But instead of the refusal I expected, I’m met with dead silence.

A horrible, lingering silence that’s far worse than any argument they could ever wage.

They’re no longer interested in me.

Their attention is claimed by something else entirely.

And I know without looking what it is. I can feel it in the way the breeze whispers against the nape of my neck. I can see it in the sudden glow that shines in their eyes.

They see it.

The tree.

Which means they no longer need me.

And though I try to move, try my best to flee, it’s too late.

There are too many of them, too little of me. And it seems, or at least in this case anyway, they’ve chosen to work together. Chosen to collaborate.

Misa and Marco grab hold of my arms as Rafe slinks behind me. His cheek pressed close to mine, his lips chilled, pushing into my flesh when he says, “Remember when I told you earlier that I lost my footing and fell deep into the canyon?”

I swallow hard, steady myself, know all too well what’s coming next.

“As it turns out, I lied.” He grins, I can feel his lips lifting and curling against me. “Had I been unlucky enough to fall, I never would’ve made it back up. You see, Ever, it’s a sheer drop. A very sheer drop that offers no outcroppings of rock—nothing for one to grab onto in order to stop. But then, I should probably let you see for yourself. I mean, no need to wreck the surprise with a bunch of spoilers, right?”

I fight.

I kick.

I scratch, and bite, and claw, and scream, and thrash, and struggle with all of my immortal might.

But despite the fact that I can be satisfied in knowing I did a good bit of damage to each of them, in the end, it’s not enough.

I can’t beat them.

I’m no match.

And the next thing I know Rafe’s pushing me at the exact moment Misa and Marco let go.

Sending me flying.

Soaring.

Hurtling straight over the edge and deep into a bottomless canyon.

Chapter thirty-one

Just like a dream where you find yourself falling and can’t seem to stop because there’s nothing to grab onto and you’ve lost all control of your body—that’s exactly what this is like.

Except for the fact that usually when I find myself caught in one of those dreams, my body eventually jerks me awake before any grave disaster can take place.

But this time, I’m already awake. And from what I can tell, the disaster is now, and it’s about to get worse.

My hair lifts, waving high above my head, as my legs furiously kick, attempting to temper the pace, halt my speed, slow myself down, but it’s no use. The effort is as useless as my arms, which continue to flail all around, searching for something to hang onto, but succeeding only in proving Rafe right.

There is nothing to save me.

Nothing to stop me.

The cliff is a sheer solid drop into the void.

The lower I go, the darker it becomes until I can no longer see in front of me—can no longer see below me—can no longer see where I’m going.

All I know is that the fall seems to quicken, picking up speed, as I race toward an end that may not exist. The awful truth of my existence, the absolute irony of it, is that if I can’t find a way to stop this—then this is how I’ll spend my eternity.

I can’t die—my chakras are so strong they won’t let me.

And any injuries sustained won’t heal—this part of Summerland won’t allow for that sort of thing.

Two horrible thoughts I find too overwhelming to contemplate.

So I don’t.

I choose to focus my mind elsewhere instead.

Sifting through the long list of things I’ve learned this past year—going all the way back to the day when I first died in the car accident that claimed my whole family—to this never-ending crevice where I find myself now. Remembering what Lotus said about knowledge coming when we’re most in need of it, and hoping my accumulated knowledge will help me find a way out.

Forgiveness is healing—everything is energy—thoughts create—we are all connected—what you resist persists—true love never dies—the soul’s immortality is the only true immortality—

Repeating the words again and again, until it becomes like a mantra, until the words begin to take shape, begin to take hold.

Until my breath begins to steady, my body begins to still, and my heart is able to unload this burden of fear.

Forgiveness is healing—I send a silent thought of forgiveness to Misa, Marco, and Rafe for being so misguided and untrusting they wouldn’t even try another way.

What you resist persists—I stop resisting the fact that I’m falling, and start concentrating on a solution instead.

Thoughts create—Even when instant manifestation won’t work, our thoughts are still creating on our behalf.

I free my backpack from one shoulder, slide it around to my front, yank the zipper down, and plunge my hand inside. Making sure I’ve got a good grip on the light jacket I manifested earlier—the one that got me through an excess of repetitive seasons by shielding me from heat, rain, wind, and snow—before I drop the bag, listening as it whizzes down below. I grasp the jacket by either sleeve and lift my arms up high over my head, cutting the wind along with my trajectory, while thrusting my body toward what I can only hope is the side of the cliff. Knowing I’ve succeeded when I’m left momentarily stunned by the sudden impact of my body bashing into a bed of sharp rocks.