Read Online The Immortals 3 - Shadowland by Alyson Noël - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alyson Noël
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me to—um—seriously compromise myself in a way I’m not comfortable with ... if you know what I mean ...
Focusing my intention, replaying the words again and again. Hoping it’ll grant access to the akashic records, the permanent record of everything that has, is, or ever will be done. Praying I won’t be shut out again like the last time I was here.
But this time, when I hear that familiar buzz, instead of the usual long hallway leading to a mysterious room, I find myself right smack in the middle of a cineplex, its lobby empty, snack bar abandoned, with no clue of what I should do until a set of double doors opens before me.
I step inside a dark theater with sticky floors, worn seats, and the scent of buttery popcorn permeating the air. Squeezing down the aisle and choosing the best seat in the house, the one halfway down and dead center, I prop my feet on the chair just before me as the lights go dim and a big tub of popcorn appears in my lap. Watching the red drapes retract as the large crystal screen begins to flicker and flare in a profusion of images that quickly race past.
But instead of the solution I’d hoped for, all I get is a series of clips from movies I’ve already seen. Resulting in a sort of homemade montage of my family’s funniest moments, lifted straight from my old life in Oregon and unfolding to a soundtrack that only Riley could make.
Watching a clip of Riley and me, both of us hamming it up on a homemade stage in our den, dancing and lip-synching for an audience consisting of our parents and dog. Soon followed by an image of Buttercup, our sweet yellow lab. Tongue straining toward her nose, licking like mad, trying to get to the chunk of peanut butter Riley had dabbed there.
And even though it’s not at all what I’d hoped for, I know it’s important all the same. Riley promised she’d find a way to communicate with me, assuring me that just because I can’t see her anymore doesn’t mean she’s not still around.
So I push my quest aside, and sink down in my seat. Knowing she’s sitting beside me, silent and unseen. Wanting to share this moment together, two sisters sharing the home-movie version of what used to be.
Chapter Nine
By the time I make it back to my room, Damen is waiting, sitting on the edge of my bed, cradling a small satin pouch in the palm of his gloved hand.
“How long was I gone?” I ask, plopping down beside him as I squint at my bedside clock and figure the math.
“There’s no time in Summerland,” he reminds me. “But on the earth plane, I’d say you were gone for a while. Did you learn anything?”
I think about the home movies I watched, Riley’s version of “The Bloom Family’s Funniest Videos,” then I shake my head and shrug. “Nothing useful. You?”
He smiles, handing over the silk pouch as he says, “Open and see.”
I pull on the drawstring, slip a finger inside, and retrieve a black silk cord bearing a cluster of colorful crystals held together by thin gold bands. Watching it catch and reflect the light as I dangle it before me, thinking it’s beautiful if not a bit odd.
“It’s an amulet,” he says, watching me carefully as I take in the individual stones, each of them bearing a different shape, size, and color. “They’ve been worn through the ages and are said to hold magical properties for healing, protection, prosperity, and balance. Though this particular one, being created solely for you, is heavy on the protection element since that’s what you need.”
I look at him, wondering how this could possibly help. Then I remember the crystals I used to make the antidote that saved him, and how it really could’ve worked—if Roman hadn’t tricked me into adding my blood to the mix.
“It’s completely unique, assembled and crafted with your own personal journey in mind. There’s not another one like it, not anywhere. I know it doesn’t solve our problem, but at least it’ll help.”
I squint at the bundle of
Focusing my intention, replaying the words again and again. Hoping it’ll grant access to the akashic records, the permanent record of everything that has, is, or ever will be done. Praying I won’t be shut out again like the last time I was here.
But this time, when I hear that familiar buzz, instead of the usual long hallway leading to a mysterious room, I find myself right smack in the middle of a cineplex, its lobby empty, snack bar abandoned, with no clue of what I should do until a set of double doors opens before me.
I step inside a dark theater with sticky floors, worn seats, and the scent of buttery popcorn permeating the air. Squeezing down the aisle and choosing the best seat in the house, the one halfway down and dead center, I prop my feet on the chair just before me as the lights go dim and a big tub of popcorn appears in my lap. Watching the red drapes retract as the large crystal screen begins to flicker and flare in a profusion of images that quickly race past.
But instead of the solution I’d hoped for, all I get is a series of clips from movies I’ve already seen. Resulting in a sort of homemade montage of my family’s funniest moments, lifted straight from my old life in Oregon and unfolding to a soundtrack that only Riley could make.
Watching a clip of Riley and me, both of us hamming it up on a homemade stage in our den, dancing and lip-synching for an audience consisting of our parents and dog. Soon followed by an image of Buttercup, our sweet yellow lab. Tongue straining toward her nose, licking like mad, trying to get to the chunk of peanut butter Riley had dabbed there.
And even though it’s not at all what I’d hoped for, I know it’s important all the same. Riley promised she’d find a way to communicate with me, assuring me that just because I can’t see her anymore doesn’t mean she’s not still around.
So I push my quest aside, and sink down in my seat. Knowing she’s sitting beside me, silent and unseen. Wanting to share this moment together, two sisters sharing the home-movie version of what used to be.
Chapter Nine
By the time I make it back to my room, Damen is waiting, sitting on the edge of my bed, cradling a small satin pouch in the palm of his gloved hand.
“How long was I gone?” I ask, plopping down beside him as I squint at my bedside clock and figure the math.
“There’s no time in Summerland,” he reminds me. “But on the earth plane, I’d say you were gone for a while. Did you learn anything?”
I think about the home movies I watched, Riley’s version of “The Bloom Family’s Funniest Videos,” then I shake my head and shrug. “Nothing useful. You?”
He smiles, handing over the silk pouch as he says, “Open and see.”
I pull on the drawstring, slip a finger inside, and retrieve a black silk cord bearing a cluster of colorful crystals held together by thin gold bands. Watching it catch and reflect the light as I dangle it before me, thinking it’s beautiful if not a bit odd.
“It’s an amulet,” he says, watching me carefully as I take in the individual stones, each of them bearing a different shape, size, and color. “They’ve been worn through the ages and are said to hold magical properties for healing, protection, prosperity, and balance. Though this particular one, being created solely for you, is heavy on the protection element since that’s what you need.”
I look at him, wondering how this could possibly help. Then I remember the crystals I used to make the antidote that saved him, and how it really could’ve worked—if Roman hadn’t tricked me into adding my blood to the mix.
“It’s completely unique, assembled and crafted with your own personal journey in mind. There’s not another one like it, not anywhere. I know it doesn’t solve our problem, but at least it’ll help.”
I squint at the bundle of
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