The Immortals 3 - Shadowland (15 page)

But before I can finish, Damen’s already shaking his head, looking at me when he says, “Where does that leave
us
? Exactly where we are.” He shrugs. “Together.
Forever
. As long as we’re very, very careful and continue to wear our amulets, that is. And as for using our powers? Well, I’m afraid it’s much more complicated than simply righting all wrongs. While we may judge things as good or bad, karma
doesn’t
. It’s a simple case of like gets like, the ultimate balancing act, nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re determined to fix every situation
you
deem as bad, or difficult, or somehow unsavory, then you rob the person of their own chance to fix it, learn from it, or even grow from it. Some things, no matter how painful, happen for a
reason
. A reason you or I may not be able to grasp at first sight, not without knowing a person’s entire life story—their cumulative past. And to just barge in and interfere, no matter how well-intentioned, would be akin to robbing them of their journey. Something that’s better not done.”

“So let me get this straight.” An edge creeping into my voice I don’t try to hide. “Haven comes to me and says,
my cat is dying
. And even though I’m pretty sure I can fix it, I don’t because it would result in too many questions I could never explain and draw undue suspicion. Fine, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. But when she says,
my parents might be divorcing, I might have to move, and it feels like my entire world is caving in—
telling me this with no inkling whatsoever that I’m in the perfect position to help her, to maybe even
reverse
some of those things by—I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling totally frustrated now. “But anyway, my point is, something like that happens to
our
good friend and you’re telling me we can’t help? Because it would mess with her journey, or her karma, or whatever it is that you said? I mean, explain to me how that helps
my
karma by keeping the goods to myself.”

“I advise you to not get involved,” he says, turning back toward the painting and away from me. “Haven’s parents will continue to fight no matter what you do, and even if you miraculously paid off her house, thinking you could save it”—he looks over his shoulder, giving me a pointed look, sensing that’s exactly what I planned to do—“well, they’d probably end up selling it so they could split the proceeds and end up moving anyway.” He sighs, voice softening when he looks at me and adds, “I’m sorry, Ever. I don’t mean to sound like some jaded old man, but maybe I am. I’ve seen far too much and made so many mistakes—you’ve no idea how long it took me to learn all these things. But there really is a season for everything—just like they say. And while our season may be eternal, we can never let on.”

“And yet, how many famous artists painted your portrait? How many gifts did you receive from Marie Antoinette?” I shake my head. “I’m sure those portraits lived on! I’m sure someone kept a journal and put your name in it! And what about your modeling days in New York? What about that?”

“I don’t deny any of it.” He shrugs. “I was vain, full of myself, a textbook narcissist—and boy did I have fun.” He laughs, face transforming into the one I know and love, the sexy Damen, the fun Damen, so opposite of this forebearer of doom. “But you’ve got to understand, those portraits were all privately commissioned, even back then I knew better than to allow them to be publicly displayed. And as for the modeling, it was just a few pictures for a small-time ad campaign. I quit the next day.”

“So why did you stop painting? I mean, it seems like a great way to record an unnaturally long life.” My head beginning to spin from all of this.

He nods. “The problem was my work was becoming very well known. I was exalted, and believe me, I exalted in my exaltedness.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I was painting like a madman, completely obsessed, uninterested in anything else. Amassing a very large collection that drew far too much attention to myself before I properly realized the risk, and then—”

I look at him, heart crashing when I
see
the image unfold in his head. “And then there was a fire,” I whisper,
seeing
violent, orange flames rise into a darkened sky.

“Everything was destroyed.” He nods. “Including, for all appearances anyway,
me
.”

I suck in my breath, meeting his eyes, unsure what to say.

“And before they could even extinguish the flames, I was gone. Traveling all over Europe, fleeing from place to place like a nomad, a gypsy, a vagabond, even changing my name a few times until enough time had passed and people started to forget. Finally settling in Paris, where, as you know, we first met—and, well, you know the rest. But, Ever—” He looks into my eyes, wishing he didn’t have to say it, but knowing it’s necessary to put it into words, even though I already know what comes next. “All of this is to say that at some point—not long from now—you and I will have to move.”

And the moment he says it, I can hardly believe I hadn’t thought of it before. I mean, it’s so obvious, hiding right in plain sight. And yet somehow I was able to ignore it, look the other way, pretending it would be different for me. Which just shows you what denial can do.

“You probably won’t age much past this,” he continues, hand smoothing my cheek. “And trust me, it won’t be long before our friends start to notice.”

“Please.” I smile, desperate to add a little lightness to this dark, heavy space. “May I remind you that we live in
Orange County
? A place where plastic surgery is practically the norm! Nobody ages here. Seriously. Nobody. Heck, we can carry on just as we are for the next hundred years!” I laugh, but when I look at Damen, see the way his eyes peer into mine, it’s clear the gravity of the situation trumps my small joke.

I head for the bench in the center of the room, plopping onto it as I bury my face in my hands. “What do I tell Sabine?” I whisper, as Damen sits beside me, slipping an arm around me and easing my fears. “I mean, it’s not like I can fake my own death. That crime-scene investigation stuff’s a little more advanced than it was in your day.”

“We’ll deal with it when the time comes,” he says. “I’m sorry, I should’ve mentioned this before.”

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.”

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 staying 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.