True: An Elixir Novel (5 page)

I sit on the floor and examine the damage. Despite the vanilla scent, I’m thinking Piri didn’t actually vacuum that well, because I just stepped on an open staple. Why there was an open staple in my rug is anyone’s guess, but my bigger concern is that it’s stuck in my heel and it hurts. I yank it out, and twin bulbs of blood bloom in its place, the teeth marks from an elfin vampire.

Ugh.

I hop to the bathroom, grab Band-Aids and Neosporin, then hop back into my room, where I flip on the television so MTV’s pregnant teens can keep me company while I doctor myself up. I figure they can also distract me from the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is very wrong with Nico. It’s more than a feeling; it’s a psychic knowledge, deep in my soul.

If I were Clea, I’d tell myself I’m just being
overemotional. But that’s not how things work in the paranormal world. In the paranormal world, psychic knowledge means something. You’d think Clea would know this, since she’s been swimming in paranormal since she found Sage in the background of our European vacation pictures. That’s the thing with Clea, though, and I say this with love: She is in complete denial of anything that isn’t logical. It took her ages to believe that Sage is her soulmate. And even when she did believe it, when she admitted her dreams were visions of past lives, she couldn’t let go and enjoy this incredible gift of true love. She had to dissect it, and worry about which version of her Sage loved best, or what he did for satisfaction during the decades—
decades
—in which her soul hadn’t yet returned to Earth.

I, on the other hand, know from paranormal. I’ve had a Ouija board correctly tell me the initials of my first boyfriend, I’ve watched every episode of
Ghost Hunters
, and I was among the first to fall in love with
Twilight
. I’m much more prepared than Clea to be involved in a paranormal romance.

Not that I wanted that. I mean, I used to. I looked at Clea and Sage’s epic love affair and
thought it would be so thrilling to have something like that, but the truth is, I was perfectly happy to settle down with someone whose picture could be in the dictionary next to the word “normal.”

Then Nico confessed that his family’s in some kind of cult tied to the Elixir that’s kept Sage alive for hundreds of years, and all those born into the cult are cursed to die before they’re thirty.

Sounds crazy, right? But I heard his stories. Nico’s dad died when he was twenty-eight, his sister was killed in a freak car accident when she was sixteen, and his little brother died at
three
because he was born with an insanely rare disorder. Crazy cursed cult is the
least
bizarre explanation. Plus, I’m pretty sure Nico’s head would explode if he tried to lie.

So there we go; I had a boyfriend doomed to die young. We had no choice but to squeeze a lifetime of happiness into a few short years, constantly looking over our shoulders at the ticking clock of doom. . . .

Okay, yes, it was horrible . . . but it was also pretty romantic. Like,
Titanic
romantic. At least it was when Nico first told me. He was so earnest
about it. He said he’d dedicated his life to breaking the curse. Not for himself—he didn’t care as much about himself—he wanted to break it for his remaining younger siblings, and for the other kids born into the cult who otherwise would never have a chance.

“My own life never mattered much to me,” he’d said. “Not until I met you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Rayna. And maybe it’s selfish, but I want that life to be a lot longer than the next nine years. I want to marry you. I want to have kids with you.
Lots
of kids.”

Whoa.

I’ve never wanted to have kids, but the way Nico looked at me when he said that made me see it. We’d get a farm somewhere, we’d save up for “date nights,” I’d stay home with our five little kids while Nico worked . . . maybe I’d even homeschool the kids. If I was going to do that, I’d probably have to pay more attention in school. I wondered if Helmut Lang would ever start making aprons.

I was so far off in happy homemaker land I didn’t even realize he was down on one knee until he took my hand and squeezed it. Then I screamed.

“YES! Oh my God, YES! Nico . . .”

“Wait. Rayna, I can’t ask you to marry me right now. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“But you’re down on one knee.”

“Because I’m proposing to propose. I’d give you a promise ring if I had one.”

“A promise ring? That’s . . . adorable.”

“I mean it. I already wrote to my mom. She has my grandmother’s wedding ring, and I told her to get it polished up and ready, because one day soon it’s gonna be yours.”

I threw my arms around him and kissed him. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait,” I said.

“You don’t understand—”

“I do. I believe the curse is real. I just don’t care. You said you want to be with me for the rest of your life. I want that too, and I want it no matter how long it is.”

Nico smiled, but he shook his head. “I love you, Rayna. I love you too much to let you marry me the way things are now. Let me break the curse . . . and I
will
break the curse . . . and then we’ll do it up right. All I’m asking now is to know you want the same thing I want. Tell me that, and I’ll have the strength to do anything.”

“Anything?” I gave him my best wicked smile, but of course he didn’t get it.

“Yeah, anything. Why, what did you . . . oh.”

I had just peeled off my shirt and thrown it on the floor. Even he couldn’t misread that one. His lips curled into a smile and he pulled me to him, and it was like in an end-of-the-world disaster movie, where the main characters know this could be their last time together, and they throw themselves into each other with complete abandon and it’s all heady and dramatic and wonderful. . . .

But I didn’t
really
think it was the end of the world. That didn’t happen until afterward, when Nico took off with Clea and Ben to find Sage. He was excited about it; he was sure when they found him, he’d break the curse once and for all. I wanted to go too, but he wouldn’t let me. He said it was too dangerous.

Dangerous wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal. I mean, it was all fine and good to
feel
like we were cheating death each second we were together, but I didn’t want him to actually risk his life.

“Don’t go,” I whispered.

“I have to,” he said. “But I’ll come back. I promise.”

I believed it . . . but that was a little over twenty-four hours ago. I wish I could say I still believe it, but . . .

Okay, the
16 and Pregnant
girl is in labor, and it looks nightmarish. If Nico does come back—
when
he comes back?—maybe he’ll be okay with one kid instead of “lots.” And maybe we can wait twenty years or so before we have it. Or maybe we’ll just dress up little dogs.

I turn off the TV and hear something outside. The gate at the end of the driveway, rolling open. My heart thumps against my chest. I’m dying to race to the window, but I’m afraid to look. My parents are both asleep, Senator Weston and her entourage are out of town, Piri and the rest of the household staff are long gone for the day. It has to be them . . . but is Nico there too?

If I don’t look, if I pretend I don’t know they’re back, then I won’t have to hear the bad news. I can spend all night believing he’s okay.

Unless he
is
okay. Then putting it off just makes it longer until we’re back together.

I race to the window and press myself against it just in time to see headlights and what looks like the outline of Ben’s car cruise past my house,
past the main parking area for Clea’s house, and around the corner to the back.

Oh shit. Oh hell. I can’t breathe. I hear myself hyperventilating, and everything’s getting swimmy.

Ben wouldn’t drive around to the back like that if Nico was okay. He wouldn’t. He and Clea have to know I’m freaking out. If everything was okay, they’d park right in front of my door and run inside. The house is on a gated estate; it’s not like we keep the door locked. The only way he’d avoid my house is if he’s avoiding me, and the only reason he’d avoid me is if he and Clea didn’t want to give me bad news.

As I fly down the stairs and out the door, I come up with other reasons Ben could have driven around back. If they succeeded and saved Sage, Clea and Sage might want to slip inside and have some privacy. Or
Clea
could be the one hurt, so they’re pulling up to a door that’s closer to her room. That’s got to be it. And I’m not a horrible friend for thinking it, because if she was
really
hurt, she’d be in the hospital, not at home. She’s just sort of hurt. Sort of hurt’s no big deal, but it would be weird for Nico to excuse himself
and come see me when she’s even sort of hurt and they’re getting her all situated and comfortable, so it’s good I’m coming to him.

That’s why I’m running so fast. It’s not that I’m worried about Nico. Nico’s fine. I’m running to help Clea.

I race barefoot across my front lawn and the mulched grove that separates my house from Clea’s, then onto the smooth blacktop of the long, winding driveway. Little stabs of pain pierce my sore heel with every step, and I can just picture myself limping the last few feet to Nico. I see it so clearly, I don’t even notice something’s in front of me until I slam into it and topple to the ground.

“Rayna?”

It’s Clea, but that doesn’t make sense. She’s supposed to be hurt, and Nico and Ben and maybe Sage are supposed to be helping her up to her room.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She holds out her hand so I can grab it and pull myself off the ground, but when I look up at her and see her face, I freeze.

“No,” I say. “No, no, no, no, no.”

I won’t look at her. Then she won’t say it. I
squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head and wait for her to go away.

She doesn’t. She thumps down next to me.

“I’m so sorry, Rayna. Nico . . .”

“Don’t say it. Don’t say it.”

“I’m sorry. Rayna . . .”

Clea puts a hand on my knee and ducks low, trying to catch my eye. I look up at her . . . and my stomach rolls over.

She looks happy.

Not like jumping-up-and-down happy, but I know her. Before she left last night she was shattered. Now she looks sad and sympathetic, but she’s not. Not really.

“Sage,” I say. “You found him. He’s okay.”

The words taste like acid in my mouth. Clea’s eyes get wide, and her mouth curves into a shocked little O, but she doesn’t deny it.

“He’s okay, but Nico isn’t.” It’s an accusation, and Clea knows it. Now she’s the one who won’t look at me.

“Sage is . . . He’s okay. Yes.”

“And Nico’s not.” The words are awful, but I feel stronger for saying them, like they’re arrows I’m shooting into Clea’s body. I know they’re hurting her; I can see her body hunching over around
the wound. It feels good. I want to do even more.

Of course Sage is okay. Of course. He belongs to Clea, who always gets what she wants. It’s been like that forever. She’s the celebrity. She’s the one everyone wants to photograph and interview and hover around. She’s the star of the movie, the one who always gets the happy ending. I’m the sidekick; no one cares if my heart gets broken.

Clea shakes her head. Nico’s not okay. “I’m so sorry, Rayna.”

She wraps her arms around me, and I freak out. “Get
off
me!” I shove her away, but I can still feel her on me, and it’s so gross I can’t even deal. I hold out my hands in front of me, my body rigid and my fingers bared like claws.

“Rayna . . . what are you doing?”

She comes toward me
again
!

“Stop! Get
away
from me!” I scramble to my feet. She’s so small down on the ground, her perfect blond hair and big blue eyes and fake-angel face. I want to kick her right in her chin.

“I know how you feel—”

“You know how I
feel
?” I snarl. “How? It all worked out for you, Clea, just the way you wanted it!”

“No!” she says, her lying eyes wide now, like
that’ll make me believe her. “I never wanted anything to happen to Nico.”

“You did if it would save Sage. He’s the important one, right? You and Sage and your ‘eternal’ love. Nico and I, we didn’t have anything like that. He was just a guy and I’ll get over him, so it doesn’t matter what happens to him. That’s what you think!”

“No!”

“It’s
exactly
what you think!”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why did you let him go with you and Ben?”

Clea’s mouth is open to answer, but nothing comes out. Of course not. There’s nothing she can say.

“You can’t answer that, can you?”

She does, but she looks at the ground when she says it, not at me. “He
wanted
to come.”

“So? You could have stopped him. You could have left without him. You could have left him here with
me
.”

Clea buries her face in her hands. When she looks up, her eyes are puffy, all ready to cry fake tears. “It’s okay if you’re mad at me,” she says. “I understand.”

“I don’t give a shit if you understand! I don’t need your permission! My God . . .” I tangle my fingers in my hair and pull. I’m so angry I can’t handle it. I don’t know
how
to handle it, so I want to rip and tear and destroy, but all I can do is lean into Clea’s face and scream as loud as I can.

“Rayna!”

The voice is panicked. It’s my mom, lumbering toward us in her robe, her tight curls sleep-matted to one side of her head.

“I heard screaming. . . .” Mom looks around, her eyes darting back and forth between Clea and me. “What’s going on?”

I can’t answer.

Nico’s gone.

He’s gone.

I don’t feel myself start to cry. One minute I’m standing there and the next I’m on my knees, bent double, sobbing and choking.

Mom’s arms wrap around me and I hear the worry in her voice. “Rayna? Baby, what happened? Clea?”

I don’t want to hear how Clea explains everything to my mom. I pull out of the bear hug and stagger to my feet. I lock eyes with Clea for what I hope is the last time ever.