Ever (The Ever Series Book 4)

by C. J. Valles

  “Why don’t you go check on her? I’ll take care of the dishes,” I tell her.

  Nodding blankly, Caroline walks into the living room. As soon as she has disappeared, I turn and smirk at the chaos. Wren most likely was correct—her mother may have used every available dish and utensil. With unnatural speed, I make order from chaos, certain that Caroline Sullivan will be more relieved than suspicious to find her kitchen spotless.

  Wren is upstairs in the hall bathroom, staring down at her hand now that she has cleansed it.

  No cut. Not even a scratch. And this wasn’t one of those cuts that felt worse than it looked.

  I hear her mother calling to her through the door. When Wren answers, her voice is disbelieving, strained. Walking into the living room, I sit down on the sofa across from Jack Hannigan and ask him about his time in the United State Air Force, pretending that Wren has told me of his service. His eyes light up, and he begins telling me of one of his more harrowing landings. I watch as Wren follows her mother down the stairs, staring at me in disbelief before walking into the kitchen, expecting a mess. Her mother follows her.

  “I’ll tell you, my boy. It was some landing,” Mr. Hannigan chuckles.

  I smile, my attention also focused on the conversation in the next room.

  “And what were you saying about him not liking you?” Caroline asks her daughter. “I’m not getting that at all. I mean how many young men would come to dinner with a girl’s mother if they didn’t—”

  “Mom!” I hear Wren hiss.

  A few moments later, Caroline Sullivan joins us.

  “How are you gentlemen doing?”

  I smile at her, becoming aware of how much I wish for Wren’s mother to approve of me. The thought causes a wave of disquiet to spread through me as I accept that what I am seeking is a means to integrate myself into Wren’s life. I look up as she walks into the room.

  There is absolutely no way to explain what just happened. He just made a three-inch slice across my palm disappear.

  “Mom? Mr. Hannigan?” Wren asks with quiet desperation. “Do you mind if we take a walk? You can go ahead and start dessert without us. I left everything out.”

  “A walk?” her mother asks in bewilderment. “But it’s dark. And freezing.”

  “Just for a little bit,” Wren answers fervently.

  As I rise from the sofa, Caroline shrugs.

  What could possibly happen to her in that boy’s company? What is he—six-five? Or maybe I shouldn’t be thinking of what could happen to her in his company … ?

  I feel the impulse to reassure Wren’s mother before thinking the better of it. Wren hands me my jacket as she dons a black parka more appropriate for an Arctic expedition. As soon as we reach the front porch, Wren looks up at me before shaking her head and beginning to walk.

  We continue in silence, Wren occasionally glancing in my direction. Suddenly she looks around, shivering as she realizes we are standing less than a mile from where she was nearly struck and killed. Her thought causes my muscles to clench. When we come upon a bench beneath a streetlamp that overlooks a small creek, Wren walks over and sits down, looking up at me, her dark hair sparkling in the glow of the artificial light.

  “It’s better if you don’t know anything,” I tell her honestly, resisting the urge to sit beside her.

  She continues to look up at me, her expression contemplative.

  “I think we’re past that point already, don’t you? I mean I already know more than I should, right?” Her statement causes me to frown, and she hurries on. “And I’m not going to tell anyone. You can tell that, right?”

  My smile is melancholy as she looks down at the ground, studying it.

  Oh god. And he’s heard every other thought I’ve had tonight, she thinks morosely.

  A conflict rages through me like a fire. I either draw her in, put her in more danger—or I let her go.

  “Ask me, then,” I tell her impassively.

  She looks up and inhales deeply.

  There’s no turning back. Not this time.

  “Are you human?” she asks.

  “No.”

  The flush leaves her cheeks as her breath leaves her, but she rallies more quickly than I expect.

  “Are you from this planet?”

  When I smile wryly, she frowns.

  “Are you?” she demands.

  The smile drops from my lips.

  “From this planet, though not of your world.”

  Her frown deepens.

  “Then what are you?”

  “A guardian.”

  She studies me, trying to determine if my statement is serious or meant to make her look foolish. Still endeavoring to assimilate my answer, she shakes her head.

  “A guardian … ? Of what?”

  “A gateway between dimensions.”

  “Dimensions?” she repeats

  “Different planes of existence.”

  I smile again as she begins imagining lessons from her geometry class. An instant later, she imagines me in a straight jacket, grinning maniacally as in her dream.

  This is the point where I’m supposed to start believing that he’s an escaped mental hospital patient … but I can’t. Because that doesn’t explain anything else that’s happened since the first day I walked into Art class. Unless I’m crazy, too.

  “Am I losing my mind?” she asks tentatively, fearfully.

  “No.”

  She nods slightly.

  “All right. If this isn’t some kind of hallucination, then explain. Why do you look human?”

  “It would be rather difficult to blend in if I didn’t,” I remind her, allowing myself a small smile.

  “Yeah, about that. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you don’t blend in now.”

  “No?”

  She laughs—it is a wonderful sound.

  “Definitely not.”

  Normal humans aren’t so beautiful, she thinks, her smile fading. And he and I don’t belong in the same realm, literally or figuratively.

  “How long have you been here?” she asks more seriously.

  I have been so enchanted—nearly inebriated—by her smiles and laughter that for a brief moment I lost sight of the divide between us. I no longer want to answer her questions—because I dread losing this moment with her.

  “Time exists very differently for me than it does for you.”

  Her eyes become unfocused.

  “Time is nothing,” she gasps.

  Watching her face, I wonder how this girl looked so deeply into my mind and survived it.

  “How old are you?” she asks suddenly.

  Her thought patterns are so chaotic for a human being that she occasionally manages to surprise even me. When I recover myself, I smile, which unnerves her.

  “According to your concept of time? Mine? Chronologically? Physically? Across time and space?”

  Her face betrays her disquiet.

  “Um, physically?”

  Physically, in human form, I could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-eight. Certainly during these times, it is far from unusual for an adolescent male to reach this height. However, I want to avoid frightening her even more, if possible.

  “I suppose eighteen, give or take a year or two.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  My muscles stiffen. Finally the question I have been dreading. She looks up at me with a quizzical expression.

  “I have been waiting,” I tell her after a moment’s hesitation.

  Our eyes lock, and she takes a ragged breath.

  “For what?”

  I brace myself for her terror.

  “You.”

  Frowning, she shakes her head.

  “What do you mean? Waiting. For me? Why?”

  “Because I have become what I hunt. A monster.”

  I feel bitterness twisting my features as this young girl gasps for air. I look away, waiting for her breathing to regulate.

  “What do you hunt?
”

  I keep my eyes from hers, aware that I am sealing my fate.

  “You might call them demons. They are entities without shape or form. They exist between planes, waiting for an opportunity. A rift.”

  “What kind of … rift?”

  Finally I look at her again, and she bites down on her lip, her breath catching again.

  “You. Your mind, your soul or spirit—whatever you choose to call it—and your body. They use people like you to cross over, to become tangible again.”

  “Wait. Time out. Me? Why?”

  She swallows again, her breath stuttering in her chest.

  Do I really want to know the truth? she wonders warily.

  “Because you are an anomaly. The way your mind works, because of what you can see and hear—it makes you an ideal vessel.”

  “And then what happens to me?” she asks quietly as though she already knows.

  Her eyes widen with fear before I speak a word, and I truly begin to wonder how vast this girl’s abilities truly are. I know there is no way to comfort her; I simply must state the truth.

  “You cease to exist.”

  She ceases to exist, or she exists in complicity with whatever has taken control of her mind and body. Either way, she would no longer exist as she does now. She blinks, and I see darkness begin to cloud her thoughts. For a moment, I fear she will lose consciousness.

  “Wren?”

  She looks up at me, her expression suddenly wry.

  “Any chance you’ve got the wrong person?”

  I shake my head, loathing myself for so many things that it will take the rest of my existence to catalog them all.

  “How long do I have? I haven’t heard back on my college applications yet.”

  She laughs before it lapses into a jagged sob. Kneeling down in front of her, I watch as her eyes fill with tears. I feel feeble and weak for my inability to protect her from the truth or even to comfort her properly. Finally something inside me snaps, and I relent, reaching for her. Taking her hands in mine, I pull her to her feet and wrap her in my arms.

  I close my eyes as I feel her breathing shudder. The pleasure is more than I can bear, and given another moment, I will do something I regret. Steadying her, I take a step back, my muscles coiled with tension as she looks up at me, the green of her eyes now blazing due to increased blood flow.

  “No harm is going to come to you,” I whisper fiercely. “I won’t allow it.”

  Her mouth quirks into a half smile, and she sniffles.

  “Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

  Jack Hannigan departed her house ten minutes ago, and her mother is beginning to worry.

  “You may, but your mother is waiting for us.”

  Grasping her elbow, I guide her to the sidewalk.

  Wren takes another deep breath and looks up at me as we begin to walk.

  “Why the zombie act at school? I mean, why not at least pretend to be normal? Because, in case you haven’t noticed, everyone thinks you’ve been lobotomized.”

  I struggle to find an example of how a bleak eternity can color one’s perception and actions.

  “Have you waited in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles?” I ask.

  She nods, her nose crinkling as she imagines her driver’s examination.

  “Sure. When I got my license.”

  “Imagine that uninterrupted for a lifetime, constantly waiting for something, knowing it will be unpleasant. Would you bother making an effort?”

  Her frown deepens, and she looks up at me.

  “That’s horrible. But it can’t always have been like that, right? What about when you were a kid?”

  I study her, attempting to anticipate her reaction, as I have never had to explain this to a human being before today.

  “I never was.”

  Her eyes widen, and she raises a single eyebrow.

  “Wait. You were never a little kid?”

  “Not from your perspective.”

  When she stops, I pause.

  “Explain,” she demands.

  “I’ve had to learn and adapt, but for as long as I’ve been here, I have always been in this form.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief once again.

  “Always?”

  “During this existence.”

  She stops breathing, staring up at me again.

  “You mean you’ve never been younger than this?”

  I gently take her elbow in my hand and urge her forward.

  “No.”

  “Then will you get older?” she asks.

  “No.”

  She remains quiet for several seconds as we walk to her house.

  “Wow.”

  When I stop walking, she looks around, noticing with shock that we have arrived at our destination. She turns back to me with a look of desperation in her eyes.

  “What about … ?”

  I raise my hand to stop her when I see Caroline Sullivan watching us from the window.

  “It’s late. No more questions tonight.”

  “But I have so many!” she begs.

  I begin urging her along the walkway, and her eyes widen when she sees the curtain move. By the time Wren swings open the door, Caroline is seated on the couch with a book in her hands.

  Nice, Mom, Wren thinks balefully.

  “Caroline, thank you for your hospitality,” I tell her mother. “I apologize for keeping Wren so late.”

  It was more me keeping him out late, Wren thinks as she looks up at me with a wry expression.

  Her mother abandons her book and rises from the sofa.

  “Ever, you’re not staying for dessert?”

  “No, but thank you.”

  “Well, Ever, it was wonderful having you over. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

  Caroline looks over at Wren.

  “Wren, I’m going to head upstairs. There’s cake on the counter if you want it.”

  Wren nods.

  “Thanks. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  After her mother has climbed the stairs, Wren turns to me and holds out her hand with an air of defeat.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  I gesture for her to go ahead of me. As soon as she is outside, she inhales deeply, searching her mind for something to say.

  “Thank you.”

  Again, she has surprised me. I raise an eyebrow, mirroring her gesture from earlier.

  “For telling me the truth,” she explains quickly.

  I laugh, but it is a dry, bitter sound.

  “That’s hardly something to thank me for.”

  I continue to watch this strange, beautiful, vulnerable creature, amazed that she is standing here before me when she very well could have run away from me as soon as I exposed my true nature to her.

  “I mean thank you for trusting me,” she says, frowning again. “But I don’t understand. Why did you?”

  What can I tell her that will not further complicate and compromise her life? I sigh, another human mannerism that suddenly appears to be contagious.

  “You were correct the other night. You have a right to know the truth; I owe you that much.”

  Her expression briefly transcends into one of wounded disappointment before she steels herself.

  What were you expecting, Wren? A declaration of true love?

  Would it be so terrible for me to tell her my true feelings for her? The answer is clear: yes. She deserves to live without the burden of what I feel for her. What could come of telling her that a monster craves her with an intensity that verges on madness?

  “Can I ask you one more thing? A favor?” she asks softly.

  I look down at her and nod.

  “Can you stay out of my head from now on? It would be … easier on me.”

  She smiles tremulously. Unfortunately, that is a promise I cannot make.

  “Good night, Wren.”

  Wanting to touch her again, I turn and walk to the sidewalk, pretending as though I am not going to spe
nd the night watching her sleep. Suddenly an image flashes before me. I see my sister, blade raised, during the epoch in which she was known as Athena, goddess of war. She and Chasen will be here soon, and I cannot risk leaving Wren alone for a single moment. When I turn, she is standing just as I left her a moment ago.

  “Would you like a ride to school in the morning?”

  She nods slowly and watches as I walk out of view. I listen as she shuts the door behind her and collapses against the wood. Fear and confusion rushes through her. Then her mind clears.

  I’m in love. With a space boy.

  Closing my eyes, I feel my guilt warring with the overwhelming desire to appear before her and declare my darkest secret, a secret that may destroy us both. However, to do so might constitute my vilest transgression in this existence.

  10: Allies and Enemies

  She sleeps fitfully throughout the night, and I briefly shift to the coast only long enough to change my clothing and retrieve a case of energy drinks that I fear I may need in the near future. When I sense her awakening—her conscious thoughts replacing her dreams—I shift to the car, where I deposit the electrolyte supplement in the boot and drive the short distance to her house. Despite the early hour and Wren’s previous hostility toward early mornings, she sits up and virtually lunges out of bed. I allow her a semblance of privacy as she readies for school, and it seems another eternity has passed before she emerges from the front door.

  Guess I’ll read until Ever shows up—that is if he shows up, she thinks with trepidation.

  As she prepares to sit on the front stairs to wait for my arrival, she peers into the darkness, straightening when she sees the Maserati. Next she notices my form. When I open the passenger door, she smiles as the dome light illuminates my silhouette.

  Making her way carefully to the car, she stops and looks up at me. I smile, unable to prevent my elation from rising to the surface. My entire being lightens now that she is in front of me, and she blushes as I continue to study her. Finally she smiles and gestures to her watch.

  “It’s kinda early. Were you here all night or something?”

  My return smile unnerves her.

  “You weren’t, were you?” she demands suspiciously.

  She peers up at me before her eyes travel down my body, absorbing the fact that my clothing has changed.

  Of course he didn’t sleep in his car. What was I thinking?