One step forward, as he shoves the fruit into his mouth.

Another step, closing the gap between us, as he closes his eyes and bites down.

The sight of it blurred by the song of Lotus’s voice in my head when she said:

The tree is evergiving.

I stop. Lose my footing. Find myself spiraling backward, back toward the ground. My fall stopped by a tangle of leaves just a few branches down, as Marco towers above me, makes a show of swallowing, wiping the juice from his chin with his sleeve.

I watch, noting how they’ve transformed much like Rafe did. Though still aged, their auras glow vibrantly, vividly, making them appear positively luminous as they join hands, and make their way down the tree. Paying me no notice as they pass me along the way, but I no longer care. My attention is claimed by something they’re too shortsighted to see—something that changes everything.

It’s the fruit.

The sheer abundance of fruit.

Turns out the Tree of Life isn’t limited to just one single piece per thousand years as the legend claimed; for every piece that’s plucked, a new one appears in its place.

And suddenly I understand what my instinct was telling me—suddenly I know what Lotus meant when she said the tree was evergiving.

Suddenly I know what it means when they say the universe is abundant—that it offers us all that we need—that the only shortages that exist are the ones we create in our minds.

I work my way up, finding my way to the place where the fruit hangs ripe and full. Then I yank off my bloodied, tattered T-shirt, exposing the equally bloodied and tattered white cotton tank top beneath, smooth the fabric flat against my lap, and pluck that one lone piece of fruit, place it onto the center, then wait. Hoping I’m not wrong, hoping it really is what I think, and grinning like crazy when a few minutes later another piece of fruit pops right into its place, and I pluck that one too. Repeating the task over and over until my T-shirt is so full it can’t hold any more, and I fold the corners, tie ’em all together, and swing it over my shoulder in a makeshift knapsack.

Just about to make my way down when I gaze into the distance and witness the most amazing display of light that breaks through the fog in such a startling, brilliant, colorful way, it’s impossible to identify.

“What is that?” I whisper, gaping at the spectacle before me, figuring I’m so high up I must be witnessing some kind of celestial light show or something.

But it’s not long before I hear the faint trace of whoops and hollers carried by the wind, a sound that tells me it’s either Misa, Marco, or Rafe, or maybe even all three. And suddenly I understand why Lotus sent them after me.

She knew about the tree. Knew that it was evergiving. Knew that no matter what, no mater how hard they’d try to stop me, in the end, I’d succeed.

She may not have been all that forthcoming about the sort of immortality the fruit actually offers, but then, they only told her they were looking for the elixir of life, and so she had every right to send them forward.

And while they may not have realized what they were getting into, from the sound of their excited shouts and yelps, from the way their glow lights up the sky, what they found is even better than what they first sought.

They found enlightenment—true immortality.

The kind I now hold in my hands.

And eager for my turn, I make my way down, beginning my own journey back.

Chapter thirty-four

The first thing I notice when I find myself back in Laguna Beach is that I’m healed.

In all of my excitement, I guess I made my way down the trail and manifested the veil so quickly I didn’t even notice my body is no longer battered and bloody, and my clothes are no longer ripped to shreds (though they are pretty filthy).

The second thing I notice is the weather.

It’s hot.

Like really, really hot.

Like way too hot for the thick socks and hiking boots I still wear.

I gaze around the crowded narrow streets of downtown, the sun reflecting off the store windows in a way that forces me to shield my eyes until I can manifest a new pair of sunglasses. Part of me hoping that the fact that Summerland temperatures don’t really fluctuate, always veering toward cool, is what throws me off now—while the other part fears this isn’t just unseasonably warm weather I’m experiencing, but that it is, in fact, all too seasonal.

I’ve got this horrible, sinking feeling that I’ve been gone far, far longer than planned.

While there may be no time in Summerland, that certainly doesn’t stop it from marching along here, and if the weather is any indication, my winter break has gone way beyond the two-week vacation I was granted from school. In fact, it may have even gone beyond my one-week spring break as well, neither of which can result in anything good.

But even more bizarre than the weather, well, almost more bizarre anyway, is the fact that I can actually feel the gravity of the earth plane. I feel heavier, slower, which is just so weird. As many trips as I’ve made back and forth between Summerland and here, I’ve never really noticed the difference. Or at least not like this. Not in such a profound and obvious way. But then, I’ve also never spent that much time in Summerland in one continuous stay, so that probably has something to do with it.

Thinking of long continuous stays, I reach for my cell phone, eager to get a peek at the date. Only to remember too late that I didn’t bring it, which makes sense since it’s not like I can get a signal in a mystical dimension anyway. So then I peer into the nearest store window, looking for some sort of clue as to the day, the time, even the month will suffice. But all I can see is a bunch of high-priced, season-neutral offerings for the home, including a fake-fur cat bed in the shape of a crown, which doesn’t tell me much of anything.