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## Contents

Cover

Title Page

The First Persephone

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Excerpt from _Everbound_

Chapter One

Chapter Two

About the Author

Credits

Copyright

Back Ad

About the Publisher

## THE FIRST PERSEPHONE

_E verybody knows who the first queen of the Underworld was. Persephone. Human mythology books begin and end with her_.

_But the truth is, Persephone was merely the first of many queens of the Everneath. There are those of us who know the truth: the Everliving, like me, who feed on willing human beings—Forfeits—in exchange for eternal life. We know that Persephone was brought down by a Forfeit who emerged from the hundred-year Feed with her youth, and sanity, intact_.

_Every succession of power since has been brought about by a Forfeit who survived the Feed_.

_We know this. This is common knowledge among the Everliving_.

_What we don't know is who will be next in line for the throne_.

_My Forfeit survived the Feed. I believe I've found the answer_.

## PROLOGUE

_A_ ll I could do was watch.

The Tunnels came for Nikki, invisible wind grabbing at her hair, tendrils of smoke wrapping around her waist. Relentless.

This was it. This was the end.

Fighting against the force of the funnel cloud, she reached up to touch Jack's face. Declarations of love were exchanged. She couldn't spare one last glance toward me.

All I could do was watch.

Jack threw her to the ground behind him. He jumped into the Tunnels, feet first, sacrificing himself so that Nikki could live. The Tunnels were satisfied.

Nikki collapsed into the arms of Jack's brother, who whisked her and her freshly broken heart away.

And all I could do was watch.

She left me on that balcony, paralyzed by emotions I didn't know I had in me.

The question I should've been asking myself was, In ninety-nine years, how will I find another Forfeit who will survive the Feed? But the question I actually asked myself was, Could Nikki ever look at me the way she looked at Jack in those final moments?

I was done watching. I had to act.

## ONE

### NOW

_A bunch of weeks after the tunnels came for Nikki and left with Jack_.

_In a strange bed, in a strange room_.

_T_ he haze started to clear, and I realized I was in a bed in an unfamiliar room. Eclectic lamps, shaded in deep-purple fabric, cast dark light against the walls.

And someone was calling my name.

"Cole." Rough hands slapped my face. "Cole. Wake up." A male voice. Familiar.

I tried to say _Leave me the hell alone,_ but it just came out as a groan. I rolled over to one side, swatting at the intruder like a fly.

"How much did you say he drank?" the voice asked.

A second voice scoffed. "I'm not his babysitter." This time the voice belonged to someone of the female persuasion.

"Sure. Especially when you had the chance to get with the lead guitarist of the Dead Elvises, right? The more wasted he is, the better."

Ah. Maxwell. Fellow Everliving. Friend.

I opened my eyes—apparently I'd shut them again—and blinked several times. Max's face hovered over mine.

"There you are. Ready to leave the brothel?" he asked. "We've got a gig."

A girl with blond hair stood next to him, also staring down at me. "My bedroom is not a brothel." She sighed and put a hand on her hip. "Okay, so he's drunk. I don't see what the big deal is."

Max leaned down, put my arm around his shoulders, and hoisted me up off the bed. "The Dead Elvises drink, but we don't get drunk. We don't need to."

He pulled me toward the door.

" _He_ needed to," the girl said defensively. "And he had fun."

"Excellent. I'm sure he'll remember it clearly and document it in his diary under the heading, 'What the Hell Was I Thinking.'"

I swung my head back as we went through the doorway. The blond girl raised a hand and waved at me. I lifted a finger in response.

What the hell _was_ I thinking? I hated blondes.

_8 coffees and 4 dry-heaving episodes later_.

_In a green room somewhere_.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position on the circa 1970s couch and groaned loudly as a spring broke free and gouged my thigh. Damn green-room couches. The muffled bass tones of some random opening band floated in from the stage, making it difficult to think straight. I was not ready to go on.

I groaned and rubbed my eyes.

"That's what you get for going on a five-day bender," Max said from the small kitchenette that broke off from the main room.

"Five days?" I swore loudly.

Max came back in, carrying a fresh pot of coffee. He filled my mug. "Yeah. You left to confront Nikki about how she survived the Feed. Fast-forward five days, and I find you passed out in a superfan's bedroom. What happened?"

I rewound my brain to five days ago, when I had stood on Nikki's front lawn. "She said she didn't know how she survived." I frowned. "But she was lying."

"Why do you think that?"

Because her eyes always gave it away. I saw them clearly as I asked her how she had survived. When her words were as full of holes as a sieve and held no truth, she would blink more than she needed to. As if to create a barrier between herself and the person she was lying to.

But I couldn't tell Max this. It would bolster his claim that I was "obsessed" with her. Which I totally wasn't.

"I just know, okay?" I put my head in my hands, breathed in deeply, and for the first time realized I smelled something other than coffee brewing. "What's burning?"

"What do you think?" Max said.

I rolled my eyes. Maybe someone else would be alarmed by the odor, but for me it was the new normal. It meant that Oliver and Gavin, the bass player and the drummer, were in the kitchenette messing around with the chemical pyrotechnics our manager had suggested for our next tour.

"They're gonna burn the place down," I said, rubbing my eyes. I turned toward the kitchenette. "Indie bands don't need pyrotechnics!"

Oliver leaned his head out the doorway. "But it's awesome!"

"But we're not a hair band from the eighties."

"But... it's _fiiiiiire_! On a _stage_!" Oliver ducked back inside the kitchenette. I shook my head.

A knock came at the door. "Ten minutes, Deads!" the club manager shouted.

I glanced around the room for my guitar and felt Max's intense gaze. He was waiting for something. "What?" I asked.

He frowned. "You know it's over with Nikki, right?"

I grimaced. "She's the closest we've ever gotten to finding someone who could take over the throne."

"But it's over," Max growled.

"She was our only chance to never have to find human sacrifices for the queen again. We would be done with the quotas."

"But it's over! The Tunnels came for her, and she escaped. It's done. You have no power over her anymore."

Max always had a problem with me choosing to take Nikki to the Feed, but I still wasn't sure why. At first I knew he thought my pursuit of Nikki would be pointless because she would never choose to go with me.

But she did.

Then he thought she didn't have the right training, or the right lineage, to survive the Feed and stay young.

But she did.

"Why do you resent her so much?" I said.

Max sighed loudly. "I don't. I just don't think our future lies with an unknown girl from nowhere."

"But she survived the Feed."

"So? She's an anomaly. She also avoided the Tunnels, because another guy—also obsessed with her—made a stupid decision that cost him his life. All for a girl."

I relaxed my shoulders. "Is that why you hate her? Because you think I'm going to make a stupid decision too?"

He took a step closer to me. "I think you are primed to make the stupidest decision of your nine-hundred-year life. She's gone. You have nothing to hold her to. Nothing to threaten her with. She's free."

Another knock came at the door. "Five minutes!"

Max started to turn away as if he'd won the argument. He held the door open, and the band went through the doorway. As we approached the stage, the sound of screaming fans grew louder, and I forced the practiced unimpressed-but-happy-to-be-performing smile onto my face.

What Max didn't understand was that from the moment I'd met Nikki, I couldn't imagine either one of us ever being free of the other.

## TWO

### LAST YEAR

_Harry O's_.

_The night fate threw a wide-eyed girl in my path_.

_T_ he bouncer's eyes glazed over, and he stood aside with a blank expression on his face. It wasn't natural.

"Was that really necessary?" I said to Max as we passed through the doorway into Harry O's club. "We're already on the list. We're like top of the list."

Max closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "No, but if we only did the necessary things in life, how fun would that be?"

I glanced back at the bouncer, whose blank expression had been replaced with the carefree smile that always appeared on a human's face after an Everliving fed, momentarily freeing the human from his or her worst emotions.

For a little while the things that weighed heavy on that bouncer's mind would be lifted, and the best feelings inside him would rise to the surface.

If I thought about it long enough, I'd consider that man lucky.

But Max feeding off that bouncer just to get us inside faster was an unnecessary risk of our exposure, not just to the humans, but to other Everlivings. The band as a rule tried to fly under the radar in both worlds.

The less the queen knew about us, the better. When you were ruled by a tyrant, anonymity was imperative. Or at least obscurity. Already we were toeing the line because we hadn't fulfilled our sacrifice quota this month. Any minute we'd be getting the automatic text from the Everneath reminding us we owed a debt to the Tunnels.

"The D.O.P. are already here," Max said, using his own little nickname for the Daughters of Persephone. He gestured to the other side of the giant room where Meredith was sitting at a long table next to Kasey James and a brunette I'd never seen before. A sign stood in the middle of the table on a metal stand: RESERVED.

The new brunette was for me, I'd guess. Probably shipped from the D.O.P. Distribution Center just for this moment, to meet her Dead Elvis.

She'd give me whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. She'd have been raised that way.

The piped-in club music blaring over the speakers did little to drown out the excitement wafting over the crowd from the girls at the table. I started to make my way across the dance floor, the band following close behind me. The crowd parted for us. I'd grown used to the stares that followed us most places, especially in hipster joints like this one.

That's all they were though... stares. Rarely did someone have the guts to approach us. Maybe it was because we looked unapproachable. Max was, after all, wearing a silver, spiked dog collar tonight.

Someone bumped into my shoulder with enough force to knock me off my path.

"What the hell?" I said, pushing him off me.

"Hey, watch where you're—" His slurred speech cut off as he got a good look at me. "Dude," he said in that I-recognize-a-rock-star kind of way. "You're a Dead."

I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to push him again just for fun.

"I'm a fan." At the _f_ sound in _fan_ , I got sprayed with droplets of the man's spit.

Maybe I should've had more patience, but I'd been doing this for hundreds of years. The Dead Elvises were only the latest incarnation of our band. We picked a new name, a new genre of music, a new identity every generation or so. But this generation was so digital, and our images were plastered everywhere. Next time we did this, we'd probably have to get face-lifts as well.

But the point was that tonight the crazed, drunken, spitting fan was becoming old.

Everything in my life was becoming old.

"Can I have an autograph?" the guy said.

I raised an eyebrow. "You have no pen and no paper."

He stood there staring blankly at me, as if to say, _Why would I need a pen and paper?_

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Find me later, _dude_. Okay?"

A smile broke across his face with such enthusiasm that I wondered if I'd accidentally said _How about you join the band?_

He staggered away and disappeared into the crowd. It was guys like that who made me reconsider hiring a bodyguard. But bodyguards weren't our style. Bodyguards signified a certain level of stardom, and we liked to cruise just below that level.

Once seated at the table, Meredith wedged herself in between Max and me. Max's face lit up—at least as much as Max's face ever lit up, which was about as much as Bill Gates's would if he found out he had an extra million lying around. Max was lucky he found this Forfeit attractive. It would make the first few decades of the Feed more tolerable.

"Cole," Meredith said, infusing more excitement into those four letters than I'd heard in a while. "This is Shacey. She's from the Seattle chapter of the D.O.P."

The brunette at the end of the table smiled shyly at me.

_Shacey?_ What kind of a name was Shacey?

Shacey bowed her head in the traditional greeting between potential Forfeit and Everliving. I don't know who started the tradition, but the D.O.P. followed customs as if their lives depended on it.

I scooted down to the end of the table.

"Nice to meet you, Shacey," I said.

At the sound of my voice, she raised her head slightly and looked at me through lowered lashes. Her expression became decidedly darker. I knew that look. One word from an Everliving and a D.O.P. was ready to jump his bones. Is that something the D.O.P. consciously taught? How to be equal parts shy schoolgirl and naughty sex kitten? How many times had she practiced that look in the mirror?

It wasn't just limited to the Daughters, though. There were plenty of fans, male and female, with a similar kind of... talent.

Trying not to be obvious about it, I inhaled the air from Shacey's direction and tasted what was there.

Pretty much exactly what I saw. Desire and anticipation, with a splash of trepidation—but only a splash. Every mother instilled her daughter with the same dichotomy of emotions. It was as if the D.O.P. had polled a hundred men about what attributes they found most appealing in a woman and then chose the top three. It was supposed to make the whole idea of a century underground with one person more appealing. But to me it felt old. Sure, any emotion could act as nutrition for an Everliving, but these old emotions felt as satisfying as watered-down wine.

Everything felt old.

Maybe there was something inside her besides those three things, but I couldn't tell. All our abilities were dulled this close to the Feed. I wouldn't have my full powers back until after it was over.

I looked at Gavin and Oliver, who high-fived each other after some joke. I envied them their enthusiasm. This would be their second Feed.

It was my tenth.

I turned to my designated Forfeit and said with a straight face, "So, Shacey, what brings you to Park City?"

For a moment she looked startled; her eyes went wide. Unsure, she glanced from me to Meredith.

"He's kidding," Meredith said. "Adorable, isn't it?"

I was about to give some blazing retort, but then I caught a whiff of something in the air that made me freeze.

Anger. Pain. Hate. Joy. Elation. Layers and layers and layers of it, like some sort of elaborate birthday cake baked just for me. The taste of it against the back of my throat knocked me over.

I half expected to turn toward the smell and find a Girl Scout troop entangled with a bunch of newly released death row inmates; but upon spying the source, that's not what I found. At the entrance to the club stood two girls. High school age. Maybe a couple years younger than my human age.

I sniffed a couple of times, trying to determine which one the smell was coming from. I hoped it wasn't the blonde with the wavy hair. Blondes weren't my type.

I breathed in once more. It definitely wasn't the blonde. The origin of that tasty feast emanated from the girl next to her. The one with dark-brown hair, side-swept over one shoulder, hanging in soft curls to her chest. Giant brown eyes, big as whole notes on sheet music.

At that moment she reached up with the most delicate fingers I'd ever seen and brushed her hair off her shoulder and behind her.

A loud bass drum thumped through the speaker next to her. She jumped, startled, then smiled at her own reaction. It was endearing.

Oh, hell. Did I really just think the word _endearing_?

That should've been my first clue that after tonight, everything would change.

The mysterious girl said something to her blond friend, and whatever she said, it made her friend grab her by the arm and urge her farther into the club.

I was struck. But I couldn't figure out exactly why.

It wasn't as if she was particularly stunning, but her emotions were far from ordinary and unlike anything I'd ever tasted. Darker than a girl her age should have. I could tell even in my weakened state that this girl had been through something.

Maybe that was my problem with the D.O.P. They'd been raised with the sole purpose of the Feed. They were emotionally stunted because they hadn't experienced life. They hadn't been allowed to immerse themselves fully in the intense joys and pains of real human existence, and therefore their emotional bank suffered.

I'd thought this for a while now, but here was my theory proven, standing across the room from me. This girl had been through things... more things than most girls her age, I would guess.

The girl started walking over toward our table. Was it possible she felt the same connection I felt?

No. Her blond friend was waving at someone in our party.

At Meredith.

I glanced at Mer. "Friends of yours?"

"You know the D.O.P. don't have outside friends," she said with a smirk. "But yes, they go to my school. Juliana Taylor and Nikki Beckett."

She _was_ young. All those emotions in one teenager? It was too much.

"Which one's the brunette?" I asked.

She eyed me suspiciously. "Nikki."

Nikki. Nikki Beckett. I saw the letters of her name in my head. I could've written a song about how vines emerged from the _K_ s in her name, branching out as if from a tree and wrapping around the inside of my brain.

"She's the mayor's daughter," Meredith added, a hint of warning in her voice.

Mayor Beckett. I remembered seeing his name in the small regional paper this morning. Something about reading to a kindergarten class.

"They're actually coming over," Meredith said, averting her eyes. "Max, you be the one to say something. Divert them."

"It's fine," I interrupted. "Let them come."

Again, Meredith looked at me as if I'd grown a third eyebrow, but she didn't argue.

Juliana and Nikki got to our table and stood there for a moment awkwardly.

"Hi, Juliana. Nikki." Meredith emphasized Nikki's name slightly, and I held back from kicking her under the table. "How did you get in?"

"Sean put us on the list," the blonde answered.

Meredith looked away, and I rolled my eyes. I guess it was up to me. I stood and gestured for Shacey to switch to the other side of the table. She lowered her eyes and quickly obeyed, then I stepped out.

I caught Nikki's eye and saw the glimmer of recognition in her face. Good. She knew who we were.

"Here. We can make room." I cricked my finger toward Nikki to join me. "We can fit you here. Mer, make some room for her friend, will you?"

Meredith gave me an annoyed look but then slid down the bench without a word, pushing Max closer toward me. I ushered Nikki onto the bench and then followed behind, making a getaway difficult for her.

At this close proximity, that same delicious dichotomy of emotions rolled off her in waves. Even Max appreciated the fragrant bouquet. He sniffed the air as if he were at a wine tasting with a glass under his nose. He caught my eye with a smirk, finally understanding why I'd been so eager to have them over. How had he missed it before? _I'd_ noticed it the moment she'd walked through the doorway.

Shacey didn't say much the rest of the night. Or maybe she left. I wasn't sure. All I could see... all I could _smell_... was Nikki. The waves of her brown hair had the perfect symmetry of one of Mozart's minuets. Her emotional layers had the depth of a full symphony.

All I wanted was to bathe in her harmony.

When Nikki left the club, I stared after her.

"I didn't think you'd still be on the prowl for girls this close to the Feed," Meredith said. She drained the rest of her drink, but I only saw her from the corner of my eye.

I couldn't take my eyes off the emotions that Nikki left in her wake.

"I'm not," I said, but even I could hear the uncertainty in my own voice.

Meredith could too.

"She's dating the school quarterback."

"People date all the time. And they break up all the time."

"Not these two," Meredith said with a snort. "Their love is _epic_. Everyone at school knows it. He gave up his philandering ways to be with his longtime childhood bestie."

I finally glanced at her sideways. "They're in high school. High schoolers don't philander."

"Jack Caputo does. Or did."

Glancing back at Nikki's emotional wake, I didn't answer Meredith. If she was right, if Jack was a supposed "philanderer," maybe I could use that information to my own benefit someday.

But my benefit for what, exactly? What did I want from Nikki?

Now that the crowds had thinned, Shacey moved closer to me with a look on her face that said _My place or yours?_

I hoped she couldn't read my own thoughts as easily as I could read hers. I was thinking that I'd throw Shacey off a train if I could ever get someone like Nikki Beckett to become my Forfeit.

The Feed would no longer be just a Feed then. It would be a Feast.

I looked Meredith straight in the eye. "There's no such thing as epic love."

## THREE

### NOW

_At the condo. A week after we played the club_.

_A_ week after that last concert, I was holed up in my room surrounded by dozens of leather-bound books, the pages of which were yellowed and faded from time. I closed one that contained bound Egyptian papyri and reached for another one that held Greek writings.

There was no internet search engine that could answer my questions. Any real information about the Everneath could only be found in ancient texts like these. I hadn't ever had the urge to rifle through the dull records of the history of our civilization, but then again, I hadn't ever had the need. Nikki changed that. Nikki changed everything.

A knock sounded at my door.

I didn't answer. Instead, I flipped through the first few pages, checking the ancient Greek scribbles for anything to do with the Underworld. The symbols started to move in and out of focus, the lines bleeding together. I squeezed my eyes shut. If the eye really was a muscle, I had pulled it long ago.

I blinked my eyes open and stared at the page. The symbols were their own entities again.

Suddenly the door swung open and Max stood there. He glanced around the room, at the open books strewn across the floor and the loose papers scattered on top of my bed. He went over to the window and threw open the curtains.

I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the light.

"This is what you've been ditching practice for?" he said. "Working on your Greek alphabet?"

I lowered my head and focused on the book in my hands. "I have to know how she did it. How she survived."

Max sighed audibly and closed the door behind him. He sat in one of the few clear spots on my floor.

"We've got deadlines," he said, absentmindedly picking up one of the loose papers and glancing at it before setting it aside. "We've got fans waiting on us. We've got everything we ever wanted."

"Not everything," I said, finally looking him in the eye. "Don't you _want_ to rule the Everneath?"

He narrowed his eyes skeptically. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. Do you _want_ the kingdom?"

He picked up the guitar leaning against my bed, plucked the E string, then turned the corresponding tuner. "Everyone wants it. But how do we know Nikki can get it?"

"I'm not saying she can. But we do know that the only ones who have overthrown the queen are the ones who survived the Feed. Nikki survived it, yes. She's free now, yes. But what if we can find out how she did it? And then, at the next Feed, we find someone just like her." I closed the book in my lap but kept my eyes on Max. "I have to know. I have to find out, and I'm not going to back down."

Max frowned, but he stopped tuning my guitar.

"C'mon, Max. This is our chance for the throne. Our chance to end the slavery."

"You think we're slaves, but I think we're gods." He strummed a bright chord. "We're rich. We live forever. We can change people's attitudes simply by breathing. We have all the power, and we never grow old. We're _gods_."

"Gods who have to answer to a queen. Gods who, if we fail to meet our quota of sacrifices, will be destroyed. Or fed to the Shades. Gods who are slaves to their next meal. Yes, I'd rather be an Everliving slave than a human, but that doesn't mean we can't strive for more. For _power_."

Max sighed, and a look of resignation passed over his face. "Other Everliving have searched for the same info and come up short. What makes us different?"

"They didn't have Nikki. We can combine what we find out with what we know about her. That gives us the edge."

Max's hand froze over the strings of my guitar. We stared at each other for a few long moments. Finally Max set aside the guitar. "If you want to find out how she survived the Feed, you're looking in the wrong place. These... _manuscripts_ are only ancient versions of modern-day myths. They won't tell you anything you don't already know. The D.O.P., however, keep meticulous records of every Forfeit. If we're going to start somewhere, we should start with them."

I smiled. "We?"

Max rolled his eyes. "I need my lead guitarist back. And if helping you look is what it takes... well, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for our adoring fans. Besides, the D.O.P. are separate from the Everneath. It's not like anyone in the High Court would know if we were researching Forfeits."

I had to fight the swell of gratitude bursting from my chest at the knowledge that I wasn't alone. "I could kiss you right now." Okay, obviously I wasn't fighting it enough.

He snorted. "Let's save that till after we're successful."

The D.O.P. was a worldwide organization, and the nearest distribution center was located in Los Angeles. Yes, they really did call them "distribution centers."

Max and I instructed Gavin and Oliver to stay and work on the Dead Elvises' new tracks and then we left for the airport, headed to Southern California.

A car met us at LAX and took us straight to the address Max had dug up in our own D.O.P. records. When the driver came to a stop, I gave Max a confused look. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. The building looked compressed and bare compared to the skyscrapers that surrounded it. Maybe that was the designer's intention.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" I asked.

Max opened the door and slung his bag over his shoulder as he stepped out. "The D.O.P. has no reason to hide its records from us. From other Forfeit organizations, yes, but not from us. Our relationship with it is too important. Like any good business, it depends on consistent customers. It'll help us."

I shrugged and followed.

Through the glass doors, we could see one lone woman manning the reception desk. Why would they even need a receptionist? There was no signage anywhere on the building, so I couldn't imagine random people from the street stopping by.

We opened the doors and walked up to her.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

Yep. Not used to visitors.

"Hi"—I glanced at her name tag—"Nancy. We're members of the Dead Elvises." Given the D.O.P.'s long-standing business relationship with us, I assumed she would recognize the band's name.

The change in her demeanor was immediate. Her frown relaxed into a semismile, her cheeks took on a flushed hue, and she blinked rapidly.

"Oh. Well. This is a pleasant surprise. What can I help you with?"

Max put his elbows on the counter. "We'd like to look at the records the D.O.P. keeps of every Forfeit."

Nancy's frown returned. "I don't know where you heard this, but we don't keep records."

Max and I exchanged glances. "Sorry to disagree, Nancy," I said. "But yes, you do keep records. Everyone knows this."

She shook her head slightly, but it came off more like a nervous twitch. "How do I know you're really the Dead Elvises?" she said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously? Try the leather pants, for one." I gestured to my legs, but she wasn't about to take her eyes off my face. This woman was scared. And she didn't become scared until we mentioned the records.

"I think you should leave," she said, her voice shaky. I stepped closer to the counter, and she visibly flinched.

Under normal circumstances, we'd feed on her in an attempt to manipulate her emotions, but it was sort of an unwritten rule that you didn't do that to the providers of Forfeits _outside_ the Feed.

Max put on his most charming smile. "Look, I'm sure you're confused. We're not here to hurt you. We just want to take a peek at your records. Now, which way is the vault? Is it this way?" He pointed toward a hallway and took a tentative step.

In a quick move, she flipped open a panel on her desk, revealing a red button. She held her finger over it. "I'll call security."

I couldn't believe it. Here we were, so close to getting our hands on information, and this woman was going to stand in the way.

"Look, Nancy, just get us the records." I leaned over the counter even farther.

"I'm telling you we don't have any," she said.

"I know that's a lie!" The words came out more forcefully than I'd intended. She only hesitated a fraction of a second before she depressed the red button.

I threw my hands up. "What the hell?"

Lights flashed round and round in the entryway, hallways, and above every door. Sirens wailed.

We rarely resorted to violence on the Surface, partly because physical strength was not the strongest of our gifts and partly because violence drew attention to us; but at this moment, something inside me snapped.

I vaulted all the way over the desk and grabbed the woman by the collar. Her eyes went even wider, and I half expected her to faint on the spot.

I twisted her collar in my fist and got in her face. "Where do you keep your records?" It came out in a growl.

"We don't have any!" Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Don't lie to me! Where are they?"

A sharp sting hit my neck. My hand flew to the spot, and I felt a thin needle poking out of my skin. I plucked it out and brought it to my eyes, neither of which seemed to work anymore.

As the darkness closed around me, I had just enough time to hear the receptionist say, "I knew you weren't the Dead Elvises."

_Nikki's fingers wrapped around mine_.

_"I won't lose you," she said, tears brimming in her eyes, about to spill over_.

_With my free hand, I ran the backs of my fingers lightly down her cheek. "We don't have a choice," I said. "Please, Nik. Let me do this for you. I have to do this for you."_

_She didn't respond, but she lifted my hand to her lips, kissed my fingers, and then used my own hand to slap my face_.

_Hard_.

"Ow," I said, rubbing my cheek.

I opened my eyes. Max was there, hand raised, poised to strike again. Beyond him, I could see we were in a giant room with very little furniture beyond a metal desk and three chairs in the center. Empty bookshelves lined cinder block walls. There was only one steel door. No windows.

Max's hand flinched.

"Enough!" I said.

He eyed me suspiciously. "What were you dreaming about?"

"That depends on what you heard," I said, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands.

"You said, 'Please, Nik.'"

_Shit_. "I dreamed I was begging Nikki to leave me alone."

He looked skeptical, but then a metal clanging sound came from the steel door at the end of the room. A woman with tall red hair heaved the door open, crossed the room with long strides, and took a seat at the steel table in the middle. In one hand she carried a clipboard and in the other a pen, which she clicked open as she sat down.

Max helped me up, and we took the two chairs opposite her.

She gazed at us with eyes rimmed in stark eyeliner. "I'm Jane St. Thomas. You're half of the Dead Elvises. I'm sorry for all of the confusion. What happened?"

I grimaced. "We came here because we wanted to look at your records. And then the receptionist went all James Bond on us. What the hell?"

She made a note on her clipboard. "What records were you after?"

I glanced at Max, confused. "The famous D.O.P. archives. The copious logs of every Forfeit. How come this is so confusing? And why did you tranq us?"

Ms. St. Thomas sighed and put down her pen. "We 'tranqued' you because we thought you were a threat. The last people who demanded our records meant us extreme harm. And this is confusing because the records you're referring to were lost long ago. We now encourage each D.O.P. family to keep records of their lineage within their own home."

"Lost? Lost how?" I asked. "Your records were legendary."

"Too legendary," she said. She gestured to the room, the empty shelves, the filing cabinets that had tipped over. "Take a look around. This is what's left of the records vault. We were cleaned out decades ago."

"You mean they were stolen."

She nodded.

"Stolen by who?" I said.

"Those who long for _all_ the information. Delphinian Scholars."

Delphinians. At the mention of the name, I could feel my blood turn cold and drain from my face, down my back. Ms. St. Thomas must not have been there that night, because I'd never heard of anyone who had come face to face with a Delphinian and lived to tell about it. Some Everlivings were even too scared to say their names. I glanced at Max, who closed his eyes.

"The Delphinians were convinced that we had more records we were hiding. They threatened to return one day for these 'missing' papers. We haven't seen or heard from them since, and nobody else has shown interest in our records. Until today. So you can understand why Nancy was a little... suspicious."

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Max shook his head and shrugged, obviously believing that now that the Delphinians were involved, our mission was over.

"So the Delphinians still have the records?" I asked.

Max jerked his head toward me.

Ms. St. Thomas looked thrown. "I... I don't know."

"Cole," Max said in a warning tone.

I ignored him. "Look, Ms. St. Thomas, you've obviously dealt with the Delphinians. They have the records we want. What can you tell us about them?"

Ms. St. Thomas gave me a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. "You want to know what I know? Fine. I know you can't just ask for them, like the two of you did here, because they'd never give them up. I know there's no way to fight them, because the Fates can see the future. I know there's no way to outsmart them, because the Scholars know everything." She closed her eyes as if she was remembering something painful. "I also know we had twelve people working here the night the Delphinians came for the records. None of them survived."

Silence filled the room.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table. "So are they still in Los Angeles?"

She shook her head, bewildered, and stared at Max. "I tell him there'll be an army waiting for him, and your friend is only concerned with the color of their uniforms. What's this really about?"

Max shrugged. "A girl."

I glared at Max. "Dude. Shut up."

## FOUR

### NOW

_Back in Park City_.

_M_ ax and I argued during the cab ride to LAX airport, the cocktail service on the plane, the drive to Park City, and even up the stairs to our condo.

And yet Max wouldn't give in. Every discussion ended with him declaring, "I don't want to die."

As we walked inside, I was in the middle of reminding him—again—of how this was our chance to rule the world—or at least the Underworld—when he interrupted me by saying, "I will not declare war on the Delphinians."

Oliver was sitting on the sofa jotting down notes on some sheet music. "Who are the Delphinians?"

Max gestured with his hand for me to explain, as if he wanted no part of it.

"The Delphinians used to rule side by side with the queen and king of the Everneath. They acted as a senate. They were made up of brilliant Scholars and prognosticating Fates, having abilities that helped them rule. But they grew in power. The queen became threatened. She heard the Delphinians were planning a coup, and she decided to order a preemptive strike. So she amassed a clandestine army of Everlivings and harnessed a secret weapon: enchanted fire. The queen banished the surviving Delphinians to the Surface. They should've died without access to the Everneath, but the Delphinians found a way to survive through a small gateway to the Everneath. Believed to be located in London."

Max snorted. "Don't forget the best part. They're _insane_. They live on recycled energy from the Everneath. They were deformed by the enchanted fire. They're a fringe of a splinter group, and you don't want to mess with them." He glanced at me. "Wait. I take that back. _Cole_ wants to mess with them."

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"They have the records we need," I said.

"And therefore you're ready to declare war," Max said. He shook his head and stomped into the kitchen. "I'm brewing coffee."

I blew out a deep breath and threw my backpack toward the hallway. Max was right. Any attempt to go to the Delphinians would be suicide. I sank into a chair, leaned my head back, and stared at the ceiling.

Oliver scribbled a few notes, his pencil scratching against the sheet music. "You know," he said, "I lived through the Civil War. I know a few things about war."

I closed my eyes. "You were three."

"Yes, but I studied Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_."

"We're not declaring war on the Delphinians."

"I'm not talking about declaring war. I'm talking about forming a strategy."

I raised my head. Oliver had taken one of the pages of sheet music, turned it over, and written across the top, "Know your enemy."

"What do you know about the Delphinians?" he asked. "What's their history?"

I sighed and shook my head. "I don't know. They were once the senate in the Everneath. There was a power struggle, and the king and queen banished them to the Surface."

Max appeared at the doorway of the kitchen. "But not before they were horribly disfigured by enchanted fire." He sat down. At my hopeful look, he said, "Gavin's playing with fire in the kitchen. I'm tired of breathing in smoke." He turned to Oliver. "Now the Delphinians live in London, where they discovered a small leak from the Everneath. It's like they survive by taking turns sucking air through a straw."

Oliver took notes the entire time we were talking. "Okay, and what do they desire more than anything? Do they want admission back into the Everneath?"

"No. They're insane," Max said. "They like being separate. They don't desire anything."

I thought about how they broke into the D.O.P. distribution center. "That's not true. They desire information. They want to be the keepers of all knowledge. They're hoarders of records and shit."

Max leaned against the armrest of the couch and shrugged. Oliver's pencil scratched a few more lines.

"What are their strengths?"

I remembered back to Mrs. St. John's assessment. "They're smart. And they can see parts of the future. Not all of it."

"What do you mean?" Oliver said.

"Someone once explained it to me like this. Imagine looking through a long metal pipe." I made a circle with my fingers and thumb and brought it up to my eye. "The image you'd see is pretty straightforward. Now imagine that the pipe was bent in a U-shape and that tiny shards of mirrors were placed inside the pipe so that when someone looked through one end, he would glimpse pieces of what lay on the other end. Supposedly the Fates can bend the entrances to the Everneath, like the one under the Shop-n-Go, and because of the time discrepancy..."

My voice faded as I saw Oliver's blank expression, and I wondered if I would have had better luck trying to tap-dance the explanation instead of use words.

"Just... they can see the future, okay?"

" _Sometimes_ they can," Max clarified. "They see patches of the future, which they try to interpret."

"Go on," Oliver said.

"They're diabolical." I paused. "And they have no ethics or morals."

Oliver scribbled the words _no ethics/morals_. He now had a long list of strengths. "And now, what are their weaknesses?"

Max and I exchanged glances. I shrugged. "They like to kill?" I said.

"That's not a weakness," Max said with a snort.

Oliver put down his pencil. "Look at their history. Look at their desires. I'd say their weaknesses are a fear of fire, especially the kind that scarred them, and their relentless pursuit of information. What if you approached them by offering what they want most?" He leaned forward. "New information. Tell them about Nikki."

I couldn't put into words how fast the anger boiled up inside me. It took me by surprise: the burning in my chest at the thought of sacrificing her.

"No," I said. The effort to keep my voice calm made it sound like a growl. "We're not going to serve them up Nikki. They'd probably shut her away. Run tests on her."

Max narrowed his eyes in a knowing way but stayed quiet.

I looked at Oliver. "They like to make deals. They like to collect on payments. We'll pay them for information."

Max lowered his voice, sounding grave. "Now you're talking about making a deal with the devil. You have no idea what they'll want in return. You'll think you're bartering with your fingers, and you'll end up losing your arm. They're freaks whose punishments are legendary and whose prisons are inescapable." He laughed mirthlessly. "I can't think of one single Everliving who has benefited from a visit to the Delphinians; and _that_ , my friend, is what Cole is proposing." He leaned closer. "A deal with the devil, brother. With. The. Devil."

I looked away, reluctant to validate the truth behind Max's words. "I have to find out."

As if to add emphasis to my declaration, thunder clapped in the sky above, and droplets of rain began to pelt the windows. Max shrugged. "No you don't. You're going to the Delphinians, but not because you want to find another girl _like_ Nikki. You're going because you want Nikki."

"This has nothing to do with the girl. This has to do with the throne."

He lifted his chin. "Sure."

A tiny explosion went off in the kitchen. Oliver put down his pencil and darted toward it. Hysterical laughter followed. But Max and I kept our eyes locked on each other.

"I'll go to London," he said. "But I won't talk to them with you. You're on your own for that."

"Fine. That's all I ask."

Max turned and stalked away to the kitchen. I heard the teapot being filled with water, and I knew that he would soon disappear into his room, chamomile tea in his hand.

For as little emotion as Max ever showed, being an Everliving meant the most to him. In his human life he was twenty, working on a farm in Hungary when he contracted the Black Death. For three days he hovered on the brink of death until I brought him to the Everneath and made him an Everliving. Maybe it was that brush with death that made him appreciate the life of an Everliving more than the rest of the band. More so even than me. So why did he resist something that could take us to the throne?

As if he could hear my thoughts, Max strolled out of the kitchen, tea mug in hand.

"It's because of the sacrifices you made for her. Sacrifices you're still making. Sacrifices that will one day get you killed."

He walked away and shut his bedroom door.

He was right. I'd been known to go to extremes to get her. Was I making a mistake confronting the Delphinians? Max thought I was doing this because I was obsessed with Nikki. Was he right?

I needed to see her face. Right now. The last time I'd seen her, I'd ended up on a five-day bender and woken up in a stranger's room. I had to see her again to prove to myself that she wouldn't have that kind of power over me ever again.

I had to see her again to prove I wasn't doing any of this for her. Without telling anyone where I was going, I left the condo and headed for my motorcycle.

Once in Nikki's room, I watched her sleep as I had done so many times in the last six months. She lay on her side against the wall as if she were sharing her bed. But the other side was empty.

The window was cracked open, but I resisted the temptation to go inside. I put my hand on the glass, my fingertips resting on the reflection of her hair; and for the five millionth time since I'd met her, I asked myself how we had gotten here.

"Nikki." The word coming out of my mouth formed a tiny circle of fog on the window.

She stirred.

_Shit_. I held my breath. Her mouth formed an _o_ and then a soft moan escaped her lips, floated across the room, and slipped through the crack in the window.

"Jack," she said. She held up her hand, palm outward, as if she were personally reenacting one half of the _Romeo and Juliet_ palm-to-palm scene.

I shook my head. Was she dreaming that Jack was with her? Could there really be any layer of her subconscious that would allow her for even a moment to believe Jack wasn't gone for eternity?

It shouldn't have been possible. Even in something as strong as the human dream.

I frowned and sighed deeply, not sure what bothered me more: the fact that her subconscious was causing her a pain that would only be felt in the morning, or the fact that it hurt me to know that she dreamed of Jack.

I clenched my fists, wanting to punch my own face in for being so delusional. Silently, I pushed open her window all the way and climbed in. I stood over her bed and made her an oath.

"I will find someone else. There must be a million just like you. I don't need you." She didn't stir, as if she didn't care about me even in her sleep. "And your hair is _not_ like a minuet."

With that last zinger, I crawled back out through her window and made a promise to myself not to return until I'd found out how I could replace her.

## FIVE

### LAST YEAR

_Football camp begins for the epic lover_.

_M_ eredith raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Cheerleading camp? You want me to go to cheerleading camp?"

"You _are_ a cheerleader, aren't you?" I said, avoiding her gaze.

"Yes. But only until I'm in the Feed with Max, which will be in, oh..."—she glanced pointedly at her watch—"... fourteen days. I don't think I'm going to need any rally skills as a Forfeit. Don't tell me you're still obsessed with her."

She didn't need to specify who she was referring to. Meredith had been hounding me about my "obsession" with Nikki ever since I'd met her at Harry O's. Not that I even tried to deny it.

"She might be at the bus drop-off," I said.

"Yeah." Meredith crossed her arms and leaned against her front doorframe. Her mother hovered beyond the screen door, tidying up the living room, flitting about because of the Everliving on her doorstop. "She'll be there to say good-bye to _Jack_. Her boyfriend, Jack."

"I know, I know. The one with the epic love and all that. But as that one philosopher guy once said, love dies. And epic love dies epically."

She sighed. "I think you're confusing it with absolute power corrupting absolutely."

"Love... power... what's the difference?" She started to protest, but I put up my hand. "Just be ready in an hour. You're going to cheerleading camp. I'll pick you up."

She narrowed her eyes, but at the sound of her mother making a _tsk tsk_ from behind her, she sighed. "Fine. But I'm only staying one day."

"Fine," I said.

Three yellow buses sat in a row. Dozens of PCH students hoisted hundreds of bags overflowing with either football gear or pom-poms. Cars filled the parking lot as parents and friends dropped off their cargo.

But all I noticed was how the sunlight reflected off Nikki's dark hair, lighting her up like a homing beacon, pulling me to her. Maybe I was the only one who saw it that way.

No. The guy who had his arms around her probably saw it that way too.

"He has a clinging problem, doesn't he?" I commented.

Meredith scoffed. "Epic love clings epically."

"Yeah, and that epic love is going to football camp for two weeks."

I left Meredith before she could respond and strolled to within earshot of Nikki and the quarterback. Yes, his grip on her—literally and emotionally—was strong, but if I could get her alone...

"It's okay, Jack. I'm not even paying attention to it," Nikki was saying.

Paying attention to what?

"I know you are," Jack said.

Nikki placed one of Jack's hands on her cheek and leaned into it. The contact was electric with the energy of a love that tasted way too layered for a teenage girl, and for a moment I wondered how it would be to take both of them to the Feed.

But no. Nikki had to be mine and mine alone.

"Two weeks," Nikki said, pure love dripping off the words.

This had to stop. I used my brightest voice. "Okay, lovebirds. The buses are waiting." _Get your hands off my girl_.

Nikki looked at me. Jack kept his eyes on Nikki.

"Hey, Cole," she said. "What are you doing here?"

I jerked my head toward the buses. "Max asked me to drop Meredith off." Nikki glanced at the buses. She frowned for a moment, and her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. I followed her gaze, but all I could see was a group of cheerleaders practicing a lift at the side of one of the buses.

Nikki quickly looked away. "That's nice of you," she said, her voice considerably cooler than it was before. Jack didn't seem to notice that someone in the group of cheerleaders had ruffled Nikki's feathers. Not doing too much to dispel the stupid-jock myth.

I didn't want to let on that I had noticed. Besides, the time had come to break up the tender parting of ways. "It was on the way. I'm making some silk screens for T-shirts at the shop." I pointed toward the GraphX Shop down the street.

"Making your own T-shirts?" she said, recovering her good humor. "Don't you have people for that? Like professionals?"

"Well, I usually travel with an army of professional T-shirt makers, but today I thought I'd go it alone."

"What are the screens of?" she asked.

"Elvis Presley as a corpse. You wanna come look?" I flashed my most dazzling smile.

"You had me at corpse," she said.

Jack shifted his stance to one that was decidedly more offensive and chuckled. "Saying good-bye here. Remember?"

Nikki gave him a dismissive peck on his lips. "Two weeks, Jack. It will fly by."

That should've been the end of it. Nikki edged away from Jack and toward me, but Jack grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. "No you don't," he said. "The corpse can wait."

I wasn't sure if he was referring to me or the screen. I would've asked him to clarify, but Jack's lips were suddenly very busy moving against Nikki's. I resisted the urge to dry-heave and looked toward the sky, the trees, the buses, anywhere that wouldn't trigger the upchuck reflex.

Jack needed to learn some manners. Damn epic love.

Finally, with a popping noise that sounded like a toilet plunger releasing suction, Jack pulled back. "What were you saying about two weeks?"

_That it will be a welcome break,_ I thought.

But Nikki disagreed. "That it will feel like forever."

I considered for a moment grabbing Jack, squishing him into the shape of a giant football, and spiking him into the bus; but I refrained. Jack may have had a small brain, but the rest of him was quite large.

The buses pulled away, and I could taste the desperate longing coming from Nikki. Maybe she needed a little bit of help seeing what kind of person Jack really was.

I tugged on her arm. "Cheer up, Nik. You can help me splash some shirts." Before I could think of how I was about to break one of the unbreakable rules in the Everliving world, I focused on the amalgam of emotions inside of my chest, handpicked a few strands of suspicion, intertwined those with a length of inferiority complex, pushed the mixture up into my throat, and blew it out in a smooth breath onto Nikki's face. All she would smell was the mint tea I had just downed on the way here.

I didn't care about what she would smell, though. I cared about what she would _feel_ afterward.

I studied her face. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her forehead creased as she watched the bus pull away. Her lips turned downward, and I tasted the reflection of the worry I'd just blanketed upon her.

Exactly the effect I'd intended.

"You okay?" I asked, knowing full well she wasn't. Time for me to replace that uncertainty she was feeling with my own brand of comfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said hesitantly.

I led her toward GraphX, trying not to dwell on the fact that I'd just broken my first Everneath law. It was okay to manipulate human emotions by stealing their worst ones. But to take the stolen ones inside of ourselves and force them onto a human? There were rules against that. It was unethical in our world, a world that prided itself on the free choices of our Forfeits. It was a fine line, but it was there.

Hopefully the Shades wouldn't be able to detect it. The consequences of such an action would be harsh.

But all I needed was my foot in the door. Just one more opportunity to see Nikki. One more chance, which might lead to another chance, and another... Was it too much to hope that this string of chances would eventually lead Nikki to the Feed?

I closed my eyes. I'd already begun to consider it a Feast.

## SIX

### NOW

_London: City of Love. No, wait... that's Paris. London is the City of Pain_.

_T_ he 747 touched down in Gatwick airport early in the morning. The more popular airport for London was Heathrow in London, but we always flew into Gatwick. The big stars used Heathrow, and there were usually paparazzi waiting in the wings there.

Not that we were big stars in London, but when you were trying to find the Delphinians, anonymity was the way to go.

As we stepped outside into the drizzle, Max shot me a wary look, as if the dark clouds held more meaning.

I shrugged. "It always rains in England."

"Yeah, because that's what I'm worried about. The rain."

I raised my arm, and a traditional black taxi pulled over. We got into the cab, our luggage consisting only of two backpacks, one for each of us.

"Bankside House," I said.

Max audibly groaned. "Seriously?"

I smiled. Bankside House was about as shabby as a hotel could get without being a hostel. Most of the rooms housed students from the London School of Economics, but the top floor accommodations could be rented out.

"Please tell me we're at least getting a room with a private loo." Max always was the fastest to adapt to a new environment.

I stared out the window at the dreary London weather. "The Ritz Carlton would draw too much attention."

"But there's gotta be someplace between a Rolls Royce and a push scooter. What's the point of having money if we refuse to spend it?"

I turned toward him. "Because spending money is not the same as having a thrill. And are you not entertained?"

He gave me a half a grin and stared out his own window. "Watching you face your certain death by Dephinian Sword is not the same as entertainment. But I'm entertained. Enough. For now."

"Good. Bankside it is." I went back to staring out the window. The buildings here had a constant layer of what looked like soot. Every time I was here, I imagined that same layer of soot building up in my lungs.

The cabbie turned a corner, and we saw the London Eye, a Ferris wheel so huge that each enclosed glass pod could hold twenty or so people and take them to the highest heights above London. The Eye was a focal point of the South Bank, the name given to the neighborhood south of the River Thames.

As we passed it, I no longer thought about the soot in my lungs. After a couple of decades, we were finally back in London. I missed this city.

I didn't get the chance to feel nostalgic for long. As the cabbie pulled up to Bankside House, a cloaked, hooded figure stepped out of the shadows as if he had been waiting for our arrival. He was just normal looking enough not to garner unnecessary attention, unless you were watching for him.

I was one of those who would've been watching for him.

The cab pulled to a stop, and I tossed some money over the seat as we got out.

"Delphinian Scout up ahead," I said to Max out of the side of my mouth.

Max's step hitched for a split second. "Can't be. How did they know we were coming?"

"The Fates."

"But why would they specifically _look_ for us?"

I sighed. "I don't know. Maybe it's something to do with Nikki. Everything weird and different has something to do with Nikki."

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As we approached, the scout stepped in front of us, essentially blocking the entrance to Bankside House. There was no way we'd get inside without confronting him.

Scouts weren't the brute strength of the Delphinians; but they'd report back to the muscle if we didn't comply, and you didn't want to get on the bad side of Delphinian muscle.

When we were about five yards away, the scout lifted his hood and looked directly at me with large black eyes.

"Coleson," he said.

"It's just Cole," I replied.

"Maxwell," the scout said, acknowledging Max without looking at him. "What is your business with the Delphinians?"

I smirked. "If you went through the trouble of twisting time to see we were coming, surely you made the effort to find out why." Of course, it wasn't actually the scout who would've twisted the time. It was the Fates.

The scout regarded me coolly. "The Delphinians do not need to play their hand at all times, especially when you can change your pathway at any given moment just by changing your mind."

"Don't like to play your hand, and yet here you are to greet us."

Max shifted uncomfortably at my side. I was being a little too contrary with the scout.

"We're here for information," I said.

"About Forfeits surviving the Feed," the scout added.

I tensed. They already knew way too much about us.

"I'm willing to pay," I said.

The corner of the scout's mouth turned up. "Oh yes, you'll pay." He made it sound ominous. "The Scholars will discuss the details with you. I have merely been dispatched to bring you to them."

"Then let's go," Max said.

The scout waved a hand toward the road, and a black cab—similar to the one we'd just taken except with tinted windows—pulled up to the roundabout in front of the Bankside.

"Shouldn't we get to check in first?" I said.

"No. You may find your stay to be shorter than expected."

I wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded foreboding.

He held open the door for Max and me.

"I didn't catch your name," I said.

"Scouts are unnamed; you know this." He shut the door and backed away from the cab, waving it onward.

Stupid Delphinians and their stupid traditions.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and I caught sight of the scout tugging his hood forward again and disappearing down the street to where he would probably drop down a manhole that wasn't really a manhole or something just as cryptic.

A tinted window between the front and back of the cab shielded our view of the driver. I couldn't even see a silhouette. The car could've been remote controlled for all we knew.

We wound through the streets, taking corners just slow enough not to screech. The driver didn't need to try so hard to disorient us, if that was his intention. We were in London, where the street system was as logical as a bowl of spaghetti.

At one point we crossed over to the other side of the Thames, where the City of London proper was located. The car careened to the west of St. Paul's Cathedral, at least that was the way it seemed to me to be going. I wouldn't have bet my arm on it, though.

After a few more minutes of erratic driving, the cab slowed in front of a row of elegant residences with small alleys separating them. Another cloaked figure stood at the entrance to the nearest alley.

We stepped out of the cab, and it pulled away immediately. I never caught a look at the driver. The figure at the entrance to the alley didn't remove his hood. Instead, he turned and began walking down the narrow passageway.

"I guess we're supposed to follow," I said to Max.

He drew in a sharp breath. "Isn't it a bad sign if they know we're coming?"

"Won't stop me." I glanced at him sideways. "You've already come farther than you said you would."

Max shrugged. "Bored."

I knew that was a lie, and I loved him for it.

The hooded figure led us to a staircase at the bottom of which stood a set of double doors made of heavy stone, thick enough that I could've hollowed out a section and made a guitar if the door were made of wood.

Whoever was behind those doors had a serious desire to keep people out. As the door creaked open, I had another thought. Whoever was behind those doors had a serious desire to keep things in as well.

I raised my fist to knock, but the doors seemed to anticipate my movement and swung open. We stepped inside; and when the doors closed behind us, a giant stone bar slid across the middle, like some medieval castle keep.

Old lightbulbs—the kind in which you could see the individual wires—lit the entryway, which, like the door, was made entirely of stone, from the floor, to the ceiling, to the intricately carved walls.

Tiny holes dotted the floor. I leaned down to get a closer look and could just glimpse the pointed tips of stone spikes in each hole. I did not want to find out what kind of transgression would trigger the expulsion of the spikes.

"What's with all the rock?" Max whispered, his voice bouncing loudly off the walls.

"Fear of fire," I said, making the connection to the enchanted fire that drove the Delphinians out of the Everneath. "There's nothing flammable here."

We stood still, waiting. After a few minutes a door at the other end of our room opened, and a tall man walked in. As I caught sight of his head, I had to stop myself from flinching.

From his eyes down to his toes, he looked normal. Pale and malnourished, maybe, but normal. But from his eyebrows upward, his head jutted out in every direction, as if it could barely contain what lay beneath. The effect made it look as if he were wearing a head-colored helmet.

_A Scholar,_ I thought. I remembered the rumors that the Delphinians carried scars that best matched their obsessions. This Delphinian's scars made it look as if his brain was twice as big as a normal one, and on the outside of his head.

Max's mouth dropped open. I elbowed him gently, and he pulled himself together.

"Gentlemen," the man said. "You are very welcome."

I glanced back at the stone spikes embedded in the floor. _All evidence to the contrary,_ I thought.

"One of you has a question," he said. His voice sounded thin, as if he were only using one of his vocal cords.

He stared straight ahead. I'd been so focused on his giant head that I hadn't realized that the irises of his eyes were all black. I wondered if this Scholar had ever seen actual daylight.

He was waiting for an answer. I raised my hand as if I were in a classroom and the Brain was a schoolmarm. "I have the question," I said.

"Follow me," he said.

I glanced nervously at Max. "Can my friend come?"

Max's eyes went wide, and he jutted out his chin, exasperated. There was no way he wanted to follow me.

"Yes," the Scholar said.

I managed a smile, despite the literal and emotional darkness of the place. We followed the Brain through several sets of doors until we came to a place where we faced a long corridor.

The Hall of Knowledge. The place where blood oaths were made and lives were sacrificed.

For the first time, I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

## SEVEN

### NOW

_The Hall of Knowledge_.

_T_ he Brain left us alone in the Hall of Knowledge. Max grasped my arm, clutching it like a vise. "We shouldn't be here."

"It's too late," I said, shaking him off. "We're here. Just calm down."

The dark hall stretched before us, with stone walls on each side that reached up at least twenty feet. A waist-high trough ran along the wall on the right, parallel to a thin, horizontal opening that provided the only breach in the wall.

The gutter was about as wide as a human hand, which made sense considering its purpose.

The Delphinians believed that everything that could be said about a person was written on the palms of their hands. By placing my hand in the trough, the Fates would be able to read me, all the way down to the imprinted wisdom on my soul. The stuff even I didn't know.

On the left side of the hallway, a four-inch-tall window ran along the length of that wall, about six feet above the ground. Only darkness was visible beyond.

The House of the Scholars lay behind that wall, the head-high window representing the flow of knowledge. The House of Fates would be behind the wall on the right, the trough of palms representing knowledge that couldn't be found in books. The kind of knowledge that glimpsed the past and the future, and the things inside the Everliving mind.

A white wall blocked off the end of the hallway. It was the only thing I'd seen that wasn't the color of charcoal.

"What do we do now?" Max said.

I shrugged and stepped through the threshold and into the hall, and as I did, a screen on the white wall flickered on.

Images lit up the barrier, flashes of my life up until that point. A boy with blond hair running through a juniper field bordering the fjords in Norway. A lyre, one of the first I'd ever played. A woman's face. Gynna. She'd turned me into an Everliving and then broken my heart. The emotional heart, not the literal guitar-pick one. More faces of so many of the people I'd stolen energy from. Hannah Bordal, my first Forfeit. Young and vibrant when she'd entered the Feed. Old and bent when she'd left.

The flashes lasted for a few minutes, a strange reflection of my life, and then the screen glowed white and showed my own reflection in the present.

"Coleson Stockflet." A chorus of voices filled the hallway, speaking in unison. "You seek information."

I stepped forward, even though I had no idea where the voices were coming from. The image on the wall in front of me mirrored my movement.

"Yes," I answered. To anyone else, it would've looked as if I were talking to myself in a mirror. "About Eurydice, and others like her. About anyone who has survived the Feed. I want to know how they survived. What do they all have in common?"

"We gather information. We do not impart it."

"You do sometimes. And you knew I was coming. You knew I would be here, and you expedited it. I don't think you'd go through all of that just to deny my request. I'm willing to pay."

The hall was quiet. I wondered if there was a group of Brains suddenly huddled together on the other side of the wall.

"Why do you want to know?"

I saw my mirror-self flinch slightly. I wasn't expecting the question, but more importantly, I wasn't sure I knew the exact answer. Yes, if I knew how Nikki survived the Feed, I would have a better chance of finding a Forfeit next time who would survive it as well.

But that didn't explain why I felt the urgency to find out. I didn't have to find another Forfeit for ninety-nine years. Why _was_ I here now?

"We wait," the chorus of voices said.

"Someone close to me survived the Feed. I need to know how."

"So you can find another." It was a statement, not a question.

I nodded. "Yes."

There was a long pause. I wasn't even sure which side of the hallway was speaking to me: the Scholars or the Fates. I was about to speak again when the voices sounded.

"We require a payment."

I straightened my back. "Okay," I said. "What is it?"

"Something you value."

I waited for them to go on, but instead the image of myself on the screen in front of me dissolved and random flashes of objects appeared. My mother. My father. The master at my first apprenticeship. My dog. The image-generator was sifting through my head for everything I had ever valued. Music sheets. Song titles. Screaming fans. The Deer Valley ski mountain.

They flashed with the speed of a boy flipping the pages of a thick book, but suddenly the images began to slow. Oliver. Gavin. Max.

Nikki.

The screen froze on her face.

"You must mark a human," the chorus said.

My face paled. I could see it in my reflection, as if it exaggerated the emotions inside of me. I glanced back at Max, whose expression was one of terror. He backed up against the door, but it was locked.

"You must mark a human, and marking that human must be a sacrifice to you."

Marking a human. It was something nobody ever talked about. It broke every rule of the High Court of the Everneath, again because it imposed on that human's free will. I almost smiled at the thought of what Nikki would say about that distinction—she would say it was meaningless—and yet the High Court considered itself the ethical arbiters of our world. But Dephinians operated outside the High Court's reach. They didn't care about ethics.

Marking a human. Making it so that every Everliving on the Surface could _feed_ on that human. Whenever they wanted. Wherever they were. An Everliving in Nepal could simply picture the marked human, take a deep breath in, and Feed.

The Delphinians obviously wanted some fresh food.

Were they crazy?

What was I thinking; they were inbred for generations. Of course they were crazy. "I'd never mark Nikki."

"We would never mark the one who survived the Feed."

My chest tightened at the revelation that they knew about Nikki. But I reminded myself that the Delphinians hated the queen and were cut off from the High Court. They would have no reason to say anything.

I watched the screen. Nikki's face dissolved, turning into a face that had some of her features. Her brown eyes. Her dark hair. But this new face still had some baby fat on it.

Tommy.

I frowned and tried to erase the memory of those Boy Scouts ganging up on little Tommy. I'd come to his rescue to impress Nikki, not for any sympathy I had for Tommy.

I was an Everliving. We didn't have sympathy.

Marking Tommy wasn't a sacrifice.

But the Delphinians thought it was. I couldn't understand it. I had no love for the boy. My only concern was that if Nikki ever found out, she would hate me. But she hated me already, didn't she? And why should she ever find out? To her, it would only seem as if Tommy was slowly going mad. It would take years.

The screen shot of Tommy dissolved and once again reflected my own face, showing my mouth hanging open.

"That is the payment. Bring us a memento of the boy so we may mark him. And you will have your answer."

I looked myself in the eye and shut my mouth. I could do this. What did I care if the boy was marked? Hell, skimming the worst emotions off him would probably be a good thing.

For a while.

Who was I kidding? It would screw him up for life, and I knew it. Nobody could mentally survive the constant imbalance of emotions being marked would cause.

I turned behind me to where Max was, looking for input.

"His life is short compared to yours," Max said. "Nikki and Tommy are blips on your timeline. Two seconds on the clock of your life."

He was right. The things I did today wouldn't matter in a hundred years.

It looked as if that first scout was right. Our initial stay in London would be short.

I turned back to my reflection, set my shoulders, and straightened my back. "Deal."

### LAST YEAR

_While splashing shirts at GraphX, Nik glimpses my tongue post_.

Nikki couldn't stop staring at the silk screen of the Dead Elvis I'd drawn. The way her gaze washed over the image in awe made me silently wish that one day I would be the object of such wonder.

"Wow," she whispered reverently. "This is amazing. Where did you find the original?"

I averted my gaze. "I drew it," I answered, laying some T-shirts on the counter.

"Cole, you're messing with me! It's too... "She shook her head. "No words."

I gave her a smile that was the appropriate amount of appreciation and humility, all the while thanking the heavens that I'd had centuries to learn how to draw. Inching forward, closer than I'd ever dared before, I said, "I think that's the nicest review I've ever received."

I tried not to inhale too noticeably, but this close to her I didn't have to. She couldn't look me in the eye, but instead she stared at my mouth. Then inside my mouth. At the steel post on my tongue.

Nikki Beckett, mesmerized by my tongue. It was a feeling I would never forget. I smiled, snapping her out of her reverie. Her cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink, and she turned away.

For the first time since I'd met her, I thought I had a chance.

So much for epic love.

### NOW

_Back in Park City. Nikki's bedroom_.

From outside the window, Nikki's room seemed darker than usual. Perhaps it was because the moon had disappeared behind the mountains and the stars didn't seem to be shining as brightly.

I had promised myself I wouldn't see her again until I'd figured out a way to exist without her, but the Delphinians had forced this visit. I pushed the window open and climbed in.

As I watched her sleep, I remembered the way she'd been captivated by my tongue post that spring afternoon so many months ago. Who would've thought that now I would mark her baby brother for worldwide Everliving consumption?

"What happened to us, Nik?" I whispered so softly it sounded like a breeze even to my own ears.

Nikki didn't stir.

I held my hand over her forehead, wanting desperately to touch her. But I resisted.

She turned over restlessly and shifted so she was once again on the far side of her bed. As if she were making room for someone.

I pretended for a moment—and only for a moment—that I was the person she was making room for. That the hand she held up reached for me. That the heart thumping in her chest beat for me and me alone. I allowed myself that split second of weakness.

And then I turned my back on her, walked over to the shelf above her desk, and grabbed a picture I'd seen a million times.

I climbed back out the window without looking back.

Nikki never even woke up.

## EIGHT

### NOW

_Back in London, Tommy's memento in hand_.

_M_ ax had stayed in London while I'd gone back to Park City to get Tommy's memento. Now that I was ready to cut a deal with the Delphinians, Max wanted no part of it. It was getting too dangerous. So I found myself in the Hall of Knowledge alone, the picture of Tommy crumpled in my hand.

The chorus of voices had been waiting for me. "Do you have the memento of the boy to be marked?"

I nodded. "Yes."

A small platform rose out of the floor. I placed the picture on top of it. I loved that photo. Nikki and Tommy, sister and brother, looking at each other and laughing, oblivious to the fact that someone was taking their picture.

Even though I couldn't empathize—I had long since lost that ability—I could appreciate the innocence of it. The feeling that it didn't matter if the world was spinning or not... all that mattered was the face you were staring into.

I felt that. Once. Long ago.

"Place your hand in the trough," the chorus said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I placed my right hand in the gutter that ran along the wall. The Fates would get a read on my life—everything I'd learned in my seven hundred years, every piece of wisdom I'd gathered—while the Scholars absorbed information. No opportunity would pass without them getting something out of it. I was sure there was nothing new inside my head that they didn't already know.

As my hand made contact with the cold metal surface, I could feel a pull from inside me. I'd heard about this strange sensation before from people who had come to the Fates for help.

I didn't like the feeling.

"When do I get my answers," I said, frustration dripping from the words.

"The answer you seek is... Morpheus."

_Morpheus?_ The trough shuddered and began to close. I yanked out my hand just in time. The window along the other wall began to collapse as the upper and lower parts pushed together.

"Wait!" I screamed. "What does that mean?" There was no answer. "That can't be it. That can't be all there is!"

The platform that held the picture of Tommy and Nikki started to sink. I don't know what triggered my next action. Maybe it was total frustration over such a cryptic response. Maybe it was... _regret_. Whatever it was, just before the pedestal disappeared beneath the ground completely, I grabbed the picture. And ran.

_I was so screwed_.

Stone spikes exploded out of the floor and ceiling. I dodged them for five or six steps before one dropped down from the ceiling, glancing off my shoulder. For a split second I lost my balance. And then I felt a blow on the back of my head.

I hit the ground with a thump. As the darkness closed around my vision, I caught a final glimpse of a gloved hand taking the picture from my fingertips.

Then I was swimming in a sea of black.

_"Cole?"_

_Fingers as soft as feathers stroked my forehead, then my cheek. She softly tapped. Not quite a slap but stronger than a touch. It didn't do anything to dispel the darkness_.

_"I'm sorry, Nik," I mumbled, though at the moment I couldn't really remember what I was sorry for_.

_"What happened?" she asked, her voice delicious with worry. "What's wrong with you?"_

_I opened my eyes, looking at the wooden rafters overhead with sad tinsel streamers hanging down. The Christmas Dance. The one where I took in a giant breath of Nikki and Jack's collective broken heart and blew it out all over the crowd_.

_Another rule broken_.

_I turned my head away. "I don't want to talk about it."_

_She forced my head back toward hers. How many times had I longed for that? Of course, not exactly in this context. "You don't get off that easily," she said_.

_I almost laughed. Who was she kidding? Nothing with Nikki was ever easy. "Tell me what happened," she said_.

_I looked into her eyes. She blinked a few times, and suddenly her face began to distort. Her eyeballs sank slowly into the back of her head_.

_"Nikki?"_

_She went to speak, but when she opened her mouth, her jaw fell off. I wasn't sure if I should hold her close to keep her together or push her far away to keep from getting slimed by her innards, but then the decision was no longer mine because her skin turned black and floated away in charred flakes. The walls and ceiling of the farmhouse disintegrated, revealing the dark night beyond_.

_Everything was black again. I felt nothing. Except for the ax stuck in my head_.

### NOW

_The Delphinian Dungeons_.

_Who knows how long after I was knocked out_.

I mean, it had to be an ax stuck in my head. Nothing else could account for the pain.

"It's not an ax." A voice came from somewhere to my right. I opened my eyes. At least I thought I'd opened them. But it was pitch-dark.

"Where am I?" I asked the voice.

"Delphinian Dungeons. And like everything the Delphinians do, it's impenetrable. Even by light."

I rolled over onto my side, my cheek brushing against the cold, damp ground. "You're wrong," I said, directing my voice toward where his voice had come from. "There _is_ an ax in my head."

"Okay," the voice said.

I pushed off the ground and immediately collapsed again.

I didn't think I'd made any noise, but my neighbor said, "I wouldn't move so fast if I were you."

I shook my head. "How did you know I was moving?"

"When you spend so long in the dark, you develop heightened senses."

I blinked hard a few times. Shades of dark lines and less dark lines became differentiated, but that was all. On one side of me, the darkest lines seemed to be parallel, straight, and running from ceiling to floor. At my head, another set of dark lines. The voice was coming from that set.

"It's a cell," I said. "I'm in a prison cell."

"A cage," the voice replied.

"How do we get out?"

My question was met with a rueful laugh. I guess that was my answer. I let my head fall back against the ground, pushing the imaginary ax even farther into my skull.

My eyes shut involuntarily. I was stuck inside a Delphinian

Dungeon. I wasn't going anywhere for a long time.

## NINE

### NOW

_The Delphinian Dungeons_.

_"C_ ole," a beautiful voice whispered. "Cole, wake up."

"Hmmm," I said. I forced my eyes open only to find a pair of big brown eyes staring down at me. Familiar eyes. Eyes that could see through me.

Nikki.

She was reaching for me through the bars of my cell. When she saw that I was awake, she smiled. And I was awake. This was no dream like before.

"Max told me where you were," she said. She pulled a hairpin out of her hair, releasing several strands into beautiful waves. She bent and twisted the pin and then jammed one end into the lock of the cell. "I had to look up on YouTube how to pick locks."

I smiled and army-crawled over to her. "Nik... you came for me?"

She paused her finagling of the lock and gazed at me. "I know what you did for me. I know what you did for Tommy. Max told me you saved him at the last minute."

She gave me a faint smile and went to work on the lock again. I watched her for a few moments, unable to grasp—or even name—the overwhelming emotions I was feeling at seeing her there.

"But how did you get in? How did you get past the guards?"

She bit her lip, her focus on the lock. Suddenly, with a turn of her wrist, there was a metal clink.

She grinned as she yanked on the door. "Let's go."

My mouth hung open. I couldn't move for a moment. Overwhelmed by what had just happened. Nikki Beckett had saved me. Not only that, but she could pick locks. There was nothing sexier in the world.

She grabbed my hand. I crawled forward as fast as I could, and just as I was about to get out, something whacked me on my forehead.

"Ow," I said, rubbing my head.

"What's wrong?" Nikki asked. She tugged on my hand.

I looked through the open doorway, trying to figure out what had hit me. "I bumped my head."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's try it again. And hurry!"

I got on my hands and knees again and scurried forward, toward Nikki. Toward freedom. But just as I reached the threshold of my cell, something flat and hard clobbered my nose, and I heard the crack of a bone. I fell to the ground, holding my nose as blood gushed out of it.

"Ahhh!"

"What's the matter?" Nikki asked.

I opened my eyes. Nikki was holding out her hand, a confused look on her face. I was about to ask her what she was missing when her head jerked to the side, so fast that it went blurry for a moment.

I blinked a few times. Did I really just see that? Or was this some sort of concussion?

"What's the matter?" she said again, in the exact same tone of voice as she'd used before. Her head jerked once more, like a malfunctioning robot.

"What the..." I said.

Suddenly a man's voice cut through the dark. "It's a hallucination, neighbor. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real."

I watched in horror as Nikki faded out and disappeared, replaced by a thick cement wall.

"You've been ramming your head against that wall," the man's voice said from the cell next to mine. "I tried to get your attention after the first time, but Delphinian hallucinations are potent."

_A hallucination?_ I expelled all the breath out of me, squeezing my face in pain. She wasn't real. I'd actually believed that she would've come for me. I didn't even hesitate.

Was I really that delusional? I swore, gingerly pressing the swelling bump on my nose. A goose egg had already formed on my forehead. Then I had a moment to think about what had just happened.

I lay back and put my arm over my eyes. "So I got on my hands and knees and propelled my face into a stone wall over and over?"

"Yep. Not as bad as what the guy before you did, but still pretty bad."

"What did the guy before me do?"

"He believed someone had thrown him a rescue rope. He wrapped it around his neck and hanged himself."

Again the air left my chest. These were anecdotes I could do without. "Who are you?"

I heard the sound of my neighbor scrambling closer. "Name's Devon. I live next door. Welcome to the neighborhood. The parking sucks, but you can't beat the view. And who are you?"

"Cole."

There was a long pause, as if he was waiting for me to say something else. I didn't.

"So, Cole, whatcha in for?"

I rolled onto my back and stared upward, imagining I could see the ceiling above. Maybe my eyes were finally adjusting. I wasn't sure how much of a conversation I wanted to strike up with this guy, since I didn't plan on being here long. No prison was escape proof.

"You can ignore me for now if you want," he said. "We've got all the time in the universe."

"I wasn't ignoring you," I said. "I'm here because I paid to get some information from the Delphinians... and then I sort of tried for a refund."

Devon broke out into disbelieving laughter. "How'd that go over?"

"Not exactly as I'd hoped. But this is only temporary."

Shifting onto my stomach, I grabbed the bars and shook, hoping for some give. Some sign of weakness.

Devon snorted, presumably because of my attempt on the bars. "Let me ask you something. Do you think the Scholars—the world's oldest and smartest Everlivings—and the Fates—who _can see the future_ —would make a cell you could break out of?"

With every word Devon spoke, the air in my cell seemed to become tighter. Less abundant. The walls closer.

I released my grip on the bars and ran my fingers downward to where they met the stone ground. I dug hard, but the rock stayed firm.

"No prison is impenetrable," I said.

"Impenetrable usually refers to breaking _in_. And breaking in isn't the problem," Devon said. His voice sounded like one big sigh, as if he was already tired of having this conversation even though we'd only been speaking for about five minutes.

I rolled onto my back. "How did _you_ end up here? Couldn't pay the price?"

"The Delphinians stole something from the woman I love. Loved. A relic that had been passed down to her for generations. I was stupid enough to think I could steal it back. I was a mercenary on the Surface. New to the Everliving life. I didn't know about the ruthlessness of the Delphinians."

"Did you get it back?"

"Yes. Then I found out they were coming for me, so I hid it. When they captured me, I wouldn't give up its location. So they fired a warning shot."

"Warning shot? What kind of warning shot?"

"They killed the woman I love. Loved." A heavy silence filled every corner of his cell and overflowed into my own small corners.

"That doesn't sound like a warning shot," I finally said.

"Yes, well, the Delphinians fail to grasp the subtleties of words like _warning_. And _temporary_. And _no, thank you_. But it worked." He took in a breath. "I was warned."

"But you're still here."

"Once they took her away, I had nothing left to lose. The fact that I still haven't given up the location is the only reason I'm alive."

Absentmindedly, I reached up and felt the ceiling, half listening to Devon, half plotting my escape. Something at my fingertips came loose, and I only had a moment of relief thinking maybe not all of the cell was indestructible before the thing that came loose fell into my eye... and scurried across my face.

It felt as big as a mouse, but there were definitely more than four legs.

"Shit!" I brushed roughly at my face and heard something that sounded like a walnut hitting a rock wall. I scrubbed my arms and legs with my fingertips, suddenly feeling prickles everywhere. "What the hell was that?"

"What kind of noise did it make?"

"Does it matter?!" But as I thought about it, I realized it did make a clicking noise as it moved. "It clicked."

"Probably a cockroach."

"It was the size of a Mack truck."

"Yeah, they grow them big down here. You do realize our prison hovers on the outskirts of the Everneath? The critters here aren't exactly the kind you'd find on the Surface. But they're attracted to noise, so if you stop moving around so much, they'll leave you alone."

I froze. Great. Not only was I stuck inside a cell the size of a large coffin, now I couldn't move without attracting an insectosaurus. I might as well have been buried alive in the Tunnels.

I closed my eyes. Or maybe I didn't close them. It was hard to tell in here. Either way, I pictured Nikki's face.

"I wish I'd never met you," I whispered. I should've given up on her when I had the chance. And I _did_ have the chance.

### LAST YEAR

_I should've stayed home_.

Gavin was off on the drums. Or maybe Oliver was coming in too early on bass. Or maybe it was because Max wasn't there. Or maybe it was because the Feed was fast approaching and I wasn't any closer to Nikki.

Whatever the reason, our jam session felt about as natural as a fish living in a tree.

Gavin struck the loudest, largest cymbal, his stick coming down on it with a crack. "Cole! Where's your head?"

I looked up. "What?"

"You're not even paying attention to the bridge. Do you need me to send you a memo instead of... say... beating the rhythm? Would that work? How about some flashing lights and Morse code?"

Gavin was not the most vocal in the band—there was a reason he preferred to stay in the back, behind his drums—so his outburst surprised me.

"The problem is your sticks," I said.

Oliver piped up. "No, the problem is your timing. Gav's right. It's been off all day."

"You've got your bass up your ass," I said diplomatically.

Oliver stepped forward. "You've got your head up yours!"

The door to the studio swung open, and Max strolled in, obviously aware of the heated exchange since the microphones relayed what was going on inside the studio to the small control room just outside.

I cricked my head from side to side, my neck making a series of popping noises. I did that when I wanted to piss people off. "Where've you been?"

Max sank into the chair in the corner of the soundproof room and plopped a newspaper down in front of me. "Keeping up on current events."

I glanced at the headline. KEVIN REID CASE DISMISSED.

_Kevin Reid_. The man who was driving the car that killed Nikki's mom. His case was supposed to be a slam-dunk. And now he was going free. Nikki would be devastated, and I would be there. I unplugged my guitar and tossed the cord by the amp.

"I had a feeling our practice would be cut short," Max said. "But you remember that you have a ready Forfeit who requires no pursuit at all, don't you?"

I smacked the back of his head as I strode out the door.

### NOW

_The Delphinian Dungeons of Suck_.

"Who?" Devon said.

I jumped at the sound of his voice. It'd been a few hours since he'd spoken. Since the whole Jurassic bug incident. "Who what?" I said.

"Who do you wish you'd never met?"

I grimaced. It felt as if I'd whispered that hours ago.

"Told you," Devon said. "Ears like a bat."

I took in a deep breath of stale air. "I think bats use sonar, so it's not really a matter of good hearing."

"Wow. Whoever it was must've messed you up. Who was it?"

I ran my finger over the wall, coating it in a slimy, greasy film. With the mention of bats, all I could think about was bat droppings, and I was in no mood to spill my guts to some stranger.

"Doesn't matter. She doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Let's focus on the things that matter," I said. "Namely, how do we get out of here?"

"I asked myself that same question. Eighty-four years ago."

"Eight-four years ago?" I moaned. "But you used words that weren't around then. Like _suck_."

"I told you. We're in the Everneath. I've been here eighty-four Everneath years."

"How are you still sane?"

"Who says I am? I only stopped asking myself the escape question when the walls started to answer me."

_Shit_. I knocked my head against the stone floor a couple of times. Maybe if I knocked it hard enough, I could sleep through the first decade.

I didn't think Devon was kidding about the walls talking to him. I scraped my fingers across the nearest wall again, and more of the slime came loose. I dug a bit harder, and a little more broke free.

There was something symbolic about it, something maybe to do with Nikki. If I dug a little harder, pushed a little deeper, then, piece by piece, I could claim her soul.

## TEN

### NOW

_After I loosened a piece of the "impenetrable" Delphinian Dungeons_.

_"D_ evon?" There was no answer. "Devon?" I said a little bit louder. "I got a piece of the wall loose."

I held the jagged stone in my hand, weighing it.

"It's midnight," Devon whispered.

"How do you know?" _And why do you care?_

"Because I can hear their feet."

Oh man. This guy had lost his last firing neuron. I brought the rock to the base of the bars and started scraping, already feeling one step closer to finding a replacement for Nikki. A new Forfeit. Then I thought about what Devon had just said. "Whose feet?"

"The rats," he said in a voice that was half wonder, half dread. "They release them at midnight. Every night. Do you remember the tale of Prometheus?"

Okay, he had jumped ship for a little while. But he didn't stop talking. I let him continue as I scraped away more of the wall.

"Prometheus defied the gods and gave fire to humans, and as punishment the gods bound him to a rock and sent an eagle to eat his liver. The liver would grow back each day, and the whole thing would repeat itself."

"What's your point?" I said, feeling the new divot I'd made in the cement. I was trying not to let Devon's words make me nervous.

"My point is, the Everliving love their eternal punishments, don't they?"

I started to answer with something along the lines of _What the hell are you talking about?_ but I'd only gotten to the _what_ when my voice was drowned out by a faint scratching sound. I had to hold my breath to hear it clearly at first; but then it grew louder, and soon enough I didn't have to work to hear it. I dropped my rock.

It sounded like thousands of tiny fingernails scratching the stone floor. Not long drawn-out scratches but short little bursts. Chicken scratches.

"Cover your face," Devon said. "You'll have the urge to try to swipe them away, but it won't work; and once you expose your face... well... just don't do it. Keep your hands on your face. You're probably wearing clothes. The first few nights won't be so bad."

I had no chance to respond. The scratching sound was now joined by a screeching noise that bounced off the walls, reverberating down the corridors, or halls, or whatever was outside our cells.

I sucked in a deep breath, as if I were getting ready to go underwater or something, and covered my face with my hands just as the sounds of tiny, scurrying feet and screeching mouths blew through the bars of my cell.

Scrambling backward, I hit my head on the wall farthest from the bars.

Maybe that's why they went for my legs first.

Devon was right. Every instinct inside me was screaming for me to swipe at the creatures, but there were too many. They covered every inch of me. Two or three deep, it felt like. Fighting one another to get closer to me. Screeching sounds like I'd never heard from another animal before. The few on my face found the small spaces between my fingers. Teeth darted between my knuckles, trying to reach my face. I rubbed my hands back and forth all over my face and ears and neck, just so none of them could get hold of too much skin.

Devon said this happened every night.

They had to leave at some point. This couldn't go on forever.

They had to stop.

As the torture continued, I couldn't help but think this wasn't only punishment for stealing my payment back from the Delphinians. This was punishment for what I'd done to Nikki, and even for what I'd done to the people who loved her.

And I knew exactly what I'd done to them. I'd seen it.

### LAST YEAR

_My stealthy prep work for the Feed_.

Nikki had come to me in tears after she'd made the trip to Jack's dorm at football camp. I still didn't know exactly what had happened there, but whatever it was, it had thrown Nikki into my arms and made her willing to go to the Feed with me.

I left Nikki on my bed in an Everliving coma, sleeping peacefully. Of course, after all the negative energy I'd drained off her, she had no choice but to sleep peacefully. I didn't want to leave her, but there was something I had to do.

The condo was silent. The other Everliving had already left for the Feed, but since I was taking a regular human and not a Daughter of Persephone, I needed a little extra time to clean up my tracks, starting with Nikki's house and her father. The last thing I needed was a small-town mayor starting an all-out search for a kidnapped daughter.

I folded Nikki's note to her father and put it in my jacket pocket. It hadn't taken much to get her to write it. Just a matter of stealing her worst feelings, except for her guilt. If I wanted to, I could've had her write a letter to the EPA, apologizing for the extra air she was breathing just by being alive.

As I made the turn onto Nikki's street, I saw a figure sitting on the curb outside her house, his head in his hands.

Epic Loverboy was epically sad.

I pulled my motorcycle over to the side of the road a few houses down from Nikki's house and just watched Jack for a few minutes. He wasn't crying or anything, but he sat as still as a statue. At one point he looked up. If it was possible for a human to lose ten pounds overnight, I would've believed it had happened to him. He stared intently ahead at... nothing. If I had walked right past him, he probably wouldn't have noticed. Dark-purple bruises painted the area under bloodshot eyes.

He shivered once, then put his head in his hands again.

I needed him to move so I could get into the house and leave the note in Nikki's bedroom where her father could find it.

But the way Jack was acting, he would be planted there until he grew roots.

I started toward the side of the house, checking to see if I could possibly get into the backyard and find a way in there, but then I heard the front door open.

Mayor Beckett stood silhouetted against the light coming from the house.

"Jack? Is that you?"

Jack popped up from his step and wiped under his eyes, though he hadn't been crying. "Yes, sir."

"Aren't you supposed to be at football camp?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I was waiting for Nikki."

"She's not home, son. In fact, I'm not sure where she is." He didn't sound as if he was too concerned. Yes, he didn't know where she was, but he wasn't too worried yet.

"She has to come home," Jack said, his voice breaking.

Nikki's dad walked across the lawn and sat by Jack, keeping about a foot of space between them. He looked straight ahead.

"We got some bad news yesterday about the Reid trial, and Nikki didn't take it too well." He sighed. "I don't know if you remember, but when Nikki found out about her mother's death, she took off for a while. Wanted to be alone. I hadn't seen her so angry before or since... until yesterday."

"I know. I heard about Reid. I'm sorry." Jack's mouth hung open for a moment, and he took in a deep breath. "Nikki must've been devastated last night."

Nikki's dad shrugged. "She definitely wasn't happy. I thought she would've come to you, but obviously that didn't happen."

Jack's shoulders sagged, and he hung his head low. "She did come to me. But we had a miscommunication, and I didn't get a chance to talk to her." He heaved a shaky breath. "It's all my fault."

Nikki's dad put his hand on Jack's back. "Don't say that. I'm sure everything will work out. Why don't you go home, and as soon as she gets here, I'll have her call you?"

Jack raised his head and stared at the mayor with the most helpless expression I'd ever seen. I could interpret that lost look, even though Mayor Beckett obviously couldn't. Maybe all the memories I'd gotten from Nikki through all the times I'd fed on her so far helped me read his face. Or maybe it was because I'd always been good at reading faces.

But right now, Jack's face looked despondent. As if he knew she was never coming back.

Maybe this guy was smarter than I'd given him credit for.

Knowing that this was my best chance, with Mayor Beckett outside, I crept through the trees that framed the side of the Beckett house and went around to the back. The grill on the patio was lit, with hamburgers cooking.

Excellent. The patio door had to be unlocked.

I went inside and down the hall, which had four doors. One I could see, though—it was the master suite. One was a bathroom. The other two were closed. I mentally flipped a coin and chose the door on the left.

The bed was neatly made. A history book lay open on a desk in the corner. Framed pictures lined up along the bottom shelf of a bookcase, showing Nikki and various friends. Several of Jack.

But the most telling sign that this was Nikki's room was the newly splashed Dead Elvises T-shirt draped over the chair at the desk.

I ran my fingers over the image, smiling at the care that she took to iron it.

"Oh, Nik," I whispered. "We're going to have so much fun."

I tucked the note underneath her pillow so that only the corner showed, and then I left her house.

Somehow, seeing where Nikki lived made me all the more anxious to get back to her again.

### NOW

_After the Rats of NIMH bugged out_.

"They do that every night?" I said, my voice hoarse. I guess I'd been screaming the entire time the rats were nipping at me.

I heard Devon rustle the straw beneath him. "If it helps, the rats make it easier to mark the passage of days."

My chest constricted. I couldn't catch my breath. "I can't do this. I can't be stuck here forever." I started punching the ceiling, over and over, until I heard a horrific snap. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttt!"

I cradled my crushed hand, the silence following my outburst intermittently broken by my own gasping breath.

"Maybe you won't be here forever. You only have three months until your trial."

I shook out my hand and then froze as the words sank in. "Trial?"

"Yes," Devon said hesitantly. "Didn't they tell you when they brought you here?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were explaining the finer points of the incarceration while they were bashing my brains to a pulp. What about a trial?"

"Delphinian trials begin three months after detention. They decide if you are to be imprisoned for eternity. Or... not."

"Not? You mean they might set me free?"

"If by 'set you free' you mean they kill you, yes."

I closed my eyes. "So my options are an eternity of rats feeding on me, or death."

"Yep. Makes you wish you could choose, doesn't it. I would rather be dead, but the only way they'll kill me is if they find the relic, and I don't want to die knowing it's in their hands."

"That's the only reason you're staying alive?"

Devon sighed. "Brother, when you've been here as long as I have, you'll come to discover there are only one or two essential things worth living for. Unique to you and you alone. My honor is one of them for me. I keep my honor by keeping the relic out of their hands."

I closed my eyes. What was the essential thing I was living for? Honor, like Devon? I could hear Nikki inside my head snorting at that one. Music? The search for the next Forfeit? Eternal life? That one made no sense. Eternal life, by very definition, couldn't be the thing worth living for.

If I had to choose one, I would choose the search for the next Forfeit. That's what I was living for right now. The chance for another Forfeit who could survive the Feed.

I rubbed my eyes. What was the point of finding something worth living for if my life was no longer in my own hands?

Devon still had something the Delphinians wanted, so there was no way they would kill him. But me... I had nothing they wanted. "Why don't you make the decision for them?"

"What, kill myself? This close to the Everneath, any scratch I get heals too fast. Except the scratches from the Ever-rats. You know how it is."

Somehow knowing that I wouldn't be able to off myself made me feel even worse. You never realize how much you rely on the option of suicide until the option is removed. I'm not saying that sentence would make a good bumper sticker, but it was the truth.

I felt around my cell until I found the jagged rock I had broken loose the night before. I found the smoothest part of the wall and, using the sharp point of the rock, etched a single line to mark my first day in the Delphinian Dungeons.

And then I started to dig at the bottom of the bars.

I had three months to dig a hole to freedom. All I could think about was going home. Maybe for the first time I could understand where Nikki was coming from when she chose going back home over an eternal life with me.

No. I would never understand the choice she made.

## ELEVEN

_I_ marked the passage of time, and the erosion of my hope, in weeks.

Week one: When I actually thought my stay here would be so short, it would be pointless to mark my days.

Week three: When I had to start reminding myself that the Nikki hallucinations were just that—hallucinations.

Week six: When I discovered the stone holding the iron bars in place grew back, despite forty days of me scratching away at it.

Week ten: When the rats had taken off enough skin that I felt my ankle bone sticking out.

Week twelve: When I started begging for judgment day, and my own death.

## TWELVE

### NOW

_Judgment day_.

_I_ used the sharp rock—the one I'd been so excited about that first night—to scratch another tick on my homemade calendar on the rock wall. The line was jagged. Finding the energy even to hold on to the rock made my hands shake.

There was no need to add up all the marks. I knew that my fresh line would bring the total to ninety.

Ninety days in this prison. Ninety hallucinations of Nikki. Ninety midnights with the rats.

The rock slipped from my fingers, which were slick with fresh blood, and landed in a large pile of similar rocks, each one carved out of the stone by my fingers.

All those loose stones, and yet the walls were as firm as they ever were. Maybe the stones were hallucinations too. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling.

Suddenly Nikki was lying beside me. Ninety-one hallucinations. "Starting to doubt your own mind?" she said.

I knew she wasn't real. But I still answered her. Every single time.

"You would too," I said. She just looked at me in a way I'd imagined the real Nikki would someday look at me. A way that says _I'm the one who knows you_. "Can I tell you something?" I asked. It hit me that yes, I was asking a hallucination for permission to speak.

"Yes," she said, blinking in the dark.

"I dream of holding your heart in my hand." Okay, three months in hell had made me a bit cheesy, but there was no avoiding it. I swallowed and breathed in. "And I have a confession. I don't think I'm here to replace you. I think I'm here because I thought it would somehow lead me to you."

Nikki looked up at the ceiling and brought her hand closer to mine, letting her pinkie finger hook around my own. "Why are you telling me this?"

Why _was_ I telling her this? "Because they're going to come and get me soon. For my trial. And someone has to know the truth."

She grinned. "You realize, don't you, that you're leaving your legacy with a ghost."

I rolled over onto my side, facing her. She mirrored me. I raised my hand, palm toward her, and she brought her hand to meet mine.

"Maybe a ghost is the safest person to talk to."

From far away I heard a soft clank, notable because the only sounds we usually heard in here were the scurrying of little feet, the useless scratching of stone against stone, and our own voices. This was a new sound. I imagined a stone door opening, miles away—the sound traveling through endless corridors—and cloaked figures coming for me. For justice.

I could feel my time slipping away from me, draining from me. "They're coming for me," I said. "All this sacrifice, all this work, for a one-word answer that doesn't make any sense. It was all for nothing."

"What was the word?" she asked.

" _Morpheus_ ," I said bitterly.

She tilted her head. "What does it mean?"

I rolled my eyes. "What does it matter? In here, what could it possibly matter?"

She ignored my protests. "Morpheus is not just a word. It's a name. So who is it?"

I sighed, not sure I wanted to play along at this point. "Morpheus was the god of dreams."

She nodded. "But you know that there are no real gods in the Everneath. So what does Morpheus _mean_?"

What does it mean? I picked up one of the rocks and threw it against the wall. Morpheus. God of dreams. What did I know about dreams?

"Dreams are the closest humans can get to the Everneath without actually going there. They're a small gateway into our world for a specific moment of time."

Nikki frowned thoughtfully. "So it's almost like a bridge."

A bridge. I'd never thought about it before, but Nikki was right. And considering the fact that she was my hallucination, I guess _I'd_ gotten it right. Dream states were all about outer manifestations of inside energy. The Everneath was almost a larger version of a dream state.

"But what do dreams have to do with how you survived?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Didn't I mention dreams at some point?"

Yes. She said she had dreamed of Jack all the time. And when he jumped into the Tunnels, he'd begged her to dream of him, like he had dreamed of her. And the last time I'd seen Nikki, in her bedroom, she had been dreaming of Jack.

What if dreams were a bridge between not only worlds, but people?

If dreams were a bridge... I curled my fingers around Nikki's. "I know how you survived."

"How?"

"Jack gave you energy the entire time. He dreamed of you, creating a bridge to you, and fed you. That's how you survived. He was like..." I searched for the right word. "Your anchor, here on the Surface. Jack kept you alive." Not only did Jack save her life by taking her place in the Tunnels, but he had kept her alive by supplying energy to her through their dreams.

Great. There was no scenario in this whole damn thing where Jack didn't come off looking as awesome as the love child of Thor and Optimus Prime.

I heard the faraway clank of a heavy key turning in a rusty lock. Not as far away as the first sound I'd heard.

The three Everneath months I'd been here had felt like a lifetime, and for an Everliving that was saying something. I remembered when I'd tried my stupid escape plan as if it had happened years ago instead of just months.

Voices echoed down the hallway outside my cell. I couldn't see any flashlights yet, though, so they were probably still far away.

Nikki watched me carefully. "Now that you know the answer, you can find your next Forfeit."

I shook my head and gave a sad laugh. "I don't want to find another Forfeit. I don't want anyone else. I only want you." I realized the truth of the words only when I had spoken them. This was about Nikki, and Nikki only. How had I ever pretended this quest of mine was about anything else?

Maybe I should've listened to Max from the beginning. Maybe he'd somehow felt where my obsession would ultimately lead me. And it _was_ an obsession. As much as I tried to deny it, I knew that now. I came halfway across the world, faced the most dangerous beings on the Surface, only to reach a conclusion I must've known all along.

I wasn't ready to give Nikki up. And she would probably be the death of me.

But I had been the death of her as well. Maybe now, as my death was coming down the hall, I could fully understand what Nikki had felt those last few days before the Tunnels, burdened with the knowledge that the end was near.

I closed my eyes. Squeezed them shut. Finally I knew exactly what I wanted, but now the Delphinians were coming for me, ready to mete out a punishment that maybe I'd deserved for a long time. Would it be an eternal punishment akin to the eagle eating Prometheus's liver every day? Or would it be an instant blow, severing my head from my body?

I hoped it would be the latter.

I would miss my band... my family. But right now, all I could think about was how I'd never see the real sun shine on the face of the real Nikki again.

The light outside my cell grew stronger, and a strange smell accompanied it. The glow cast a shadow on the floor, making the vertical bars look as if they were swinging back and forth.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to bring the light into focus. "I thought the Delphinians didn't like fire."

"They don't," Nikki said.

I stared at the light emanating from down the corridor. It danced along the stone walls.

"Then why are they carrying torches?"

"Your eyes are playing tricks on you," she said. I hadn't seen anything besides darkness for three months. She was probably right.

Still, what was that smell? I could've sworn it was something burning. Was my nose playing tricks on me too?

And now the crackle of flames reached my ears. Whatever it was, it had to be coming from something larger than a few torches.

Nikki stepped through the bars and looked down the hallway. "I thought the Delphinian Dungeons were inflammable." Her voice exuded fear.

"Me too," I said, now mesmerized by the dancing flames along the wall. The fire was still too far away for us to glimpse, but there was no doubt in my mind there was a fire now. "Aren't they made of stone?"

As if triggered by the flickering flames, my Nikki hallucination began to sputter and fade.

"No!" I said. "Don't go. Please. I just found out that I can't exist without you, and I don't know what to do with this. You can't leave me alone."

But she disappeared like a light mist of water on a scorching day.

"I don't know what to do with this!" I shouted through the bars.

I must've woken up Devon, because suddenly he was at the bars of his own cell. "Is that fire?"

Nikki was gone. The damn Delphinians couldn't even let me keep my hallucination for my last moments. Maybe it was a fire coming for me. But it didn't matter whether death came by fire or by Delphinian decapitation. Either way, I was dead. And there was no one I wanted by my side more than the girl who had just disappeared.

For so long, I'd searched for the answer to her survival. Now I had it. But my quest hadn't led me to my next Forfeit. Instead, it had pointed my heart—if I'd had one—back to Nikki. It had shaped my soul to fit with hers and only hers. It had graced me to see the truth but simultaneously prevented me from doing anything about it. In the moment I faced dying, I finally knew my reason for living.

It couldn't be more unfair.

As the flames grew closer, and hotter, I started to rethink. Death by fire did not sound good. Or quick. My pulse quickened, reflecting my panic. How long would it take? Would I still be alive after all my skin had burned off? Everlivings were hard to kill. I'd probably still be alive when I was just ash and bone.

"Cole," Devon said, his voice coming from the other side of the bars. I tore my gaze away from the light, and when I caught sight of his face, I had to work hard not to dry-heave. His cheeks looked like raw hamburger meat, as did the skin on his arms. I couldn't see the rest of him hidden in the shadows. "I know I'm a sight."

I nodded. "The rats?"

"Their bites don't heal very well. This is over eighty years' worth."

I was surprised he could speak at all, with lips that looked as if they could fall apart at any moment.

"I just wanted to meet you face-to-face."

"Devon," I said. I searched for words, but there weren't any. What do you say to someone as death is raging toward you both? Our eyes met, and something deeper than words passed between us.

I pressed my face against the bars of my cell, and even then I could only glimpse the flames as they danced in and out of my vision. They were strange flames. Some the typical orange and yellow colors, but some more a green or blue hue.

Just as I was thinking I'd seen flames similar to this before, I saw a figure, clad in some sort of stiff dark material, emerge from the thick of it. In his right hand he held a canister, which he used to spray a powdery substance on his footpath.

His head was covered in what looked like a welder's mask, only it went all the way down to where it connected to his strange suit.

The man sprinted down the hallway, barely staying ahead of the flames. When he was a few yards away, he slid toward my cell like a baseball player sliding for home.

I backed away.

The figure threw a square packet into my cell.

"Put it on!"

Even though his voice was masked, I recognized it. "Max?"

"No time! Put it on!"

Worried it was another hallucination, I glanced at Devon, who was staring at Max too. He was real. I ripped open the package and found a suit like Max's. With shaking fingers, I pulled the suit over my legs while Max's gloved fingers fumbled with a key chain that held at least a dozen keys. I zipped up the suit just as I realized my lungs were tightening up.

"What's happening?" Devon said, panting.

_Shit. Devon_. I was sure Max's plan didn't involve two passengers.

I started to cough. Whatever was burning, it felt more vicious than mere smoke. It felt like acid. I scrambled over to Devon's cell.

"Dev, I think I'm getting out. I'm sorry."

His answer got caught in a string of hacking coughs. When he finally had it under control, he said, "Don't be sorry. Go live. Find your girl. Take over the throne."

The sound of the right key catching in the lock made me turn toward Max.

"Is there anyone you want me to find for you? Any messages to deliver?"

The bars opened wide with a loud creak, and Max tossed me another helmet like his—a plastic gas mask—and what looked like a mini fire extinguisher. "Put it on, mask first!" He had to yell because of his own mask. "Use the canister to douse the flames. Let's move!"

I turned toward Devon. "Anything?"

He looked hesitant, and then his words came out in one big wave. "Listen. There's a train station along the Cinque Terre on the Italian coast. At Riomaggiore. Say it."

There was no time to ask questions. "Riomaggiore."

"Good. There's a locker room there. Locker two twenty-five. Riomaggiore. Two twenty-five. Combination all fives. That's where the relic is. Get it, don't get it. It's up to you. I just couldn't die without someone knowing."

I didn't know what to say.

"Go!" Max said.

As I put on the mask, Devon slunk back away from the bars, still afraid of showing his face even as he confronted his own death.

I caught sight of his festering hand resting in my cell, between the bars. I knew that image would haunt me for a long time.

I pulled the mask and helmet over my face, and then Max and I flew out to the corridor and into the oncoming blaze.

## THIRTEEN

### NOW

_Escaping the Dungeons of Suck_.

_T_ he flames stuck to the walls in small, circular patterns, as if someone had thrown singular fireballs.

I followed Max's lead, spraying any flame sources that came too close to us. The suit didn't seem to do anything to quell the intense heat, though. I could practically hear my skin sizzling.

We were running uphill, passing dozens and dozens of cells. Bloodied hands reached out from the bars, some moving, some still. Some on fire. I thought I could hear distant screaming above the intense sound of crackling flames, but maybe it was just my imagination.

I tried not to think about all of the lives we were ending. They were in the Delphinian Dungeons. We were probably doing them a favor.

My canister ran out of... whatever it was full of. Max tossed me another one that had been hanging from his utility belt.

The twists and turns of the halls seemed endless, like the switchback trail up a never-ending mountain; but the farther we got, the more lifeless bodies we had to step over.

Delphinians were extremely flammable.

I glanced nervously at Max's belt. Two more canisters. I wondered if they would be enough.

I tried to be judicious with my usage, but it was difficult considering my world was on fire and I was nothing more than kindling.

Finally our pathway leveled out, and we reached a larger room, the same one that Max and I had entered that day, except it was on fire. Every inch of it. Several bodies lay on the floor, giant heads burning in front of my eyes.

The fire was so intense here, we had to pause as Max sprayed his extinguisher along the center of the floor, dousing stone and Delphinian body alike. His extinguisher ran out before there was a workable trail. He opened the next one and kept working.

Movement in the far corner of the room caught my eye. A Fate, giant eyes wide, backed up into the corner, his feet on fire. "Help."

I tried to ignore him. Max had cleared enough of a path that we could make it halfway across the room, toward the door.

"Please!" the Fate shouted.

Max cleared the rest of the way.

"You can't leave me here!" it screamed.

Max was tugging on my arm, but I couldn't resist facing the oracle. "Have you ever been feasted upon by a thousand rats every night at midnight? Yeah, I can leave you here."

I turned and started running with Max, until I heard the oracle again. "If you free me, I will give you your fortune."

My feet stopped before its words fully reached my brain. I knew the value of a Delphinian fortune, and if the oracle could give me any guidance as to what I should do next...

"Cole! We gotta get out of here!" Max shouted over the crack of the flames. He sprayed the flames, the canister sputtering with its last gasps.

I ignored him and faced the oracle. "Give me my fortune, and I'll let you live."

"Do I have your word?"

"What have you got to lose?"

The Fate didn't have to think about it for too long. He closed his saucer-like eyes and spoke in a low, hushed tone. I leaned closer so I could hear. "There will be no more Forfeits for you. Your last Forfeit will be your beginning... and your end."

The snaps of the flames died out for a moment while his words sunk in.

He opened his blank eyes, as if he had no idea what he'd just said and he didn't care. The flames surrounding the oracle sprang higher, licking and snapping at his face.

"Save me," he said.

"Cole! We're out of time!!" Max used the last of his canister to clear a path to the door, which he threw open.

"Save me!" the Oracle said. I could barely see him through the flames, holding out his hand.

I tossed him my canister and followed.

The light outside blinded me momentarily, but I could still see Oliver and Gavin in suits like ours, their helmets thrown aside. They were panting.

"Glad you could join us," Oliver said.

I tore off my helmet, gasped in a few deep breaths of clean air, closed my eyes, and collapsed onto the ground.

Oliver pried my fist open, placed something in the palm of my hand, and closed my fingers around it.

I held the object up to my face. It was the picture of Nikki and Tommy. It was the memento.

_Weeks later. Finally home_.

I stared out the window. Park City had never looked so good. Main Street was decorated with banners in the Park City High School colors, preparing for graduation; and even the cheesy show of school pride didn't bug me. I couldn't stop staring at the mountains especially. Most Everlivings felt as if the Everneath was their home, but not me. Not anymore. Not after spending months in the Delphinian Dungeons.

Memories of my imprisonment flashed unwillingly inside my head. The darkness. The rats. Devon and his disfigured face.

I hoped the end came quickly for him. I didn't know if I would ever retrieve the relic he had talked about, but I would never forget him. Everything about that place would be indelibly imprinted on my brain forever.

Now I was home. My true home. And I was still staring at the mountains. I didn't know if it was because I'd just faced my own death or if it was because Park City was closer to the sky. Closer to heaven, as the humans here liked to say.

No matter the reason, Park City was my home. And Nikki was my future.

We didn't come home directly after the London fire. Instead, Max thought we should stay mobile just in case any Delphinians had survived and were coming after us.

But no one came. As we traveled around, we started giving impromptu Dead Elvis concerts. Our fans turned it into a game, trying to figure out where we would end up next.

And now I was finally back in Park City. No one knew I was here yet.

"How about instead of staring out the window, you help us clean up?" Max said.

I turned away from my mountains and stared at Max, who had popped his head out of the kitchen.

Since we hadn't been home, the kitchen was still a mess; and it wasn't any normal mess that could be cleaned with a little vinegar. We'd been scrubbing the kitchen for three solid days, trying to erase all the evidence of Oliver and Gavin's pyrotechnic experiments. I'm still not sure about the exact chemical ingredients they ended up combining to burn down the ancient stone complex of the Delphinians, but we just lovingly, and inaccurately, called the concoction napalm.

I heaved myself off the couch and took the sponge that Max held out for me, thanking whatever outside force had given Oliver and Gavin such a passion for pyrotechnics.

I waited until midnight and then I kicked my motorcycle to life and drove the familiar route to Nikki's house. I probably could've driven it with my eyes shut.

As I slipped into her bedroom, the prophecy of the Fate played over and over in my head.

_Your last Forfeit will be your beginning... and your end_.

Nikki slept, again only on one side of the bed. I knew now that Jack was with her in her dreams and that her raised hand probably held his. A bridge across worlds. If the Delphinians were right, it was Nikki's turn to keep Jack alive through her dreams of him.

_Your last Forfeit will be your beginning... and your end_.

If the Delphinians were right, it also meant that Nikki was my future. There would be no more searching for another Forfeit like her. I knew now there was no one like her.

Even through their dreams, Nikki couldn't keep Jack alive forever. And when he was gone, I would still be here. Waiting.

I crouched down beside her bed and lightly touched her forehead. "Don't worry, Nik. I'll never let you go. Never."
[Read on for a sneak peek of Book Two in the Everneath
series, _Everbound_!](9780062236418_Contents.xhtml#rextra)

## ONE

### AT NIGHT

_My bedroom_.

_I_ see Jack every night. In my dreams.

He's lying next to me. Parallel worlds—the Surface for me, the Tunnels of the Everneath for him—that overlap at this one spot, and only for a moment. In my bedroom, while I dream.

_His hair still curls in perfect waves past his ears. Tonight, the steel post that pierces his eyebrow shines in the dull moonlight through my window. It looks as if I could raise my finger and touch it_.

_But I have to remind myself that it doesn't really shine, because the post is a faint copy of the real object. Just like Jack is_.

_He is starting to forget little things. Things he never would have forgotten before_.

_"What do we talk about when I'm here?" he asks_.

_"All sorts of things," I say_.

_"Like what?"_

_"You always say you miss me."_

_He puts his hand over mine, and it slips right through. He has forgotten he is a ghost to me. Or maybe I am the ghost. "That's obvious," he says. "What else?"_

_"You talk about the time Jules told you I liked you."_

_"And?"_

_My words flow out as the memories wrap around my heart like a blanket. "You talk about your uncle's cabin. The Christmas Dance. How my hair hides my eyes. How my hand fits in yours. How you love me. How you'll never leave."_

_"And what do you say to me?"_

_"I say I'm sorry. And I ask you how I'm supposed to do this." My voice wavers. "How am I supposed to do this, Jack?"_

_"Do what?"_

_"Live this borrowed life. Without you. Knowing that you're there because of me."_

_He is quiet. The first rays of sunlight stream in and morning is upon us, always too fast, and I can't help but stir in my sleep_.

_He watches me. He knows I am about to wake up. "How do we say good-bye?"_

_I try not to let my face show my heartache at that word, or my anger at the Everneath for existing in the first place, or my resentment of Cole for taking me to the Feed just over a year ago. But mostly, I have to hide how angry I am with myself. Jack doesn't like to see me angry_.

_When I speak, I make sure my voice is calm. "We say 'See you tomorrow.'"_

_"See you tomorrow, Becks." He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can't stand to watch me disappear_.

_I place my hand over his, helplessly grasping at air_.

_I am worried about the forgetting. Most nights he is lucid; his thoughts are clear. But then he has bad nights, like this one; and I wonder if he will eventually forget me, and then he won't visit me in my dreams anymore_.

_If that happens, will I be able to keep him alive?_

_The sun rises, I open my eyes, and Jack is gone. My bed is empty, and I'm left with only my guilt for a companion. I hug my pillow tight and wonder how long I will be able to survive with the crack in my heart_.

_Perhaps it will grow large enough to consume me_.

_If it does, will I find Jack in the next life?_

### NOW

_The Surface. My bedroom_.

The headline read THE DEADS POP UP IN AUSTIN.

I rolled my eyes. That made it sound like the beginning of a zombie apocalypse and not what it really was, which was a surprise concert given by the Dead Elvises in Austin, Texas.

A couple of months ago, a reporter from _Rolling Stone_ magazine dubbed them the "next Grateful Deads." Ever since, the nickname the Deads had stuck. I wanted to punch that reporter.

But lately, I kind of wanted to punch everybody.

I printed the article, cut out the headline, and took it over to my desk. Probably most people would have kept things like this on their computer, but when it came to my search for Cole—and the rest of the Dead Elvises—I liked the tangible clues. The map I could spread out. The headlines I could fold and refold.

If it kept my hands busy, it kept my brain busy; and if it kept my brain busy, it was almost possible to keep the memories of my latest dreams of Jack tucked away.

Almost.

Who was I kidding? Most mornings it felt as if I had to glue the pieces of myself back together just to start the day. Because what Jack had done for me—when he jumped into the Tunnels and took my place in hell—it had fractured my soul.

I stole a glance at the shelf above my desk, where several pictures of Jack and me rested alongside a crumpled note with the words _Ever Yours_ scrawled in Jack's messy boy handwriting. The ghost of his presence was everywhere—in the deck of cards set out on the desk, the quilt on my bed, the book he'd lent me years ago—but it was especially strong on this shelf. I didn't know how many times I'd tried to put the pictures away, in a drawer or under my bed, out of sight. But I couldn't.

I went to reach for one in the corner that showed half of my face and all of Jack's. It was one of those self-taken shots. Jack had turned the camera around on us at the top of the Alpine Slide, but all you could see was our faces and the blur of evergreens in the background.

The memory squeezed me like a vise around my heart, and just as my fingers touched the frame I yanked my hand back, sending the picture flying off the shelf. The glass in the frame shattered on the wood floor. The sound it made was more than glass shattering. It was the sound of old wounds reopening, and it echoed from deep inside of me. I put my hands over my head and squeezed. Sometimes it was the only way to keep the pieces inside from falling out.

It was thoughts like this that made me realize no amount of visualization exercises from Dr. Hill—my Dad-mandated therapist—could help me.

I heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and I held my breath. Maybe my father had heard the glass break. I kept waiting for a knock on the door, but it never came. Running my fingers through my hair, I tried to straighten up my desk and focus on the map. I couldn't let my dad see how broken I was. Not just the kind of broken warranted by the sudden disappearance of the boy I loved. The kind of broken where I knew I was the only one to blame.

My dad had been through enough.

The top middle drawer of my desk was large and flat, perfect for the map of the United States. I uncapped my red pen and put a shaky little red dot over Austin, then added the clipping to the pile of headlines next to the map.

DEAD ELVISES SAY "THANK YOU" TO CHICAGO FANS WITH SURPRISE CONCERT

DEAD ELVISES GIVE IMPROMPTU FREE CONCERT IN NYC

NEXT STOP ON THE MYSTERY TOUR: THE DEADS IN DURHAM

LOOKING FOR THE DEADS: A VLOG

I was looking for the Deads too, but not because I was a fan. Cole Stockton, their lead guitarist, had disappeared on me three weeks ago without a trace, taking away my only chance to get to the Everneath.

My only chance to find Jack.

I closed my eyes.

_Stay with me, Becks. Dream of me. I am_ ever yours.

Two months ago Jack said those words to me. They were the last words he spoke before the Tunnels of the Everneath sucked him away. The words haunted me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to live any kind of life until he was back with me. The problem was, how to get him back.

Not just anybody can go to the Everneath. In all the research I'd done over the past two months, I'd never come across a human who'd made it to the Everneath without the help of an Everliving. No one who'd made it there—and back—alone.

So it all came down to Cole. He and his band were the only Everlivings I knew.

Cole had visited me once, about a month after that horrible night. He'd stood in the yard outside my house, his swagger gone. He wanted me to become immortal like him.

_I have ninety-nine years until I have to Feed again,_ he'd said. _What makes you think I'd ever give up?_

He'd seemed so smug. I'd placed my hand on his chest.

_If you feel_ anything, _please leave me alone,_ I'd said.

I didn't think he would, but he did. He'd disappeared. My only connection to the Everneath was gone. Now I regretted asking him to leave me alone.

I wrote the date next to Austin, Texas. _6/1_.

Running my finger eastward, I read the previous tour stops: Houston, 5/29; New Orleans, 5/27; Tampa, 5/24.

The Dead Elvises were heading west. For a little while, I had tried to guess which city they'd end up in next, pack up my car, and take off. But my dad could only take the sudden disappearances of his daughter so many times, and I was already in enough therapy now.

Besides, the spontaneous trips never helped my search, because I always guessed wrong. It was a pointless quest. As much as I thought I knew Cole, I was bad at anticipating his moves.

I ran my finger west of Austin, toward the possible cities for their next surprise stop. Fort Worth? Albuquerque? Phoenix? I bent the path northward until my finger rested on my hometown. Could I allow myself to hope that the Dead Elvises would return to Park City? That I would finally get my chance to grab a strand of Cole's hair and go to the Everneath?

I leaned back in my chair and looked at all the red dots. From farther away, they formed the shape of a backward _C_ , starting in Chicago and swinging to the east before dipping to the south and now heading west. Yes. I could hope they were coming home, to Park City.

If there was one way I'd changed in the past few months, it was this: I always hoped.

But the fact was, until I found Cole, or a lock of his hair, I was stuck on the Surface. I'd seen a human sacrifice swallow a strand of Everliving hair once. A woman, in clothes that didn't fit right, with a face that had seen too much of the world, had sat in the back of the Shop-n-Go, on the spot that was the weak point between the Surface and the Everneath. Maxwell Bones, second guitarist of the Dead Elvises, had handed her a pill. She swallowed it and slipped downward beneath the floor.

At the time, the scene had made me sick. But I would do it now if it meant I could get to Jack.

Not that I had a plan for what I would do if I got to the Everneath. Cole once told me I wouldn't know where to start looking for the Tunnels that held Jack captive. But maybe the arbiters of energy—the Shades—would find me first. They were in charge of maximizing the energy stolen from humans to fuel the Everneath. They were the ones who took humans to the Tunnels. Two months ago I was running away from them; but maybe now the Shades would find me and take me to the Tunnels, and maybe then I could figure out a way to get to Jack....

But I was getting ahead of myself, thinking of all the things I didn't know. I had to focus on the one thing I did know, and that was the fact that I couldn't save Jack without getting to the Everneath; and to do that I needed Cole.

Or at least a piece of his DNA.

Because as long as I was stuck on the Surface, Jack would be stuck in the Tunnels. Until the Tunnels drained every last drop of energy inside of him.

Until he died.

My hand went to my stomach, fighting against the sudden pain that always hit when I thought of Jack dying. I looked at the shards of glass on the floor. They would never be whole again.

Wasn't I just as irreparable?

Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and tilted back on my chair, imagining instead seeing Cole again. His dark eyes. Cheekbones that looked as if they'd been chiseled by a sculptor thousands of years ago. His blond hair, specifically the wispy hairs that always ran wild around his face.

If I could get close enough, I could pluck one of those hairs out of his head.

It was all I could think about. Especially considering the task ahead of me today. I opened my eyes and reached for the knitting basket lying at the side of my desk. This was going to be one of those days when I would be able to start and finish an entire sweater rather than let my mind go to the dark places.

As I completed the first row of stitches and looped the red yarn around the end of the needle, the knots in the pattern tightened and the knots in my stomach loosened. Knitting was survival.

A pungent aroma made me freeze midrow.

Bacon.

Something was wrong. Bacon cooking? Maybe no one else would've been alarmed by this, but I hadn't smelled fresh bacon in our house in almost two years.

Since before my mom died.

I flattened the headlines and closed the map drawer. As far as I knew, my dad didn't know about the drawer, and he never would.

As I opened my bedroom door, the bacon smell was joined by the clattering of pans coming from the kitchen. I didn't know if it was because of the smell and the sounds, but a sudden memory flashed through my brain—of my mom and me sitting at breakfast on a Sunday morning. I used to love bacon. Sometimes the smell and the promise of bacon was the only effective incentive for me to do my chores. Before she died, my mom had used the tactic several times. But no one else in my family liked bacon very much, which is why I couldn't figure out who would be cooking it.

I quickly dressed and then followed the scent of bacon to the kitchen, where my dad was bent over the stove, a spatula in hand. His freshly combed hair looked grayer than usual in the morning light that streamed through the window. His face was still too hollow in the cheeks, as it had been for a few months now.

The guilt weighed heavy in my stomach for a moment.

"What's the occasion?" I asked.

"Morning, sunshine." He infused his voice with exuberance. "No occasion. Just thought it's been a while since we've had a proper breakfast. You still love bacon, right?"

He was so... chipper. "Yes," I said warily.

"Excellent!" He grabbed a plate off the granite countertop and filled it with scrambled eggs and about half a pig's worth of bacon. "There's some juice on the table."

"Okay. Um... thanks."

I sat next to Tommy, my ten-year-old brother, who was making his way through a pile of eggs. He held up his fork and gave me a goofy grin. "Breakfast is awesome!"

Okay, maybe it had been longer than I'd thought since we'd done this.

"Yeah, it is."

I looked down at my own plate of protein and resisted the urge to vomit. Maybe eating bacon wasn't like riding a bike. My stomach was protesting just looking at it.

My dad clicked off the stove and brought his own plate over to the table.

"This is nice, isn't it?" he said.

"It's awesome!" Tommy said.

I suppressed a laugh. It was as if we'd never eaten before.

"You were up late last night," my dad said. He probably noticed the light on in my room. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I was reading." More like studying. Every myth I could get my hands on.

My dad hoisted his briefcase onto the table. "That reminds me. I have something for you."

I narrowed my eyes at the bacon suspiciously, thinking that it suddenly looked like a bribe. "What is it?"

"Hold on." He fished around deep inside the leather case. "Ah. Here it is." He pulled out a large, worn book. "Sally at the office had it."

He handed it to me. The cover read _D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths_. I couldn't have been more surprised if he'd handed me a unicorn. I thumbed through the first few pages. They told the story of Gaia the Earth, who fell in love with the Sky. Accompanying the story was a series of beautiful artwork. "Okay, Dad. What's going on?"

He diverted his eyes. "Nothing. Can't a dad give his daughter gifts?"

"Yes. But not when that gift is a book about mythology and you've been trying to cure your daughter of her 'unhealthy obsession'"—I curled my fingers into air quotes—"with mythology." He didn't know that my obsession was really a desperate search to find a story that would hold the key to rescuing Jack. That there really was an Underworld, once ruled by Persephone. That myths were real. To him, it just looked like another red flag for a therapist to investigate.

"I never used the word _unhealthy_."

I held up the book so that the cover was facing him. "Dad. What's going on?" I demanded.

His smile faded. "I was hoping that if I gave you this, you might do something for me."

I eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

He looked sheepish. "Maybe you could spend today reading instead of... doing other things."

And there it was. The real reason for the bacon. And the book.

I put the book on the table and slid it toward him. "I'm going to graduation."

Any remnants of his earlier levity disappeared, and his expression shifted to a pained look. "Why? It's not _your_ graduation. Why are you putting yourself through this? Dr. Hill is very concerned."

"I don't care what Dr. Hill thinks," I snapped. My dad winced. I hated that I couldn't talk to him without upsetting him anymore. I lowered my voice. "I'm going because the graduation ceremony is where _he_ would be."

"But Jack's not here."

I flinched at his name. "I know—"

"And you going to graduation won't bring him back."

"I know that!" I said, more harshly than I'd intended.

Silence fell upon us. The only sound came from Tommy's fork scraping across his plate. He was used to this discussion.

"I'd feel better about it all if you'd at least talk about J... _him_ to Dr. Hill. You know it would all be confidential."

Confidentiality wasn't what I was worried about. I was more worried about the fragile dam I'd constructed around my heart over the past two months. It had taken me this long just to find a way to function. To stand without falling. To breathe in and out without concentrating. To talk without sobbing. If I started to let those feelings out, I'd never stop; the broken dam would destroy everything around me, and I'd be back to where I was.

Dr. Hill couldn't help me face reality, because my reality was so unreal to humans. My dad always said honesty is the best policy; but when I imagined telling Dr. Hill the truth, it was almost comical.

_"So, Nikki, what's really on your mind?"_ she'd say.

_You see, Dr. Hill, there's this Everliving named Cole—an immortal—who feeds on the emotions of humans. He Fed on me in the Underworld for a hundred years; and when I survived the Feed without growing old, he became convinced I was destined to be the next queen. Then I Returned to the Surface, where I had six months to be with my family and make amends with my ex-boyfriend, Jack, before the Tunnels of the Everneath came for me_.

_And, oh yeah, Dr. Hill, Jack and I tried to kill Cole by smashing his guitar; but that didn't work, so Jack jumped into the Tunnels, taking my place in hell, and now he's being drained of everything—like a battery—until he wastes away and dies_.

_"I'm sorry, Dr. Hill. What was the question?"_

I'd be taken away by the men in white coats. But the truth was, I didn't belong here, in this kitchen, in my bed, in my car. Breathing air. Free. I didn't belong in this life on the Surface. The life that should've been his.

I was going to the ceremony, and no amount of mythology books could convince me otherwise. Jack had taken my place in hell. The least I could do was take his place on Earth.

My eyes started to sting, and I tried to blink back the tears. I pushed the book toward my dad. "I'm going."

He watched me carefully, then put his arms around me. My dad isn't usually a hugger, and it didn't last long; but it told me what my face must've looked like.

"I know," he said, running his hand through his hair, messing up the perfect comb lines. "Will you be okay?"

I half smiled. Jack was gone. I didn't think I'd ever be okay again.

"I'll be fine."

## TWO

### NOW

_The Surface. Graduation day_.

_A_ s I drove to the school, clouds from an early-summer storm rolled over the mountains, sweeping everything away, leaving only clear blue sky in their wake. I wished the wind could do the same thing to my soul: sweep away all of the horrible things I'd done until there was a clean soul left, with no memories, no guilt.

Most of the horrible things, though, were just the fallout from one stupid decision: going with Cole to the Feed. He had taken me to the Everneath and fed on my emotions for a hundred years. I relived that decision a thousand times a day, adjusting the factors that led to it to see if I could mentally change the outcome. What if my mom hadn't been killed by a drunk driver the year before? Her death changed me. What if the driver of the car hadn't been acquitted? I didn't know I had it in me to be so angry after the verdict. What if I'd stayed home instead of driving up to Jack's football camp? What if I hadn't seen Lacey Greene leaving his dorm room, in shorts that were barely there?

What if I had stayed and let Jack explain instead of peeling out of the parking lot and going straight to Cole?

I shook my head. That was the decision I was most ashamed of. Jack had never done anything to jeopardize my complete trust in him. It had been my own stupid insecurities that let doubt of his character in. If I had stayed...

If I had just stayed.

But I hadn't. I'd gone straight to Cole's condo. I'd begged him to take my pain away, and he did. Cole drained me of my emotions. I was his Forfeit. For a hundred years, he fed off my energy, leaving me a shell of my former self.

Brake lights ahead of me snapped me back to the present, and I made the final turn toward the school. A half hour before the start of the ceremony, the parking lot was already nearly full, but I found a place at the end of the farthest row, turned off the engine, and sat quietly for a moment.

Despite what I'd said to my dad, I still wasn't sure about my decision to be here. There would be more than a few people in the audience who blamed me for Jack's disappearance, even though nobody knew the truth about what had happened that night. It was an undisputed fact that I was the last one who had seen Park City's football hero. I couldn't go anywhere in this town without feeling the unspoken scorn directed at me. Thankfully, because I'd recovered all of my own emotions, I could no longer taste other people's like I could when I'd first Returned to the Surface. I imagined that the scorn would've tasted bitter and would've stung as it traveled down my throat.

But I deserved it, because it was true. I had been the last one to see Jack the night the Tunnels came for me, and he had pushed me out of the way and taken my place. I had been the last one to touch his hand as the mark on my arm—the black Shade inside of me that led the Tunnels directly to me—had jumped from my skin to Jack's.

I had been the last one to scream his name. I had been the last one to stop crying over Jack.

The truth is, I never stopped.

I had no control over the tears. They fell even now as I sat in my car, wiping at them futilely. They fell even though I was sure there couldn't be any moisture left inside of me. They stained my pillow every night and greeted me in the mirror every morning.

When I'd first Returned from the Feed, I'd been drained so dry that I wondered if I would ever be able to feel anything again.

Now it felt as if I were made up of shards of glass and tears, and nothing else.

I grabbed two tissues from the box I kept in my car, emptying it out. Balling up one in each hand, I shoved the tissues against my eyes. Lately, I'd started to attack my tears as I would any other bleeding wound in my body. Apply pressure until the bleeding stops.

Despite the tears, I knew I would eventually get out of the car. I would be at the ceremony, just like I'd watched spring football tryouts from the bleachers and the Park City soccer games from the parking lot. I couldn't help going to the places where Jack should've been.

But maybe my dad was right. What difference did it make if I was here or not? It wasn't as if Jack would know. I felt like a hypocrite. I leaned my head on the steering wheel and closed my eyes. Maybe I should just drive away.

A knock at my window made me jump. I raised my head to find Will's face staring back.

I smiled.

I'd seen Jack's older brother a few times since the night we'd tried to kill Cole. Will's eyes were clear. If there was one good thing that came out of this whole mess, it was that Will had stopped drinking the moment the Tunnels took Jack. Maybe, like me, he needed to feel the pain—not numb it—to be closer to his brother.

I rolled down the window.

"Hey, Becks," he said with a sympathetic smile. He leaned his elbows on the car door. "I thought I'd find you here. You weren't having second thoughts, were you?"

I shook my head. It was hard when Will was so nice to me, because I felt guiltiest around him. Two months ago he had watched the Tunnels of the Everneath come for me, and leave with his brother. How could he look at me without thinking that they'd taken the wrong person?

"I was just psyching myself up," I said.

He opened the door. "C'mon. We'll sit together." He tilted his head to the side, just enough to let a flash of sunlight blind me; and in that flash, with his profile against the light, Will looked like Jack. So much so that I held my breath and had to stop myself from reaching up to touch his face.

The moment passed.

We walked side by side, silent through the first few rows of cars, our feet crunching against the gravel. The sun shone especially bright and strong. As I stepped onto the sidewalk that led to the football field, Will stretched out his arm in front of me and pulled me back.

"What is it?" I asked. I followed his gaze to see Mrs. Caputo—Jack and Will's mom—a few yards ahead of us. "Oh."

Will shrugged and gave me a guilty look. "Sorry, Becks."

"No, it's fine." I forced a smile. "Of course she blames me."

Will's cheeks turned pink, and he shook his head. "It's not that she blames you. She just doesn't know anything about what happened, except that you were the last one to see him. If it wasn't for Jack's note..."

Jack's note. His mother found the note the day after Jack disappeared. In it, Jack had said that he was running away. He begged them not to look for him. I hadn't known about the note until after he was gone.

"Do you... do you think he knew what he was going to do?" My voice cracked at the end, and I took a deep breath. "I mean, how could he have known? How could he..." But he did know. The note proved it.

Will put his arms around me and held me tight as I focused on not causing a scene.

"I was as surprised as you were. He never said a word about taking your place. If anything, I thought he was planning on going _with_ you."

"It's my fault."

"Don't say that. Jack knew what he was doing. Besides, if he were still here and he had lost you again... there'd be no living with him." Will's lips pulled up in a sad smile. "Trust me, I've seen it. There's a lot of moping, body piercing, bad poetry, tattoos. It's not pretty."

I smiled and thought about the tattoo on Jack's arm. It said _Ever Yours_ in ancient Sanskrit symbols. The same words he had written to me after our first dance. His last words to me before the Tunnels took him.

"Nothing could have changed Jack's mind," Will said.

I didn't answer, but I knew Will was wrong. I was the reason Jack was getting the life sucked out of him. Some part of Will had to believe that too, even though he'd never say.

I shivered despite the warmth from the sun. He held me quietly for a few moments more until my regular breathing had resumed and his mom had made it a sufficient distance away.

We started walking again.

Will broke the silence first. "It's been two months. Do you think he's still alive?"

"I know he is." That was the truth. I'd told Will about my dreams countless times, but I could understand how difficult it was to believe. Or maybe it was comforting to hear me say it again and again.

"Tell me how you know," he said.

I smiled. "He'd told me that the symbols on his tattoo were ancient Sanskrit. I researched it, and it's true. How could my subconscious have known to look in ancient Sanskrit?"

He nodded.

I grabbed his arm. "I'm going after him, Will. You know that, don't you?"

Will shook his head and smiled faintly. "How, Becks?"

I hesitated to tell him about my map of the Dead Elvises sightings and my theory that they were getting closer to Park City. I didn't want to get his hopes up, but then I thought about our history. For a few of us there was no such thing as getting our hopes up too high. It wasn't possible.

"Cole's band was in Austin last night," I said. "He's getting closer. I think he's coming back."

Will's face changed so slightly, I almost didn't catch it. But there it was. In the tiny lines around his eyes, in the microscopic twitch of his mouth. Hope.

Not the beach sands of hope of someone who hadn't been through what we'd been through. Will's hope was like mine. A tiny kernel. One grain of sand coursing through our bodies, leaving traces of it in ways only the other could see.

I grabbed his arm. "And if Cole comes back, all I need is one little part of him. One strand of hair. One... I don't know... fingernail. Anything I can swallow in the Shop-n-Go."

We were at the bleachers now, the graduates and their families filing past us, but Will stopped.

"If Cole comes back," he said, "I'm gonna kill him."

I snorted despite the seriousness of the situation. "You can't kill him."

"Why not? We know where his heart is now. I can break his pick."

"But if you do, we lose our best chance to get back to the Everneath." He was quiet for a moment as he considered this. "Besides," I added. "We aren't even sure what would happen if we broke his pick."

It was true. We'd only been acting on a theory about breaking Cole's heart. Another Forfeit, named Meredith, had given me an ancient bracelet with Egyptian symbols on it. She was convinced that it held the key to killing an Everliving, but the Tunnels captured her before she could find out. Jack and I showed a picture of the bracelet to a professor of anthropology named Dr. Spears; after he studied the symbols, he'd theorized that breaking the heart would destroy the Everliving.

Because Everlivings such as Cole didn't have real hearts inside their chests. Their hearts had been transformed into objects they could carry around with them. It happened the instant they became immortals. The emptiness in their chests symbolized their unbreakable link to the Everneath, and also meant that they couldn't survive on the Surface unless they stole emotions from humans. There was a point when I thought I'd figured out that Cole's heart was in his guitar and that smashing it should've killed him. Or at least made him mortal. But Cole's heart was actually in his guitar pick, and the Tunnels came for me anyway.

It was still hypothetical. We didn't know what would really happen because we never got that far.

"A guy can't live without his heart," Will said, but I could tell he was reconsidering Cole's immediate demise.

"C'mon." I tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. "We can't miss this."

But he didn't move. "Becks."

"What?"

"I want you to know, here and now, that if we can't get Jack back... you won't be able to stop me from killing Cole. Whether I have to break his heart or tear him apart."

I let out a breath. "If it gets to that point, it's _you_ who won't be able to stop _me_."

I didn't know if I could physically kill Cole. Breaking a guitar pick was one thing, but doing something more violent? Such as... stabbing someone? Strangling someone? That was another thing entirely.

Then again, wasn't it murder just the same? I didn't know. But I had plenty of time to contemplate it because the graduation speakers were boring. Jennifer Carpenter talked about how the future was theirs for the taking, and Dione Warnick—yes, that was her real name—gave a resounding speech that had something to do with the size of the graduates' shoes and their carbon footprint on the earth. She even had visual aids: a pair of her grandpa's old hiking boots.

The principal spoke last. He made a reference to "loved ones who are no longer with us." All eyes shifted to the empty seat between Farah Cannon and Noni Chatworth, where Jack would've been sitting.

A few people glanced back toward me, which meant I hadn't entered as stealthily as I'd thought. Looks that said, _You were the last one with him. You should know where he is_.

The commencement announcer got to the _C_ s and called Jack's name; and despite the number of times I'd imagined this moment, and thought I'd prepared myself for it, hearing his name felt like a hammer on my heart, threatening the dam that I'd built up there.

In the silence that followed, a woman near the front stood and walked toward the podium. Jack's mom. I sank a little lower in my chair, trying not to think of the times she had grilled me since his disappearance. My story never changed. I didn't know where he'd gone or when he'd be back.

Mrs. Caputo climbed the stairs to the stage and took the diploma, shaking the principal's hand. She turned away and wiped under her eyes, and the audience applauded. Scattered football players in the crowd jumped out of their seats, and soon it turned into a standing ovation. I was at once overcome by the outpouring of love for Jack and immobilized by the guilt in my chest. I stayed in my seat, my head lowered.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, only partly because of the fresh moisture in my eyes.

A series of hugs. Hats thrown in the air. Yearbooks signed.

I saw it all from the shadows of the old sycamore trees at the end of the field. Will was off to the side, his arm around his crying mother. I watched them for a long time, until I caught something out of the corner of my eye. The sun glinting off long, blond hair and shining in my eyes.

Jules.

My best friend. Former best friend. Still best friend?

She was talking to Dan Gregson, the head of the yearbook committee. Like me, Jules wouldn't graduate until next year, so I wondered why she was here today. Maybe it was for Jack. After all, she'd been friends with him too. When I left last year, she became his best friend. Maybe even more than friends.

I studied her face. Her cheeks were not as round as they had been just two months ago. She was smiling at Dan, but the smile didn't reach any other part of her face.

I was so focused on Jules's face that I didn't see Jack's mom coming. I heard her before I saw her.

"You have some nerve showing up here!"

I turned to find Mrs. Caputo marching toward me, flanked by Will, whose expression seemed to read _I tried to stop her_. Her hand trembled at her side, as if she wanted to slap me but didn't dare.

"You avoid my phone calls, your father won't let me on your property, and then you show up _here_?"

Avoided her phone calls? My dad wouldn't let her on our property? I had no idea what she was talking about. All I knew was that she had backed off over the past couple of weeks. I thought she'd given up.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

She was right on top of me now, and I took a step back. "I... I just wanted to..."

"To what? Keep up this... _charade_ you've been selling?"

"What charade?"

"The one where you act like you don't have the first clue where my son is when you know damn well it's a lie."

Will put a hand on her shoulder. "Mom—"

She shook him away. "She pretends to be a friend, pretends to love Jack, and she won't even answer one question about where he went." She was talking to Will but glaring at me. Her voice grew softer but still resonated with anger. "You don't know anything about love."

Her words stung. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Caputo. I didn't know you were trying to get hold of me—"

"Enough with the innocent act," she said. "I can't even stand to look at you anymore."

She whipped around and stalked off. It wasn't until that moment that I realized we had an audience. Several people had wandered over, obviously curious about all the shouting. Now that she and Will had left, I was alone, the center of a dozen accusatory stares.

I put on my sunglasses to hide my eyes and set off for the parking lot. It wasn't an act. I really didn't know she had been trying so hard to talk to me. Was my dad playing the buffer? If so, part of me wanted to thank him, but another part of me was angry that he didn't tell me about it.

Mrs. Caputo's car came around the corner, and I ducked behind a tree. Of course I could understand her anger. The only thing keeping her from killing me had to be Jack's note. She could never know exactly how much I was to blame for Jack being gone, but I silently made her the same promise I made to Will.

_I will find your son. As soon as I find Cole_.

The moment I thought the words, a strange feeling came over me. It was unsettling, like a pull at my back. A warning, almost. I crept farther behind the tree as Mrs. Caputo's car passed by and suddenly, from behind me, two hands grasped my shoulders.

I jumped. Whipped around. Found myself staring into two dark eyes. And then I tried to stifle a scream that was equal parts panic and excitement.

"Hi, Nik," Cole said.

## About the Author

2011 OPIEFOTO

**BRODI ASHTON** is also the author of _Everneath_. She received a bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Utah and a master's degree in international relations from the London School of Economics. She has an active following on her blog, which can be found at www.brodiashton.blogspot.com. Brodi lives in Utah with her family.

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## Credits

Cover art © 2012 by pixelspace & Getty Images

Cover design by Ray Shappell

## Copyright

Neverfall

Copyright © 2013 by Brodi Ashton

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EPub Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780062236418

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