"Excuse me," I said, cutting him off before he could finish. Not interested in any well-meaning though ultimately boundary-crossing "relationship advice" my newly divorced, semi-alcoholic English teacher was prepared to dish out. "But the last time I checked this was all just a rumor. An alleged event with no evidence to support it." I looked at him, meeting his eyes despite the fact I'd just lied. I mean, while Ava and I were pretty much caught red-handed, it's not like Damen took a picture. It's not like there's yet another video of me making the YouTube circuit. "So unless I'm officially charged and tried—" I paused to clear my throat, partly for dramatic effect and partly because I couldn't believe what I was about to say next. "I shall remain innocent until proven guilty." He balked, preparing to speak, but Iwasn't finished. "So unless you need to discuss my behavior in this class, which you and I both know is exemplary, or my grades, which happen to be more than exemplary, unless you're interested in discussing either one of those things—I'm thinking we're pretty much done here."

Fortunately, Mr. Munoz is a little easier. Though that's probably because I'm the one who approaches him. Thinking my Renaissance-obsessed history teacher is just the man to help me track down the name of a particular herb I need to make the elixir. Last night, when I tried to research it on Google, I realized I had no idea what to put in the search box. And with Sabine still watching me like a hawk even though I eat and drink and act as normal as I can, slipping off to Summerland, even for a few minutes, was out of the question. Which makes Mr. Munoz my last hope—or at least my most immediate hope. Because yesterday, when Damen tossed all of those bottles down the drain, there went half of my already meager supply. Which means I need to make more. Lots more. Not only to keep up my strength between now and the time when I leave, but I also need plenty left over for Damen's recovery. And since he never got around to giving me the recipe, all I have to go on is what I saw on that crystal when I watched his father prepare the brew, namingall of the ingredients out loud, before stopping to whisper the very last one in his son's ear, speaking so softly there was no way I could hear.

But Mr. Munoz turns out to be no help at all. And after futzing around with a bunch of old books and coming up with zilch, he looks at me and says, "Ever, I'm afraid I can't find the answer to this, but since you're already here—"

I raise my hand, blocking his words from going any further than they already have. And even though I'm not proud of the way I handled Mr. Robins, if Munoz doesn't back off, he'll get the same speech as well. "Trust me, I know where you're going." I nod, my eyes right on his. "But you've got it all wrong. It's not what you think—" I stop, realizing that as far as denials go, this one is turning out to be incredibly lame. I mean, I just alluded to the fact that while it might've occurred—it didn't occur in the way that he thinks. Which basically amounts to me pleading guilty—but with extenuating circumstances. I shake my head, inwardly rolling my eyes at myself, thinking: Good one, Ever. Keep it up and you willneed Sabine to represent you.

And then he looks at me, and I look at him, and we both shake our heads, mutually agreeing to leave it at that, But just as I grab my bag and start to leave, he reaches toward me, his hand touching my sleeve, when he says, "Hang in there. It'll all be okay."

And that's all it takes. That simple gesture is all I need to see that Sabine has been frequenting Starbucks, just about every single day. The two of them enjoying a tentative flirtation that, while it (thankfully) hasn't moved past a smile, Munoz is definitely anticipating the day when it will. And even though I know I have to do whatever I can to stop them from, God forbid, dating, at the moment, I don't have time to deal with it.

I shake off his energy and head out the door, barely making it into the hall before Roman approaches, adjusting his stride so it's timed right to mine. Leering at me when he says, "Was Munoz any help?" I keep going, wincing when his cool breath hits mycheek. "You're running out of time," he says, his voice as soft and soothing as a lover's embrace."It's all moving rather quickly now, wouldn't you agree? And before you know it, it'll all be over. And then—well—then there's just you and me."

I shrug, knowing that's not exactly true. I viewed the past. I saw what happened in that Florentine church. And if I'm not mistaken, there are six immortal orphans quite possibly still roaming the earth. Six little urchins who could be just about anywhere by now—providing they made it. But if Roman's unaware of that fact, well, it's hardly my place to inform him.

So I gaze into his eyes, resisting the lure of those deep navy blues, when I say, "How lucky for me."

"And me." He smiles. "You're going to need someone to help mend your broken heart. Someone who understands you. Someone who knows just what you really are." He trails his finger down the length of my arm, his touch so shockingly cold, even through the cotton of my sleeve, I quickly pull away.

"You know nothing about me," I say, my eyes raking his face. "You've underestimated me. If I were you,I'd be a little more cautious about celebrating so soon. You're a long way from winning this one."

And even though I meant it as a threat, my voice is far too shaky to be taken seriously. So I pick up the pace, leaving his mocking laughter behind as I head for mylunch table where Miles and Haven are waiting. I slide onto the bench, smiling as I glance betweenthem. It feels like so long since we last hung out, the sight of them sitting here now makes me ridiculously happy.