The Last Dreamwalker by Rita Woods

Author:Rita Woods
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group

16

High above, the sky stretched an endless robin’s-egg blue, the sun bleaching sea and sand to shades of silver and white.

She was on Scotia Island. Far below, tiny sandpipers scurried along the beach.

Layla frowned. Was someone crying? Following the sound, she found herself back near the ruins of Ainsli Green, and there, standing several yards away, were her mother and Charlotte. Somehow, Layla realized, she had entered Charlotte’s dream and instinctively clung to the shadows of the loblolly grove.

It was her mother who was crying. Head bowed, she was wearing a white blouse and white skirt, her hair wild around her head. Charlotte stood in front of her, holding a steaming cup.

“Drink this, Elinor. You need to drink this.”

Layla’s mother shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Charlotte forced the cup into Elinor’s hand. “He did this thing to you. This will make it alright. Like before. You and me. Everything be just like before.”

Elinor, still sobbing, took the cup and drank. As Layla watched, a stain, dark maroon, appeared and began to slowly spread across the front of her mother’s white skirt. Layla gasped. Blood. She could smell it in the air. Even as her mother’s cries dissolved into hiccupping moans, the stain grew larger.

And then it was night. They were on the beach, the full moon reflecting bright off the water. Shaken, Layla held herself still. Her mother and Charlotte were only a few yards away, but they seemed oblivious to her presence. Her mother, still wearing the same blood-soaked skirt, was staring out over the water, her anger palpable even from a distance.

“Elinor?” Charlotte sounded uncertain, frightened.

“He did this thing. You said that. And you were right,” said Elinor, her voice hard, barely recognizable. “Justice is not a sin.”

She held out one hand. Charlotte hesitated for a long moment, then took it, and the two girls turned toward the trees lining the beach. Seconds later, a man emerged onto the sand. He was young, well built. Barefoot and shirtless, he was carrying a gun, and Layla unconsciously took a step back.

“Elinor?” Charlotte said again, her voice cracking.

But Layla’s mother said nothing, merely clasped her cousin’s hand and watched as the man made his way down to the water’s edge.

Layla frowned. Something was off in the way the man moved, in the way he carried his rifle. Almost as if he was … sleepwalking.

Alarm spiraled through her.

This was wrong.

Something about this was very wrong.

Layla stepped forward. To call a warning. To intervene. To …

Whatever her intention had been, it was forever lost as the man walked to the water’s edge, placed the gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Layla staggered backward, mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. And then Charlotte was there, eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“What…?” said Layla. “What did…”

She was shaking badly, unwilling, unable to complete the question.

“Pretty clothes. Pretty life,” whispered Charlotte, leaning close. Her skin smelled sweet. “Lies. You. The only daughter. Lies.”

Layla backed away and Charlotte followed.

“No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin.

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