Willing Sacrifice
Page 24
Grace heard all the words, but two of them echoed in her mind, over and over. “I’m not his woman.” The idea was compelling. Thrilling. But also impossible.
Brenya paused, as if thinking carefully about her words before she spoke. “For the purpose of this journey, he will treat you as such. I would demand no less from your protector.”
“Are you sure he will agree?”
“He will do as I command. As will you.” Even as weary as Brenya looked, she still reeked of power—power Grace would probably never understand.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Torr will guide you through the journey, but it will be your job to seek the portal the Masons build even now. Once you find it and are sure the Masons have left this world, you will destroy it.”
“I will? How?”
“There is a place on the far side of the southern village. In it are large black stones. Deep within those stones are the weapons you need to destroy the portal.”
“Is there a map?”
Brenya leaned forward and grasped the sides of Grace’s face in her hands. Her skin was warm and dry, like sunlit parchment. A familiar scent lingered on her shaggy clothes, lulling Grace into a drowsy, relaxed state.
“You already have the map, child. I gave it to you years ago, never once thinking I would need to awaken it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. I had hoped to save you from what I took from you, but it was not to be. There can be no voids in you. They are unnatural and must be filled.”
Grace frowned and tried to shake her head, but Brenya’s grip held her still. “What voids?”
“Once I awaken the knowledge you need, the hole it once filled will be empty. You will reopen the memory that used to live in that hole. For that I am truly sorry.”
Power seethed just below Brenya’s skin. Grace could feel it thrashing against her, seeking entrance. Her head started to throb, and her stomach lurched with sickening intent.
She grabbed Brenya’s hands, trying to pry them away from her head, but it was no use. The older woman was too strong, despite her fragile appearance.
“Stop,” begged Grace. “You’re scaring me.”
Brenya’s eyes brightened, frothing and frosty. “You are not yet scared, child. But you will be.”
Chapter 12
Grace hid in the pantry, covering her stepbrother’s mouth. Soapsuds dripped from her fingers, making Blake’s skin slippery.
She’d been washing dishes when her stepfather had sloshed up the driveway, taking out one of Mom’s rosebushes. There hadn’t been time to dry her hands before Mom shoved her and Blake into hiding, fearing the worst.
“He won’t find you if you’re quiet,” Mom said.
The fight started like it always did. His voice raised in anger, Mom’s quiet with humble apology for something she probably hadn’t even done.
Grace wanted to shout at him and force him to back the hell off, but she was a scrawny fourteen-year-old and completely outclassed. Jerry Norman was strong when he was sober. Drunk, he was strong and mean.
The fight escalated until his enraged bellowing took over, nearly drowning out the sound of fists meeting flesh, toppled furniture and muffled, hopeless sobs. One more loud clatter and the house fell silent.
Grace quivered in fear and anger, physically restraining Blake from rushing out after Mom. When Jerry was like this, there was nothing a seven-year-old could do but accumulate more bruises and broken bones.
Footsteps came closer, too loud to be Mom’s. The refrigerator opened, spilling a sliver of light in through the gap under the pantry door. There was the hiss of a beer being opened and the metallic clatter of the cap hitting the floor. Heavy footsteps went back the way they’d come.
Grace waited for Mom to come get them, to tell them that the worst was over. She would wipe away any blood and hide her face, but Grace would see the pain in the way Mom walked, in the way her shoulders hunched or the way she held her ribs.
Blake pried her hand away. “Let me go.”
“Not yet. You know the rules. We stay here until Mom comes,” she whispered.
Jerry would be asleep soon and they’d all be safe for a few hours. Grace would help Mom clean up, get her an ice pack and pray that this time would be different.
Too much time passed. Jerry’s snores sounded from upstairs, shaking the thin walls.
Grace let Blake go and opened the door. “Be quiet.”
“I know,” he snapped in a tone so much like his father that it terrified her.
He was a few steps in front of her when he came to a sudden halt outside the kitchen doorway. There, lying on the crumpled remains of the coffee table, was Mom. One arm was bent awkwardly behind her. Blood dripped from her chin onto the carpet.
Grace stood frozen, unable to make sense of what she saw.
This wasn’t how things went. Mom was supposed to get up and tell them it was all going to be okay. She was supposed to make excuses for the pitiful man she’d married—the only father Grace had ever known.
He’ll never do it again. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have made him angry. Those were the words Mom was supposed to say now—the lies she always told. And believed.
Blake rushed to Mom’s side, shaking her. “Wake up!”
His voice was too frantic. Too loud. He was going to wake up Jerry, and his next target was always Grace.
“Shh,” she hissed. In that moment, shame consumed her. Her mother lay unconscious on the floor, and all she could think about was what Jerry would do to her if Blake woke him up.
She didn’t dare cross the room. She couldn’t stand knowing the truth. Not yet. Right now, she could still pretend that everything was going to be okay, that Mom would get up and their lives would go on like they always had.
She dialed 911 with numb fingers and held Mom’s hand while they waited for help to arrive.
Jerry never woke up to help, not even when the paramedics carried Mom away.
Grace opened her eyes and saw Brenya’s sad face.
“What did you do to me?” whispered Grace. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and that deep, aching sense of shame and loss clung to her.
“I released the knowledge you needed. The space it emptied had to be filled with something else, so I let you see what was always yours.”
“Those were my memories,” said Grace, knowing it was true. She could remember every heartbreaking minute of that night, how the doctor had come out and told them that Mom was never going to wake up again. How Jerry had told Grace that if she reported what he’d done, both she and Blake would go live in foster care and probably never see each other again. He’d told her he would get help, be a better father.
Brenya paused, as if thinking carefully about her words before she spoke. “For the purpose of this journey, he will treat you as such. I would demand no less from your protector.”
“Are you sure he will agree?”
“He will do as I command. As will you.” Even as weary as Brenya looked, she still reeked of power—power Grace would probably never understand.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Torr will guide you through the journey, but it will be your job to seek the portal the Masons build even now. Once you find it and are sure the Masons have left this world, you will destroy it.”
“I will? How?”
“There is a place on the far side of the southern village. In it are large black stones. Deep within those stones are the weapons you need to destroy the portal.”
“Is there a map?”
Brenya leaned forward and grasped the sides of Grace’s face in her hands. Her skin was warm and dry, like sunlit parchment. A familiar scent lingered on her shaggy clothes, lulling Grace into a drowsy, relaxed state.
“You already have the map, child. I gave it to you years ago, never once thinking I would need to awaken it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. I had hoped to save you from what I took from you, but it was not to be. There can be no voids in you. They are unnatural and must be filled.”
Grace frowned and tried to shake her head, but Brenya’s grip held her still. “What voids?”
“Once I awaken the knowledge you need, the hole it once filled will be empty. You will reopen the memory that used to live in that hole. For that I am truly sorry.”
Power seethed just below Brenya’s skin. Grace could feel it thrashing against her, seeking entrance. Her head started to throb, and her stomach lurched with sickening intent.
She grabbed Brenya’s hands, trying to pry them away from her head, but it was no use. The older woman was too strong, despite her fragile appearance.
“Stop,” begged Grace. “You’re scaring me.”
Brenya’s eyes brightened, frothing and frosty. “You are not yet scared, child. But you will be.”
Chapter 12
Grace hid in the pantry, covering her stepbrother’s mouth. Soapsuds dripped from her fingers, making Blake’s skin slippery.
She’d been washing dishes when her stepfather had sloshed up the driveway, taking out one of Mom’s rosebushes. There hadn’t been time to dry her hands before Mom shoved her and Blake into hiding, fearing the worst.
“He won’t find you if you’re quiet,” Mom said.
The fight started like it always did. His voice raised in anger, Mom’s quiet with humble apology for something she probably hadn’t even done.
Grace wanted to shout at him and force him to back the hell off, but she was a scrawny fourteen-year-old and completely outclassed. Jerry Norman was strong when he was sober. Drunk, he was strong and mean.
The fight escalated until his enraged bellowing took over, nearly drowning out the sound of fists meeting flesh, toppled furniture and muffled, hopeless sobs. One more loud clatter and the house fell silent.
Grace quivered in fear and anger, physically restraining Blake from rushing out after Mom. When Jerry was like this, there was nothing a seven-year-old could do but accumulate more bruises and broken bones.
Footsteps came closer, too loud to be Mom’s. The refrigerator opened, spilling a sliver of light in through the gap under the pantry door. There was the hiss of a beer being opened and the metallic clatter of the cap hitting the floor. Heavy footsteps went back the way they’d come.
Grace waited for Mom to come get them, to tell them that the worst was over. She would wipe away any blood and hide her face, but Grace would see the pain in the way Mom walked, in the way her shoulders hunched or the way she held her ribs.
Blake pried her hand away. “Let me go.”
“Not yet. You know the rules. We stay here until Mom comes,” she whispered.
Jerry would be asleep soon and they’d all be safe for a few hours. Grace would help Mom clean up, get her an ice pack and pray that this time would be different.
Too much time passed. Jerry’s snores sounded from upstairs, shaking the thin walls.
Grace let Blake go and opened the door. “Be quiet.”
“I know,” he snapped in a tone so much like his father that it terrified her.
He was a few steps in front of her when he came to a sudden halt outside the kitchen doorway. There, lying on the crumpled remains of the coffee table, was Mom. One arm was bent awkwardly behind her. Blood dripped from her chin onto the carpet.
Grace stood frozen, unable to make sense of what she saw.
This wasn’t how things went. Mom was supposed to get up and tell them it was all going to be okay. She was supposed to make excuses for the pitiful man she’d married—the only father Grace had ever known.
He’ll never do it again. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have made him angry. Those were the words Mom was supposed to say now—the lies she always told. And believed.
Blake rushed to Mom’s side, shaking her. “Wake up!”
His voice was too frantic. Too loud. He was going to wake up Jerry, and his next target was always Grace.
“Shh,” she hissed. In that moment, shame consumed her. Her mother lay unconscious on the floor, and all she could think about was what Jerry would do to her if Blake woke him up.
She didn’t dare cross the room. She couldn’t stand knowing the truth. Not yet. Right now, she could still pretend that everything was going to be okay, that Mom would get up and their lives would go on like they always had.
She dialed 911 with numb fingers and held Mom’s hand while they waited for help to arrive.
Jerry never woke up to help, not even when the paramedics carried Mom away.
Grace opened her eyes and saw Brenya’s sad face.
“What did you do to me?” whispered Grace. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and that deep, aching sense of shame and loss clung to her.
“I released the knowledge you needed. The space it emptied had to be filled with something else, so I let you see what was always yours.”
“Those were my memories,” said Grace, knowing it was true. She could remember every heartbreaking minute of that night, how the doctor had come out and told them that Mom was never going to wake up again. How Jerry had told Grace that if she reported what he’d done, both she and Blake would go live in foster care and probably never see each other again. He’d told her he would get help, be a better father.
