“Yes,” I say, looking back in his direction. “But not like that. It was more personal.”

“Well, your skills are just developing. We can’t expect miracles from the beginning.” I know that Giselle is trying to talk in code, but there’s no mistaking the condescending tone of that last statement. She takes another sip, and the way she looks away from me tells me that she doesn’t think I can do this. That all of the attention I’m getting from the Sekhem is for nothing.

Everyone around us laughs as Sonia finishes another story, and I see an opportunity in the silence that follows. All of the talk tonight has been about mutual friends and other parties in other lifetimes. I see Drew walk into the kitchen and I decide it’s time to focus on some current events. “Hey,” I say quickly, before conversation can start again. “Did you hear about the woman they found dead out by the airport last week? I heard she was Akhet.”

The entire group is silent, looking at me and, I’m sure, wondering why I’d bring up something like that. At least that’s what most people would think. But anyone who’s involved would be immediately uncomfortable. I sit up, alert, watching the faces around me.

“I heard that too,” a woman volunteers. “Veronique something. Not anyone that I knew, though.”

Sonia leans into the group. “Was she Sekhem?”

“Rogue,” another woman says. I watch her carefully, but I don’t see any signs of agitation. “I heard she’d been involved in some retaliation earlier this year. Sanctioned by the Sekhem, but what are they going to do about it?” Everyone laughs softly.

A guy near me sips some coffee. “How did she die? She didn’t go anen, did she?”

“No. She was killed,” the first woman says. I don’t recognize the new Akhet word, but it must mean something like suicide. I wonder how many Akhet choose that option.

“How?” Sonia asks. “I hope not strangulation. That’s a horrible way to go.”

“Were you ever strangled?” a man asks her.

“No. But I know someone who was. Dreadful. I prefer something quick and unexpected,” Sonia replies. “Give me a car crash or a well-placed bullet any day.”

“How about a massive heart attack? Or an aneurysm?” Portia Martin asks.

Sonia waves the thought away. “Too painful.”

“But not for long,” Portia says. “I once had an aneurysm in my sleep—woke up with a headache, and in a few seconds that was it.”

I can feel the conversation picking up now that we’re off the subject of Veronique. I don’t see anyone who seems even a little bit interested.

“Has anyone gone the lingering disease route?” a blond woman asks, and many people shake their head in sympathy. “I did that last time, and I’m telling you, never again. If I get sick this time, I’m going anen before things get too bad. Hard to believe that in this day and age euthanasia is still illegal. It ought to be a sacrament.”

The conversation turns to everyone’s favorite way to die, and I know the subject is lost. Giselle leans down. “Nice try.”

I shrug. I should go circulate a little bit, maybe see if I can find out more about Will Alvarez. I start to stand up but lose my balance and bump into Giselle, spilling her red wine on her white jeans.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching for some napkins on the coffee table. She probably thinks I did that on purpose.

She stands up quickly. “It’s okay.”

“Let me get this,” I say, pressing a wad of napkins into the stain. As I touch her, I suddenly feel detached from my body for a few seconds, and sense something dark, something deep down that Giselle doesn’t want anyone to see.

Giselle brushes my hand away and everything comes back into focus. I look up at her, trying to keep my expression neutral. It could have been anything, something about her past that she’s not proud of, something in another lifetime that she’s trying to suppress. But out of everyone here, Giselle is the only one I’ve found who seems to be hiding something big.

“I’m going to find some club soda to take this out,” Giselle says.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” I say. I don’t think she can tell what I know.

She gives me a tight smile. “My fault for drinking red wine in white pants. Don’t worry about it.”

I watch her walk into the kitchen, wondering what I’m going to say to Janine. If I’m going to say anything to Janine. I’d hate to look like an idiot if it’s nothing.

Next to me, Portia looks at her oversized diamond watch and tosses her napkin onto the coffee table. “Ooh! Look how late! I’d better get going. Early call tomorrow.”

I glance at the clock that Drew has over the mantle. Almost midnight. “Damn. I should go too. My parents are going to kill me.”

Portia smiles. “Ah, curfew. I remember it well.”

I sigh. “Now that my memories are coming back, being treated like a kid is starting to really suck.”

“We all go through it, if it’s any consolation. It doesn’t last. Soon you’ll be able to do whatever you want.” Drew walks across the room and joins a couple of people by the giant windows. Portia looks him pointedly up and down. “Speaking of doing whatever you want—I think you should definitely be doing that.”

I bump her in the shoulder and she laughs. “I’m not going out with Drew,” I say.

Portia leans in close. “Then I think you should tell him that. He’s barely taken his eyes off you all night.”

“Why aren’t you . . . you know, with Drew?” It would be perfect—the pop star and the handsome young gazillionaire.

Portia looks over at him and seems to be deep in thought, her eyes so dark brown they seem almost black. “We have our own history,” she says. “Sometimes there’s no going back.” She looks at me. “You two have a history, don’t you?”

I look over at Drew and nod. Sometimes when I see him out of the corner of my eye I get flashes of Connor and the life we had together, and it gets hard to separate memory from reality. “Yes. A few hundred years ago. I only remember pieces of it, though.”

She follows my gaze. “Sometimes it takes more than one lifetime for things to work out as they’re supposed to.” Portia stands up and stretches so that I can see her flat stomach and tiny little belly ring. I’m not surprised to see the ankh charm hanging off it. “Promise me you’ll come to the show tomorrow night. You two blew me off last week, so you kind of owe me.”

I think about what it would be like to see Portia on stage after talking to her all night at a dinner party. Rayne was dying to go to the show, but it sold out in minutes when the tickets went on sale months ago. “Can I bring someone?” She only got out of the hospital two days ago, but she’d kill me if I let her miss this opportunity.

“Sure,” she says. “As long as Drew doesn’t mind, it’s fine with me. I’ll see you all backstage at the show.” Portia leans in and gives me an air kiss on the cheek. Usually I hate that kind of thing, but with her, it seems to work. She walks over to say good-bye to Drew, and I stand up and gather a few plates that are left on the table.

“Leave those,” Drew says, walking back toward me. “The caterers will get them.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling useless.

“Did you meet anyone you liked?”

“Everyone was great,” I say. “I do have a question, though. Does ‘anen’ mean that someone killed themselves?”

He smiles. “Good catch. Anen is when an Akhet decides to end this lifetime. You won’t see very many extremely old Akhet; when these bodies break down, most decide to trade them in.”

I hadn’t thought much about that. “I guess you don’t worry so much about death, knowing there’s another lifetime waiting for you.”

He looks at me with a serious expression. “Depends on what’s waiting for you in this one.”

I look away, knowing exactly what he means, a pang of guilt in my chest that I can’t return his feelings.

The crowd around us is definitely thinning out. “I guess I should get going.” I reach for my bag hanging on the back of a chair.

“Do you have to?” he says. “It’s not that late.”

“Tell that to my parents. They’re already mad at me . . .” I was going to say that they were mad about him, but somehow that doesn’t seem right. “We already fight about where I go and what time I come home.”

“Sorry,” he says. “They didn’t like it that I came to your house that day.”

I shake my head. “No, they didn’t. They think you’re too old to be hanging around me.” I have to laugh at how ridiculous that is, with everything I know.

His smile is slightly sad. “Under normal circumstances, I’d agree with them. When I turned eighteen, you were only fourteen. If you were my daughter, I’d probably go after the guy with a restraining order. And a baseball bat.”

“Lucky for you, my dad’s not much of an athlete.” I look up at Drew’s face. Even though there are the barest hints of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, he seems ageless. He smiles, and I pull my gaze away and look around the room. “Well, thanks for inviting me. I had fun.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Portia said that if we don’t come to her show, she’ll disown me.”

“Um . . . sure. I told her I was bringing Rayne. Is that okay?”

“Whatever you want,” he says. “Is she well enough to go?”

“For a Portia Martin concert, she’ll go if we have to wheel her in on a stretcher.” I smile. “I think she’ll be fine, for a couple of hours at least.”

Drew looks around at the small groups of people still left in the living room. “How did you get here, anyway?”

“Bus,” I say. “They’re still running. It’s a weekend schedule.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you get on a bus this late. Give me a second to settle up with the caterers and I’ll give you a ride.”