Evelyn Snow
Edinburgh,Present
The car ride to The Offering is quiet. Benedict’s leg is bouncing next to me, and my hand is sweaty and slick against his, our fingers laced tightly. The city is beautiful, and I hope we’re able to see it one of these days. Old, stone buildings line the streets, and old-fashioned lampposts give everything an eerie, sleepy feeling. Though the streets are still dense with people, a somber quietness has taken over the city. The crags and hills, mixed with the tall spires of dark stone… it’s like I’m in some sort of broken fairytale. The driver leads us to a secluded corner of the city—touted as the oldest section of Edinburgh. I step out to a grimy, cobblestone street, traditional, single-paned windows, and right before us, a non-discrete, windowless white van.
As we walk up to it, the side slides open, and Hayes leers at us, grinning maniacally. Ushering us in quickly, he slams the doors behind us. I gasp as I look around. Computers, screens, and an entire switchboard of electronics line one wall, and a man in all black sits in front of them in a chair.
“I’m Edward,” he says, nodding at us. “Nice to see you again, Benedict.”
“Hey,” Benedict says, smiling. They shake hands. “This is Evelyn. She’ll be accompanying me. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Is she getting wired, too?” Edward asks, sorting through a box on the desk before him.
“No,” Benedict answers automatically. He turns to me. “Unless… you want to.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It’ll be hard with that dress,” Edward says, and Hayes chuckles from across the van. He’s leaning back and watching us.
“Just me then,” Benedict grinds out. I see him scowl at Hayes.
“Do you want to discuss the plan one more time?” Hayes asks, crossing a leg over his knee. He’s in jeans, converse, and a black jacket.
“I’m good,” Benedict says, his voice low. I see him check his phone.
“We’ll be listening in,” Edward chimes in, murmuring. “We’ll be able to see you, hear you, track you…”
He tugs something out of Benedict’s jacket pocket, and I realize it’s his mask. He meticulously glues the tiniest camera I’ve ever seen—a black dot the size of a ladybug—while threading a wire through the back of his mask. Benedict removes his white shirt, and Edward tapes wires against his bronzed skin, connecting them to the camera by trailing the wire behind his ear, down the nape of his neck, and around his shoulders. I swallow as Benedict puts his shirt on, and then his suit jacket. The lapel mixed with the shagginess of the back of his hair means the wire is completely hidden. Edward ties his mask on for him, ensuring the wire and camera are secure.
“Evelyn,” he commands, looking at me. I scoot over to him, and he takes my mask out and gestures for me to turn around.
My breath catches in my throat, my palms sweaty, as he tightens the mask across my face. I swallow several times, and then I look at him. The edges of his mouth curl up into a wicked grin.
“Testing, one, two, three,” Benedict utters.
Edward gives us both a thumbs up, and points to the screen. A small black and white picture of the van—and my cleavage—fill two of the monitors.
“Maybe try to look at something other than Evelyn’s tits,” Hayes drawls. He’s looking at his phone.
I blush.
Benedict checks his phone again. A wave of doubt flows through me. He’s acting nervous. Why? If this is so rehearsed, if they’re recording everything, why is he nervous?
“It’s almost nine,” Benedict murmurs. He reaches for my hand. “Shall we?”
I nod, and we climb out of the van, looking both ways in case anyone is watching us. Hayes hangs off the door and looks at Benedict, his eyes dull and his posture resigned. Benedict turns to face him.
“You know what to do,” Benedict says, and before I can register his words, he leans in and gives Hayes a bear hug. Hayes pulls away, and I swear his eyes are wet. He turns and slams the van door closed.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Everyone’s acting like you’re about to fucking die.”
Benedict turns to me. “As with anything, there’s a risk.” He adjusts his mask. “I have faith in our team.”
He walks up to me and hands me a cloak. I throw it on petulantly, clenching my jaw as he helps me free my hair from the collar. He bends down, pulling the hood up and over my face, and then he does the same thing to himself. If anyone were to pass us by, they’d run away screaming.
We’re death incarnate.
“This is going to work,” he murmurs, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips before kissing and releasing it.
