Page 17 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

We land inside the dimly lit lighthouse, its walls humming with the distant roar of the sea—a sound that mirrors my own erratic heartbeat.

“You expected the launchpad?” Elodie’s voice, tinged with amusement, slices through the dim interior.

I look around, memories of the last time I was here flooding my mind—the night Elodie, Jago, Song, Oliver, and Finn basically abducted me, hypnotized me, and tested my loyalties by making me choose between my old life and Gray Wolf. To my surprise, I chose to stay on the Rock, and now I know why—this is where my destiny lies.

“If we’d used the portal made from the launchpad,” she says, “we would’ve returned to the launchpad. But because we used the book, we ended up here.”

As we make our way through the ancient structure, I can’t help but think about all the lighthouse keepers who went missing through the years, whisked away from the life they knew, never to be seen again. The thought sends a chill straight through my bones.

“We’re lucky,” Elodie continues. “It could’ve just as easily been the tarot garden, which is tricky, you know? It’s so visible, you run the risk of someone seeing. But here, it makes it easier to sneak back inside. Especially since I’m pretty much the only one who still uses this place.”

The chill that pervades the lighthouse isn’t just a physical sensation. It’s seeped into my thoughts. As my eyes sweep the room, taking in the lush decor—the pile of velvet cushions, the casual drape of the soft faux-fur blankets, the towering candelabras scattered about—a sharp pang of jealousy gnaws at my insides.

I thought I’d moved past this.

Thought I’d made peace with the fact that Elodie slept with my boyfriend when I still haven’t managed to cross that particular threshold.

But here, in this lavishly adorned space, those old insecurities are fully awake.

Then another thought occurs to me, this one far more unsettling.

If I’m still prone to these petty jealousies, if they’re able to find a foothold in my heart, then what does it say about all that progress I was so sure I’d made?

Did anything I learned at my dad’s actually manage to stick?

Shaking the thought away, I train my focus on Elodie. “How are we supposed to get back? I mean, it must be edging toward dawn. And with this weather, we’ll be icicles before we even make it halfway.”

Elodie rolls her eyes. “Please,” she groans. “A little credit for once. Follow me.”

Together we descend the spiral staircase, the steps groaning loudly under our weight. When we reach the bottom floor, Elodie retrieves a pair of heavy coats from a hook by the door. She’s about to toss one to me when she cocks her head and says, “What the hell is that?” She gestures toward my arm. “Did you and your dad get matching tattoos?”

I follow her gaze to find a single luminous golden circle marking the pale white skin of my inner arm, as my dad’s words replay in my head: I have a feeling the mark will find you. Apparently, it did.

With Elodie still staring, waiting for an explanation, I clear my throat and say, “It’s not a tattoo.” I sneak a glance her way. She looks unconvinced. “Or at least not a real one.”

“Well, whatever it is, you better not let Arthur see it.” Her lips pinch. “He has a real double standard when it comes to those things.”

An icy shiver slinks down my spine. Double standard? Does that mean what I think it does?

Casually, I say, “Arthur has a tattoo?”

Elodie regards me for a long, tense moment. Then, with a shake of her head, she tosses me the jacket and slips into her own.

As we tug the hoods over our heads and duck outside into the bitter cold night, I can’t stop thinking about what she just implied.

Does Arthur bear the mark of the flower of life?

Outside, the wind is a living, howling thing. Fierce and unforgiving, it bites into every exposed bit of skin. I huddle deeper into my coat and look all around, noting how the moon casts a ghostly glow over the rugged terrain, turning the continuous onslaught of waves into an infinite array of silver cascades.

“Don’t tell me we’re walking.” I squint into the distance at the fortress that is Gray Wolf, which, from this point, seems as unlikely a destination as an evening stroll to the moon. “Because even with—”

“Who said anything about walking?” Elodie laughs, the sound swallowed by a loud shriek of wind. “Do you honestly think this is the first time I’ve done this?”

I shoot her a sidelong glance. “Last time you dragged me along, you used a car. But I don’t see one now.”

“That’s because I have something even better.”

I follow her as she circles to the back of the lighthouse. Opening a small shed that blends so well into the landscape I never noticed it until now, she swings the door open to reveal a vintage pink Vespa.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I say, pretty sure that thing will barely make it out of the shed, much less tackle such a steep climb.

“Do you have a better suggestion?” She swings a leg over and settles onto the seat. When she turns the key and revs it to life, despite the sound of its engine purring defiantly into the night, I still have my doubts.

And yet, unable to come up with a better plan, I climb on behind her. Circling my arms around her waist, I say, “You sure this thing can actually make it all the way up that hill?”

Elodie laughs. “Hold on,” she says, veering the Vespa onto the narrow road, its single headlight piercing the darkness. “And get ready for the ride of your life.”

Miraculously, we survive the journey. There were times when I wasn’t so sure.

I wait as Elodie stashes the Vespa, then we head for the large iron door. She presses her thumb against the electronic keypad, and with a soft whir, it swings open.

I pause for a moment at the threshold, my eyes catching the inscription on the plaque overhead: Panta Rhei . Instantly, I’m transported back to just a few hours earlier when I was in another time, in another place.

Time is like a river—everything flows, and nothing stands still , the echo of my father’s voice now imprinted on my soul.

“I’m guessing you’re headed for Braxton’s room?” Elodie glances over her shoulder, her voice light and teasing. But is there something else, maybe her own pang of jealousy, floating beneath the surface? Or is she just a mirror for me, reflecting my own insecurities?

Abandoning that thread, I look at Elodie, shaking my head. As much as I want to see him and make sure he’s okay, I’m not sure it’s safe, considering Arthur is back.

“Seriously?” Elodie raises an eyebrow. “You’re not even going to check on him—you know, because of the head wound and all? You do remember the state he was in when we left?”

I hold her gaze but remain tight-lipped. Is Elodie accusing me of being a bad girlfriend?

Part of me wants to stand up for myself, but the moment stretches too long, and anything I say now will only come off as defensive.

“Suit yourself.” She shrugs, our footsteps echoing softly as we make our way through the tunnel. When we emerge into the tarot garden, the mosaic-tiled statues, bathed in moonlight, cast long, eerie shadows. “I’m going to swing by Jago’s,” she says. “Tripping always makes me ridiculously”—she shoots me a sly look—“thirsty.” A light, melodic laugh follows, swirling through the night.

“But shouldn’t we come up with some kind of story?” I whisper, pausing before the main door. “You know, just in case—”

“No need.” Elodie ushers me inside the spacious entry with its upside-down theme. As we move past the velvet chaise that hangs from the ceiling and the crystal chandelier that sits in the center of the white marble floor, she adds, “Arthur’s probably asleep, along with everyone else.”

“And if he’s not?” I ask, a tinge of panic flaring in my voice.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” she replies, her tone so casual it sets me on edge. Does she have any idea how serious this is?

When we finally reach my door, I turn to face her. “El, thanks.” I say. “That was really kind of you to—”

She silences me with a swift, dismissive gesture. Elodie’s that odd blend of a person who craves recognition yet skittishly avoids anything that reeks of sentimentality, unless it’s initiated by her.

“I had fun.” She nods, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. “It was nice meeting your dad and his friends. And I’m glad you got what you needed.” Her eyes follow me as I press my thumb to the keypad.

When the door opens and I’m about to step in, Elodie’s voice stops me cold in my tracks. “Oh, but Nat—”

I turn to face her, only to find her expression has gone suddenly, alarmingly serious.

“Now that you got what you wanted, I feel I should warn you—” Her gaze pierces mine, and in the ominous hush that follows, my heartbeat quickens, its thunderous rhythm pounding in my ears, as my belly clenches with a cold, hard knot of dread. “If you try to harm Arthur or Gray Wolf in any way…” Her fingers idly slide the serpent charm back and forth on its chain, the motion as hypnotic as it is menacing. “Then you’ll leave me no choice but to destroy you.”