Daire Meets Ever (The Immortals) by Alyson Noël Read Free Book Online Page A

money that comes from the healings and herbs. Seventeen years is a long time to go without a word, but I suppose all different people mourn in all different ways.”
    Jennika squirms. Chews her bottom lip. Furiously drumming up a whole new set of questions, I can tell just by looking, but stopped short when Chay looks at me and says, “How are you doing? I hear the herbs have provided relief?”
    When his eyes meet mine, I have no doubt he’ll know if I lie. A fact that causes me to admit, “They help for a while, but as soon as they wear off, the visions start up again.”
    Jennika gasps. Her face a mask of shock, hurt, and an undeniable anger at what she surely views as my betrayal. Holding her words long enough for the waitress to place our dishes before us, then launching into a full tirade the moment she’s gone. “You told me you felt better! You said you weren’t seeing those things anymore! Did you lie to me? I can’t believe this, Daire. I truly can’t believe this!”
    I take a deep breath and pluck a fry from the pile, dangling it for a moment, watching it wag back and forth, before I plop it into my mouth, chase it with another, and mumble, “I didn’t lie. I really do feel better.” I duck my head low and take a sip of my Coke. Using the opportunity to sneak a quick peek at Chay, curious to see how he’s reacting to this, but he busies himself with his pie, wisely steering clear of Jennika’s and my awkward mother/daughter dispute. “It works for a while, and it doesn’t make me feel all lazy and foggy and weird like the drugs do. Still, the second it wears off, the visions return. But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it, since it’s not like it would change anything. You’d just end up worrying even more than you already do.”
    I shrug, try for a bite of my hamburger, but I don’t have it in me, so I return it to my plate, while Jennika frowns into her coffee. And though it may look tense and awful on the surface, the truth is, I’m grateful for the silence.
    That’s how we eat—Jennika alternately frowning and sipping, me toying with my pile of fries, as Chay scrapes his spoon hard against his plate, making sure to get every last trace.
     
     
    ***

 
    When Chay first mentioned that Paloma lived in a small adobe home, I guess it was one of those details I chose not to focus on. But after trading the paved highway for over an hour of seriously bumpy dirt roads that offer little to no light other than that supplied by the moon, my eyes start to burn from all the squinting I’ve been doing in an effort to guess which adobe is hers.
    They’re everywhere.
    I mean, there are other types of homes too, and plenty of trailer homes as well, but this particular area features mostly adobes, making pueblo style the overriding look of the place.
    New York City has high-rises and brownstones—the Pacific Northwest has clapboard façades—Southern California has, well, a little bit of everything, but Mediterranean seems to reign supreme—and from what I can see, this part of New Mexico boasts a proliferation of rectangular homes with flat roofs and smooth rounded walls that look like baked earth.
    Which means every time we approach a new one I can’t help but think: Is this it? Is this the house where Paloma lives?
    Only to sigh in defeat when Chay drives right past it, and then past the one after that.
    So by the time he stops before a tall blue gate surrounded by smooth, curving walls, I’m so jacked up on junk food and nerves, I’m too nauseous to react in any meaningful way.
    “This is it,” Chay says, his smile as good-natured now as it was at the start of this journey. Appearing as though the last ten hours of chauffeuring a sullen teen was not only a pleasure, but also a breeze.
    He heaves my bag from the small space in back where it’s wedged behind the seats, slings it over his shoulder, and motions for me to follow. Reminding himself to oil the gate after it greets him with a