ever hope to be.

“Why did I bring you here?” I laugh, instantly reading the question he posed but hadn’t yet voiced. Sending the answer telepathically when I think: In order to heal you, of course!

Careful to edit the other, more pressing reason, which is so that I could heal myself.

Thoughts are energy, I add, seeing the surprised look on his face. You can sense them, hear them, even create with them. But if you’d rather we return to the hospital, then I’ll be happy to make the portal again—

He looks at me, about to speak when he changes his mind and thinks it instead. At first closing his eyes as though trying to concentrate, but soon realizing just how effortless and easy everything is, he looks right at me and allows the words to flow straight to my head:

I can’t believe you waited this long to bring me here. I can’t believe you let me suffer like that!

I laugh, nodding in agreement and knowing the best way to make up for it is to show him just what else is possible here.

“Close your eyes,” I say, watching as he obeys without hesitation, his trust in me so complete, I can’t help but flush. “Now think of anything you want—anything at all—and make sure you really do want it, because in an instant, it’ll be yours—ready?

And I’ve barely had a chance to finish before I’m sitting on a pink sand beach, watching as he paddles out in an ocean comprised of the most beautiful blue water and surfing a series of the most perfect waves.

“Did you see those barrels?” he calls, board tucked under his arm as he makes his way in. “Amazing! You sure I’m not dreaming?”

I smile, remembering my first trip to Summerland and how enchanted I was. And no matter how many times I return, the magick of manifesting on such a grand scale never gets old. “It’s no dream.” I smile, seeing the way his dreads drip trails of salt water clear down his chest and into the low-slung waistband of his black and gray board shorts. Suddenly overcome by that calm languid feeling his proximity brings, and quickly averting my gaze when I say, “Trust me, it’s much better than a dream.” Thinking how lately, most of my dreams have become nightmares.

So, what’s next? He drops his board on the sand and looks at me.

I shrug. It’s your moment, so it’s really up to you. Whatever you want to try next is fine by me. Trying to appear helpful, supportive, when the truth is, the longer he stays, the longer I have an excuse to avoid the earth plane where all of my troubles lay in wait.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, making the board and the beach disappear in favor of the Indy 500 racetrack. Navigating the course at near death-defying speeds as I sit high in the stands, egging him on. And just when I’m sure I can’t take another monotonous lap, he switches the scene to a charming café in the Sydney harbor, with a first-class view of the bridge, the water, and the opera house beyond.

Raising his glass to mine as I say, “I didn’t peg you as the Indy type.”

He shrugs. “I’m not. But hey, you gotta try it while you can, right?”

I take a sip of my soda, grimacing at its sweet flavor, having grown to prefer the bitterness of the elixir. Watching as the view suddenly changes from the glistening Australian waters to one of windmills, tulips, and canals—a view that could mean only one thing.

“Amsterdam?” The word quivers in my throat, reminding me of our shared history, back when he was Bastiaan de Kool and I was his muse. And I can’t help but wonder if he somehow senses it too. Like now that we’re here, those long-ago memories are somehow restored, even though it’s never worked that way for me.

He shrugs, surprised by my reaction when he says, “I’ve never been. I thought it would be cool. But if you’d rather I make something else—”

And before I can object, tell him to enjoy the fantasy for as long as he likes, I’m sitting in a gondola in Venice, dressed in an elaborate pink-and-cream-colored gown, a tangle of jewels at my neck. Lounging against a pile of red velvet cushions as I gaze upon the magnificent buildings lining our route, stealing the occasional glance at Jude, now dressed in the black pants, striped shirt, and straw hat of a traditional Venetian gondolier, watching as he steers us through the calm and still waters.