The Essence
Page 77

Falling into nothing.
Falling . . .
I awoke with a spasm, clutching my pillow to my chest. It took me several moments, and several long breaths, to assure myself that I was safe. That I was lying in my bed, and not actually falling. I had to wait for my heart to find its normal rhythm once more.
It had only been a dream. There was a time when those words would have been enough to soothe me. But things had changed. Now things that couldn’t possibly exist, things that shouldn’t be able to hurt me, had found a way out of their world and into mine.
I’d been damaged by them. By her.
I settled back down again, telling myself it didn’t matter. That in the morning I’d right the things that had been wronged by telling Max, and anyone else who would listen, just exactly what I’d become.
For now, I stayed in my bed, listening to the sounds around me, and trying to acclimate to the noises of this house: the scraping of branches against my window, the night animals that called to one another, the creaks and groans of the foundation and roof. None of the noises were strange in and of themselves; they were just unfamiliar to my ears, making it hard to let them fall into the background of my thoughts.
And then there was a sound that wouldn’t have been usual . . . in any household.
I bolted upright once more, my ears pricked as I strained to hear it. It was there again, a muffled shout from somewhere outside. I threw back my covers and climbed out from beneath them, dropping to the wooden floor beneath my bare toes.
My heart stuttered, and I wished my room wasn’t so far from my parents. So far from Angelina’s.
I moved cautiously, unsure where to step in order to avoid making noises of my own. Yet I continued to tell myself that my worry was for nothing; surely these were only the sounds of a different household.
Still, I couldn’t help but recall the reason we were here in the first place: Someone was trying to kill me.
I didn’t bother to cover myself as I eased toward the door. Pressing my ear to it, I strained to hear, but there was nothing coming from the other side. I turned the knob and tested the hinges for squeaks. The door slid open noiselessly, and relief swelled in my chest.
Until I saw what was waiting for me on the other side.
The guard, the one Zafir had stationed there, was slumped down on the floor in a heap. But it was the blood that stopped me cold.
Splattered on the floor and on the walls.
Puddled around the guard’s body.
I dropped to the ground beside him and leaned over, my cheek hovering above his mouth. There was no breath, not that I’d expected it. His skin was already gray and mottled.
I stood again, clutching the wall to steady myself. This was my fault. I’d brought this upon the guard. I’d brought this into the place where my family was meant to be safe.
I had to find them. I had to warn someone that we were in danger.
I struggled to recall the way to Angelina’s room, and in my haste, I stumbled. But I got up again quickly, my feet as silent as my breath was ragged.
I passed another guard, also dead and bloodied, and I wondered if I was heading right toward them—those who wanted me dead. I wondered, too, where Max was. And Xander and Zafir. I hoped I wouldn’t find their bodies littered among the rest, casualties of the changes I’d tried to make in my country.
If I were braver—as strong as the warrior I’d always wanted to be—I’d have called out for them. Instead I was a coward and my throat squeezed around the words, trapping them inside me.
I passed two more bodies, one guard and one member of the house staff, and I followed the trail of blood that seemed to lead me toward Angelina’s room. Each step was measured by fear as I did my best not to step in the blood, but it was impossible to avoid altogether.
I felt it, more than once, slick between my toes, and I recoiled against the sickening sensation that I was somehow standing in death.
When I finally reached Angelina’s room, the door stood open, and my heart skipped several beats.
“Eden,” I pled, my voice entirely too quiet. Entirely too shaky.
Eden was nowhere and the room stood quiet.
I stepped inside, terrified of what I might find. Terrified that I was already too late, and that Angelina, too, would be added to the body count that had amassed inside these walls.
I approached the bed with courage I hadn’t realized I possessed, silently willing my sister to be there. Silently praying I could simply scoop her sleeping form into my arms, and together we’d escape into the forest to hide.
But my prayers were met by deaf ears.
It would have been impossible to miss the crimson spray that mottled the snow-white sheets, and the blood that splattered my little sister’s rag doll, Muffin.
The bed itself was empty.
I reached for the doll and clutched it to my chest. “No,” I gasped, and then I was on my knees. “No!” I shouted, rocking forward.
I didn’t stay there long, though, because somehow I knew: Angelina wasn’t dead.
And that meant she needed me.
It was the strangest thing, I was no longer afraid.
I had feelings, sure. Anger. Outrage. A sudden new sense of boldness. Did that count as a feeling?
It didn’t matter. Something had broken in me the moment I’d seen Angelina’s bed, empty and bloodied. Something inside of me had been liberated, and now I was a warrior.
Now I had a mission.
“Angelina!” I shouted. “Angelina! Eden!” I didn’t care about the others. I didn’t care who heard me. Only one thing mattered to me now.