EverWorld (Book 3 of the Down World Series)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Once we were out in the patio, Layla headed for the large table where we'd had dinner and grabbed a shawl off her mother's chair. I was surprised when she held it out to me, her eyebrows raised in a look of offering.

"I'm okay, thanks."

"Take it. You're shivering."

She was right, I was. I hadn't realized it until she said something. But the early morning air wasn't cold. If anything, it was refreshing. I must have still been weak from the surgery. I wrapped the shawl around me, and it smelled like Elaheh's musty perfume mixed with other spices from the kitchen.

"We can sit over here," she said, gesturing to the cushion-covered wooden benches on the front porch. "No one will be up for a while."

"Thank you," I said, not sure why Layla was suddenly being polite. But then it hit me: she clearly didn't like me, but I was brought here to save Brady. And that was obviously something she was desperate to do.

"They should have told you," she began once were sitting.

"Hmm?"

She nodded to my head, to the place where my peripheral vision kept catching hints of the glowing red light that would now be with me forever. "I said as much, but my mother still thinks I'm a kid. She always knows best."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"I'm nineteen."

"I know."

She brought her knees up under her, and her hands began braiding the fringe that dangled from one of the throw pillows. It was funny—somehow it reminded me of Brady. He was constantly fidgeting with his hands. A remnant from when he used to smoke.

"Layla—"

Her eyes darted up to me when I said her name, but then immediately reverted to the pillow. I saw suddenly how hard she was trying to be brave. She was a slight girl with skinny, long fingers a shade darker than mine. I could see the outline of bones in her knees as she bent them under her, giving the impression of a bird with a broken wing.

I cleared my throat and started again. "Layla, I would do anything to save Brady. I really would."

She nodded, but she wouldn't look at me.

"He's saved me before—"

"I know everything about you," she said now in a crisp, certain voice. She finally looked at me with a newfound confidence. "You don't have to tell me. Brady tells me everything—everything. We don't have secrets. We wouldn't have them even if it weren't for..." she gestured vaguely towards her temple.

"Well, no offense, but how can you know that? How long have you had that thing anyway?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but then something strange happened. Her red indicator light pulsed ever so slightly with a stronger signal. Then it returned to normal. Her eyes darted left and then right, almost like...like she was trying to think of something true she could say without revealing anything. "That is something you don't need to know," she finally managed.

I felt a deep and urgent breath force its way into my lungs. She was trapped, I realized. Trapped by that horrible thing in her head, monitoring her every speech. Her every thought. It was a prison.

A prison that I was now in with her.

"I'm so sorry, Layla. But I don't know how to fix these things. I really don't. I haven't invented them yet. I wouldn't even know—"

"It's in your brain, you idiot!"

I sat back in shock. The words had burst out of her. She must have surprised herself as well because her head turned forcefully away, like she was wrestling her thoughts back down into her throat. Then she made a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough.