He shrugs and rubs his sling protectively. “Nothing sinister, just headed home, that’s all. If you’ll remember, we close early on Saturdays.”

I narrow my gaze, not fooled for a second. It’s all very plausible. Almost believable. But not quite.

“I live up the street.” He motions toward some unknown place in the distance, a place that probably doesn’t even exist. But I don’t follow his hand. My gaze stays on his. I can’t afford to drop my guard. Not even for a second. He may have fooled me before, but now I know better. Now I know what he is.

He takes a step closer, slowly, cautiously, careful to maintain a safe distance still just outside of my reach. “Maybe we can go grab a coffee or something? Go someplace quiet, where we can sit down and talk? You look like you could use a break. What do you say?”

I continue to study him. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. “Sure.” I smile, nodding in assent. “I’d just love to go someplace quiet, grab a seat, drink some java, and enjoy a nice, long chat—but first, I need you to prove something.”

His body goes tense and his aura—his fake aura—wavers, but I’m not buying it.

“I need you to prove you’re not one of them.”

He squints, face a cloud of concern. “Ever, I don’t know what you’re—”

His words cut short by the sight of the athame now clutched in my hand. Its jewel-encrusted handle an exact replica of the one I used just a few hours before, figuring I’ll need all the luck and protection the stones can provide, especially if this goes the way that I think.

“There’s only one way to prove it,” I say, voice low, gaze locked on his, taking one small step forward that’s soon followed by another. “And I’ll know if you cheat—so don’t even try. Oh, and I should probably warn ya—I can’t be responsible for what happens once I prove that you’re lying. But don’t worry, as you well know, this’ll only hurt for a second—”

He sees me moving, lunging straight for him, and even though he tries his best to dance out of my way, I’m too quick, and I’m on him before he even realizes it.

Seizing his good arm and slicing my athame right through his skin, knowing it’s just a matter of seconds before the blood stops gushing and the wound fuses together again.

Just a matter of time until—

“Oh God!” I whisper, eyes wide, throat dry, watching as he falters, stumbles, and nearly loses his balance.

His eyes darting between me and the gash on his arm, both of us watching as the blood seeps through his clothes and pools onto the street in a growing puddle of red. “Are you crazy?” he shrieks. “What the hell have you done?”

“I—” My mouth hangs open in shock, unable to form any words, unable to tear my gaze away from the gaping gash that I made.

Why isn’t it healing? Why’s it still bleeding? Oh, crap!

“I’m—I’m so sorry—I can explain—I—” I reach toward him, but he moves away, clumsily, unsteadily, wanting nothing more to do with me.

“Listen,” he says, sling pressed to the wound, trying to ebb the flow, but it only makes a much bigger mess. “I don’t know what your deal is, or what’s going on with you, Ever, but we’re done here. You need to walk away—now!”

I shake my head. “Let me take you to the hospital. There’s an emergency room just down the street—and I’ll—”

I close my eyes, manifesting a plush towel to hold against the wound until we can get some professional help. Noticing how pale and unsteady he’s gone, knowing we’ve no time to waste.

Ignoring his protests, I slide my arm around him and lead him toward the car I just manifested. That strange insistent pulse quieted for now, but still forcing me to glance over my shoulder just in time to see Roman watching from behind the window, his eyes shining, face creased with laughter, as he flips the sign over from OPEN to CLOSED.

six

“How is he?”

I toss my magazine on the small table beside me and stand. Careful to address the nurse instead of Jude, since one quick glance is all it takes to see that both of his arms are now heavily bandaged, his aura’s turned red with rage, and if the angry, cruel look in his narrowed eyes is any indication, he clearly wants nothing more to do with me.

The nurse stops, her gaze traversing the sixty-eight inches between my head and my toes. Scrutinizing me so closely I can’t help but cringe—can’t help but wonder just what exactly Jude might’ve told her.

“He’s going to make it,” she says, voice sharp, businesslike, not the least bit friendly. “Cut went all the way to the bone, even made a groove in it, but it was clean. And if he takes his antibiotics, it’ll stay that way. He’ll be in a fair amount of pain, even with the meds I gave him, but if he takes it easy, gets plenty of rest, it should be healed in a matter of weeks.”

Her gaze moves to the door and I follow it. Just in time to see two uniformed members of Laguna Beach’s finest heading right toward me, their eyes darting between Jude and me, and stopping when the nurse nods affirmatively.

I freeze, swallowing past the lump in my throat as I pull my shoulders in, shrinking under the glare of Jude’s dark, hostile gaze. Knowing I deserve every last bit of his anger, deserve to be handcuffed and hauled away—but still—I didn’t think he’d actually do it. I didn’t think it would come to this.