So I do.

Gazing up at my very own night star, asking for guidance, direction, for some kind of help—and, failing that, to at least provide some kind of nudge that’ll push me toward the right one.

Chapter 18

I drive around Laguna for what seems like forever, unsure what to do with myself, unsure where to go.

Part of me—abig part of me—longing to go straight to Damen’s, barrel right into his arms, tell him that all is forgiven, and try to pick up right where we left off—but I dismiss it just as quickly.

I’m lonely and confused and really just looking for a warm place to land. And as conflicted as I may be about him, I refuse to treat him like a crutch.

We both deserve better than that.

So I continue to cruise, traveling up and down Coast Highway a few times before venturing into the smaller, narrower, twisting and turning village streets. Just meandering around and around, with no real destination in mind, until I find myself at Roman’s—or, make thatHaven’s , since according to Miles, she’s taken up residence.

Abandoning my car by the curb, far enough away so she won’t see it, I creep quietly across the street, hearing the music well before I’ve even reached the path that leads to the door. The speakers blaring some song by one of those garage bands she’s so fond of—the kind Roman hated and I’ve never even heard of.

I make my way toward the front window, a large bay one lined with hedges on the outside and an unoccupied window seat on the inside. Crouching down beside the bushes, having no intention of going in or being seen, I’m far more interested in observing, learning just what it is that she’s up to, and how she spends her free time. The more I know about her habits, the better I’ll be able to plan around them, or if not actuallyplan , then at least I’ll know how to react when the time comes.

She stands before a blazing fire, her hair long and wavy, her makeup as dramatically applied as the last time I saw her. Though the long, flowy gown she wore on the first day of school has been swapped for a skintight, indigo-blue minidress, while the stilettos she usually favors have been shunned for bare feet. But the tangle of necklaces are still there, minus the amulet of course, and the longer I watch her, the way she speaks, the way she flits around the room, the more I begin to worry.

There’s something so manic, so agitated, so tightly wound about her, it’s like she can barely contain her own energy, can barely handle herself.

Bouncing from foot to foot in a state of perpetual motion, taking numerous gulps from her goblet, not allowing it to sit empty for even a second before she’s dipping into Roman’s supply of elixir and refilling again.

The same elixir she claims to be far more powerful than the one Damen brews, and from the looks of her, and from what I experienced in the school bathroom, I’ve no doubt it’s true.

Even though her words are completely drowned out by the music and the blaring percussion that vibrates the walls, it’s not like I need to listen to know what’s really going on here.

She’s worse than I thought.

She’s losing control of herself.

While she may be able to influence her rapt group of listeners, keeping them mesmerized, entranced, and happy to focus only on her—she’s far too fidgety, far too frenzied and turbulent to keep it going much longer.

She reaches for the goblet again, tossing her head back and taking a long, deep swill. Running her tongue over her lips, desperate to catch every last drop, her eyes practically glowing as she repeats the sequence again—and again—drinking and pouring, pouring and drinking—leaving no doubt in my mind she’s addicted.

Having been to that dark place myself, I know all the signs. Know just what it looks like.

Though it’s not like I’m all that surprised. This is pretty much what I expected from the moment she turned against me and went off on her own. Though I am surprised that her new group of friends pretty much consists of every Bay View High School student who’s ever been dumped on by Stacia, Craig, or any other member of the A list crew—while the A list itself, the group she was last seen cozying up to on the first day of school, is decidedly absent.

And I’m just starting to get it, just starting to understand what it is that she’s up to, when I hear:

“Ever?”

I turn, my gaze meeting Honor’s as she pauses on her way to the door.

“What’re you doing here?” She squints, carefully eyeballing me.

I glance between her and the house, knowing my hiding place near the bushes and my surprise at being caught pretty much reveals everything that I won’t.

The silence lingering between us so long, I’m just about to break it when she says, “Haven’t seen you around school lately—I was starting to think you dropped out.”

“It’s been a week.” I shrug, knowing that as far as a defense goes, it’s a lame one. Still, I could’ve been sick, could’ve come down with mono or a bad case of the flu, so why does everyone just assume I dropped out?

Am I really that big of a weirdo/loser to them?

She juts her hip to the side and drums her fingers against it, taking a moment to really look me over before saying, “Really? A week—is that all?” She bobs her head back and forth as though mentally weighing my words. “Huh. Seems so much longer. Must be the fastest social revolution in all of history.”

I narrow my gaze, not liking the sound of that, but determined to not say a word—or at least not yet anyway. I’m hoping my silence will get her so pumped up and carried away, so eager to impress me with whatever it is that she’s done, she’ll reveal far more than she ever intended.