Элисон Ноэль - Shadowland

“You need to repeat that every day—but this is the longest it should ever take. Once you’ve imprinted yourself with the cone of light, all you need to do to maintain it is a few of those deep cleansing breaths, followed by a quick image of you sealed by the light, and you’re good to go. Though it’s not a bad idea to renew it now and then—especially since you’re about to become very popular around here.”

He places his hand on my shoulder, palm flat and open, fingers splayed across the cotton of my tee, the sensation so shocking, so jolting, the images so revealing, I jump to my feet.

“Damen!” I cry, voice hoarse, scratchy, as I turn to find him at the door, watching me—watching us .

He nods, gaze meeting mine in what, at first seems his usual loving way—filled with a complete and total reverence for me. But the longer it holds, the more I sense something behind it. Something dark. Troubling. Something he’s determined to keep.

I move toward him, clasping his hand as it reaches toward mine, aware of the protective shield of energy that hovers between us—an energy I was certain no one could see, until I notice Jude squinting.

I peer at Damen, unable to determine the big hidden thing in his gaze, wondering what he’s doing here, if he somehow sensed this.

His arm tightens around me, pulling me near when he says, “Sorry to interrupt, but Ever and I have somewhere to be.”

I gaze up, drinking him in—the smooth planes of his face, the swell of his lips—the tingle and heat strumming from his body to mine.

Jude rises and follows us into the hall, saying, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep her so long.” His hand reaching toward me, glancing my shoulder then falling away as he adds, “Oh, I forgot—the book! Why don’t you take it, it’s not like I need it around here.”

He turns back toward the desk, about to retrieve it from the drawer, and even though I’m tempted to grab it and run, with the way Damen stiffens as Jude’s aura grows brighter—well, it’s beginning to feel like a test. And it’s all I can do to force the words past my lips when I say, “Thanks, but not tonight. Damen and I have plans.”

Damen’s energy relaxes, returning to normal as Jude’s gaze dances between us. “No worries,” he says. “Another time.” Holding the gaze for so long, I’m the first to turn away.

Leading Damen out the door and onto the street, determined to shake off Jude’s energy, along with the thoughts and images he unwittingly shared.

CHAPTER 30

“So you kept it.” I smile, settling into his BMW, happy to see he’s kept it in place of Big Ugly.

He looks at me, eyes still serious but voice light when he says, “You were right. I went a little overboard with the whole safety thing. Not to mention, this is a much better ride.”

I gaze out the window, wondering what sort of adventure he’s planned, but figuring he wants to surprise me as usual. Watching as he pulls onto the street and weaves through the traffic until we’re clear of all cars and he picks up the speed. Pushing the gas and accelerating so quickly, I have no idea where we’re going, until we’re already there.

“What’s this?” I gaze around, amazed by his ability to always do the least expected thing.

“I figured you’d never been here.” He opens my door and takes my hand. “Was I right?”

I nod, taking in a barren desert landscape, dotted only by the occasional shrub, a mountainous backdrop, and thousands of windmills. Seriously thousands. All of them tall. All of them white. All of them turning.

“It’s a windmill farm.” He nods, hoisting himself onto the trunk of his car and dusting off a space for me to sit too. “It produces electricity by harnessing the wind. In just one hour it can make enough electricity to run a typical household for a month.”

I glance all around, taking in the turning blades and wondering what the significance could be. “So, why’d we come here? I’m a little confused.”

He takes a deep breath, gaze far away, expression wistful when he says, “I find myself drawn to this place. I guess because I’ve borne witness to so much change during the last six hundred years, and harnessing the wind is a very old idea.”

I squint, still not getting its importance, but definitely sensing there is one.

“Despite all the technological changes and advances I’ve seen—some things—things like this—remain pretty much the same.”

I nod, silently urging him on, sensing something much deeper in his words, but knowing he’s choosing to dole them out slowly.

“Technology advances so quickly, making the familiar obsolete at an increasingly rapid pace. And while things like fashion may seem to advance and change, if you live long enough, you realize it’s really just cyclical—the readapting of old ideas made to seem new. But while everything around us seems to be in a constant state of flux—people at their very core remain exactly the same. All of us still seeking the things we’ve sought all along—shelter, food, love, greater meaning—” He shakes his head. “A quest that’s immune to evolution.”

He looks at me with eyes so deep and dark, I can’t imagine what it’s like to be him. To have witnessed so much, to know so much, to have done so much—and yet, despite what he thinks, he’s not the slightest bit jaded. He’s still full of dreams.

“And once the basics are covered, once we’ve secured food and shelter, we spend the rest of our time just looking to be loved.”

He leans toward me, lips cool and soft as they brush my skin—fleeting, ephemeral, like a sweet desert breeze. Pulling away to gaze at the windmills again when he says, “The Netherlands is known for their windmills. And since you did spend a lifetime there, I thought you might want to visit.”

I squint, thinking he surely misspoke. We’ve no time for that trip— do we?

Watching as he smiles, gaze growing lighter as he says, “Close your eyes and come with me.”

CHAPTER 31

We tumble forward, hands clasped together as we land with a thud. Taking a moment to look around when I say, “Omigod—this is—”

“Amsterdam.” He nods, eyes narrowing as he adjusts to the mist. “Only not the real Amsterdam, the Summerland version. I would’ve taken you to the real one, but I figured this trip was shorter.”

I gaze all around, taking in the canals, the bridges, the windmills, the fields of red tulips—wondering if he created that last part for me, then remembering how Holland is famous for its flowers—especially its tulips.

“You don’t recognize it, do you?” he asks, studying me carefully as I shake my head. “Give it some time, you will. I’ve recreated it from memory, how I remember it back in the nineteenth century when you and I were last there. It’s a pretty good copy if I say so myself.”

He leads me across the street, pausing long enough to allow an empty carriage to pass, before continuing to a small storefront, its door wide open, as a lively crowd of faceless people gather inside. Watching me carefully, eager to see if a memory’s sparked, but I move away, wanting to get a feel on my own, trying to picture the former me in this place—the red-haired, green-eyed me—walking among these white walls, wood floors at my feet, gazing at the line of paintings dotting the perimeter as I weave through the patrons who begin to fade at the edges before strengthening again. Knowing that Damen’s responsible for keeping them here, having manifested their very existence.

I move along the walls, assuming this is a re-creation of the gallery where we first met, though disappointed to find it not the least bit familiar. Noting how all the paintings blur and fade until they’re completely imperceptible, except for the one just before me, the only one that’s intact.