Элисон Ноэль - Dark Flame

He continues to stand there, gaze steady, giving nothing away. Voice groggy and deep when he says, "Ever-what are you?"

I freeze, fingers gripping the glass so hard I'm afraid it might break in my hand. Focusing on the tiled floor, the small table to the right, the den just beyond, anywhere but at him. The silence hanging so thick between us, I only want to break it when I say, "I–I can't tell you."

"So, it's not just the book then, it's-something else."

My eyes meet his, immediately recognizing my blunder, how I basically just admitted I'm not at all normal when I could've just blamed it on magick instead. But the truth is, he wouldn't have bought it. He knew something was up from the first day we met, long before he ever lent me that book.

"Why didn't you tell me The Book of Shadows was written in code?" I say, eyes narrowed, putting him back on the defensive again.

"I did." He breaks the gaze and moves away, annoyance stamped on his face.

"No, you told me it was written in the Theban code and that it had to be intuited to be understood. But what you failed to mention is that it's actually protected by a code-a code that has to be cracked in order to see what's truly inside. So what gives? Why didn't you tell me about that? It's a pretty major detail to leave out, don't you think?"

He leans against the tiled counter, shaking his head when he says, "Excuse me, but am I under suspicion again?

Because, correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that when you sliced me open, you pretty much determined I was one of the good guys."

I fold my arms and squint. "No, I determined you're not a rogue. I never said you were good." He looks at me, striving for patience, but I'm far from done yet. "You also failed to mention how you got the book-how it ended up in your hands."

He shrugs, gaze fixed, voice steady, measured, when he says, "I told you-I got it from a friend, a few years back."

"And does this friend have a name-like maybe Roman, perhaps?"

He laughs, though it comes out more like a grunt. His annoyance ringing loud and clear when he says, "Oh, I see, you're still convinced I'm part of his tribe. Well, excuse me for saying so, Ever, but I thought we were through with all that?"

I fold my arms across my chest, allowing the glass to dangle from my fingers. "Listen, Jude, I'd like to trust you, really I would. But the other night when-" I pause, realizing I can't really continue that thread. "Well, anyway, Roman said something about the book once belonging to him, and I really need to know if that's where you got it-if he somehow sold it to you?"

He reaches toward me, the few fingers that still actually work snatching the glass right out of my grasp. "My only connection to Roman is through you. I don't know what else to tell you, Ever."

I squint, scrutinizing his aura, his energy, his body language, adding it all up as he heads for the sink, and coming to the conclusion that he really is telling the truth, not hiding a thing.

"Tap?" I ask, seeing him glance over his shoulder at me.

"It's been a while since I saw someone do that. Not since I left Oregon."

"I'm a simple guy, what can I say?" He takes a hearty swig, draining it completely before turning to fill it again.

"So seriously, you didn't know about the book?" I follow behind, watching as he heads for an old brown couch where he promptly plops himself down.

"To be honest, pretty much everything you've said since I ran into you has been a mystery. None of it makes any sense.

Normally, I'd just give you the benefit of the doubt and blame the meds, but I seem to remember you talking crazy long before it resulted in that."

I frown, dropping onto the chair just opposite him and propping my feet up on an elaborately carved antique door he uses as a coffee table. "I'm-I wish I could explain it-I feel like I owe you that much. But I can't. It's-it's too complicated. Stuff that involves-" "Roman and Damen?"

I squint, wondering why he just said that.

"Just a guess." He shrugs. "But from the look on your face, a successful one."

I press my lips together and gaze around the room, taking in tall stacks of books, an old stereo, some interesting art, but no TV. Neither confirming nor denying his statement when I say, "I have these powers. Stuff that goes way beyond the psychic stuff you already know about. I can make things move-" "Telekinesis." He nods, eyes closed now.

"I can make things appear."

"Manifestation-but in your case-instant." He opens one eye to peer at me. "Which makes me wonder-why the book?

You've got the world at your feet. You're beautiful, smart, blessed with all kinds of powers at your disposal, and I'm betting your boyfriend's hiding some gifts of his own. ."

I look at him. That's the third time he's mentioned him, and it bugs me just as much as it did the first time around. "What's your deal with Damen?" I ask, wondering if he's on to us, if he somehow senses something about the long and convoluted past the three of us share.

He shifts, swinging his legs up onto the cushions and propping his head against a pillow. "What can I say? I don't like him. There's just-something about him. Can't really put my finger on it." Turning his head to look at me when he adds, "That wasn't a pun, and you did ask. And if there's anything else you wanna know, now's your chance. These meds are kicking in big time, starting an unbelievable buzz, so you might want to catch me before I fade out, while I'm still able and willing to talk fast and loose."

I shake my head, having already gotten all the answers I needed when I nicked him on the sidewalk a few hours before.

But now, maybe it's time I share a few truths of my own-or at least lead him toward the truth and see if he drinks.

"You know, there's a reason why you and Damen don't care for each other-" I venture, biting down on my lip, not yet decided just how far I'll take it.

"Ah-so it's mutual." His gaze meets mine, holding it for so long, I'm the first to break away. Studying the threadworn rug at my feet, the scarred wood table before me, the large citrine geode propped up in the corner, wondering why on earth I started this, and just about to speak when he says, "No worries." He struggles to kick the blanket over his feet but doesn't quite make it. "No need to explain, no need to-worry.

It's just your everyday, garden-variety guy thing. You know, the kind of primal competition that takes place whenever there's one absolutely amazing girl and two guys who desperately want her. And since only one of us can win-excuse me-since only one of us has won-I'll just wander back to my cave, bang my club against the wall a few times, and lick my wounds where no one can see." He closes his eyes, voice lowered when he adds, "Trust me, Ever, I know when to cry uncle. I know when to bow out, so don't you worry. There's a reason I'm named after the patron saint of lost causes-I've done it many times before, and. . I. . "

His words fade as his chin sinks to his chest, so I get up from my chair and move toward him, grabbing the plush, tangled throw at his feet and carefully arranging it so it covers him completely. "Get some sleep," I whisper. "I'll fill your prescription tomorrow, so no worries there. You just stay here and rest." Knowing he's drifting off, moving on to some other place, but wanting to assure him nonetheless.

Tucking the blanket under his feet when he says, "Hey, Ever-you never answered-about the book. Why'd you want that book when you already have everything you could ever possibly want?"

I freeze, gazing upon the guy I've known for so many centuries, so many lives, who's managed to show up yet again. Knowing there must be a reason, that from everything I've seen and experienced so far, the universe isn't nearly as random as it seems. But the thing is, I don't know the reason.