But I don’t say any of that. Mostly because Damen—my soul mate—the love of my lives—is always the one I can count on to diffuse my emotional land mines well before they have a chance to explode in our faces. So the least I can do is return the favor.

He looks at me, still clearly unhappy. So I keep my voice purposely soft and mellow, relaxing my body and holding my hands out before me, fingers splayed, palms open in a gesture of peace when I say, “Are you upset because I stopped the scene and popped out of character? Or are you upset because I insinuated you might’ve lived before, as somebody else? Or—or both? And if it’s both, which is upsetting you more?”

I wait for him to respond. Braced for the worst, braced to hear just about anything at this point, and yet still taken by surprise when he says, “This whole thing is ridiculous. I mean, a previous life? Ever, please. I’ve been around for over six hundred years already, doesn’t that seem long enough to you?”

“O—kay…” I drag out the word, intent on making my point, but knowing I need to tread carefully, this whole subject has clearly hit a nerve. “And I’ve popped in and out of existence for four hundred years… that we know of.” I nod, knowing it’s sure to upset him but it has to be said.

“That you know of?” He looks at me, choosing to take that personally. “You think there’s more that I’m hiding from you? Another slave life perhaps?”

“No.” I shake my head, quick to refute it, wanting desperately to diffuse it. “No, not at all. I was actually thinking more along the lines of there being other lives that—that we’re not aware of. I mean, Damen, seriously, you’ve got to at least admit the possibility. I mean, what? You think the world just sprang up all around you the day you came into the world as Damen Augustus Notte? You think you were some newly hatched soul with no past? No karma to pay off?”

His brows draw together as his eyes grow dark, but his voice remains calm, even, when he says, “I’m sorry, Ever. Sorry to trump your idea with the truth. But the fact is, a soul has to start somewhere, to be ‘newly hatched’ as you call it. So why not then and there?

Besides, if there’d been another life, an earlier life, I would’ve known about it by now. I would’ve seen it in the Shadowland.”

“So, you’re telling me you didn’t?” I’m unwilling to let it go, despite the undeniable point he’s just made, despite the steam running out of me.

“I did not.” He nods, face solemn, resolute, determined not to gloat with the victory of winning this one.

I sigh, close my eyes, and shove my hands deep into my pockets. Recalling my own trip to Shadowland, the blur of images that played out before me—all around me—never once seeing anything that wasn’t expected—no prior lives I wasn’t already aware of.

No other version of me that went by the name Adelina.

Nothing that took place in the year 1308.

My lids lifting only to find Damen standing before me, his gaze soft and gentle, pressing a bundle of tulips into my hand. The words I’m sorry, written in an elaborate bold purple script that hovers between us.

Me too, I write just underneath. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.

“I know,” he whispers, his arms moving around me as I close my eyes and lean into the hug, savoring the feel of his body against mine. “And I know I’m going to live to regret this, but you can have your week back. Really. Investigate your heart out and I’ll do what I can to help you search. But when the week is over, Ever, you’re all mine. I’m making some serious vacation plans.”

Chapter seven

“When I agreed to help you search, I thought we’d be in the Great Halls of Learning. What are we going to do here? Set up camp for the next six days?” He looks at me, face aghast by the very thought of it. Having assumed his days of roughing it, of going without the things he’s grown accustomed to, like magick, and manifesting, not to mention indoor plumbing, were solidly behind him, he’s more than a little dismayed to find himself here. “What if she doesn’t return? What then?” He settles in beside me, his body heaving a little more forcefully than necessary, or at least it seems that way to me. His movements causing the plastic tarp to sink and shake, resulting in a disgusting slurping-type sound as the ground burps and settles beneath us.

A sound that sets me off in a fit of giggles, I can’t help it. But he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes, totally and completely over it.

Having been smart enough to manifest two big plastic tarps—one to sit on, and one to shield us from the constant onslaught of rain—along with a few other essentials just before reaching this point—the part of Summerland where magick goes unrecognized, and manifesting does not exist—I can’t help but think we should’ve made something more—like a fully loaded RV perhaps that we could’ve parked off to the side. Still, I’m determined to make the best of it, to wait it out until the old lady shows up again.

And she better show up or I’ll never live this one down.

The ground continues to sink and slosh every time one of us makes even the slightest adjustment, forcing me to swallow a whole new set of giggles and return my focus to Damen when I say, “Instead of worrying about what you’ll do if she doesn’t come, maybe you should start thinking about what you’ll do when she does come. I mean, after all, isn’t that why we’re here?”