Water’s Edge (A Series of Sharp Edges #1)

29. Ripp

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ripp

T remors linger in my muscles from the rapid transformation. The tips of my fingers twitch, and my human skin itches, like it’s been stretched too tight. I roll my shoulders, continuing down through my back, trying to relieve the tension. My fist clenches around the relic. Feeling it against my palm stokes the fire inside me, threatening to reignite, but I push the urge down until it’s just a smoldering pile of ash. Right as I was about to lose control, her voice came through the fog. She called my name, used it to command me. Does she know what she’s done? What kind of power she actually wields?

Mattie’s eyes are still wild, every muscle tense, waiting for me to make my next move. My magic in the vial around her neck pulses in time with her frantic heartbeat. Seeing she’s even still conscious is a sign that her shadows have taken over most of her body. With another exposure to my true nature, I’ve shortened her countdown further, not knowing that the thread of her life was already too thin. I also didn’t expect there to be a fucking relic hidden in her tiny cabin.

“What is it?” she asks, her voice barely audible. Her eyes drift to the piece of antler in my hand before meeting mine again. The wild look has vanished from them; concern fills her emerald pools instead.

“This,” I say, extending my arm and opening my palm, “is a relic, an item of great magic—ancient magic. This one in particular is from one of my kind.”

A tiny gasp escapes her lips, and she quickly throws her hand in front of her mouth. “It’s a piece of you? Like it broke off?” Her eyes scan the top of my head, as if she can still see my antlers there and is assessing them for damage.

“No.” I shake my head and close my palm. The relic dissolves, becoming a swirling shadow under my skin. Mattie’s eyes go wide again, but she stays silent. “This one is not from me. There’s nothing a human could offer that would be worth this type of sacrifice.”

Except there is. My eyes drift to the vial again, and my eyebrows knit together. Her hand comes up to clench the vial and twirls it mindlessly between her fingers. As she does so, she scrunches her nose, looking so fucking adorable, I almost forget about the conversation we’re having. I continue to admire how fucking pretty she looks below me until her voice breaks me from the spell. “So it has to be given?”

“Well,” I flash a wicked grin, “you could try to take it, but there wouldn’t be much left of you afterward. Only we can break pieces of ourselves off to use as relics, or for magic.” I nod to the vial around her neck. “But the larger the piece, the more tangible it is, the greater the cost.”

Mattie cocks her head to the side, and I can see her working through everything she just learned. She sucks in her lips between her teeth and stares at the ceiling. I take a seat next to her, allowing our legs to touch. Even through my pants, I can feel the coldness of her skin. I stare at her like I’ll be able to find a clock counting down somewhere on her body.

Resentment for the witch and her lack of detail floods my system. I wonder if she knew of the existence of the relic. If she did, it makes it far more frustrating that she didn’t offer that bit of information. What did Mattie’s family choose to sacrifice for such a powerful object? My eyes narrow, and I stare at her again. No. I shake my head. They wouldn’t.

“A cost?” Mattie asks, reaching for the closest box to pull it to her. Tension consumes the space between us. She pauses to sigh dramatically before opening the box. I don’t blame her. Anything could be lurking underneath the cardboard, waiting to shatter more of her reality.

“Yes, everything has a cost. No exchange of power comes without burden.” I reach for her hand and squeeze it gently. I’m hoping she comes to the same conclusion without me having to spell it out for her, but she just gazes unblinkingly into the box. She pulls her hand from mine and starts to unpack the contents. This one has newspaper articles, aged folders full of photos that don’t look like family portraits, and a small leather book. Mattie quickly flips through the book, and I can see it’s filled with handwritten pages. She quickly closes it and sets it on the floor.

Mattie’s mouth falls open in a yawn, and she leans her head against my arm. The box is finally empty, but she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to look through the items scattered on the floor. “I’m tired, Ripp.” Her voice is soft, full of a heaviness I wish I could relieve.

“Sleep, little bug.” I push a few fallen strands of hair behind her ear. Her emerald eyes are unfocused and dull. “I’ll be right here.” She flashes me half a smile and crawls onto the couch behind us. I reach to pull a knitted blanket from its crumbled resting spot to cover her, but she’s asleep before it reaches her shoulders. Her breaths become heavy and grow farther apart as she sinks further into the realm of short death. For humans, that’s all sleep really is—practice for death.

I pick up one folder from the floor, opening it on my lap. Inside are dozens of photos, all of them children or young women. Each one has a name and date scrawled onto the back. A small stack of newspaper clippings is behind the last photo. As I flip through them, I realize the names are the same ones from the photos. The heading on each clip is the same:

MISSING

A vile realization dawns on me as pieces of what I’m looking at come together. The cells of my body vibrate violently as I struggle against another shift. If Mattie’s father weren’t already dead, I would waste no time in tearing him apart, only to crudely put him back together and do it again, slower. Just when I think humans can’t get any more pathetic, they surprise me.

I sift through the rest of the loose papers and photos until one catches my eye. I stop and hold the photo in front of my face. My nostrils flare as I focus on the two men holding up the head of a deer by the antlers. A familiar face, frozen in time, stares back at me—the fucking sheriff. I want to shred the photo into millions of tiny pieces, as if it would somehow kill this pond scum of a man again. The man next to him shares Mattie’s eyes, so it’s not a far jump to assume it’s her father. Another photo of them solidifies their connection. This one shows them standing with several other men, all of them wearing dark robes marked with an unfamiliar symbol. On the back, a single word is written in thick black letters:

REVELATORS

Mattie abruptly stirs behind me. Her leg muscles twitch, as though she’s running in her dreams. She mumbles incoherent words, and I wish I could see inside her mind. My little angel of death really is ridding this Earth of the human filth that inhabits it. Based on the evidence before me, her father and the sheriff were more than deserving of their fate.

I look towards Mattie again, still restless in her slumber, and run the knuckle of one finger down her cheek. She mumbles softly then stills. Her shoulders are heavy with sins she knows nothing of. My little bug is not the only one in her family who’s full of secrets. I just hope this new information won’t be the final thread that unravels her.