“I’m so sorry, Rory,” he said. “About your dad. You must be—”

“How?” My voice cracked. “How did you know?”

“It’s a special…awareness I have,” he said, taking a step toward me. “When a Lifer’s charge is first revealed to them, it’s revealed to me as well.”

“So that’s how you knew about Aaron,” I said, tears flooding my eyes.

He nodded. “Are you all right?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head as the tears spilled over. “How can I be all right? He’s moving on. He’s…he’s going to leave me.”

Tristan closed the distance between us then, pulling me into his arms. I inhaled the scent of him, so like the calming, floral scent of the island itself, and released all the misery, confusion, and anger I’d been feeling since the moment I’d had that flash.

Tristan stroked my hair back from my face, clinging to my shoulder with his other hand. He kissed the top of my head and whispered in my ear, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Gradually, my tears began to slow, my breathing returning to normal, until finally I was quiet.

“Where were you today?” I muttered, looking him in the eye. “Where were you when you found out about me ushering my dad?

“I was at the cove,” he said.

“With Nadia?”

Tristan knitted his brow. “What? No. Not with Nadia. I mean, she did come by here earlier today, but I didn’t go anywhere with her. I was at the cove, reading.”

“Reading?” I repeated dumbly.

Tristan released me slowly, as if afraid I might crumble at any sudden movement, and went to his desk. For the first time, I noticed that piled on top were dozens of leather-bound journals, some with yellowed pages, others with crisp white ones. He grabbed one from the top of a pile and brought it to me, sitting down on the edge of his bed. I sat next to him.

“What’s that?” I asked, dragging my hands over my face to try to dry the tears.

“I’ve never shown this to anyone,” he said, tilting the spine up. “It’s my daily log. The most recent one. I’ve been keeping them since I got here, so there are actually quite a few by now, but this is the one that matters.”

“Why?” I asked.

He blinked and looked at me like it was so obvious. “Because you’re in it.” Tristan held the journal out to me, gazing directly into my eyes. “Take it.”

“What?”

“I want you to have it,” he said firmly, placing it in my hands. “I want you to see what I wrote tonight before I came back to town—how you’ve changed everything for me.”

I stared down at the plain leather cover of the journal. “Changed everything?”

Tristan was silent for a moment, then let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he said quietly. “What you and Joaquin were saying… It just didn’t make sense to me. It was like you coming to me and insisting that the sky isn’t blue or that the other world isn’t round. It made no sense.”

“Until…?”

“I spent the whole day today going through these,” he said. “The guy in these journals, he’s so…idealistic.” He chuckled. “He really believes in this place. But then I thought about what you said about Jessica and what she did and what happened as a result, and I realized…believing in this place doesn’t mean thinking it can do no wrong. That’s when I knew I couldn’t keep turning a blind eye to what was going on around here.

“I was on my way back to tell the mayor that when I saw the weather vane,” he continued. “That was the final nail in the coffin.”

“You saw it?” I asked, lifting my head. “You were there?”

He nodded. “I’d just gotten to the library when the fog came in, and I waited it out there. I saw you, when you ran up from your house. I saw your face—how devastated you were—and I went right to the mayor.”

“We have to figure this out, Tristan,” I said desperately. “If I have to…” I paused and took a breath, ignoring the dart of pain in my chest. “If I have to usher my father, I have to be sure he’s going to the right place.”

“I know.” He put his arms around me, and I rested my chin on his shoulder, closing my eyes and relishing the solidity of him. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

“That’s all I want,” I replied. “What happened to Aaron and Jennifer, and those other people tonight…it can’t happen to anyone else.”

Tristan pulled back so he could look me in the eye. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Rory, you know that?”

“Coming from someone who’s been around as long as you have, that means a lot,” I said lightly.

Tristan smiled and leaned in to kiss me. His lips tasted of salt and something sweet I couldn’t name. I poured every inch of myself, every ounce of sadness and longing, of terror and despair, of hope and love, into that kiss.

He pulled back, his blue eyes searching mine for a long moment. “I love you, Rory Miller.”

I curled my fingers through his, clinging to him. “I love you, Tristan Sevardes.”

He sighed at the sound of his real name, pulling me to his chest like he would never let me go. In that moment I knew that whatever happened with my family, he would never leave me. We were in this together. Forever.

Finish the job

Sometimes it bothers me how easy it is to fool people. It’s almost as if they want to be lied to. Like they find it comforting. Like they need so badly to believe in the facade that I’ve put forth, to believe in me and this place and everything it stands for, that they allow themselves to be blind to everything else.

Or maybe I’m just that good.

But soon, that’s all going to change. They won’t be able to deny it anymore. Soon they’re going to see me for who I really am. They’re going to know who really holds all the power.

I can hardly wait.

One gold coin

The moment I woke up on Friday morning, I stopped breathing. The air crackled with an ominous chill. I stared at the ceiling, my fingers curling into the blanket at my sides, balling parts of it up inside my fists. I wasn’t going to look at the nightstand. I was not going to look. I refused.

But after two minutes of wide-eyed protest, my eyeballs actually ached. Finally, I ever so slowly turned my head, and there it was, sitting in the center of my nightstand.

One. Gold. Coin.

“It looks like Barbie, Minnie Mouse, and Hello Kitty got together to plan Mardi Gras,” I said to Bea that night. “While drunk.”

We were standing under the huge white tent set up behind Tristan and Krista’s house, surrounded by potted topiaries swathed in pink tulle, tables set with yellow and pink and magenta china, and waitresses dressed like prima ballerinas—tutus, ballet slippers, and all. Bea sipped peach-colored punch from a sparkling crystal glass and raised one eyebrow at me. Right. She had spent two hours on a ladder today carefully stringing beaded garlands and tulle from the rafters.

“But in a good way,” I amended.

I was trying so hard to keep it light, to not think about that coin in my room and what it meant for my family. To not think about everything that was going wrong on Juniper Landing. To not obsess about Nadia and Jessica and the mayor and Oblivion. Most of all, I tried not to think about how the person who was sending people to the Shadowlands might be a guest at this party. Might be watching us right now, waiting for their chance to grab more innocent souls.

“Yeah, right,” Bea said with a sigh. “We both know it’s butt-ugly. But at least she’s happy.”

She gazed across the dozen round tables and the white tiled dance floor at Krista, who was chatting with a few visitors in her circle-skirted pink party dress. For the first time, I saw that Bea really did care about our “birthday” girl. The Lifers were all so different, but they were a family.

“Having fun?”

Tristan wrapped his arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck. Bea gave us an annoyed sort of look and quickly glanced away.