Chapter forty

For once, Miles didn’t exaggerate. Sabine and Munoz really did go above and beyond with the decorations.

From the moment we pull into the drive, all I can do is gape in astonishment at how they’ve taken this semicustom, faux Tuscan McMansion and turned it into something that looks like it’s straight out of the old country.

“Wait ’til you see the inside!” Sabine’s eyes light on mine. “I know you wanted a small gathering, but I thought it might be nice to throw a big party with all of your friends. You’ve worked so hard, Ever. You deserve a little fun, and, quite frankly, so do Paul and I!”

When she leads me into the house with Munoz hot on our trail, well, let’s just say that if the outside was astonishing, then the inside is amazing.

“Again, just the beginning,” Munoz says, face widening into a grin. “Each room has its own theme.”

“How did you—?” I start to ask how they managed it all without my even being aware, but then I see—there are decorators, caterers, bartenders, all manner of helpers roaming the place. This isn’t just a party. It’s a huge high school graduation blowout bash.

“There’s a lot to celebrate,” Sabine says. “So we figured we’d go all out. Think of it as a welcome home slash happy graduation slash engagement party. Oh, and we haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but a major publisher just made an offer to buy Paul’s book—so it’s a book deal party too!” She gazes up at him, her face flushed with the pride of his success, and I take a moment to steal a quick glance at him too, catching his smile and wink, and knowing he’s remembering the day when I prophesized that very thing. “We’re expecting a lot of people, I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s not at all what you’d planned, but we thought it might be fun. Miles came up with the theme and it just took off from there.”

I nod, trying to match her smile with one of my own, but all I can think about is the fruit—the real reason behind this get-together—and how it’s pretty clear that’s been lost along the way.

But just as soon as I’ve thought it, Sabine looks at me and says, “Don’t worry, it’s covered. I’ve left the den off your bedroom free for you to do whatever you need. I just hope you’ll take a little time out to enjoy yourself as well.”

I look at her, unsure what to say. I never expected anything even remotely like this, and I’m left feeling a little overwhelmed.

But Sabine just places her hand on my shoulder and says, “Now go. Go upstairs and manifest yourself a costume while Paul and I get into ours. Just make sure you’re ready by seven to greet everyone.”

I do as she says. It’s easier that way. After tackling the stairs I head straight for my room, where I plop myself onto my bed, feeling more than a little stunned by it all. Remembering the very first day I arrived, when Sabine picked me up at the airport and drove me to my new home, my new life. I was so lost in my grief I couldn’t appreciate all the trouble she’d gone to in an effort to make my life comfortable. All I could do was throw myself facedown and cry—or at least until Riley appeared and set me straight, made me see things through her eyes.

Riley.

I close my eyes, attempting to ward off the sting, the tears, and the lumpy throat that always accompany any and all thoughts of her.

Though I’m surprised by how fleeting it is—the symptoms here and gone in a matter of seconds. And I know it’s because of the fruit.

Even though I still miss her, even though I long to see her again—now, for the first time in a long time, I know for a fact that I will. And knowing that goes a long way in lessening the pain of missing her, of missing all of them, Buttercup included.

With just one taste of that fruit my body will cease to be immortal. It’ll revert right back to the usual procession of aging and withering until it ultimately dies and my soul reverts back to its true eternal, infinite state—free to cross the bridge to where my family now lives.

No matter what becomes of me, my soul will live on, allowing my family and me to be reunited again.

I just hope Damen and I will be reunited too.

I just hope I can find a way to convince him of what we both need to do.

But first, I need to come up with some kind of “Come As You Were” costume, and for someone with seven previous lives to choose from, you’d think the choice would be easy.

I mean, should I go as Adelina—the life I just learned about? Evaline—the Parisian servant? Abigail—the daughter of a Puritan?

Chloe—the spoiled young socialite? Fleur—the artist’s muse? Emala—the sad little slave girl?

Or should I go as all of them?

Find a way to stitch together all of the pieces of my various lives, like a sort of karma quilt, if you will?

I ponder for a while, liking the concept, but having no idea how I might go about it, and then, just like that, I know exactly what I’ll do.

I glance at my bedside clock, seeing I have very little time and some serious manifesting magick to get to. So I jump to my feet and get started, hoping it’ll turn out just like the image I hold in my head.

Hoping it’ll serve as more than just a costume. That it’ll provide the evidence, all the proof that I’ll need.

Chapter forty-one

When I’m finished, I stand before the mirror and take inventory. Going over my mental checklist and making sure everything is present and accounted for. Hearing Damen’s voice in my head, the exact words he used when he explained it to me—assuring me that every piece, from my fiery red hair to my elaborate dress, from my flirtatious gaze to my inner strength and humility, found its origins in the past, while my eyes themselves remain unchanged, eternal, no matter what guise my soul decides to wear. And knowing I’ve come as close as I can to replicating the painting he made (including a few new references to Emala and Adelina, whom I didn’t know about then), until I remember one last thing. One last thing I’m not sure I can go through with.