The Offering
Page 38

She didn’t jump at first, but she met the challenge of the oncoming surf with as much zeal as I did. And after just a few experimental minutes of wading and retreating, Brook was chasing me into the breaking waves, splashing me the way I’d splashed her.
When at last we emerged, we were both shrieking and laughing, and soaked in water that made our clothing itch and stick to us like a second layer of salt-laced skin. Sand clung to our legs, which were bare to our knees, as we trudged back to Eden with our shoes in hand.
“Finished?” was all Eden asked as she surveyed each of us in turn.
Even wet, Brook managed to look alluring, her damp curls framing her perfectly flushed face, while I was sure my hair looked like damp sea grass and only highlighted the fact that my lips had turned a glacial shade of blue. I shivered as another gust of wind blasted along the coastline.
“Y-y-yes.” I bit my lip to keep my teeth from chattering, and tasted the salt that clung to it.
As we trailed Eden up the path, Brook nudged me. “You killed my father,” she said, her voice low so there was no way Eden could hear us above the sound of the waves. I stopped where I was, stunned by her statement, and by the lack of rancor or accusation hidden behind her words. She wasn’t sullen, and she wasn’t avoiding the topic any longer. I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing myself against the chill of the wind that beat at us. “I know, and I’m so sorry.” I bit out each word slowly, almost cautiously, as if I might scare her away again, and I was so terribly afraid we might never get back to where we’d once been if I did.
Eden was no longer climbing, and stood watching us impatiently. I held up a finger, letting her know we’d be right there.
“I know you are,” she admitted, the hint of a smile pricking her lips. “You’ve said so at least a hundred times.” She shrugged, and then sighed a deep and liberating sigh. “I suppose I just wasn’t ready to hear it back then.” The smile fell away, becoming something less playful and more reflective. She reached out to me, this time holding her hand out like when we were little girls and we held hands everywhere we went, running and skipping and hopping through rain-filled puddles. “I am now, though.”
I clasped her hand, squeezing it as tight as I could manage. And then I whispered, “I really am, you know. I’m so very, very sorry, Brooklynn. I never meant to hurt you.”
She squeezed back until my knuckles ached and my eyes burned. “I know. And the truth is, I’m glad he’s dead. It just took me a while to figure it out.”
She pulled me toward her, so our shoulders bumped together, and we started walking again. Hand in hand. Just like when we were children.
As grateful as I was that Brook and I had mended the rift between us, all I could think about on our way back was the campfire we’d burn when we returned to the VAN. I was chilled all the way through, and even though we couldn’t afford to waste any of our drinking water to bathe away the brininess from my skin, I’d at least be able to change into dry clothing.
But when we reached the top of the cliff, it wasn’t the VAN or the smoke still drifting up from the smoldering remnants of our fire that caught my attention. It was the people gathered there.
They converged around our vehicle, and I stopped walking, trying to make sense of their presence. To discern what they were doing there exactly.
I watched as a woman came out of the VAN, picking her way down the steps carrying a crate in her arms. I recognized the box as one that was filled with jars of pickled vegetables, and realized that these people were helping themselves to our provisions.
They were stealing our food—our supplies.
My first thought was to stop them, and before I could tell myself otherwise, I was lifting my hand. Already I could feel the tingling in the tips of my fingers. I knew why, of course. I meant to put an end to their looting.
I hadn’t considered using Sabara’s ability since the night I’d used it to keep Brooklynn’s father and his men from taking Angelina, when I’d feared for what they might do to her. I had used it then, killing them all by squeezing their throats closed from the inside out.
The second I summoned her power, I knew I’d made a mistake. Sabara slipped out of the shadows and began taking control of me. Darkness cloaked me, like a heavy curtain, blotting out all reason. Blotting me out.
No, I insisted, you can’t do this. But already my vision grew black.
“Charl—Layla!” Brooklynn smacked my arm down and shoved me aside. “We’ve got this! You stay put.”
I blinked several times, dazed by Brook’s actions and her warning. Slowly, however, my judgment returned and Sabara slunk away once more. I wondered how much longer I could keep her at bay. How long I could pretend she wasn’t wearing me down.
I stared at my hands, unable to believe I’d been willing to do something so horrific, hardly able to believe I’d been capable of drawing the ability forth in the first place. I’d always believed Sabara had lent me her power when I’d needed it. Now I wondered if I couldn’t summon it at will, a thought that revolted me, convincing me further that the two of us were far too enmeshed.
I turned to see Eden drawing a weapon from the back of her waistband—a small-caliber handgun I hadn’t been aware she’d had with her. And when I glanced to Brook, her hand had disappeared into one of the boots she carried, and reemerged wrapped around the handle of a curved knife with sharp, serrated teeth.
Eden called out to the foragers, “Put it back—all of it—and no one gets hurt!”