Storm Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,27
needs to be said.
There’s a long moment of silence, and then he glances in the direction of the stairs; realising he probably wants to talk, I allow him to lead me away from the celebrating crowd. They’re going to have a lot to catch up on. There will be time for me to talk to my friend after she’s readjusted to her life here. I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now, having had her memories taken away and then shoved back in like it’s some kind of game. She and Peyton should be able to have their time together, I reason, and besides, it’s not like I’m going anywhere…
As much as, on some level, I might want to.
If Storm picks up on my ruminations, he doesn’t give me any indication. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, but he can be difficult to read if he wants to be; I don’t know if he even realises how caught up in his own thoughts he can get sometimes. I guess we’re two of a kind in that regard. It looks like he has something on his mind, but I know better than to press him on it. He’ll talk to me if he wants to.
“Watch the painting,” I warn him as we reach the top of the stairs.
“It’s all right,” Storm replies, squeezing my hand. “I already learned that lesson the hard way.”
I raise my eyebrows at him teasingly. “Are you telling me the higher god of weather got caught off guard by an enchanted painting?”
Storm gives me a haughty frown, but there’s a gleam in his violet eyes that tells me he’s teasing. Shit, I missed that look. “Your family has quite the…collection of artifacts,” he observes noncommittally. “It’s impressive.”
“You were in jail for four hundred years,” I remind him. “You probably think that cars and cell phone cameras are impressive.”
“We had access to the news in there, you know,” Storm replies defensively. “I mean, not all of it, but… The important stuff always had a way of getting through to us. Blame it on the fact that there were always new people being brought in.”
“I still can’t imagine spending all that time in there,” I confess as we approach my room, blissfully not being attacked by the painting this time. Maybe it’s finally learning that higher gods aren’t to be trifled with? “To watch the whole world evolving around you, but not be able to take part in it… It must have been incredibly lonely.”
“It was,” Storm replies, not sugarcoating it. “There were times when all I wanted to do was be outside again. Times I would have sold my soul just for a chance to take a breath of fresh air or put my feet in a stream.” He shakes his head as I pull open the door to my room, and he has to duck a little so as not to bump into the doorframe. Storm is a tall guy. “Sometimes I wasn’t even sure if I would even…if I would even make it. Part of me wanted to give up then and there, just to make the isolation stop.” He shrugs his broad shoulders, giving me a melancholy smile. “Immortality has its downsides, you know.”
“So I’m learning,” I admit, “again and again and again.” I sigh, dropping onto my bed, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. “This whole thing feels like one long nightmare,” I confess, looking up at him. “It’s like one thing ends and another starts, except every time is worse than the last.” I clench my hands into fists and then relax them, my eyes wandering over the intricate vine patterns that now run up my arms. “Was this what it was like for you back there?”
Storm looks thoughtful, giving me a slow nod before sitting down on the bed next to me. I feel almost ridiculous, sitting here with him in my childhood bedroom, a holdover from a time when everything felt easy and the stakes were never too high. Seeing this all-powerful being in contrast to the innocence of my past feels strange, somehow…foreign. Yet Storm’s expression isn’t unkind, and as he looks around, I could swear I almost see a hint of admiration on his face. “It was,” he replies finally, turning to look at me. “You think there’s only so much you can take, and the next thing you know, something else is happening. Something worse.” He reaches a hand up and brushes the backs of his knuckles