Ever: The Ever Trilogy, Book One (Volume 1) (30 page)

“Ever, Frankie was never
supposed
to be alive again. That’s not the way it works. What Ariadne has done, it’s … it’s … unheard of. Unnatural. And it’s
wrong
.”

“What? What do you mean by
wrong
?”

“Ever, Ariadne warned me that she would do whatever it takes to get me back. She thinks she’s
giving
you Frankie. She’s just messed up enough to believe that this is a trade you would agree to.”

“What?” It seemed to be the only word I could muster. My mind was spinning too fast for anything else.
A trade?

“She thinks that if Frankie is alive, you’ll choose him and I’ll be free to be with her. Before Ted came to grab her earlier, she told me she’d done it for me. She doesn’t care that it’s not what
I
want. She doesn’t care that I’m in love with
you
. She doesn’t care that there will be repercussions for Frankie—”

Yeah, yeah, I’d heard all that. But … .

Repercussions?

“What?” I snapped. There it was again, the only word I could manage. “What do you mean when you say
repercussions
, Toby?”

He took my face in both of his hands, forcing me to look at him again, forcing me to look into those gorgeous blue eyes I loved so much.

I knew I didn’t want to hear what was coming. I just knew it.
Felt
it even.

But I listened anyway. Always such a glutton for punishment.

“Ever, Frankie’s soul belongs to Ariadne.”

I
’m going to be sick—”

I pushed past Toby and ran into the house, making a beeline for the bathroom, then locking the door behind me. I could barely hear Toby’s voice through the door, my heaves were so loud. I didn’t even have time to be embarrassed that he could hear me retching; the pain of his betrayal and the shock from this new information about Frankie took center stage in my mind.

There were so many unanswered questions, and the scope of it all made me sicker.

“Go
away,
Toby!” I yelled, my voice echoing in the toilet bowl. I fumbled with the toilet paper, trying to grab some to wipe my face.

“Ever, I’m so sorry. Please, let me in. Please, talk to me.”

“Leave!” I shouted between heaves.

Frankie’s soul belongs to Ariadne.
Toby’s words were like a broken record playing in my head.
Frankie’s soul. Ariadne.
The information was just too much for my body to handle. I vomited violently, worse than I could remember from even the most unforgiving stomach flu.

I don’t believe in soul collectors.

Maybe if I said it enough times, it would stick.

I don’t believe in soul collectors.

But who was I kidding? I’d lived with the reality that I shared my home with a
ghost
for the past two years—so was this realization really any different?

After emptying my stomach, and heaving a few more times just for good measure, I closed the lid and rested my head. The coolness of the ceramic was soothing on my cheek, so I ignored the fact that my head was resting on a toilet. I had been through far too much to care. I stared at the side of the faux wood-finished cabinet, without actually seeing it, until minutes later, when something caught my attention.

The tiny corner of a piece of paper was sticking out from between the cabinet and the trashcan. I reached for the paper and realization dawned on me. The library. The day I’d met Ariadne.
Ugh.
My stomach made a slight gurgling sound, and my mouth watered, but nothing else happened. Luckily, my stomach had nothing left to give. It had only been a few days, but I’d forgotten all about the book and the piece of paper. I’d chalked up Ariadne’s appearance at the library to reconnaissance, the typical
new girlfriend doing an investigation of the ex-girlfriend
type thing. Everything happened so quickly since then, that I hadn’t given it another thought. The paper must have fallen behind the trashcan when Jessie dumped the contents of my purse out that night.

I listened to the other side of the door, but it seemed Toby had finally given up. Maybe he’d gone home. I
hoped
he’d gone home. I needed time to process everything. Or just wallow in my confusion for a while. I unfolded the paper, assuming it was notes for a test or something else a library patron might leave behind.

I was
completely
unprepared for what I found on that neatly folded page. It wasn’t notes at all.

It was an image, a drawing, black and bold, the thick lines clear and concise.

An angel’s wing. But not just
any
angel’s wing. It was an angel’s wing with three thick, curved lines going through the center of it.

Toby’s tattoo.

I gasped.

What the hell was going on? Things just kept getting more screwed up! Why was Toby’s tattoo on a sheet of paper that had fallen out of a random library book?

I paused.
Random?

Ariadne.

Oh. I knew without a doubt that there was probably
nothing
random or coincidental with Ariadne. Everything she did, she did with ulterior motives and precise purpose. I shook my head in disbelief. I’ve heard about crazy ex-girlfriends, but this had to take the cake.

I looked back down at the piece of paper with Toby’s tattoo on it. Something was bothering me. Something I couldn’t quite grab hold of yet. I stared at the image, urging the reluctant piece of the puzzle to fall into place, but nothing did. There was just a tickle in the back of my mind that wouldn’t come forward, taunting me just out of reach. I wasn’t fully connecting the dots.

Finally, exasperated and tired of sitting on the bathroom floor, I got to my feet and flung open the door, startling Toby, who had apparently been leaning against it. He hadn’t left after all. He fell backward quickly, then righted himself and stood to face me.

“
What
is this?” I demanded, waving the piece of paper in his face.

He looked at the piece of paper in my hand, then back at me. He looked at the piece of paper again, and his eyebrows pinched together.

“Where did you get this?” He stared at it while speaking to me, as if expecting to get the answers from the paper itself.

“Are you
serious
?
Where
did I get it? Who cares, Toby!
What is it?
”

“It’s my tattoo.”

“Really? Wow, I hadn’t figured that out at all! Seriously, Toby, answer me.”

“We—”

Ah, there it was.
We.
I remembered the piece of the puzzle that had refused to fall into place. It finally settled in comfortably with the other pieces. And what a
screwed up
puzzle it was. I interrupted him before he could finish, my own thoughts bursting to get out.

“Ariadne has the same tattoo, doesn’t she? In the same place even?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and not because of the vomiting episode. What a fool I’d been! “She’s more than just a silly ex-girlfriend, Toby. Nobody gets matching tattoos with someone they aren’t serious about.”

“No, Ever, it’s not what you—”

“Oh, please. No more of the
it’s not what you think
bit. And seriously, is this some sick attempt at angel of death humor?”
Gross,
I thought to myself. And so
not
funny. “Ugh, just go, Toby. Seriously. I need some time away from you.”

It was pretty safe to say I did
not
want to hear his explanation, whatever it was.

I was so grossed out by the idea that he could have once been
that
serious—maybe even in
love
—with someone like Ariadne. How could he love someone like
her
… and then love someone like
me
? The thought bothered me to no end. I didn’t want to look at him while I pondered what it said about
me.
Was I more like her than I realized?

But wait. Toby never really loved me. I reminded myself that our whole relationship had been a sham, and it didn’t make me feel any better, but it did make me stop comparing myself to
her
.

“Go, Toby. Please.”

I pushed past him and headed for the hallway.

He followed me to my room. “Please, Ever … please let me explain everything. There’s so much you don’t understand.”

There’s just something about someone telling me that I don’t understand. It’s got to be one of the most infuriating things in the world.

“Oh,
please
, Toby. I think I understand just fine. And if I don’t, then let’s just assume I don’t want to understand
more
. Now
go
.”

I shut the door in his face then turned on the TV, cranking up the volume to a painful level. I sat down on the bed, not sure of what to do next. Truthfully, I didn’t understand at all. Not even a little bit. But the last thing I wanted to do was continue looking at Toby. I needed to think.

A little while later, I turned the TV down—I wasn’t exaggerating; it actually
was
painfully loud—and as soon as I lowered the volume, I was startled by a knock on the door.

“Oh god, Toby! Go home!
Please!
”

“It’s me.”

Frankie.
My heart jumped at the sound of his voice, and my breath caught in my throat.

So many feelings rushed to the surface. Love, happiness, confusion, fear … half of me wanted to throw open the door and fling myself into his arms, and the other half of me wanted to yell at him to leave me alone.

“Please, go, Frankie. I need some time to think.”

Open the door. Let him in. Touch him. Hold him.

No.

I didn’t do it. I needed to think, and I couldn’t let anyone distract me. Not even Frankie.

Part of my brain cried out that I didn’t know how much time I had with Frankie in his physical form, but the other half of my brain told me it didn’t matter. I couldn’t just continue behaving like a lovesick little girl. I had to figure out this mess.

I heard his forehead hit the door with a light thump. “Okay, Doll. I’ll be … in the kitchen, I guess.” His footsteps retreated down the hall, and my heart ached to be with him. But I stayed.

I pulled on my pajamas then sat down on the bed, intending to think. Even the best intentions can go to waste when you are as exhausted as I was, and I soon found myself drifting off to sleep. What a long, crazy day.

My birthday.

It was still my birthday. And what an eighteenth birthday it was. Adulthood welcomed me with quite a bang.

This was definitely one birthday I would never forget.

F
alling.

I’m falling fast down a slick tunnel, wet with blood.

I reach out to grab for anything that can catch me, but my hands just slide down the wall, the blood smearing as I fall.

So much blood.

Now I’m in that white room again. Blinding, glaring whiteness surrounds me.

Nothing but whiteness. Except for all the red. The blood.

Frankie’s blood.

I slowly make my way to the center of the room.

As I walk, painstakingly slow as if I’m trudging through quicksand, a figure appears in front of me. A beautiful, graceful figure.

A woman.

She is dressed in red, a long flowing frock clinging to her body. At her knees, it fans out like a mermaid’s tail.

Who is she?

I walk further, closing in on her, trying to make her face come into focus.

Ariadne.

I stop. She’s immediately in front of me, those yards previously between us gone in a heartbeat.

As I stand before her, I realize her gown isn’t red at all.

It is white.
Had
been white.

White silk, ruined with blood.