“You can’t do it,” he says, barely having opened the door before he’s already shaking his head.
“You don’t even know what I’m here for.” I frown, hugging Charm tightly to my chest, wishing I hadn’t come here.
“The cat is dying and you want to know if it’s okay to save it and I’m telling you it’s not. You can’t do it.” He shrugs, reading the situation more than my mind, which I purposely blocked so he can’t view my visit to Roman, which would really set him on edge.
“Do you mean can’t as in not possible? Like the elixir won’t work on a feline? Or can’t as in the moral sense, as in don’t play God, Ever?”
“Does it matter?” He lifts his brow, stepping to the side and allowing me in.
“Of course it matters,” I whisper, TV noise drifting down from upstairs, the twins’ daily dose of reality shows.
He heads into the den, plopping onto the couch and patting the space right beside him. And even though I’m annoyed by the way he’s acting, not even giving me a chanc
e to explain, I still join him, rearranging the blanket, hoping one look at Charm will convince him.
“I just don’t think you should jump to conclusions,” I say, shifting my body so I’m facing him. “It’s not as simple as you think. It’s not black or white, it’s mostly all gray.”
He leans toward me, gaze softening as he moves his thumb back and forth under Charm’s whiskered chin. “I’m sorry, Ever. Really.” He gazes at me before pulling away. “But even if the elixir did work—which, by the way, I’m not sure it would since I’ve never tried it on an animal before, but even if it did—”
“Really?” I look at him, surprised to hear that. “You’ve never had a pet you couldn’t bear to part with?” My eyes graze over him, taking him in.
“Not one that I couldn’t bear to lose, no.” He shakes his head.
I narrow my eyes, not sure how I feel about that.
“Ever, back in my day we didn’t keep pets in quite the same way. And after I drank the elixir, I wasn’t interested in owning anything that might tie me down.”
I nod, catching the way he gazes at Charm and hoping there’s room to negotiate. “Fine. No pets. I get it,” I say. “But do you get how someone might become so attached to their kitty they can’t bear to say good-bye?”
“Are you asking if I know about attachment?” He looks at me, gaze heavy, steady, fixed right on mine. “About love, and the unbearable grief that comes when it’s lost?”
I gaze down at my lap, feeling juvenile, foolish. I should’ve seen that coming.
“There’s much more at stake than just saving a cat or granting eternal life—if there even is such a thing in the animal kingdom. The real question is, how will you explain it to Haven? What will you tell her when she returns only to find the dying cat she left in your care is now miraculously cured—maybe even becoming a kitten again, who knows? How will you possibly explain that to her?”
I sigh, not having thought about that. Hadn’t really considered that if it does work, Charm won’t just be healed, but physically transformed.
“It’s not about it not working—I’ve no clue about that. And it’s not about your right to play God—you and I both know I’m the last one who should judge such a thing. It’s more about safeguarding our secrets. And while I know you have only the best intentions at heart, in the end, helping your friend will only ignite her suspicion. Raising questions that can never be answered simply or logically without revealing too much. Besides, Haven’s already onto us, or onto something at least. So now, more than ever, it’s important for us to lay low.”
I press my lips together, swallowing past the lump in my throat, hating that I’ve got so many amazing tools at my disposal, all of these magical abilities, but unable to use them, to help those whom I love.
“I’m sorry,” he says, hand hovering over my arm, hesitating to make contact until the veil comes along. “But as sad as it seems, it really is just the natural course of events. And believe me, animals accept these things far better than people do.”
I lean into his shoulder, into his touch, amazed by his power to comfort me no matter how bad things get. “I just feel so bad for her—her parents are always fighting—she might have to move—it’s making her question the point of everything. Kind of like I did when my world fell apart.”
“Ever—” he starts, gaze soft, lips looming so close I can’t help but press mine against them—the moment cut short when the twins squeal their way down the stairs.
“Damen—Romy won’t let me—” Rayne stops, standing before us, dark eyes wider than usual when she says, “Omigod is that a cat?”
I glance at Damen. Since when does Rayne use words like “omigod”?
But he just shakes his head and laughs. “Don’t get too close.” He glances between them. “And keep your voice down. This is a very sick cat. I’m afraid she doesn’t have very long.”
“Then why don’t you save it?” Rayne asks, prompting Romy to nod in agreement, the three of us gazing at Damen, our eyes wide and pleading.
“Because we don’t do things like that,” he says, voice stern and parental. “That’s not how it’s done.”
“But you saved Ever, and she’s not nearly as cute,” Rayne says, kneeling before me ’til her face is level with Charm’s.