“You don’t need to drink it every day,” Damen says, determined to get this back on track. “In fact, you could last the next hundred and fifty years without so much as a single sip, perhaps even longer, who knows?”

“Well, if that’s the case, then why do you sip it like your life depends on it?” Haven asks, removing Rayne’s feet from her lap as she takes us both in.

Damen shrugs. “I guess because it kind of does at this point. I’ve been around awhile, you know. A long while.”

“How long?” Haven leans forward, pushing her platinum-streaked bangs off her face and gazing at him with two heavily made-up eyes.

“Long. Anyway—the point is—”

“Wait—you’re joking, right? I mean, you’re seriously not gonna tell me your real age? What are you—like one of those thirty-somethings who pile up the twenty-ninth birthdays well into their eighties? I mean, sorry, Damen, but how vain are you?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Trust me, when I’m old, I plan to shout it from the rooftops. I can’t wait ’til I’m a porcelain-skinned one hundred and eighty-two.”

“It’s not vanity, it’s—practicality,” Damen snaps, and when I look at him, I realize he’s flustered, but probably only because it is a little bit vanity, he just doesn’t want to admit it. As much as he’s tried to rid himself of all the fancy clothes, hair-grooming products, and handmade Italian leather boots, a hint of vanity remains. “Besides, you can’t flaunt it, you can’t tell anyone. I thought you and Ever talked about that?”

“We did,” Haven and I both say, our voices blending as one.

“So, there should be no question. You just stick to your normal cupcake-eating routine, keeping your behavior as normal as possible, careful not to draw any—”

“Unnecessary attention to myself.” Haven shakes her head and rolls her eyes in the most exaggerated way. “Trust me, Ever gave me the whole lowdown, warned me of the dark side, the monster under the bed, the one in the closet, not to mention the boogeyman who lives under the stairs, and I hate to break it to you, but I’m not really interested in any of that. I’ve been ordinary my whole entire life. Ignored, overlooked, practically blending into the walls and treated like I was invisible no matter how crazy I tried to act and dress, and I’m telling you, that kind of anonymity is overrated. I’m totally and completely over it. So if now’s my chance to really kick it—to really stand out and be seen for a change—well, I’m not about to hold back. I plan to embrace it with all that I’ve got! So, with that in mind, I’m thinking you can do a little better than this.” She taps the side of the box. “Come on, humor me, hand over the juice so I can give everyone the shock of a lifetime when we start senior year.”

Damen looks at me, alarmed, speechless—shooting me a look that says: She’s your creation—your Frankenstein—do something!

So I clear my throat and turn to her, legs crossed, hands clasped, rearranging my face into a pleasant expression despite the fact that I’m every bit as freaked as he is. “Haven—please,” I say, careful to keep my voice steady and low. “We talked about this—we—”

But not getting very far before she cuts in. “You drink it all the time—so why can’t I?” She drums her fingers against the box and narrows her gaze.

I pause, unsure how to explain that the juice enhances my powers, powers I prefer she not have, fumbling around for just the right words when I say, “While it may appear that way, the thing is—I don’t really need it—not like Damen does anyway. I just sort of drink it because—well—because I’m used to it. And even though it doesn’t taste all that great—I kind of like it. But trust me, it’s really not necessary to drink it every day—not even every week—or every year, for that matter. Like Damen said, you can go a hundred years, maybe two hundred, without a single sip.” I nod, hoping she’ll buy it, not wanting her to know about the surge in power and speed and magical abilities that regular consumption can bring. That would only make her want it more.

“Fine.” She nods. “Guess I’ll just have to get it from Roman, then. I’m sure he’d be happy to give it to me.”

I swallow hard, not saying a word, well aware that she’s challenging me. Watching as Luna jumps onto her lap and Haven starts to pet her.

“Hey there, kitty—weren’t you supposed to be mine? Is that why you’re here now? Because you sense your true owner?” She lifts her up high and nuzzles her chin, laughing when Romy jumps up from her end of the couch and snatches her away. “Relax.” Haven laughs. “It’s not like I’m gonna steal her or anything.”

“You can’t steal her.” Romy glares, lifting Luna onto her shoulder, her favorite place to perch. “You can’t own her either. Pets aren’t possessions, they’re not accessories you discard when you decide you no longer want them. They’re living creatures that share our lives.” She looks at her sister, signaling for her to follow as she storms out of the room.

“Jeez—testy!” Haven glances over her shoulder, watching them leave.

But I’m not about to let her brush that off, she’s the one who put it out there, now I’m just following up. “Speaking of—how is Roman?” I ask, trying to come off as conversational, only vaguely interested, hoping no one else noticed the way my voice just trembled when his name left my lips.