"Ever." She smiles, pushing her wavy auburn hair off her face as her large brown eyes settle on mine. And even though I arrived unannounced, she doesn't seem the least bit surprised. But then her being psychic makes her pretty hard to startle.
"I'm sorry for just showing up and not calling first, I guess I —"
But she doesn't let me finish. She just opens the door and waves me right in, ushering me toward the kitchen table where I sat once before —the last time I was in trouble and had nowhere to turn.
I used to loathe her, really loathed her. And when she started convincing Riley to move on —to cross the bridge to where our parents and Buttercup were waiting —it got even worse. But even though I used to count her as my worst enemy besides Stacia, all of that seems like so long ago now. And as she fusses around the kitchen, setting out cookies and brewing green tea, I watch, feeling guilty for not keeping in touch, for only coming around when I'm desperately in need.
We exchange the usual pleasantries, then she takes the seat across from me and cradles her teacup as she says, "You've grown! I know I'm short, but you positively tower over me now!"
I shrug, unsure how to deal with this but knowing I better get used to it. When you grow several inches in a matter of days, people tend to notice. "I guess I'm a late bloomer. You know, going through a growth spurt —or—something," I say, my smile feeling clumsy on my lips, realizing I need to come up with a much more convincing reply, or at least learn how to reply with conviction.
She looks me over and nods. Not buying a word of it but deciding to just let it go. "So, how's the shield holding up?"
I swallow hard, blinking once, twice. I was so focused on my mission I'd forgotten about the shield she helped me create. The one that blocked out all the noise and sound the last time Damen went away. The one I dismantled the moment he returned. "Oh, urn, I kind of got rid of it," I say, cringing as the words spill from my lips, remembering how it took the better part of an afternoon just to put it in place. She smiles, gazing at me from over the top of her cup. "I'm not surprised. Being normal's not all it's cracked up to be, once you've experienced something more. " I break off a piece of oatmeal cookie and shrug. Knowing that if it were up to me, I'd choose normal! over this any day.
"So, if this isn't about the shield —then what is it?"
"You mean you don't know? What kind of psychic are you?" I laugh, far too loud for such a dumb, feeble joke.
But Ava just shrugs, tracing a heavily ringed finger along the rim of her cup as she says, "Well, I'm no advanced mind reader like you. Though I do sense something rather serious in the works."
"It's about Damen," I start, pausing to press down on my lips. "He's —he's changed. He's become cold, distant, cruel even, and I —" I drop my gaze, the truth behind the words making them so much harder to say.
"He won't return my calls, won't talk to me at school, he even moved his seat in English, and now he —he's dating this girl who —well, she's just awful. I mean, really, truly awful. And now he's awful too —"
"Ever —" she starts, her voice warm and gentle, her eyes kind.
"It's not what you think," I tell her. "It's not that at all. Damen and I didn't break up, we weren't having problems, it was nothing like that. It's like, one day everything was great —and the next—not. " "And did something happen to precipitate this change?" Her face is thoughtful, her eyes on mine. Yeah, Roman happened. But since I can't explain my suspicions, that he's an immortal rogue (despite all evidence to the contrary), employing some sort of mass mind control or hypnosis or spell casting (which I'm not even sure is possible) over the entire Bay View student body, I just tell her about Damen's recent bout of odd behavior—the headaches, the sweating, and a few other safe-to-talk-about nonsecret things.
Then I sit there, holding my breath as she sips her tea and looks out the window at the beautiful garden beyond, her gaze returning to me when she says, "Tell me everything you know about Summerland." I stare at the two halves of my uneaten cookie and clamp my lips shut, never having heard the word mentioned so openly and casually like that. I'd always thought of it as Damen's and my sacred space, never realizing that mere mortals might know of it too. "Certainly you've visited?" She sets down her cup and raises her brow. "During your near-death experience perhaps?"
I nod, remembering both of my visits, the first time when I was dead, the second with Damen. And I was so taken with that magical, mystical dimension with its vast fragrant fields and pulsating trees —I was reluctant to leave.
"And did you visit its temples while you were there?" Temples? I didn't see any temples. Elephants, beaches, and horses —things we both manifested, but certainly no buildings or dwellings of any kind. "Summerland is legendary for its temples, or Great Halls of Learning as they're called. I'm thinking your answer lies there."
"But —but I'm not even sure how to get there without Damen. I mean, short of dying and all ..." I look at her. "How do you even know about it? Have you been there?"
She shakes her head. 'I've been trying to access it for years. And though I've come close a few times, I've never been able to get through the portal. But maybe if we merge our energy together, pool our resources so to speak, we just might get through.'"
"It's impossible," I say, remembering the last time I tried to access it that way. And even though Damen was already showing signs of distress, he's still way more advanced than Ava on her very best day. "It's not that easy. Even if we do pool our energy, it's still a lot more difficult than you think."
But she just shakes her head and smiles, rising from her seat as she says, "But we'll never know until we try, right?"
CHAPTER 23
I follow her down a short hallway. My flip-flops snapping against a red woven rug as I think: This'll never work.
I mean, if I couldn't access the portal with Damen, how can I possibly access it with Ava? Because even though she seems to be a pretty gifted psychic, her skills are mostly saved for the party circuit, telling fortunes over a fold-up card table, embellishing them in hopes of a generous tip.
"It'll never work if you don't believe," she says, pausing before an indigo door. "You need to have faith in the process. And so, before we enter, I need you to clear your mind of all negativity. I need you to rid yourself of any sad or unhappy thoughts, or anything else that's dragging you down and serves the word can't "
I take a deep breath and stare at the door, fighting the urge to roll my eyes as I think: Great. I should've known. This is just the sort of hokey stuff you're forced to tolerate when you're dealing with Ava.
But all I say is, "Don't worry about me, I'm good."
Nodding in a way I hope is convincing, wanting to avoid her usual twenty-step meditation, or whatever woo-woo practice she might have in mind.
But Ava just stands there, hands on hips, eyes on mine. Refusing to let me in until I agree to lighten my emotional load.