Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Shadowland: Chapter 5

When I get to the lunch table I sit beside Damen, relieved to replace everything as normal as any other day. Damen’s gloved hand squeezing my knee as I quickly scan the campus, looking for Roman as he thinks: He’s gone.

Gone? I gape, hoping he means gone as in not around, as opposed to gone as in pile of dust.

But Damen just laughs, the smooth melodic sound reverberating from his head to mine. Not annihilated. I assure you. Just—absent—that’s all. Drove off a few minutes ago with some guy I’ve never seen before.

Did you talk? Did he try to provoke you? Damen shakes his head, his eyes peering into mine as I add: Good. Because we can’t afford to go after him—no matter what! He has the antidote! He admitted it! Which means all we have to do now is replace a way to—

Ever. He frowns. You can’t possibly believe him! This is what Roman does. He lies and manipulates everyone around him. You have to stay away from him—he’s using you—he can’t be trusted—

I shake my head. This time is different. I can feel it. And I need for Damen to feel it too. He’s not lying—seriously—he said—

Not even finishing the thought before Haven leans forward, eyes darting between us as she says, “Okay, that’s it. Just what the heck is going on here? Seriously, enough already.”

I turn, noticing how her friendly yellow aura beams in such sudden sharp contrast to the deliberate harshness of her all-black ensemble. Knowing she means no ill will though she’s definitely disturbed by us.

“Seriously. It’s like—it’s like you guys have some kind of creepy way of communicating. Like twin speak or something. Only yours is silent. And more eerie.”

I shrug and open my lunch pack, going through the motions of unwrapping a sandwich I’ve no plans to eat, determined to hide just how alarmed her question has made me. Knocking my knee against Damen’s, telepathically urging him to step in and handle this since I’ve no idea what to say.

“Don’t pretend it’s not happening.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’ve been watching you guys for a while now, and it’s really starting to creep me out.”

“What’s creeping you out?” Miles gazes up from his phone, but only for a moment before he’s back to texting again.

“Those two.” She points a short, black painted nail with a chunk of pink frosting stuck to its tip. “I swear, they get stranger every day.”

Miles nods, setting down his phone as he takes a moment to look us over. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that. You guys are weird.” He laughs. “Oh, and the whole Michael Jackson, one glove thing?” He shakes his head and purses his lips. “So not working for you. That look is so played even you can’t bring it back.”

Haven frowns, annoyed by Miles’s joke when she’s trying to be serious. “Laugh all you want,” she says, gaze steady, unwavering. “But something’s up with those two. I may not know what, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll get to the bottom of it. You’ll see.”

And I’m just about to speak when Damen shakes his head and swirls his red drink, leaning toward Haven as he says, “Don’t waste your time. It’s not as sinister as you think.” He smiles, gaze fixed on hers. “We’re practicing telepathy, that’s all. Attempting to read each other’s minds in place of talking all the time. So we stop getting in trouble in class.” He laughs, causing me to squeeze my sandwich so hard the mayonnaise squirts out the sides. Gaping at my boyfriend who’s just arbitrarily decided to break our number one rule—Don’t tell anyone who we are or what we can do!

Calming only slightly when Haven rolls her eyes and says, “Please. I’m not an idiot.”

“Wasn’t implying you were.” Damen smiles. “It’s quite real, I assure you. Would you like to try?”

I freeze, body solid, unmoving, as though witnessing a disaster on the side of the road—only this particular disaster is me.

“Close your eyes and think of a number between one and ten.” He nods, solemn gaze meeting hers. “Focus on that number with all of your might. See it in your mind as clearly as you can, and silently repeat the sound of it over and over again. Got it?”

She shrugs, brows merging as though in deep concentration. Though all it takes is a quick glance at her aura, morphing into a dark deceitful green, and a brief peek at her thoughts to see she’s only pretending. Choosing to concentrate on the color blue instead of a random number like Damen said.

I glance between them, knowing she’s baiting him, sure that his one in ten chance of hitting the right number works too much in his favor. Holding her ground as he rubs his chin and shakes his head, saying, “I don’t seem to be getting anything. Are you sure you’re thinking of a number between one and ten?”

She nods, deepening her focus on a beautiful shade of pulsating blue.

“Then we must have our wires crossed.” He shrugs. “I’m not getting a number at all.”

“Try me!” Miles abandons his phone and leans toward Damen.

Eyes barely closed, thoughts hardly focused before Damen gasps, “You’re going to Florence?”

Miles shakes his head. “Three. For your information, the number was three.” He rolls his eyes and smirks. “And by the way, everyone knows I’m going to Florence. So—nice try.”

“Everyone but me,” Damen says, jaws clenched, face gone suddenly pale.

“Well, I’m sure Ever told you. You know, telepathically.” He laughs, returning to his phone again.

I peer at Damen, wondering why he’s so upset over Miles’s trip. I mean, yeah, so he used to live there, but that was hundreds of years ago! I squeeze his hand, urging him to look at me, but he just stares at Miles with that same stricken look on his face.

“Nice try with the whole telepathy angle,” Haven says, swiping her finger across the top of her cupcake until it’s coated with strawberry frosting. “But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that. All you’ve managed to prove is that you guys are even weirder than I thought. But no worries, I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’ll expose your dirty little secret before long.”

I hold back a nervous laugh, hoping she’s just messing around, then peering into her mind only to see that she’s serious.

“When are you leaving?” Damen asks, but only to appear conversational, having already uncovered the answer in Miles’s head.

“Soon, but not soon enough,” Miles says, eyes lighting up. “Let the countdown begin!”

Damen nods, gaze softening as he says, “You’ll love it. Everyone loves it. Firenze is a beautiful, charming place.”

“You’ve been?” Miles and Haven both ask at the same time.

Damen nods, gaze far away. “I lived there once—a long time ago.”

Haven glances between us, eyes narrowed again when she says, “Drina and Roman lived there too.”

Damen shrugs, expression noncommittal, as though the connection means nothing to him.

“Well, don’t you think that’s a little strange? All of you living in Italy, in the same place, then all of you ending up here—within months of each other?” She leans toward him, abandoning her cupcake in search of some answers.

But Damen’s solid, refusing to cave or do anything that might give it away. He just sips his red drink and lifts his shoulders again, as though it’s hardly worth going into.

“Is there anything I should see while I’m there?” Miles asks, more to break the tension than anything else. “Anything that shouldn’t be missed?”

Damen squints, pretending to think, even though the answer comes quickly. “All of Florence is worth seeing. But you should definitely check out the Ponte Vecchio, which is the first bridge to cross the Arno River and the only one left standing after the war. Oh, and you must visit the Galleria dell’Accademia which houses Michelangelo’s David among other important works, and perhaps the—”

“Definitely hitting David,” Miles says. “As well as the bridge, and the famous Il Duomo, and all the other items that make every guidebook top ten list, but I’m more interested in the smaller, off-the-beaten-path kind of places—you know, where all the cool Florentines go. Roman was raving about this one place, I forget the name, but it’s supposed to house some obscure Renaissance artifacts and paintings and stuff few people know about. You got anything like that? Or even clubs, shopping, that kind of thing?”

Damen looks at him, gaze so intense it sends a chill down my spine. “Nothing offhand,” he says, trying to soften the look though his voice betrays a definite edge. “Though any place that claims to house great art but isn’t in the guidebook is probably a fake. The antiquities market is loaded with forgeries. You shouldn’t waste your time on that when there are so many other, far more interesting things to see.”

Miles shrugs, bored by the conversation and already back to texting again. “Whatever,” he mumbles, thumbs tapping quickly. “No worries. Roman said he’d make me a list.”