The Rift by Rachael Craw

Author:Rachael Craw [Craw, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760650094
Publisher: Walker Books Australia
Published: 2018-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

GOD’S GIFT

Meg’s face burns. Her ears burn. Cal glowers at the leaf then glowers at her, that hazel eye scorching a path right through her. She’s so hot she wishes she could strip to her skin and lie on the half-frozen ground. After everything she overheard last night, and her subsequent interrogation of Joss – and Rilke grudgingly filling the blanks – the idea of Reeva delivering a mint leaf shouldn’t be the impossible detail.

It’s hardly less likely than a dimensional portal, Rift Hounds or magic deer. Certainly more believable than a telepathic hotline to said magic deer or animal bond-scouts that give their Rangers second sight. If anyone gets to be outraged and disbelieving, it’s her. Finding out that the stories she grew up with were historical facts and not myth and legend is a pretty big ask; she had to put her head between her knees for a solid twenty minutes. By comparison, Meg’s suggestion that Cal had summoned her to Little Peak is perfectly reasonable.

Her humiliation is only heightened by the flood of Reeva’s telepathic snapshots confirming her suspicions. Cal can see what she sees. Has seen? Will see? The tiny secret part of her tempted to find this exciting is swiftly extinguished by his prolonged glower. Clearly, he didn’t send the leaf. He doesn’t want her here. He’s horrified by the suggestion, offended by her use of his belongings and appalled at the idea that she is any wiser about the secrets of Black Water Island. Meg would like to punch him in his perfect jaw, though, judging by his bruises, someone already has.

“How …” Cal runs his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What exactly do you think is … I mean, how is this even …? Joss, can I speak to you outside?” He dumps the blanket on a barrel and turns sharply, forcing Reeva to unfurl her wings with a snap to keep her balance. She produces a loud grumble.

Meg gapes at Cal’s departing back, the stiffness of his posture and bunched fists. “Who exactly does he think he is?” she says, not troubling to lower her voice.

“God’s gift to Black Water,” Rilke mutters.

Joss points his finger at his cousin’s chest. “What did I say?”

Rilke rolls her eyes. “I’m not starting anything.”

With an apologetic grimace, Joss jogs after Cal, who strides towards the forest like he has a murder to commit.

“I have a right to be here,” Meg calls after him.

Joss half turns, patting the air in a shushing gesture. At the same time Rilke places a silencing hand on her shoulder.

Meg drops her voice, hissing, “If anyone gets to be furious, it’s me.”

“No argument here.”

“Rangers and their secrets.” She marches across the barn, shakes out her jersey and rams it over her head. Sitting heavily on an upturned grain sack, she jams her feet into her hiking boots and yanks her laces into knots. Rising, she whips her coat from the hook by the woodpile. The image of

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