Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Shadowland: Chapter 25

Even though I’d hoped to be long gone by the time Munoz swung by to pick up Sabine, the second I pull into my drive I glance at my rearview mirror only to find him right there behind me.

Early.

Ten minutes early in fact.

The same ten minutes I’d earmarked for racing home from work and changing into something properly somber, before fleeing the scene and heading for Haven’s front yard where Charm’s memorial service will be held.

“Ever?” He climbs out of his shiny silver Prius, jangling his keys and squinting at me. “What are you doing here?” He tilts his head as he approaches, enveloping me in a cloud of Axe bodyspray.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, slamming my car door much harder than planned. “Funny thing. I—um—I actually live here.”

He looks at me, face so still I’m not sure he heard until he shakes his head and repeats, “You live here?”

I nod, refusing to say anything more.

“But—” He gazes around, taking in the stone façade, the front steps, the recently clipped lawn, the beds of flowers beginning to bloom. “But this is Sabine’s house—isn’t it?”

I pause, tempted to tell him no, that this faux Tuscan, Laguna Beach McMansion isn’t Sabine’s house at all. That he’s obviously made some kind of mistake and ended up at my house instead.

But just as I’m about to, Sabine pulls right up beside us. Jumping out of her car with way too much enthusiasm when she says, “Oh! Paul! So sorry I’m late—the office was crazy and every time I tried to leave something else got in the way—” She shakes her head, gazing up at him in a way that’s far too flirtatious for a first date. “But if you could just give me a minute, I’ll run upstairs and change so we can get going. It shouldn’t take long.”

Paul?

I glance between them, noting her happy, lilting, singsongy tone, and not liking the sound of it, not liking it at all. It’s too intimate. Too forward. She should be forced to call him Mr. Munoz like we do at school. At least until the end of tonight, after which, of course, they’ll mutually decide to go their separate ways…

He smiles, raking his hand through his longish, wavy brown hair, like the worst kind of show-off. I mean, just because he has exceptionally cool hair for a teacher, doesn’t mean he should flaunt it like that.

“I’m a few minutes early,” he says, gaze locked on hers. “So please, take as much time as you need. I’m fine talking with Ever here.”

“So you’ve met?” Sabine rests her overstuffed briefcase against her hip, glancing between us.

I shake my head, blurting, “No!” before I can stop. Unsure if I’m saying no to her question, or to this whole situation. But still, there it is, an unequivocal no, and I’ve no plans to rescind it. “I mean, yeah, we’ve met and all but—just now.” I pause, their eyes narrowed, as confused as I am as to where this is going. “What I mean is, it’s not like we knew each other before or anything.” I peer at them, knowing I’ve only confused them more. “Anyway, he’s right. You should just—um—go upstairs and get ready—and—” I jab my thumb toward Munoz since there’s no way I’m calling him Paul, no way I’m calling him anything. “And we’ll just hang here until you’re ready.” I smile, hoping to keep him outside, on the driveway, far from my den.

But unfortunately, Sabine’s manners are much better than mine. And I’ve barely finished the sentence before she shakes her head and says, “Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside and relax. And, Ever, why don’t you order yourself a pizza or something since I haven’t had time to get to the store.”

I follow, lagging behind as much as I can without literally dragging my feet. Partly in protest, and partly because I can’t risk bumping into either of them, not trusting my quantum remote to bar me from a sneak peek of their date.

Sabine unlocks the front door, glancing over her shoulder as she says, “Ever? Okay? You’re good with the pizza?”

I shrug, remembering the two slices of vegetarian Jude left me, which I proceeded to tear into little bits and flush down the toilet as soon as he left. “I’m good. I grabbed a little something at work.” I meet her gaze, thinking this just might be the perfect time to tell her, knowing she won’t freak with Munoz (Paul!) standing nearby.

“You got a job?” She gapes, all wide-eyed and slack jawed right there in the entryway.

“Um, yeah.” I pull my shoulders in and start scratching my arm even though it doesn’t itch. “I thought I told you, no?”

“No.” She shoots me a look that’s loaded with meaning—none of it good. “You definitely failed to mention it.”

I shrug, picking at the hem of my shirt, trying to appear unconcerned. “Oh, well, there it is. I’m officially employed.” Chasing it with a laugh that, even to my ears, rings false.

“And just where did you get this job of yours?” she asks, voice lowered, gaze following Munoz as he heads into the den, eager to avoid all the bad mojo I’ve so brilliantly introduced.

“Downtown. At a place that sells books and—stuff.”

She squints.

“Listen,” I say. “Why don’t we discuss this later? I’d hate for you guys to be late or anything.” I glance toward the den where Munoz is hunkered down on the couch.

She glances at the den, expression grim, voice low and urgent when she says, “I’m glad you found a job, Ever, don’t get me wrong. I just wish you would’ve told me, that’s all. We’ll need to find a replacement for you at work now, and—” She shakes her head. “Well, we’ll talk about this later. Tonight. When I get back.”

And even though I’m thrilled to learn that her plans with Munoz do not extend to the morning, I still look at her and say, “Um, here’s the thing. Haven’s cat died, and she’s having this memorial service, and she’s really upset, which means it could run really late, so—” I shrug, not bothering to finish, allowing her to fill in the blanks that I’ve left.

“Tomorrow then.” She turns. “Now go talk to Paul while I change.”

She runs up the stairs, briefcase swinging, heels pounding, as I take a deep breath and make for the den, taking my place behind a big, sturdy armchair, hardly believing it’s come to this.

“Just so you know, I’m not calling you Paul,” I say, taking in his designer jeans, untucked shirt, hipster watch, and shoes that are way too cool for any teacher to wear.

“That’s a relief.” He smiles, gaze light and easy, resting on mine. “Might get kind of awkward at school.”

I swallow hard, fiddling with the back of the chair, unsure just where I’m expected to take it from here. Because even though my entire life is undeniably weird, being forced to make entertaining banter with my history teacher who knows one of my biggest secrets takes it to a whole new level.

But apparently I’m the only one who’s uncomfortable around here. Munoz is completely relaxed, sitting back on the coach, foot resting on knee, the absolute picture of ease. “So what exactly is your relationship to Sabine?” he asks, arms spread wide across the cushions.

“She’s my aunt.” I study him, checking for signs of disbelief, confusion, surprise, but all I get is an interested gaze. “She became my legal guardian when my parents passed away.” I lift my shoulders and look at him.

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry—” He scrunches his face, voice fading as sadness fills up the space.

“My sister died too.” I nod, caught up in it now. “As did Buttercup. She was our dog.”

“Ever—” He shakes his head in the way people do when they can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be you. “I—”

“I died too,” I add, before he can finish. Not wanting to hear his awkward condolences, struggling to find just the right words when the truth is, those words don’t exist. “I died right alongside them—but only for a few seconds, and then I was—” brought back, resurrected, given the elixir that grants eternal life—I shake my head. “Well, then I woke up.” I shrug, wondering why I just confessed all of that.

“Is that when you became psychic?” His gaze is unwavering, fixed right on mine.

I glance toward the stairway, making sure Sabine’s nowhere near, then I glance at Munoz and just nod.

“It happens,” he says, neither surprised nor judgmental, more matter of fact. “I’ve read up on it a bit. It’s a lot more common than you’d think. A lot of people come back changed or altered in some way.”

I gaze down at the chair, fingers tracing along the top of the cushion, glad for the information but realizing I have no clue how to respond.

“And from the way you’re fidgeting and glancing at the stairs every five seconds, I’m guessing Sabine doesn’t know?”

I look at him, trying to lighten the mood when I say, “So who’s psychic now? Me or you?”

But he just smiles, searching my face with a new understanding that, thankfully, erases the look of pity that lived there before.

We stay like that, him looking at me, me studying the chair, the silence lingering for so long I finally shake my head and say, “Trust me, Sabine wouldn’t understand. She’d—” I dig the toe of my sneaker into the carpet’s tight weave, unsure just where to take it from here but knowing it’s imperative that I make myself clear. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s a great person, really smart, and a super successful lawyer and all, but it’s like—” I shake my head. “Well, let’s just say she’s a big fan of black and white. She’s not so big on gray.” I press my lips together and look away, knowing I’ve said more than enough, but needing to make one final thing clear. “But please don’t tell her about me—okay? I mean, you won’t—will you?”

I peer at him, holding my breath as he considers, taking his time as Sabine heads down the stairs. And just when I’m sure I can’t take another second he says, “We’ll make a deal. You stop cutting class and I won’t say a word. How’s that?”

How’s that? Is he kidding? He’s practically blackmailing me!

I mean, I know I’m not in the best position—especially since I’m the only one with something to lose, but still. I glance over my shoulder, seeing Sabine pause in front of the mirror, double-checking her teeth for stray lipstick tracks, as I turn toward him and whisper, “What does it matter? There’s only a week left! And we both know I’m getting an A.”

He nods, rising from his seat, a smile widening his cheeks as he takes in Sabine, though his words are directed at me. “Which is why you have no good reason not to be there, right?”

“To not be where?” Sabine asks, looking way too beautiful with her smoky eye makeup, fluffy blond hair, and an outfit that Stacia Miller would probably sell a kidney for if she were twenty years older.

I start to speak, not trusting Munoz not to blow my cover, but he jumps right in, voice overpowering mine when he says, “I was just telling Ever to get on with her plans. There’s no need to stick around and entertain me.”

Sabine glances between us until her gaze rests on Paul. And even though it’s nice to see her looking so relaxed and happy and eager to get the night going, the second he places his hand on the small of her back and leads her toward the front door, it’s all I can do not to hurl.

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