Though I have no idea how to convince Damen of that.

“Is this really how you want to spend our winter break? Sleuthing after some demented old woman’s riddle? Trying to track down a deeper meaning that, in my humble opinion, does not exist?”

Better than the alternative, I think, though I restrict the words to my head. Remembering Sabine’s face the night after I’d finally returned home in the wee hours of the morning—just after sending my former best friend to the Shadowland and the impromptu memorial that followed in Summerland. The way she looked at me, her robe cinched tightly around her, her lips colorless and grim. But her eyes were the worst—the normally bright blue irises eclipsed by the deep lavender circles that spread just beneath. Staring at me with a horrible combination of anger and fear, her voice harsh, the words measured, well rehearsed, when she gave me the choice between getting the help she’s convinced that I need or finding another place to live. Sure I was just being obstinate when I nodded, circled back, and made my way out the door.

Made my way over to Damen’s, where I’ve been ever since.

I clear the thought from my head, tucking it away to a place I’ll later revisit. Knowing that at some point I’ll have to deal with our issues head-on, but for now, this situation with the dark side of Summerland clearly takes precedence.

I can’t allow for distractions, not when I still have one more good point to make. Something I know he’d hoped would go unmentioned the moment I notice the flash of trouble that crosses his face.

“She knew your name,” I say, dismayed by the way he casually lifts his shoulders, tries to wave it away.

“She hangs out in Summerland, a place where knowledge is plentiful. There for the taking.” He quirks a brow as his mouth tugs up at the side. “I’m sure it’s all there in the Great Halls of Learning for just about anyone to find.”

“Not just anyone,” I state. “Only the worthy.” Having experienced its opposite firsthand, remembering the not-so-long-ago time when I was counted among the un worthy, when the Great Halls of Learning barred me from entering until I pulled myself together, and got my good mojo—as Jude would say—back on track again. A terrible time I hope to never revisit.

Damen looks at me, and while it’s clear he has no immediate plans to surrender, it’s also clear he’s all for finding a compromise. This sort of defensiveness and evasiveness is getting us nowhere. We need action. We need to form a plan.

“She knew you were called Esposito.” I eyeball him carefully, wondering how he’ll try to squirm out of that. “Your orphan name,” I add, referring to the name that was imposed on him back when he was mortal, just after his parents were murdered and he, left alone with no one to care for him, became a ward of the church.

And though he’s quick to reply, saying, “Again, more information that’s available to anyone who seeks it. Amounting to no more than an unhappy memory of a long-ago past I prefer not to dwell on.” He chases it with a sigh, a sure sign that the fight’s seeping out of him along with his breath.

“She also called you by another name. Notte?” I look at him, my gaze making it clear that while he may prefer to brush it off and move on to other subjects, I’m not quite through with this one. I need answers. Real and solid answers. A shrug and quirked eyebrow don’t begin to qualify.

He turns away, but only for a moment, before he’s back to facing me. And the way his shoulders slope, the way his hands sink deep into his pockets, the way his jaw softens in silent resignation—well, it makes me feel bad for pushing it like this. Though the feeling doesn’t last long, it’s soon overruled by curiosity, as I cross all my limbs and wait for his reply.

“Notte.” He nods, giving the name a beautiful, Italian twist I couldn’t manage if I’d tried. “One of my names. One of the many, many surnames I went by.”

I look at him, not allowing myself to blink, not wanting to miss a thing.

Watching the path of his long lean body as he swallows, rubs his chin, crosses his legs at the ankle, and settles back against the window ledge. Taking a moment to mess with the shutters, gaze out at the pool, the moonlit ocean beyond, before snapping it shut and turning to me. “She called me Augustus too, which was my second name—my middle name. My mother insisted on one, though they weren’t so common at the time. And, since you and I first met in August, on August eighth to be exact, well, I later adopted it as a last name, changing it a bit to match the month, thinking there was some kind of deeper meaning behind it. That it somehow connected me to you.”

I swallow hard, my fingers fiddling with the crystal horseshoe bracelet he gave me that day at the track, a little overwhelmed by a sentiment I didn’t expect.

“But, you have to understand, Ever, I’ve been around for a very long time. I had no choice but to change my identity every now and again. I couldn’t afford for anyone to catch on to my abnormally long life span, as well as the truth of… what I am.”

I nod, everything he’s said so far makes perfect sense, but there’s more, much more, and he knows it. “So how far back does the name Notte go, anyway?” I ask.

He shutters his eyes, rubs the lids. Keeping them closed when he says, “All the way back. Back to the very beginning. It’s my family name. My true surname.”

I steady my breath, determined not to overreact. My mind swimming with so many questions, the most prominent being: How the hell did the old lady know that? Soon followed by: How the hell did the old lady know that when I didn’t even know that?