Page 148 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“It’s Brinkley,” he had replied with a sigh, but his eyes sparkled. “Anytime.”
Halpert was the last to give her a hug, pulling her into him with a fierceness that she was surprised, yet gratified by. He pulled away and gave her a watery smile. “Be careful, be wise,” he said, and then set his gaze to Silas. “Both of you.”
Silas nodded, reaching to shake his hand, and then they were stepping out the door.
Amelia turned back to glance one more time at the gathering of people who had become an unlikely group of friends, people they had trusted with the direst of secrets, before she turned away and stepped towards fate, with Silas at her side.
They travelled south together, moving through East Town and beyond quickly until the sun was casting an orange glow across the land.
She could feel the Rift before seeing it, a presence ahead that settled over her skin, slithering into her veins. The magic within her rose its head, looking around with interest, as though the Rift called to it.
They reached it quicker than she had anticipated, both pausing when it came into view while cresting a small grassy hill.
The sandy, desolate stretch of land was there, like a pale scar.
“It’s so close to East Town,” Silas remarked, hooking his thumbs around his backpack straps.
Amelia nodded, before pointing. “The markers.”
A fresh wooden marker was pushed into the soil at the edge of the Rift, but when looking beyond, into the blighted land,there were several. Jutting from the earth in regular intervals and disappearing into the Rift.
“We been trackin’ ‘em daily,” came a voice to her left and she jumped in surprise, head whipping to an older man who came to stand beside them wearing a bright yellow vest. Silas’ hand came around her arm as he, too, was startled. They looked upon the casual stance of the man and the weathered, but kind face, his arms laden down by wooden stakes.
The man turned his head, grey brows furrowing as he looked them over, spying their backpacks.
“You ain’t going in there, are ya?” he asked. “It’s all gettin’ worse. Hardly nobody comes back out any longer. Sandstorms almost every night, and don’t even get me started on them Crawlers.”
Her heart turned over uncomfortably at the reminder of thosethings. That night in the Rift, hunted and haunted, was nothing but nightmare fuel. And now they were purposefully going back.
“We’re scientists,” Silas said with confidence. “We’ve been sent by the Spire to conduct important research on the Rift’s growth.”
The man looked at them dubiously. “I see. You ain’t the first, and I’m bettin’ you ain’t the last. Take care younglings.” He hoisted the stakes up into his arms and walked away again, heading towards a large canvas tent erected near a spindly-looking tree, where an older woman stood, wearing the same yellow vest.
Amelia looked around. There was plenty of flat land for her to set up her own tent. She sighed. “I guess here’s as good a place as any.”
“Yeah,” was all Silas said, as he reached for her, taking her pack, and sliding it from her shoulders.
They worked quietly, the tension creating a strange barrier between them that she wished didn’t exist. He helped her set up the small one-person tent. He checked over her supplies, his fingers constantly touching the arcane crystals as though he needed to be sure she had them, that she would be safe.
The sun dipped low, and her heart was beginning to clench. Amelia knew he needed to go, but she wasn’t ready to be left alone.
They stood by the opening of her tent, and her fingers shook as Silas gathered his things, pulling his pack on and blowing out a long breath. Amelia brought out the pendant, and placed it around her neck, letting it fall to the centre of her chest, humming with its magic.
He looked over at her.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” Silas asked, as though he needed to hear one more time.
“I couldn’t be more sure,” she answered. “This is going to work, Finley.”
He chuckled softly. “Still won’t call me Silas?”
The corners of her mouth tipped up. “I’m not sure you can handle it,” she joked.
He smiled then, the first true smile she had seen from him in days. He reached up and took a curl, one that had escaped the messy bun atop her head, lacing it around his finger. “You’re probably right,” he admitted.
He took in a deep breath and then let her go, stepping back.
“Right then, Winslow,” Silas said, taking out his Waystone chip, “it’s time.”
