Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(52)
“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.”