Eternal

my love.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” Cece was laughing now. “Call me tomorrow, though, ’kay? I’ll try to project to Mrs. G. again in the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.” I hit end, then connected the call with Matthew. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Is Patsy back yet?” he asked without preamble. This had become typical Matthew over the past week. No “Hello, how are you” or anything mundane like that—he just cut right to the chase.

“No. I think she’s flying in tomorrow night.” Just as I’d seen in my vision, she’d gotten stung by a bee on a golf course the day before her scheduled flight home from Turks and Caicos. Thanks to my prodding, she’d been prepared with EpiPens. Still, her reaction had been bad—really bad. They’d kept her in the hospital for two nights, and she hadn’t been feeling well enough to fly. I didn’t care—didn’t even mind that she’d left me to spend Christmas alone. She was alive, and that was all that mattered. My vision had saved her.

“I’m coming over. I mean, if that’s okay,” Matthew added, his voice softening.

I shrugged, tapping my fingers against my thigh. “Sure.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No.” I wasn’t hungry. I hadn’t been hungry in days.

“Okay. I’ll pick something up on my way over.” I could hear him jangling his keys. “How ’bout Thai?”

“Sounds good.”

“Thai it is, then. See you in a few.”

I tossed down my phone and flopped onto my bed with a sigh. God, this was crazy. Aidan was off somewhere being tortured, and all I could do was sit around eating Thai food with one of my teachers. Okay, technically he wasn’t my teacher—I didn’t take any science classes—but he was Sophie’s, and that was weird enough.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep, calming breath—in through my nose, out through my mouth—but it didn’t help. This was wrong. I hated this feeling of complete and utter helplessness. More than anything, I wanted to take the credit card Patsy had given me for emergencies, hop a cab to JFK, and catch the first flight to Paris. I needed to find Aidan. I missed him so badly, I could barely stand it. I physically felt his absence, like a big, fat hole in my heart that grew larger with each passing second.

Reaching a hand to my temple, I focused everything I had on him, conjuring an image in my mind’s eye.

Come back to me, I called out telepathically. Please, Aidan. I need you.

I knew he couldn’t hear me, not with thousands of miles and an ocean between us. Still, I swear I felt the faintest flicker of a buzz in my head. A rush of hope made my heart race, my breath come faster. Rising, I hurried to the window that looked out on Park Avenue and laid one palm flat against the cool glass.

Aidan? I tried again. Can you hear me?

Nothing. I shook my head, confused. I could have sworn I felt . . . something. I took another deep breath, renewing my focus. My eyes still closed, I rolled my shoulders, trying to relax.

And then the traffic noise receded—just like that. The glass seemed to warm beneath my palm. Inexplicably, there was heat warming my ankles, lapping at my calves. The heat intensified, making my legs feel as if . . . as if they were on fire. And then a sharp, tearing pain stabbed at my side, making my breath catch as I doubled over in agony.

My eyes flew open, my focus gone. I blinked several times as I straightened, trying to get my bearings. Below, a siren blared. I watched as an ambulance came barreling down the street, its lights flashing as cars scattered around it. Chilled, I pulled my hand away from the window, cradling it against my body.

Had I imagined those sensations—the heat, the sharp pain? I must have, I reasoned. Unless . . . unless there was a vampire close by and I’d somehow breached its mind. I shook my head. Not likely. It didn’t work like that—at least, not unless the vampire was in the apartment next door. Nope. I’d imagined it. I was losing my mind. It was the only reasonable explanation.

Of course, since when were “reasonable explanations” a part of my life?

I glanced over at the clock by my bed, wondering how much time I had till Matthew showed up. Probably not much, I decided, thinking I should set out some plates and silverware. On my way out, I paused by my dresser, my gaze drawn to the clear plastic container tucked up against the framed picture of Aidan and me at the Halloween Fair dance, both of us decked out in attire circa 1905.

I popped open the case and reached inside for the silver circlet pin that had once held the fragrant orange blossoms Aidan had given me on that night. I inhaled deeply, almost sure I could smell a hint of the sweet citrus scent left behind. The overhead light glinted off the crystals as I ran a finger over them, the faceted stones forming a perfect, unbroken circle.

I flipped it over, examining the back side. It was perfect, as unblemished as the day I received it, the smooth, shiny surface reflecting the light. Silver would have tarnished by now, I realized with a start. Which meant it was probably white gold—maybe even platinum. Curious now, I tipped it this way and that, taking a closer look.

And then I noticed something that I hadn’t before—words, etched into the metal beneath the clasp. My fingers shaking, I clumsily unhooked it, swinging away the metal pin. My heart began to race as I read the engraving: Eternal love.

Tears flooded my eyes, blurring my vision. One spilled over, tracing a path down my cheek. As I wiped it away, I tried to remember what he’d said to me on that crisp, cool October night as he’d pinned the circlet to my dress—something about how flowers had meaning back in his day, that orange blossoms meant eternal love. He’d never given them to anyone before he’d given them to me.

And now? He never would again. I had to choke back the sob that threatened to topple my sanity.

2 ~ The Chicken or the Egg?

I shoved away my half-eaten plate of pad thai with a scowl. “I’m really not hungry.”

Matthew paused, a forkful of noodles halfway to his mouth. “Come on, Vi, you’ve got to eat.”

“Please don’t call me that.” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. Aidan called me “Vi”—no one else did. No one else could. “I . . . it’s just Violet, okay?”

He raised one brow, eyeing me sharply. “Okay. Sorry about that.”

“No, I’m sorry.” I exhaled sharply. “This really sucks, you know? And it’s all my fault.”

With a sigh, he pushed aside his own plate. “What’s all your fault?”

“Everything.” I swept one hand in a wide arc. “Aidan, off at the Tribunal getting punished. Us, sitting here eating and trying to act like nothing’s wrong.”

He folded his arms across his chest. Involuntarily, my gaze was drawn to the tattoo on his right biceps—his Megved mark, the tip of the inked dagger exposed beneath the edge of his T-shirt’s sleeve.

“Look,” he said, his voice settling into lecture mode, “you’ve got to come to grips with the fact that Aidan was out there hurting people. Five victims with puncture wounds and severe blood loss. They’re lucky they’re alive. All of them.” He shook his head, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “He killed that woman in the woods near school, Violet—just left her there to bleed out. Don’t you understand that?”

I swallowed back bile. The thought of Aidan, a cold-blooded murderer—it didn’t compute. I mean, okay, I knew he was a vampire, and I knew he’d killed before. But those were murderers and rapists and really bad guys who’d hurt people that he’d loved, not random junkies who happened to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I took a deep, calming breath before I spoke. “He didn’t know what he was doing, Matthew. You saw him— you saw how totally out of it he was. It was that stupid serum. Someone messed with it. I should have known that the vision in the lab meant something. That it was trying to tell me something important.”