"More like two." I shake my head. "No, scratch that. More like thirty seconds. You have no idea how fast Damen drives."

She checks her watch again, then looks at me. A smile playing at the corner of her lips when she says, "Well, that still leaves us plenty of time to take a quick look around, switch out the drinks, and be on our way."

And when I look at her, all I can hear is the voice in my head shouting: Say no! Say no! Just. Say. No! A voice I should heed. A voice that's immediately canceled by hers when she says, "Come on, Ever. It's not every day I get to tour a house like this. Besides, we might find something useful, did you ever consider that?"

I press my lips together and nod like it pains me. Reluctantly following behind as she races ahead like an excited school girl about to see her crush's cool room, when the fact is she's got over a decade on me. Heading straight for the first open door she sees, which just happens to be his bedroom. And as I follow her inside I'm not sure if I'm more surprised or relieved to find it just like I left it. Only messier. Way messier. And I refuse to even think about how that might've happened. Still, the sheets, the furniture, even the paint on the walls—none of it—I'm happy to report—have been changed. It's all the same stuff I helped him pick out a few weeks ago when I refused to spend another minute hanging out in that creepy mausoleum of his, where, believe it or not, he used to sleep. I mean, making out among all those dusty old memories really started to skeeve me out.

Never mind the fact that, technically speaking, I'm one of those dusty old memories too. But even after all the new furniture was put into place, I still preferred to hang out at my house. I guess it just felt—I don't know—safer? Like the threat of Sabine coming home any minute would keep me from doing something I wasn't sure I was ready to do. Which now, after all that's happened, seems more than a little ridiculous.

"Wow, check out this master bath," Ava says, eyeing the Roman shower with the mosaic design and enough shower heads to bathe twenty. "I could get used to living like this!" She perches on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub and plays with the taps. "I've always wanted one of these! Have you used this?"

I look away, but not before she catches a glimpse of the color that Hushes my cheeks. I mean, just because I spilled a few secrets and allowed her to come up here doesn't mean she gets an all-access pass to my private life too, "I have one at home," I finally say, hoping that'll suffice so we can end this tour and be on our way. I need to get back downstairs so I can switch Damen's elixir with mine. And if she stays up here alone, I'm afraid she'll never leave. I tap my watch, reminding her of just who's in charge around here.

"All right," she says, practically dragging her feet as I lead her out of the bedroom and into the hall. Only to stop just a few doors down and say, "But real quick, what's in here?" And before I can stop her, she's entered the room—Damen's sacred space. His private sanctuary. His creepy mausoleum. Only it's changed. And I mean, drastically and dramatically changed. Every last trace of Damen's personal time warp completely vanished—with not a Picasso, Van Gogh, or velvet settee in sight.

All of it replaced by a red felt pool table, a well-stocked black marble bar with shiny chrome stools, and a long row of recliners facing a wall covered with a ginormous flat screen TV. And I can't help but wonder what became of his old stuff—those priceless artifacts that used to get on my nerves, but now that they've been replaced with such slick modern designs, seem like lost symbols of much better times. I miss the old Damen. I miss my bright, handsome, chivalrous boyfriend who clung so tightly to his Renaissance past.

This sleek, new-millennium Damen is a stranger to me. And as I look around this room once more, I wonder if it's too late to save him.

"What's wrong?" Ava squints. "Your face has gone white."

I grab hold of her arm and pull her down the stairs. "We need to hurry," I tell her. "Before it's too late!"

Chapter Thirty-Three

I flee down the stairs and into the kitchen, yelling, "Grab the bag by the door and bring it to me!"

I race for the fridge, eager to empty its contents and exchange them with mine, needing to wrap it all up before Damen can come home and catch us. But when I open his oversized Sub-Zero fridge, just like the room upstairs, it's not at all what I expected. For one thing, it's filled with food. And I mean lots and lots of food—like he's planning a really huge party—one that will last for three days. I'm talking sides of beef, slabs of steak, huge wedges of cheese, half a chicken, two large pizzas, ketchup, mayonnaise, assorted takeout containers—the works! Not to mention several six packs of beer all lined up along the bottom shelf. And even though it appears to be totally normal, here's the thing: Damen's not normal. He hasn't really eaten in six hundred years. He also doesn't drink beer. Immortal juice, water, the occasional glass of champagne—yes. Heineken and Corona—not so much.

"What is it?" Ava asks, dropping the bag on the floorand peering over my shoulder, trying to figure out what I'm so worked up about, and opening the freezer only to find it fully stocked with vodka, frozen pizzas, and several tubs of Ben & Jerry's. "Okay... so he's been to the supermarket recently... is there some cause for alarm I don't get? Do you two normally just manifest all of your food whenever you're hungry?"