by Alyson Noel
But when I look into his eyes, I know it wouldn’t have mattered. Wouldn’t have made the least bit of difference. Remembering the day when he first presented the whole idea of immortality to me, how careful he was to explain that I’d never cross the bridge, never be with my family again. But I went for it anyway. Pushed the thought right out of my way. Figuring I’d find some kind of loophole, discover a way to work around all of that—willing to convince myself of just about anything if it meant being with him for eternity. And it’s no different now.
And though I have no idea what I’ll say to Sabine, or how I’ll even begin to explain our sudden desertion to our friends, in the end, all I want is to be with him. It’s the only way my life feels complete.
“We’ll enjoy a good life, Ever, I promise you that. You’ll never experience any lack, and you’ll never be bored again. Not after realizing the glorious possibilities of all that exists. Though aside from you and me—all of our outside connections will be extremely short lived. There’s just no getting around it, no loophole like you think. It’s a necessity, pure and simple.”
I take a deep breath and nod, remembering when I first met him and how he said something about being bad at good-byes. But he just smiles, responding to my thoughts when he says, “I know. You’d think it’d get easier, right? But it never really does. I usually find it easier to just disappear and avoid them altogether.”
“Easier for you maybe, though I’m not so sure about those you’ve left behind.”
He nods, rising from the bench and pulling me up alongside him. “I’m a vain and selfish man, what can I say?”
“That’s not what I meant—” I shake my head. “I just—”
“Please.” He looks at me. “There’s no need to defend me. I know what I am—or at least what I used to be.”
He gets up, leading me away from the paintings he came here to see. Only I’m not ready to go. Not yet. Anyone who’s forfeited their greatest passion, just simply walked away like he has, deserves a second chance.
I let go of his hand and shut my eyes tightly, manifesting a large canvas, a wide selection of brushes, a comprehensive palette of paints, and whatever else he might need, before he can stop me.
“What’s this?” He gazes between the easel and me.
“Wow, it really has been a long time if you can’t even recognize the tools of the trade.” I smile.
He peers at me, gaze intense, unwavering, but I meet it with equal strength.
“I thought it might be nice for you to paint alongside your friends.” I shrug, watching as he grabs a brush from the table, turning it over in the palm of his hand. “You said we could do anything we want, right? That the normal rules no longer apply? Wasn’t that the point of this trip?”
He looks at me, expression wary but yielding.
“And if that’s the case, then I think you should paint something here. Create something beautiful, grand, everlasting, whatever you want. And as soon as you’re finished, we’ll mount it alongside your friends. Leaving it unsigned, of course.”
“I’m far past the point of needing my work to be recognized,” he says, looking at me, eyes filled with light.
“Good.” I nod, motioning toward the blank canvas. “Then I expect to see a work of pure inspired genius with no ego involved.” Hand on his shoulder, giving him a nudge when I add, “You should probably get started though. Unlike us, this night is finite.”
twenty-four
I glance between the painting and Damen, palm pressed to my chest, at a complete loss for words. Knowing whatever I say could never describe what’s before me. Absolutely no words will do.
“It’s so—” I pause, feeling small, undeserving, definitely not worthy of an image so grand. “It’s so beautiful—and transcendent—and”—I shake my head—“and no way is that me!”
He laughs, eyes meeting mine when he says, “Oh it’s you all right.” Smiling as he takes it all in. “In fact, it’s the embodiment of all your incarnations. A sort of compilation of the you of the last four hundred years. Your fiery hair and creamy skin hailing straight from your life in Amsterdam, your confidence and conviction from your Puritan days, your humility and inner strength taken from your difficult Parisian life, your elaborate dress and flirtatious gaze lifted straight from your London society days, while the eyes themselves—” He shrugs, turning toward me. “They remain the same. Unchanging, eternal, no matter what guise you wear.”
“And now?” I whisper, gaze focused on the canvas, taking in the most radiant, luminous, glorious, winged creature—a true goddess descending from the heavens above, eager to bestow the Earth with her gifts. Knowing it’s quite possibly the most beautiful image I’ve ever seen, but still not getting how it could really be me. “What part of me is taken from now? Other than the eyes, I mean.”
He smiles. “Why your gossamer wings, of course.”
I turn, assuming he’s joking until I see the serious expression marking his face.
“You’re quite unaware of them, I know.” He nods. “But trust me, they’re there. Having you in my life is like a gift from above, a gift I surely don’t deserve, but one I give thanks for every day.”
“Please. I’m hardly that good—or kind—or glorious—or even remotely angelic like you seem to think.” I shake my head. “Especially not lately, and you know it,” I add, wishing I could hang it in my room where I could see it every day, but knowing it’s far more important to leave it right here.
“You sure about this?” He glances between his beautiful unsigned painting and those of his friends.
“Absolutely.” I nod. “Imagine all the chaos that’ll ensue when they find it professionally framed and mounted on this wall. And I mean the good kind of chaos, by the way. Besides, just think of all the people who’ll be called upon to study it, trying to determine just where it came from, how it got here, and who could’ve possibly created it.”
He nods, glancing at it one last time before turning away. But I grab his hand and pull him back to me, saying, “Hey, not so fast. Don’t you think we should name it? You know, add a little bronze plaque like the other ones have?”
He glances at his watch, more than a little distracted now. “I’ve never been much good at titling my work, always just went with the obvious. You know: Bowl of Fruit, or Red Tulips in a Blue Vase.”
“Well, it’s probably better not to name it Ever with Wings, Angelic Ever, or anything remotely like that. You know, just in case someone does recognize me. But how about something a little more—I don’t know—story like? Less literal, more figurative.” I tilt my head and gaze at him, determined to make this work.
“Any suggestions?” He looks at me briefly, before his gaze begins to wander.
“How about—enchantment—or enchanted—or—I don’t know, something like that?” I press my lips tightly together.
“Enchantment?” He turns toward me.
“Well, you’re obviously under some kind of spell if you think that resembles me.” I laugh, watching his eyes light up as he laughs along with me.
“Enchantment it is.” He nods, back to business again. “But we need to make this plaque quick—I’m afraid we—”
I nod, closing my eyes and envisioning the plaque in my head, whispering, “What should I use for the artist—anonymous or unknown?”
“Either,” he says, voice hurried, anxious, eager to move on
Choosing unknown because I like the sound of it, I lean forward to inspect my work, asking, “What do you think?”
“I think we better run!”
He grasps my hand and pulls me alongside him, moving so fast my feet never once touch the ground. Racing down the long series of halls, taking the stairs as though they’re not even there. The entry door just within view when the whole room goes bright and the alarm begins to sound.
“Omigod!” I cry, panic crowding my throat as he picks up the pace.
Voice hoarse and ragged when he says, “I didn’t plan on stay
ing so long—I—I didn’t know—” Stopping as we reach the front door just as the steel cage descends.
I turn to him, heart crashing, skin slick with sweat, aware of the footsteps behind us, the shouts ringing out. Standing mutely beside him, unable to move, unable to scream, his eyes closed in deep concentration, urging the complex alarm system to go dormant again.
But it’s too late. They’re already here. So I raise my arms in surrender, ready to accept my fate, when the steel cage ascends and I’m yanked out the door and toward the blooming fields of Summerland.
Or at least I envisioned Summerland.
Damen envisioned us safely ensconced in his car, heading toward home.
And so we find ourselves in the middle of a busy highway instead—a slew of speeding cars honking and skidding as we scramble to our feet and hurry to the side, gazing all around and catching our breath as we try to determine where we are.
“I don’t think this is Summerland,” I say, glancing at Damen as he breaks into a laugh so contagious, it gets me going as well. The two of us huddled on the side of a litter-strewn highway, in some undetermined location, falling all over ourselves.
“How’s that for breaking out of a rut?” He gasps, shoulders shaking as we continue to laugh.
“I almost had a heart attack back there—I thought for sure we’d—” I catch my breath and shake my head.
“Hey now.” He pulls me near. “Didn’t I promise I’d always look after you and keep you from harm?”
I nod, remembering the words, but unfortunately the last few minutes are still etched on my brain. “How about a car then? A car would be good about now, don’t you think?”
He closes his eyes, transferring the BMW from there to here, or maybe he manifested a brand new one instead, it’s impossible to tell since they both look the same.
“Can you even imagine what those guards thought when first we and then the car disappeared?” He holds the door open and ushers me in, adding, “The security cameras!” before closing his eyes and taking care of them too.
I watch as he pulls into traffic, a happy grin spread wide across his face. Realizing he’s actually enjoying this. That those last few minutes of danger got him even more excited than the painting did.
“It’s been a while since I pushed it like that.” He glances at me. “But just so you know, I’m holding you partly responsible. After all, you’re the one who convinced me to linger.”
I look at him, eyes grazing over his face, really taking him in. And even though my heartbeat may never return to normal again, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen him like this—this—happy—this—carefree—this—dangerous—in the way that first made him attractive to me.
“So what’s next?” He slaloms through the traffic, hand on my knee.
“Um, home?” I look at him, wondering what could possibly top an outing like that.
He looks at me, clearly game for more. “Are you sure? Because we can stay out as long as you like, I don’t want you to get bored again.”
“I think I underestimated bored.” I laugh. “I’m starting to see how it has its place.”
Damen nods, leaning toward me and pressing his lips to my cheek, almost rear-ending an Escalade the second he takes his eyes off the road.
I laugh, pushing him back toward his seat. “Really. I think we pushed our luck enough for one night.”
“As you wish.” He smiles, squeezing my knee as he turns back toward the road, focused on home.
twenty-five
Even though I’d hoped to be long gone by the time Munoz swung by to pick up Sabine, the second I pull into my drive I glance at my rearview mirror only to find him right there behind me.
Early.
Ten minutes early in fact.
The same ten minutes I’d earmarked for racing home from work and changing into something properly somber, before fleeing the scene and heading for Haven’s front yard where Charm’s memorial service will be held.
“Ever?” He climbs out of his shiny silver Prius, jangling his keys and squinting at me. “What are you doing here?” He tilts his head as he approaches, enveloping me in a cloud of Axe bodyspray.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, slamming my car door much harder than planned. “Funny thing. I—um—I actually live here.”
He looks at me, face so still I’m not sure he heard until he shakes his head and repeats, “You live here?”
I nod, refusing to say anything more.
“But—” He gazes around, taking in the stone façade, the front steps, the recently clipped lawn, the beds of flowers beginning to bloom. “But this is Sabine’s house—isn’t it?”
I pause, tempted to tell him no, that this faux Tuscan, Laguna Beach McMansion isn’t Sabine’s house at all. That he’s obviously made some kind of mistake and ended up at my house instead.
But just as I’m about to, Sabine pulls right up beside us. Jumping out of her car with way too much enthusiasm when she says, “Oh! Paul! So sorry I’m late—the office was crazy and every time I tried to leave something else got in the way—” She shakes her head, gazing up at him in a way that’s far too flirtatious for a first date. “But if you could just give me a minute, I’ll run upstairs and change so we can get going. It shouldn’t take long.”
Paul?
I glance between them, noting her happy, lilting, singsongy tone, and not liking the sound of it, not liking it at all. It’s too intimate. Too forward. She should be forced to call him Mr. Munoz like we do at school. At least until the end of tonight, after which, of course, they’ll mutually decide to go their separate ways . . .
He smiles, raking his hand through his longish, wavy brown hair, like the worst kind of show-off. I mean, just because he has exceptionally cool hair for a teacher, doesn’t mean he should flaunt it like that.
“I’m a few minutes early,” he says, gaze locked on hers. “So please, take as much time as you need. I’m fine talking with Ever here.”
“So you’ve met?” Sabine rests her overstuffed briefcase against her hip, glancing between us.
I shake my head, blurting, “No!” before I can stop. Unsure if I’m saying no to her question, or to this whole situation. But still, there it is, an unequivocal no, and I’ve no plans to rescind it. “I mean, yeah, we’ve met and all but—just now.” I pause, their eyes narrowed, as confused as I am as to where this is going. “What I mean is, it’s not like we knew each other before or anything.” I peer at them, knowing I’ve only confused them more. “Anyway, he’s right. You should just—um—go upstairs and get ready—and—” I jab my thumb toward Munoz since there’s no way I’m calling him Paul, no way I’m calling him anything. “And we’ll just hang here until you’re ready.” I smile, hoping to keep him outside, on the driveway, far from my den.
But unfortunately, Sabine’s manners are much better than mine. And I’ve barely finished the sentence before she shakes her head and says, “Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside and relax. And, Ever, why don’t you order yourself a pizza or something since I haven’t had time to get to the store.”
I follow, lagging behind as much as I can without literally dragging my feet. Partly in protest, and partly because I can’t risk bumping into either of them, not trusting my quantum remote to bar me from a sneak peek of their date.
Sabine unlocks the front door, glancing over her shoulder as she says, “Ever? Okay? You’re good with the pizza?”
I shrug, remembering the two slices of vegetarian Jude left me, which I proceeded to tear into little bits and flush down the toilet as soon as he left. “I’m good. I grabbed a little something at work.” I meet her gaze, thinking this just might be the perfect time to tell her, knowing she won’t freak with Munoz (Paul!) standing nearby.
“You got a job?” She gapes, all wide-eyed and slack jawed right there in the entryway.
“Um, yeah.” I pull my shoulders in and start scratching my arm even though it doesn’t itch. “I thought I told you, no?”
“No.” She shoots me a look that’s loaded with meaning—none of it good. “You definitely failed to mention it.”
I shrug, picking at the hem of my shirt, trying to appear unconcerned. “Oh, well, there it is. I’m officially employed.” Chasing it with a laugh that, even to my ears, rings false.
“And just where did you get this job of yours?” she asks, voice lowered, gaze following Munoz as he heads into the den, eager to avoid all the bad mojo I’ve so brilliantly introduced.
“Downtown. At a place that sells books and—stuff.”
She squints.
“Listen,” I say. “Why don’t we discuss this later? I’d hate for you guys to be late or anything.” I glance toward the den where Munoz is hunkered down on the couch.
She glances at the den, expression grim, voice low and urgent when she says, “I’m glad you found a job, Ever, don’t get me wrong. I just wish you would’ve told me, that’s all. We’ll need to find a replacement for you at work now, and—” She shakes her head. “Well, we’ll talk about this later. Tonight. When I get back.”
And even though I’m thrilled to learn that her plans with Munoz do not extend to the morning, I still look at her and say, “Um, here’s the thing. Haven’s cat died, and she’s having this memorial service, and she’s really upset, which means it could run really late, so—” I shrug, not bothering to finish, allowing her to fill in the blanks that I’ve left.
“Tomorrow then.” She turns. “Now go talk to Paul while I change.”
She runs up the stairs, briefcase swinging, heels pounding, as I take a deep breath and make for the den, taking my place behind a big, sturdy armchair, hardly believing it’s come to this.
“Just so you know, I’m not calling you Paul,” I say, taking in his designer jeans, untucked shirt, hipster watch, and shoes that are way too cool for any teacher to wear.
“That’s a relief.” He smiles, gaze light and easy, resting on mine. “Might get kind of awkward at school.”
I swallow hard, fiddling with the back of the chair, unsure just where I’m expected to take it from here. Because even though my entire life is undeniably weird, being forced to make entertaining banter with my history teacher who knows one of my biggest secrets takes it to a whole new level.