Элисон Ноэль - Shadowland

“Whoa—” Roman smiles, hands raised in mock surrender as he backs into the room. “Who said anything about bumpin’ uglies, mate?” He throws his head back and laughs, allowing his creepy Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view. “I mean, not to disappoint you, darlin’, but if it’s a good shag I’m after, a virgin’s about the last place I’d look!”

I storm toward my desk, cheeks burning, gaze fixed on the floor, spending the next forty minutes cringing as my classmates burst into hysterics every time Roman directs a disgusting wet smoochy sound my way, despite Munoz’s numerous attempts to quiet them down. And the moment the bell rings, I make a run for the door. Desperate to get to Damen before Roman can, convinced Roman will push him too far and he’ll snap—an act neither of us can afford now that Roman holds the key.

But just as I turn the knob I hear, “Ever? Got a minute?”

I pause, classmates piling up behind me, eager to get to the hall where they can follow Roman’s lead and taunt me some more. His mocking laughter trailing behind as I turn toward Munoz to see what he wants.

“I did it.” He smiles, posture stiff, voice anxious, but still eager for me to know.

I shift uncomfortably, moving my bag from one shoulder to the next, wishing I’d taken the time to learn remote viewing so I could keep an eye on the lunch tables and ensure Damen sticks to the plan.

“I approached her. Just like you told me to.” He nods.

I squint, returning my focus to him, gut churning as I begin to understand.

“The woman from Starbucks? Sabine? I saw her this morning. We even talked for a while, and—” He shrugs, gaze drifting away, obviously still very taken by the event.

I stand before him, breathless, knowing I have to stop it, whatever it takes, before it gets out of hand.

“And you were right. She is really nice. In fact, I probably shouldn’t tell you but we’re having dinner this Friday night.”

I nod, numb, shell-shocked, the words glancing over me as I peer into his energy and watch it unfold in his head:

Sabine standing in line, minding her own business until Munoz approaches—causing her to turn and grant him a smile that’s—that’s—shamefully flirtatious!

Except that there’s no shame at all. At least not on Sabine’s part. Nor Munoz for that matter. No, the shame is all mine. Those two couldn’t be happier.

This cannot happen. For too many reasons to mention this dinner can never take place. One of them being that Sabine is not just my aunt, but my guardian, my caretaker, my only living relative in the whole entire world! And another, possibly even more urgent reason, is the fact that, thanks to my pathetic, maudlin, overly sentimental, ill-advised moment of weakness last Friday, Munoz knows I’m psychic while Sabine does not !

I’ve gone to great lengths to keep my secret from her, and there’s no way I’m going to be outed by my love-struck history teacher.

But just as I’m about to tell him that he absolutely cannot, under any circumstances whatsoever, take my aunt to dinner and/or divulge any information I might’ve accidentally confessed during a weak moment when I was sure I’d never see him again, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway, you should get to lunch before it’s too late. I didn’t mean to keep you this long, I just thought—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I say. “I just—”

But he doesn’t let me finish. Practically pushes me out the door as he waves me away, saying, “Go on now. Go find your friends. I just thought I should thank you, that’s all.”

CHAPTER 5

When I get to the lunch table I sit beside Damen, relieved to find everything as normal as any other day. Damen’s gloved hand squeezing my knee as I quickly scan the campus, looking for Roman as he thinks: He’s gone.

Gone? I gape, hoping he means gone as in not around , as opposed to gone as in pile of dust .

But Damen just laughs, the smooth melodic sound reverberating from his head to mine. Not annihilated. I assure you. Just—absent—that’s all. Drove off a few minutes ago with some guy I’ve never seen before.

Did you talk? Did he try to provoke you? Damen shakes his head, his eyes peering into mine as I add: Good. Because we can’t afford to go after him—no matter what! He has the antidote! He admitted it! Which means all we have to do now is find a way to—

Ever. He frowns. You can’t possibly believe him! This is what Roman does. He lies and manipulates everyone around him. You have to stay away from him—he’s using you—he can’t be trusted—

I shake my head. This time is different. I can feel it. And I need for Damen to feel it too. He’s not lying—seriously—he said—

Not even finishing the thought before Haven leans forward, eyes darting between us as she says, “Okay, that’s it. Just what the heck is going on here? Seriously, enough already.”

I turn, noticing how her friendly yellow aura beams in such sudden sharp contrast to the deliberate harshness of her all-black ensemble. Knowing she means no ill will though she’s definitely disturbed by us.

“Seriously. It’s like—it’s like you guys have some kind of creepy way of communicating. Like twin speak or something. Only yours is silent. And more eerie.”

I shrug and open my lunch pack, going through the motions of unwrapping a sandwich I’ve no plans to eat, determined to hide just how alarmed her question has made me. Knocking my knee against Damen’s, telepathically urging him to step in and handle this since I’ve no idea what to say.

“Don’t pretend it’s not happening.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’ve been watching you guys for a while now, and it’s really starting to creep me out.”

“What’s creeping you out?” Miles gazes up from his phone, but only for a moment before he’s back to texting again.

“Those two.” She points a short, black painted nail with a chunk of pink frosting stuck to its tip. “I swear, they get stranger every day.”

Miles nods, setting down his phone as he takes a moment to look us over. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that. You guys are weird.” He laughs. “Oh, and the whole Michael Jackson, one glove thing?” He shakes his head and purses his lips. “ So not working for you. That look is so played even you can’t bring it back.”

Haven frowns, annoyed by Miles’s joke when she’s trying to be serious. “Laugh all you want,” she says, gaze steady, unwavering. “But something’s up with those two. I may not know what, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll get to the bottom of it. You’ll see.”

And I’m just about to speak when Damen shakes his head and swirls his red drink, leaning toward Haven as he says, “Don’t waste your time. It’s not as sinister as you think.” He smiles, gaze fixed on hers. “We’re practicing telepathy, that’s all. Attempting to read each other’s minds in place of talking all the time. So we stop getting in trouble in class.” He laughs, causing me to squeeze my sandwich so hard the mayonnaise squirts out the sides. Gaping at my boyfriend who’s just arbitrarily decided to break our number one rule— Don’t tell anyone who we are or what we can do!

Calming only slightly when Haven rolls her eyes and says, “Please. I’m not an idiot.”

“Wasn’t implying you were.” Damen smiles. “It’s quite real, I assure you. Would you like to try?”

I freeze, body solid, unmoving, as though witnessing a disaster on the side of the road—only this particular disaster is me .