Sever (The Ever Series Book 3) (6 page)

Looking around from beautiful face to beautiful face, I’m reminded of how absurd my reality has become. Persephone comes over and sits down next to me.

“I was mortal for only a brief time after discovering what Alistair and the others were, but I remember how it felt,” she says gently.

“Surreal?”

She smiles.

“Quite. To think that you’ve become part of a war that has lasted longer than our world. It’s a good deal to take in.”

Persephone squeezes my hand lightly. Then she disappears. When I look around the room, Ever and I are alone again. I stand up.

“Well, if you immortals are going to cause the end of the world later this week, that makes finishing my Trig homework seem even more pointless.”

“Dinner?” Ever smiles crookedly.

My stomach growls at the thought of food, and I realize that I had ice cream in the place of lunch. As we walk toward the front door, I slow down and look up at Ever.

“What about preparing for inter-dimensional Armageddon?” I ask with a dry look.

Ever grasps my arm.

“Wren, I’ve already taken so much from you. I refuse to steal the rest of your human life. For my sake, take pleasure in every last second of it.”

My mind wanders to the feeling of being in Ever’s arms, the feeling of his lips parting mine.

“I can do that,” I smile.

Ever stares down at me, his green eyes on fire, and I have no doubt he was just reading my mind. But as I think about Ever’s words, something changes, and I quickly tuck my thoughts behind my mental wall.

The rest of my
human
life, he said. This means he thinks I’m going to die—soon. That, or he thinks I’m going to be like him soon. Either way, he thinks my human life is coming to an end. When we start walking again, I don’t have time for this information to sink in, because Ever is walking toward the shiny black motorcycle.

When he picks up the spare helmet, I shake my head. Then Ever crooks his finger at me, a playful smile on his lips. I haven’t been on the motorcycle with him in several months—my choice. And I’m looking to keep it that way. Ever might be immortal, but I feel every inch of my mortality when I’m on that two-wheeled death machine.

“Wren, enjoy the fact that you may be the only human on Earth who can step onto a motorcycle with one hundred percent certainty that no harm will come to you.”

His logic is inescapable. For all of the danger that has entered my life since I met Ever, traditionally reckless behaviors—riding on a motorcycle taking the number one spot—are now within reason, but only because Ever is an ageless immortal capable of teleportation. Shrugging in defeat, I walk over to him, waiting patiently as Ever carefully places the helmet over my head, securing it before putting on his own. An instant later, he’s on the bike revving the engine. I hesitate for a second before reaching out for his hand. As Ever pulls me behind him, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, reveling in the closeness. There was a time when I would have questioned every moment with Ever, afraid the only reason for his nearness was obligation.

But after today, I can’t question that Ever craves me as much as I crave him.

The bike takes off so smoothly that I don’t even realize we’re moving until I see the trees begin to whip by in the growing darkness. It stopped raining a while ago, but the air is still cold. Pressed against Ever, though, I barely feel the chill as the bike flies along the asphalt.

Faster than I imagined possible, I see city lights, and moments later Ever pulls up in front of a restaurant. He doesn’t park, though. He just points toward the window. I look over and frown in confusion when I see my mom sitting at a table with three other women. Ever flips up his visor and turns back to me.

“Dr. Foley got a call from the emergency room before they were supposed to have dinner, and your mother decided to have dinner with some friends from work.”

A few tables behind my mom, I see Chasen and Audra. Smiling, I wrap my arms tightly around Ever’s waist, and the bike takes off again.

H
is fingers skim my cheek, and I shift restlessly, aware that I’m enjoying the warmth of his body way too much.

“Did you think I would leave with no way back to you?” he whispers in my ear.

“Alex …”

I raise my head from his chest and look into his eyes, which are a brighter blue than the ocean. In the background, the crashing of the waves is rhythmic and soothing, and the sun is very warm. As I turn and scoop up some of the sand particles around us, I realize they’re too perfect. Not a single piece of beach glass, no seaweed. Where are the bottle caps I remember? The broken up shells that would stick to my feet as a kid?

Before I can protest, he’s shifted our position so that my back is pressed into the warm sand. Suddenly, he’s over me, the depths of his blue eyes darkening. His lips touch mine, and a spike of need pulses through me. I pull away, gasping, and sit up.

“This is wrong,” I whisper, shaking my head.

“You can’t be wrong in a dream.”

His voice is teasing, yet sad. Then a cold wind blows over me, calling my name, and I turn. Looking toward the horizon, I see the sky has turned vengeful and black, and the wave—an impenetrable tower of water in the distance—is coming to swallow us.

My alarm, blaring and unwelcome, wakes me out of a dead sleep, and I sit up. My eyes focus on Ever, who is sitting at my desk. His expression is grim, and I’m about to say something when he disappears. Then I groan when I realize that it’s Monday morning. End of the world or not, I have school, and I have to finish out my senior year like nothing’s happened.

Jumping out of bed, I try to figure out why I feel so uneasy. I mean, there’s the obvious—the arrival of my mom’s demonic new boyfriend. And almost getting hit by a bus. Plus, almost getting swallowed by a sinkhole. Then the whole immortal warfare thing. And best of all, the creepy inter-dimensional overlord intent on using me to usher in the end of human freedom.

But none of these things explains the weird
guilt
I’m feeling.

Grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt from my dresser, I open my door and start walking toward the bathroom. I stop halfway there and turn, walking quickly back to my mom’s door. As quietly as I can, I turn the knob and crack the door. In the low light, I see her sleeping form. Her breaths rise and fall steadily—and, to my tremendous sense of relief, she’s alone.

The thought of her bringing home
Dr. Dick
is more than I can stand right now.

I shut the door quietly, wondering if my mom has done the same thing at night—quietly opened my door, afraid she’s going to find me with Ever. Stifling a giggle, I retreat down the hallway. In the bathroom, I drop my clothes on the counter before turning on the shower. As I get undressed, I shiver, but not from cold. Looking into the mirror, I’m tempted to keep a towel around myself in case there’s something watching from the other side.

Then I shake my head and decide to forget about scary monsters for the day. Besides, if the worst they’re going to do is stare at me from beyond the glass, then fine. I stare defiantly at my reflection before suddenly remembering what—or who—really might be watching. Alex.

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I remember exactly why I’m feeling guilty. My dream from last night—the one that was so real that I can still feel his lips on mine.

I shiver.
Was
it a dream? More than a year ago, I never would have questioned it. But now I don’t know what to think. Did Alex somehow manage to cross the barrier to visit me while I slept? The blood rushes from my face. Looking into the foggy glass, I realize that the mirror has steamed up too much to see anything. Throwing the towel on the rack, I step under the water and force my thoughts into neutral, Ever-safe territory.

I run through my morning routine quickly, and by the time I get downstairs, I’ve decided to avoid anything that will make me jittery. Rather than sugary cereal, I opt for plain yogurt and sliced fruit. Thinking about the look on Ever’s face right before he disappeared this morning, it hits me. Oh. No. I must have talked in my sleep. Did I say Alex’s name … or worse? What was the last thing Alex said in the dream?

You can’t be wrong in a dream
.

I cringe. Dream-Alex sure was wrong about being wrong, because that dream is the definition of wrong. Taking my last bite of yogurt, I grab my bag and head to the hall closet for my shoes and jacket. By the time I open the front door, I breathe a sigh of relief. Ever is there, leaning against the hood of his shining black Maserati. Part of me wants to apologize, but I have a feeling it would only make things worse. After all, Ever told me once that he can’t read my mind while I’m dreaming, so maybe he only guessed what I was dreaming about after hearing me say Alex’s name. Either way, I would rather not go there.

“I’ve never seen someone look so guilty after a night’s sleep,” he says when I reach him. “You looked as though you were taking the long walk to the guillotine.”

He laughs and pulls me to him when I blush and squirm.

“It’s awful! I’m sorry.”

“Wren, it’s useless to apologize for your subconscious. It does what it wants, regardless.”

“You’re not mad that I dreamt about him?”

“Alex may be rattling around in the recesses of your mind, but you’re here. With me. Whatever his motivations may have been, he helped achieve your freedom, and he’s gone now,” he says softly.

Still unnerved, I nod and start walking around to the passenger side. With everything that happened over the weekend, Ever easily convinced me to let him drive me to school. That, and my car is still sitting at his house after the whole sinkhole-on-23rd episode. When he opens the passenger door, I sit down, trying to rationalize things. If Alex had been a friend, I would have demanded that we go after him the moment he stepped into the void.

But he’s not a friend. He’s an enemy who became something else, so how can I ask
Ever
to help save him? How can I even tell him why I
need
to save Alex?

Suddenly the honest, selfish reason I need to see Alex again becomes clear. I need to see him because I need to know if these feelings I have for him are real or only because he martyred himself and is never coming back. Otherwise, I’m afraid he’ll live on in my memory and become an eternal wedge between Ever and me.

We don’t talk during the drive to school—maybe because neither one of us can think of anything neutral and not cataclysmic to discuss. As we pull up, I don’t see any sign of my friends. Leaning over, I kiss Ever before getting out and walking toward school. As I pass by the faculty lot, I see my old Art teacher, Mr. Gideon, getting out of his car, juggling a bunch of art history books. I wave at him and think about my second day at Springview. The day I had seen Ever for the first time—and then woke up in the hospital. With a shiver, I accept why he’s so careful when the two of us are together.

Unlike last year, my day doesn’t start with Art. For my final semester at Springview, I have Health first period with Mr. Lassiter. He’s kind of a goofball, but I like him. When he started the sex education portion of class, the first thing he said was:
It’s probably too late for most of you, and that’s one of the ways modern education fails you.
Of course, the second he said this, everyone started howling with laughter. Right after that, he had handed out a bunch of condoms before going through about fifty slides with graphic pictures of STDs.

Most of my friends are taking AP Physics in addition to AP Calculus. Considering the fact that I’m barely hanging on in Trig, I’m relieved not to be struggling with quantum mechanics. As soon as I step into class, my soul withers when I see who’s sitting in the chair next to mine. The girl one desk over from mine, Vicki Keller, is staring with abject fascination at the newcomer.
Victor
. I walk up to him, seething with rage.

“What did you do to the guy who sits here?” I demand quietly. “Eat him?”

“
Eat
him? I assure you I have done no such thing. … Ah, there he is now.”

I turn and see Brendan Lee standing at the door, obviously trying to decide what to do. I turn around and glare at Victor.

“Leave,” I snap.

In a lightning fast movement, he grabs my wrist and stands up. He’s nearly as tall as Ever, and when he leans toward me, his lips near my ear, I cringe.

“Your attitude is disappointing. In my world, I would have you tortured for such insolence,” he hisses.

I turn and look up at him.

“Well, this is my world, so get used to disappointment,” I whisper.

He releases my hand and laughs. Trembling, I look around to see if anyone noticed our quiet altercation, but apart from Vicki Keller, everyone’s too busy trying to decipher the latest obscure quote that Mr. Lassiter has scrawled on the blackboard. Typically, whoever figures out his daily riddles gets movie passes, licorice, or a night of no homework.

Looking toward the door, I see Ever and shake my head. Please no. There would be no explaining it if my boyfriend, who was supposed to have graduated last year, gets into an immortal duel with the prince of darkness right here in Mr. Lassiter’s first period. Ever disappears, and I exhale and sit down, facing forward. I bite my lip and try not to hyperventilate as Victor walks behind me. Suddenly I feel his hands on my chair as he leans forward.

“There will be no peace until you relent.”

Then he’s gone. I don’t move; I don’t even blink. Even when Brendan sits down, I don’t turn. I just sit and wait for the adrenaline to subside. It doesn’t, though. It just keeps resurfacing. My moment of peace was just that: a moment. It’s gone. Over.

On the bright side, I’ve finally found something that is black and white, cut and dry—and Victor is it. Everyone and everything else may land somewhere in between good and evil, but Victor is one hundred percent, no question about it, evil. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I have someone I don’t have to feel ambivalent about. In his case, one emotion will do just fine: hatred.

I make it through second period without another sign of Victor. After nutrition, walking to third period AP English, I have a few seconds to worry over my test score. I took the exam a couple of weeks ago. Now I have the long wait until I get my score, which will impact whether I have to take freshman year English Literature and Composition in college. Lucky for me, I got Mrs. Rose, my English teacher from last year, for AP. She likes me, probably because I like English.

Unfortunately her idea of a good time after the AP exam is to put us into groups and make us film twenty-minute “movies” based on stuff we read during the year. I wrote the script for our group’s sketch, mostly because I didn’t want to act. Acting, to me, is one level of hell lower than dancing.

The two books from the year that are stuck in my head—and I don’t want to think too much about why—are Margaret Atwood’s
The Handmaid’s Tale
and Kate Chopin’s
The Awakening
. Different time periods and totally different genres, but they’ve continued to haunt me, so my script ended up turning into kind of a paranoid parable revolving around persecution and women’s freedom.

Josh, my friend who had a short-lived crush on me when I first moved here, is in my English class again. We’re in the same group, and he loves being the center of attention, so he’s all for being one of the lead actors. As soon as I walk into class, I see him sitting in the corner messing absently with his sandy-colored hair and studying the script. When I walk over to where he’s sitting, he looks up.

“There’s part of the script I don’t think does anything for my character …”

I smile.

“If you want to make changes, talk to the director.”

“But I don’t really know what I want to change, and you’re good at that stuff, Sullivan.”

I smirk at his flattery.

“All right. What is it?”

“The end. It’s too ambiguous. How are people supposed to tell if he’s really the good guy?”

“They’re not.”

Josh frowns.

“Well, that sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” I agree. “But come on, Josh. These are the kind of roles that actors in Hollywood are dying for.”

“They are?”

“It’s more interesting when you
can’t
tell who the good guy is.”

“It is?”

I laugh at the look on his face.

“Trust me.”

When the other people in our group come over to start running lines, I sit back. My job is done. As I watch them rehearse, part of me wishes I were a better actor. I wish I could hide my hate behind a smile. I wish I could hide my love by looking away. I wish I could play the frosty, take-no-prisoners heroine and hide my fear.

But if I could do these things, then I would cease being who I am—and isn’t that what the enemy wants?