I head into English, arriving early so I can observe all the action from start to finish. Not wanting to miss a single second of my planned surveillance. Because even though I have visual proof that Roman's responsible for what's happening to Damen—it gets me only so far. And now that the who part of the equation is solved, it's time to move on to the how and why. I just hope it doesn't take too long. I mean, for one thing, I miss Damen. And for another, I'm so low on immortal juice I'm already forced to ration it. And since Damen never got around to giving me the recipe, I've no idea how to replace it, much less what will happen without it. Though I'm sure it's not good. Originally, Damen thought he could just drink the elixir once and be cured of all ills. And while that worked for the first one hundred and fifty years, when he started to see subtle signs of aging he decided to drink it again. And then again. Until he ultimately became totally dependent.

He also didn't realize that an immortal could be killed until after I took down his ex-wife, Drina. And while both of us were sure that targeting the weakest chakra was the only method (the heart chakra in Drina's case), and while I'm still sure that we're the only ones who know that—according to what I saw yesterday in the akashic records, Roman's discovered another way. Which means if I have any hope of saving Damen, I need to learn what Roman knows, before it's too late. When the door finally opens, I lift my gaze as a horde of students burst in. And even though it's not the first time I've seen it, it's still hard to watch them all laughing and joking and getting along, when just last week they barely acknowledged each other. And even though it's pretty much the kind of scene anyone would dream of seeing in their school, under the circumstances, it's not giving me the thrill that it should.

And not just because I'm stuck on the outside looking in, but because it's creepy, unnatural, and weird. I mean, high schools don't operate like this. Heck, people don't operate like this. Like will always seek like and that's just the way it is. It's just one of those unspoken rules. Besides, this isn't something they've chosen to do. Because little do they realize that all of that hugging, laughing, and ridiculous high-fiving is not because of their newfound love for each other—it's because of Roman. Like a master puppeteer controlling his subjects for his own amusement—Roman is responsible. Andwhile I don't know how or why he's doing it, and while I can't prove that he actually is doing it, I just know in my heart that it's true. It's as clear as the pingin my gut or the chill that blankets my skin whenever he's near.

I watch as Damen slides onto his seat as Stacia leans on his desk, her heavily padded pushed-up chest looming close to his face as she swings her hair over her shoulder and laughs at her own stupid wit. And even though I can't hear the joke since I purposely tuned her out in order to better hear Damen, the fact that he thinks it's stupid, is good enough for me.

It also gives me a small burst of hope. A burst of hope that soon ends the second his attention returns to her cleavage. I mean, he's so banal, so juvenile, and to be honest—completely embarrassing. And if I thought my feelings were hurt yesterday, when I was forced to watch him make out with Drina, well, in retrospect, that was nothing compared to this. Because Drina was then, nothing more than a beautiful, empty, shallow image on a rock. But Stacia is now. And even though she's beautiful, empty, and shallow too—she happens to be standing right before me in all of her three-dimensional glory.

I listen to Damen's diluted brain wax all rhapsodi cover the virtues and abundance of Stacia's heavily padded chest, and I can't help but wonder if this is his real taste in women. If these bratty, greedy, vain girls are the kind of females he truly prefers. And if I'm just some weird anomaly, some quirky odd fluke, that kept getting in the way the last four hundred years. I keep my eye on him all through class, watching from my lone seat in the back. Automatically answering Mr. Robins's questions without even thinking, just repeating the answer I see in his head. My mind never straying from Damen, reminding myself, again and again, of who he really is: That despite all appearances, he's good, kind, caring, and loyal—the undisputed love of my numerous lives. And that this version sitting before me is not the real deal—no matter how much it may mirror some of the behaviors revealed yesterday—it's not who he is.

And when the bell finally rings, I follow him. Keeping tabs on him all through second period P.E. (mostly because I don't go), choosing to linger outside his classroom when I'm supposed to be running track. Slipping out of sight the moment I sense the hall monitors about to stroll by, then returning as soon as they've passed. Peering at him through the window and eavesdropping on all of his thoughts, just like the stalker he's accused me of being. Not knowing whether to feel disturbed or relieved when I discover that his attentions aren't strictly relegated to Stacia—that they're pretty much available for whoever's semi good-looking and sitting nearby—unless, of course, that someone is me. And while third period is also spent spying on Damen, by fourth, I switch my focus to Roman. Looking him right in the eye as I head for my desk, swiveling around and acknowledging him whenever I sense that he's focused on me. And even though his thoughts about me are as banal and embarrassing as Damen's thoughts about Stacia, I refuse to blush or react. I just keep smiling and nodding, determined to grin and bear it, because if I'm going to find out who this guy really is, then avoiding him like the Black Plague will no longer do.