There was a long pause and Scarlet could just imagine the baffled look on Nate’s face. “But you would be dead.”
“Yes. And Scarlet would have a real life, Nate. A real chance at living.”
Scarlet’s heart puckered in disbelief.
What was he saying?
“Let’s put aside, for a moment, the fact that you’re crazy and stupid. You’re still immortal, Tristan. You can’t die.”
“Your books said there was a weapon that could kill any immortal being. It’s possible, Nate.”
Scarlet put a hand over her mouth. There was actually hope in Tristan’s voice. Genuine, beautiful, little boy hope and it was tearing her down the middle.
“If I can find a weapon that will cut my heart in half,” Tristan continued. “then Scarlet will be free, correct?”
Like a shock of cold water, reality slapped Scarlet in the face as she realized Tristan wasn’t crazy. There were weapons that could kill immortals—and one of them was an arrow already in Tristan’s possession!
Oh God. Oh God.
Nate sighed and his voice was strained. “Freedom without love is not freedom at all. If you die, Scarlet will hate you forever.”
Tristan hesitated. “If I live, Scarlet will suffer forever.”
A long minute passed and Scarlet considered screaming at Tristan through the phone. There was absolutely no way she was going to tell any of them about the immortal-killing weapons now that Tristan wanted to die.
Her hands went numb and her heart pounded.
Tristan said, “What would you do if it was Molly?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Exactly. It’s not fair.”
Another long pause.
“I’m not going to help you kill yourself, Tristan.” He sounded stern and Scarlet suddenly loved Nate more than she ever had before.
Tristan made a huffing sound. “Maybe not right now, but there will come a time when all the death and brokenness has to end. Scarlet might not be selfish enough to admit it, but she needs it to end.”
Feeling her throat start to close up, Scarlet silently hung up the phone before she gasped or choked and gave herself away.
Sweat began to form along her brow.
She stared at the journal on her bed for a moment.
Nate and Gabriel had worked for centuries trying to keep Scarlet healthy, trying to preserve her life. They had protected her in every way they could and she loved them deeply for it. They were her best friends and they would risk their lives in a heartbeat for her.
And Tristan was her very soul and there was no way in hell she was going to lead him to death—a death he would probably welcome, damn him. And there was an entire collection of immortal-killing weapons in Georgia right now that Tristan might stumble upon in his suicide mission.
Scarlet stood in her room for several minutes, trying to think through every possible scenario that would keep everyone safe. Taking several deep breaths, she came to a decision.
She would go to the fountain by herself. If she died, Tristan’s blood would bring her back to life and she could try again in her next life. But if Tristan, Gabriel, or Nate died, they would never return.
She would find Mr. Brooks and buy up his collection and keep it from Tristan. And she would find the fountain and try to cure herself with the blue water without endangering anyone else.
It was a stupid plan. It was reckless and crazy.
And it was absolutely what Scarlet was going to do.
It took all of Scarlet’s will power not to sprint to Tristan’s house the second she’d hung up the phone. But that would have been rash. Instead, she spent a few hours thinking through her plan, coming to only one conclusion: there was a good chance she was going to die.
Not a happy thought, but meh.
She was used to dying.
Arriving at Tristan’s, Scarlet parked her car in the shadows and sat for a moment, going over her options. She needed to get that arrow away from him and his suicidal stupidity.
She could ring his doorbell, wake him up, and approach him maturely.
Hey, Tristan. You know how you’re looking for a special weapon to kill yourself? Guess what? You already have it! So, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to take it off your hands.
Yeah, no.
She could try threatening him.
Give me the arrow or I will climb onto your body and stay there until I die.
Tempting, but not very mature.
Or…
She could sneak into his house and steal it.
Journals. Weapons. She was on a stealing streak today.
She crept quietly through the shadows, hoping Tristan was fast asleep and not able to sense her presence as she tried the front door. Locked.
Bummer. That would have made things easy.
She went around the side of the house to the weapons room and was pleased to find the window unlocked. Opening it, she slid inside, feeling confident she would be able to pull this plan off after all.
Squinting, she tried to make out weapons in the dark. Had she been smarter, she would have thought to dress in all black and bring a freaking flashlight with her, but no.
At least Tristan was a deep sleeper.
She studied the arrows on the desk until she found the one with the blue tip and picked it up, letting out a silent exhale as she tucked it into her back pocket.
Looking around, another idea struck. She was going to need weapons—lots of them—and immortal blood if she hoped to cut through deadly vines.
She hurriedly started plucking knives off the walls and tossing them out the window. She grabbed a few bows, a few dozen arrows, and threw those out the window too, just in case.
Jumping back outside, she loaded up her arms and carried Tristan’s weapons back to her car. It took her three trips to get them all loaded and, just when she was about to close her trunk, Scarlet started to feel nervous.
Why was she nervous?
Then curious.
What the…?
She heard a sound behind her and spun around to see a very upset Tristan glaring at her.
Oh crap.
“Scarlet,” he said, not surprised to see her. The whole connection thing was inconvenient on all sorts of levels.
“Hi.” She waved at him awkwardly as she leaned a hip against her trunk like it was perfectly normal for her to be packing up weapons in the middle of the night and acting super creepy in his front yard.
She felt relieved.
Wait, what? Why did she feel relieved?
“Are you okay?” he asked. His eyes fell to her trunk. “Are those my weapons?”
Confusion.