The Essence (34 page)

I sighed then, understanding her fears, even if I couldn’t explain that she was mistaken, that Sabara couldn’t hurt us. Not now.

I got up on unsteady legs. I wouldn’t—
couldn’t
—ask for her help again; it was too much for such a little girl. Besides, I doubted it would matter anyway.

I’d made my decision regarding Sabara. I knew now that she couldn’t simply be
healed
away, and I’d resolved to keep her so she couldn’t harm anyone else.

That didn’t mean I didn’t have doubts, though. I’d given Sabara far too much control. So much control that I’d been incapable of stopping her from killing Queen Langdon using my own hand.

I felt Sabara, deep down inside, stirring restlessly.

Her,
she whispered, and I could feel her mentally sizing up my little sister, weighing her as a possible host.

I staggered backward, falling over my own feet now as I realized Angelina had been right.

She
should
stay away from me. I was poison to her. I was dangerous.

Maybe deadly.

In the corridor, I crumpled to the floor, ignoring the fact that Zafir was there, as always. He offered no consolation, just stood aside while I clutched my knees to my chest and cried into the hollow space.

“Charlaina,” Niko’s voice tugged at me, drawing me forth. His hand was at my shoulder, his touch urging me from my misery.

I should have shrugged away from him, the same way Angelina had from me, but I didn’t. Instead, I let his fingers move over my back in slow, soothing circles.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, lifting my face to his. “Why are you always around?”

Zafir turned his back to us, affording us all the privacy he could manage.

“I was worried about you, Charlaina. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Stop calling me that,” I insisted, sounding shakier than I wanted to. I ignored the hand he offered me, and got up on my own. “Why don’t you say what you mean?” I kept my voice low so Zafir couldn’t hear us. “Stop pretending it’s me you’re worried about and just say it. Say that it’s Sabara you want to protect. Call me Sabara.”

He reached for my arm, either to stop me from leaving or to steady me, but I ripped it away from him. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

He lifted his hands in submission. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I’m worried about you. None of this is easy. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, how . . . conflicted you must be. It’s hard on me too.”

I whirled on him. “Oh, is it? Is it hard for you, Niko? Are you losing yourself? Is your identity being compromised?” I thought of Angelina. “Are you losing the people you love?”

“Yes.” His voice broke, and this time I didn’t stop him when he closed the gap. Something in his face, something in his eyes, reminded me—or her, I couldn’t be sure—of the man who’d held his baby daughter, still and lifeless. His hand closed the distance between us, his fingertips brushing against mine. “Yes, I’m losing the person I love.”

“Don’t touch me,” I said again, but even I could hear the longing in my words. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring them.

His hand clamped over mine and he tugged me. He didn’t have to tug hard, though. I took the step toward him of my own accord, until our bodies were just a heartbeat apart.

I shook my head, denying him and hoping to keep him at bay. “I’m telling Max. Everything,” I whispered.

He stilled, as if turned to stone. “You can’t.”

Sabara felt it too, the truth in my statement, and I could feel her panic blooming like a toxic flower. Dread rooted and spread, pricking me with its nettled thorns.

“I have to.”

“Sabara,” he soothed, his voice as golden as his eyes. “Be reasonable.”

My vision blurred and I reached out to steady myself. It was too much, hearing her name on his lips, feeling her tidal wave of sensations, recognizing the sentiment buried in his voice.

I don’t know if he mistook my instability for assent, or if he was simply taking advantage of my momentary lapse. But the moment I felt his lips on mine, Sabara broke free, finding the strength to propel me into his arms.

She coaxed and moved my body. She relished every sensation, every caress, stroke, brush, and touch, regardless of whom it belonged to.

I lost myself in the swirl of sensations.

“Charlie?” It was that voice—
Max’s voice
, filled with flat accusation—that broke the spell at last. And in that instant, it was just Niko and me. Sabara had retreated.

I was immobilized as I stared into his cool gray eyes, trying to imagine how guilty I must appear.

How guilty I was.

“Max, I—”

But he was already gone.

Together with Zafir, I’d searched the estate grounds long after Zafir had insisted it was too late to be out, that we should call it a night and start again in the morning. But I’d demanded we keep on. I needed to find Max. I needed to explain things to him, so he’d know that it hadn’t been me. That it was Sabara he’d seen with Niko.

I’d hoped I could somehow convince him.

I’d tried to tell Zafir instead.

“Sabara’s alive,” I’d said to him, thinking the words sounded even more absurd out loud than they had when I’d practiced them inside my head.

Zafir hadn’t skipped a beat. He hadn’t even blinked. “You should get to bed, Your Majesty. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m serious, Zafir. She’s in here . . . with me.” I’d signaled that I meant my own body. “She’s been here all along.”

I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me, but I was certain he thought I’d lost my grip on reality. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have someone else stand guard at your room and I’ll keep looking for Max,” he’d offered, leading me back inside the house. “If I do that, will you go to bed?”

There’d been no point arguing. He had been determined that I needed rest, so I’d let him lead me to my room and position another soldier outside my door as I climbed into bed. I didn’t even remember drifting off to sleep, but when I closed my eyes I was falling.

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.