“Rayne!” Ava scolds.

But Rayne just shrugs, claiming, “What? It’s not like I said ‘damn’, the song did. I was merely repeating.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Your intent far outweighs your words.” Ava’s face darkens.

“Sorry,” Rayne mumbles, and though she looks at me when she says it, it was clearly for Ava’s benefit.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Damen says, prompting us all to turn, surprised to hear him speak up again. “It reminds me of 1968 when the Beatles released the White Album after their stay in India. Everyone was trying to interpret the lyrics, searching for some kind of deeper meaning, and, as it turned out, most of them were wrong—some of which ended in tragic results.”

“Charles Manson.” Jude nods, leaning back in his seat again, his fingers picking at the ancient Mayan symbol on the front of his T-shirt. “He thought the entire album contained an apocalyptic message, calling for a race war, and he used it to justify killing the wealthy, which he and his family of followers did.”

I shudder. I can’t help it. The whole idea is too creepy. Still, that’s hardly what we’re doing here, and I’ve a pretty good idea Damen knows it.

“While that may be all well and true,” I say, carefully avoiding his gaze, “there’s definitely a message here. And, according to Lotus anyway, there’s also a journey that only I can make.” Then, surprising just about everyone, including myself, I look right at Jude when I say, “All that time you’ve spent in Summerland, all that time you’ve studied your past lives—our past lives—have you ever seen one I don’t know about? One that surprised you? One where I was named Adelina?”

I hold my breath, allowing myself to exhale only when he shakes his head and says, “Sorry, no.”

“Okay then.” Damen nods, divorcing himself of the wall, signaling that this meeting is now officially adjourned. “I think we’ve covered about all that we can here, no?”

And even though I want to protest that the answer is, indeed, no, I just nod and go with it.

Partly because I know he’s only doing what he thinks is right. Trying to protect me from Lotus, the dark part of Summerland, and heck, maybe even myself.

And partly because, well, he’s probably right. There probably is no more to do here. Even though I’m reluctant to admit it, it appears we’ve uncovered all that we can.

Or at least for now anyway.

As for the rest—well, I’m hoping it’ll reveal itself somewhere along the journey.

Chapter ten

“Are you going in?”

Damen stands beside me, right beside me. His body so close to mine I can feel his swarm of tingle and heat, his warm breath brushing softly along the curve of my cheek.

“No,” I whisper. “I—I can’t do it.” I swallow hard, wrapping my arms around myself as I continue to peer inside. Feeling like the worst kind of creepy stalker for standing out here in the dark, spying on Sabine and Munoz instead of just going around to the front, opening the door, and going in to join them like a normal person would.

But I’m not normal.

Not even close.

And that’s pretty much what keeps me crouching out here in the dark, on the wrong side of her window.

If you’re not going in, can you at least tell me what we’re doing out here? The words thought instead of spoken, he doesn’t want to risk being heard.

I’m saying good-bye. I sigh. I’m preparing for a future without her.

Though I’m facing the wrong way to see his expression, I can feel the way his energy shifts, the way it broadens and expands until it swallows us both. Providing a wonderful, warm, hug-like embrace that lingers well past the point when his arm catches up and follows suit.

“Ever…” he whispers, hands clasped at my waist, lips pushing through my curtain of hair to land on my cheek. And even though it seemed like something might follow, he chooses to end it right there. Allowing the kiss to do what words fail to.

We huddle together, watching as the happy couple picks at the remaining scraps of dinner. Each of them urging the other to claim the last slice of pizza before Sabine waves her hand and reaches for her wineglass and Monoz laughs and digs in.

But despite their playful attitude, it’s not hard to locate the glint of remorse in Sabine’s gaze, the flicker of defeat at having taken a chance, issued an ultimatum, only to fail at the one thing that truly meant something to her.

A look that’s almost enough to rouse me from my position at the window so I can hurl myself in there and show her that all is okay, all is forgiven.

Almost, but not quite.

Instead, I remain right in place, observing their date. She still in her suit, which, coupled with the pizza, signals a late night at work; while Munoz is dressed far more informally, wearing a pair of broken-in jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt with the cuffs rolled halfway to his elbows, enjoying a little time off from school, using his winter break to work on his book.

The one he was about to give up on.

The one I told him would be published someday.

Well, at least some good came of my abilities. They may have alienated Sabine, but at least I managed to convince Munoz to not give up on his dream.

And I’m so lost in the thought, and Damen’s so lost in the act of comforting me, that neither one of us is prepared for Munoz to burst through the side door with an overstuffed trash bag in hand.