I heave my T-shirt knapsack over my shoulder, reassured by its heft that the fruit survived the trip home, knowing how the things that are manifested in Summerland never survive the trip to the earth plane. But then, it’s not like I manifested the fruit. The tree is responsible for that, which is probably the only reason it’s with me.

I head for Jude’s store, figuring I can drop in, make sure he’s okay, and find a subtle way to inquire about the date. But instead of finding Jude, I end up finding pretty much the last person I ever would’ve expected.

Okay, maybe not the last person, because that would actually be Sabine. Still, I’m not gonna lie, the second I see Honor working behind the counter of Mystics and Moonbeams, chatting with a customer as she rings up what looks to be a pretty sizable sale, well, I just stop right then and there, my body stalled in an eye-bugging, jaw-dropping stare.

I was expecting to see Jude, or maybe Ava, or possibly even someone else altogether. But I never expected to see Honor. In fact, she didn’t even make the long list of suspects.

She glances up from the register, shoots me a hurried look, then gets right back to number punching, card sliding, and packaging.

Her face bearing no sign of how she might feel about seeing me standing before her, which, I gotta say is far more than I can say for my own gaping reaction to her.

The last I’d heard Jude had phased out of teaching the psychic development level one (with a small emphasis on self-empowerment and magick) classes when Honor ended up being his only student. And after a few one-on-one, private tutorials, he’d determined it was best to stop altogether. Which, I have to admit, I was relieved to hear since Honor wasn’t exactly using her newfound skills with the best of intentions, or for the best reasons.

I mean, no matter how awful Stacia may be (and believe me, she is really and truly awful), I just couldn’t allow Haven and Honor’s coup against her to continue. It just wasn’t right—too many people were getting hurt in the fallout. And it’s not like the two of them were doing any better once they’d taken Stacia’s place. If anything, they were pretty much mimicking her very worst behavior.

Last I saw, Honor and Stacia had kissed and made up, so to speak, but only because I’d pretty much forced them to do it. And now, after having been gone for who knows how long, I have no idea what’s transpired from there. For all I know, they’re both right back to being their awful old selves, indulging in their awful old ways. Still, I hope that I’m wrong. I hope they’ve at least tried to move on to doing something a little more productive with their lives.

The customer grabs her bag and breezes right past me on her way out the door, as Honor takes a moment to handle the receipt.

Carefully placing it into the little purple box where Jude keeps them, before settling onto the stool and addressing me.

“Well, well.” She shakes her head as her eyes travel the length of me, giving me a very thorough once-over, careful to hide any hints of just how she might feel about my showing up here. “You were pretty much the last person I expected to see.”

“Jude around?” I ask, unwilling to play her game, if that’s what it is. It’s kind of hard to tell just what she’s up to, or what her motive might be. “Or even Ava?” I add, making it clear I’m willing to speak to just about anyone but her.

“Ava will be in soon,” she says, still peering at me. “Same for Jude.” She smiles, an involuntary curving of lips that disappears just as quickly.

I approach the counter, meeting her stare with one of my own. Watching as she lifts her shoulders, leans back against the wall, and continues to study me.

“How long have you been working here?” I ask, as opposed to my real question: What day, time, and/or month is it? Knowing they must’ve hired her to fill in for me, and figuring her answer will give me an indication of just how long I’ve been gone.

“’Bout six months. Give or take.” She shrugs, pushes a chunk of copper-streaked hair back behind her ear, then focuses on the state of her cuticles, while my mind reels with her answer.

Six months.

Six months?

Six months!

The room swimming before me, forcing me to grab hold of the counter in an effort to steady myself.

Six months puts me well into May.

Puts me at the tail end of the second semester of my senior year.

Puts me at great risk of flunking out entirely unless I work some serious manifesting magick back in the school administrator’s office!

And I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for Damen—if he’s in danger of flunking out too. Or if he managed to get back here with plenty of time to spare, while the journey to the Tree of Life put me over the edge, all of those seasons I was forced to find my way through.

But then, Damen’s never cared much about school. The only reason he enrolled is the same reason he stayed—because of me. After six centuries of living, he hardly sees the point. And though I’ve recently taken a similar stance (as evidenced by my poor attendance even before I left on my journey), it’s not like I ever intended to flunk out.

It’s not like I ever dreamed of being a dropout.

I mean, even if I once believed I had no need for SATs, grade point averages, or college applications, even if I assumed that my being immortal precluded me from having any use for that type of thing, I still never imagined not finishing high school.

Tossing my cap into the air at graduation is pretty much the one normal thing I assumed that I’d do.