Never (The Ever Series Book 2)

by C. J. Valles

Feeling a spike of pure fear, I stare at the woman and blink. Her eyes look perfectly normal. She smiles at me, and I nod and relax.

  “A man just called and paid for your purchases.”

  I shake my head and start taking out my mom’s credit card.

  “But …”

  “He said to charge anything you wished to his account. You’re all set!”

  She sets the shoebox and garment bag onto the counter, and I stand there for an extra second, torn between feeling grateful to Ever and angry that he didn’t think to even ask me before giving such a generous gift. Audra comes up next to me and places her items on the counter while the others browse. I turn to her.

  “Did you know that Ever was going to do this?” I ask.

  I watch her carefully, hoping that she’s going to be honest with me as she takes out a half-inch thick black credit card from her purse and sets it on the counter with a thud.

  “That he was going to do what exactly?” she asks.

  “Pay for my dress,” I whisper self-consciously.

  She shakes her head indifferently.

  “He never said anything to me.”

  “Oh,” I mutter.

  Another possibility pops into my head, and I swallow.

  Alex.

  10: By Starlight

  When Audra drops me off, I hurry into the house, throwing the shoes and garment bag onto the couch like they’re live grenades. Taking off my jacket and shoes, I stomp into the kitchen, while simultaneously trying to shake off my feeling of nausea. My mom won’t be home for hours, and I’m glad I don’t have to explain why I didn’t use her credit card for the dress. Then there’s Ever, who I’m sure is going to love Alex stepping in and buying my first formal dress. Yanking open the refrigerator, I look for something effortless to eat for dinner. With a sigh, I grab an open jar of pasta sauce and put some water on the stove to boil. Grabbing an apple from the wooden bowl on the counter, I wash it and take a bite.

  I’m staring blankly out the kitchen window into the blackness when a knock at the front door sends the apple flying out of my hand. It bounces on the counter, and I leave it there as I turn and creep toward the front door. Rising on my toes, I peer through the glass, half expecting to see Alex standing there, gloating. I exhale when I see Ever. I swing open the door and smile.

  “Since when do you use the front door?”

  “You said not to sneak up on you, remember?” he asks with a wry look.

  “I appreciate that.”

  I rise up on my toes to give him a quick, nervous kiss before turning to dash back into the kitchen. When he grasps my hand, I face him reluctantly, and he points to the couch—and my ill-gotten dress. I swallow.

  “Am I allowed to see it?” he laughs.

  “Now?” I ask, aware of the desperation leaking into my voice.

  Ever frowns, and all I can think of is Alex leering. Ever’s scowl deepens. Then he laughs. I stare at him, bewildered by his sudden amusement.

  “What?!”

  “You thought he bought this for you?” he asks incredulously.

  I can’t help noticing the way he avoids using Alex’s name.

  “The woman at the store just said that a man called. … And Audra didn’t know.”

  “I don’t tell her everything,” Ever laughs again.

  “Well, you should have told me,” I sniff reproachfully. “This is an expensive present.”

  “It isn’t a present as much as it is practicality on my part.” I frown before he continues. “You were never very enthusiastic about the dance, and I wanted to help change your mind.”

  I look down and blush.

  “I’m actually starting to look forward to it,” I admit.

  “And what changed your mind?”

  “Well, mostly, the fact that I can’t break your foot if I step on it.”

  “Fair enough. Now may I see the dress?”

  “My sauce!”

  Turning, I race into the kitchen. When I get there, Ever is already standing at the stove, and my sauce is sitting on a hot pad. The water is boiling, too, so I add the pasta and set the timer. Then I turn back to Ever, who’s leaning against the counter, watching me. I smile self-consciously.

  “You could go look at the dress rather than watching me make dinner,” I suggest.

  “I had been hoping you would try it on for me.”

  I blush. It’s not like I picked out the most risqué dress—not by far—but my stomach still does several somersaults at the prospect of modeling it in front of Ever. I drain my noodles two minutes early and pour them into a bowl with the sauce. With Ever sitting across the kitchen table from me, I take a few bites before setting down my fork.

  “Okay. It’s killing me. You’re going to have to tell me how you all live … I mean, sustain yourselves without—you know—eating. It’s been driving me crazy, and I keep forgetting to ask.”

  Ever laughs.

  “We don’t need to consume anything.” He pauses and studies me. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

  “Not really,” I shrug. “Okay, maybe it’s a little weird. When I first saw you, I thought you just didn’t like cafeteria food. Then I realized you never ate.”

  “We think it has something to do with this environment—the water, the air—that enables us to sustain. Our bodies don’t function along the same principles as humans. We don’t need to eat, drink, sleep, breathe to maintain our existence.”

  My eyebrows go up at the mention of breathing, and Ever gestures to my forgotten dinner. I pick up my fork again and take a few more bites before I give up on my undercooked noodles.

  “But you can eat? You can breathe, right?”

  “We can, but any substance we consume dissipates rather than being used as fuel.”

  “So, you don’t, say, get a craving for chocolate ice cream or pizza—it’s all the same to you?” I joke.

  “Food, yes. Though when I first saw you, I began to crave other things. … To hear your voice. To see you. To be close to you …” His hand grazes mine, and I shiver. “To touch you.”

  When he sits back, I feel a rush of disappointment.

  “Well, it’s easy to forget about little human things—like eating …” sometimes even breathing, “with you around,” I joke, trying to shake off the spell I’m under.

  “We can’t have that,” he says.

  Contemplating my instant and overwhelming physical response to him, I wonder where his willpower and mine meet—and which one of us is having a harder time keeping our emotions and impulses in check. Ever told me he could lose control, and that something in his mind could hurt me, or worse. But I wonder if there’s something else, some other reason he’s so careful.

  “Wren, sometimes I forget how very young you are …” he says, jarring me out of my reverie.

  Suddenly realizing that he’s responding to my internal monologue, I stiffen.

  “Would you quit reading my mind? Yeah, you’re an ageless immortal. I get it. But oh my God! You say that like you’re corrupting me or something! I’m almost seventeen, but after everything that’s happened, I feel like I’m thirty! I can make decisions for myself! You offered me immortality … and I said no—for now. Because I’m smart enough to realize there’s a price. Besides! There are things I want to do before I make a decision like that. Graduate from high school, for one. I know I’m not ready for certain things. Immortality is one of them.”

  My cheeks redden.

  “And sex is another—just in case you’re wondering! I’ve got enough to deal with just staying alive, and I’m not naïve, and I’m not trying to pretend to be ready for something when I’m not, so give me some credit. I guess I’m an old, prudish crone by some standards, but I’m fine with that …”

  Ever begins laughing.

  “Wren, I forget your age, because mentally you are—”

  “An old, prudish crone?” I smirk.

  He laughs even harder, and I burst into laughter, too. Suddenly I feel better, mor
e at ease. I get up and wash my dishes in the sink. Stopping, I turn to face him.

  “You know, I feel like I should get you a video game console or something. Don’t you get bored watching me wander around the kitchen doing mundane human things?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I enjoy spending time with you.”

  “It just seems like you could be doing something more exciting than this.”

  I wipe the splattered pasta sauce from the stove.

  “Wren, exciting is relative after an eternity. I would give a thousand lifetimes for this one moment.”

  He seems to be somewhere else as he continues talking.

  “Alistair told me once that love changes the core of your existence. At the time, I thought he was foolish. Now I know how truly mistaken I was.”

  When his eyes focus on me, the intensity of his stare makes tears form at the corners of my eyes. I smile weakly.

  “So? Do you want to see me try to walk in high heels?”

  Ever rises from the kitchen table and follows me into the living room. When I pick up my dress, he takes the shoebox. Upstairs, I leave him in my room and walk to the bathroom where I slip out of my clothes and pull the dress over my head. Frowning, I yank the zipper as far as I can. Then I lean on the counter and pull on the first shoe. I put my foot down and wobble slightly. Gripping the counter for support, I put on the other heel and wind my hair up into a messy bun. Briefly I stop and study myself in the mirror before teetering into the hallway.

  As I step into my room, I squeeze my eyes closed and laugh at how absurd I feel. When I open them, I find Ever sitting in the chair at my desk. He gets up and walks over to me.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I blush as he takes my hand.

  “Try unstable! And it feels like I’m showing off my wedding dress before the ceremony!” I stammer.

  Ever pauses with a curious expression on his face.

  “Do you believe in marriage?”

  “In general?” I ask, feeling my heart rate jump.

  I shrug when he nods.

  “I figure it’s different for everybody. It obviously didn’t work for my parents … but I guess I always thought I would get married. Someday.”

  He nods, and his expression remains thoughtful.

  “Well, on that note,” I say nervously, “I’m going to change out of my formalwear.”

  I lift my foot very carefully and pull off one heel. Relieved to be on steady ground again, I pull off the other and grab some flannel pajamas from the dresser. When I get to the bathroom, I look in the mirror after I’ve changed and feel like I’ve turned into a pumpkin. Back in my room, I find Ever right where I left him.

  “Are you excited for tomorrow?” he asks with a smile.

  I feel a spike of adrenaline. Tomorrow. Racking my brain, I finally remember: the museum. I exhale and nod, feeling sad that even in a perfectly happy moment, the first place my mind travels to when I think of the coming day is cataclysm. Ever is watching me again with careful eyes. I smile, willing myself back into the present moment.

  “I can’t wait.”

  The next day when I arrive in third period, Alex looks … cranky. Well, cranky seems like the wrong word to use when describing a flawless immortal. Irritable, maybe? Prickly? When Mrs. Gilbert asks him a question about where he would live if he could live anywhere, he says something about it not mattering in this lifetime. I look over at him, and his expression is that of a spoiled child who’s been told no. Petulant. There’s an SAT word I never would have thought to associate with immortal perfection.

  The bell rings, and I pack up my things. Walking across the room, I’m almost to the door when I see Alex standing there. I force myself to keep moving. He says my name, but I brush past him without meeting his eyes. I think of all the times Ever has pulled me from danger—or removed himself from my life because he thought he was the danger—in contrast to Alex who only cares for himself.

  Chemistry drags, which reminds me again of how differently I perceive time now. The weight of certain moments. The periods that plod along compared to the ones that race by. It’s like comparing five minutes of math to five hundred pages of a book I can’t put down.

  I feel a rush of excitement at the sound of the bell. It’s Friday—and I get to go to the museum and spend the rest of the day with Ever. Turning toward the back of the room, I grin when I see him waiting at the door for me. The fact that he looks just as happy to see me reminds me of what I told Alex. Ever and I may not be equals in every sense, but I’d like to think we love each other on equal terms.

  He holds my hand as we walk to the parking lot, but during the drive to the museum, we’re both quiet. I stare out the window, still in awe of the bright green of the trees that are beginning to bloom amidst the dark-green of evergreens. I didn’t think Portland could get anymore green. I was so wrong. This green is different, though. It’s bright, vivid in contrast with the evergreens that seem to fit so well in the gloom. Ever parks in a multi-level structure and then appears and opens my door before I can reach for the handle.

  “Don’t you worry that someone is going to see you doing something like that?” I laugh.

  He shrugs as we walk to the street.

  “People never pay too much attention—or they don’t believe their eyes. They come up with unexceptional explanations for what doesn’t fit neatly into their sense of reality.” He stops and studies me. “You do realize that you see me differently than other humans do, don’t you?”

  I remember all of the times—before I knew what Ever was—when I had tried to pull images of Ever from people’s minds, only to be frustrated by how blurry the memories had been.

  “Well, I can’t see you too differently than other people do—because everyone else thinks you’re a god, too,” I tease.

  “But they see me as human. You never did. Somewhere in your subconscious, you always saw me as something else.”

  I try to imagine seeing Ever as normal, ordinary, but I can’t do it. As we pass by a green and yellow abstract monument, I try without luck to determine what the different colored shapes are supposed to be. When we turn the corner, Ever stops, and I look up the stairs at the red brick building with white-framed glass doors. Above the middle door, etched into white marble, it reads Art Museum.

  We walk inside and hand over the tickets Mr. Gideon gave us before entering an expansive white-painted room with glossy concrete floors. There are four or five sculptures. One of them is a rider on a bronze horse—or maybe it’s a camel. Another sculpture is too abstract for me to guess what it’s supposed to be. Ever said that I saw him differently, but my extrasensory perception doesn’t seem to help in deciphering art. I figure I’m kind of lucky in this way—that I don’t necessarily have to get it to appreciate something. There are some things I don’t want to have to qualify or evaluate; I just want to enjoy them.

  I begin walking, and Ever follows me silently. I pause to look at some Native American artifacts. In the brochure the woman gave us at the ticket counter, it says there are at least four thousand Asian artifacts from Japan, China, and Korea as well. There are also European exhibits, modern art, and photography. I know I’ll reach burnout if I try to see everything, so I walk aimlessly and just try to enjoy it.

  Visiting the massive Getty Museum in L.A. as a kid, I remember liking the European masters—the really dark, dramatic paintings. But during a slideshow Mr. Gideon did, I also liked the Impressionist painters, too. I was struck by Monet’s Impression, soleil levant. Sun rising. The image of the orange globe casting its reflection on the water was beautiful, but I felt sad as I stared at it. It seemed less hopeful than I would have thought for a sunrise.

  We’ve been walking around for more than three hours with Ever patiently waiting while I scan the descriptions of the various pieces when I suddenly stop and look down at my feet, which are killing me. I hadn’t even noticed until just now. With a sigh, I’m ready to give up and come back another day
when Ever puts his arm around my shoulder.

  “There’s one last exhibit I want you to see,” he says, guiding me through the bright red rooms of the museum’s European galleries.

  When we reach a small room at the very back, there’s a single painting in a gilded frame sitting against a backdrop of royal-purple drapery. The room is dim, apart from warm lights illuminating the piece—a richly detailed oil painting of a pink-cheeked young woman dressed in an ornate blue and gold gown. As I walk closer to the painting, the image begins to look increasingly familiar, even though I’m sure I’ve never seen it before.

  I smile at the museum guard who is standing next to the painting and then lean in and read the placard. The painter, Tiziano Vecellio, or Titian in English, painted La Bella, or Woman in a Blue Dress, in 1536. Suddenly I know why it looks familiar. The style reminds me of the portrait Ever painted. Of me. Going over to the bench, I sit down and continue to stare at the painting. When he joins me, I look over at him.

  “Did you … ?” I whisper, trailing off.

  “Did I paint this?” He laughs softly. “No. However, I did learn quite a bit about painting during the Renaissance.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Then I hope that Colton was right about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery.”

  I frown, but don’t bother asking. Given Ever’s infinite existence, Colton could be anyone from any time period.

  “Well, I would hardly call it imitation. His painting was of an unidentified woman in Renaissance Italy. Yours is of a mind-reading girl from Portland, Oregon. And I think it’s very different, in a good way.”

  He smiles as I turn back toward the painting, and I sit quietly for another minute before rising.

  “Dinner?” he asks.

  I nod as I realize it’s been several hours since lunch. I’m starving.

  “Nothing fancy, though.”

  We walk back through the museum. When we reach the street, it’s clear, but getting cooler. I shiver, and Ever takes my hand, taking the edge off the chill in the air. We walk through the urban park near the museum as the sun sets behind the trees. Passing a concert hall, we continue through city streets, and I stop when I see a bunch of … food carts. Looking over at Ever, I smile.