Descendant

by Giles, Nichole

  Kye braces me with a hand on my back. I turn into him, wind my arms around his waist, tuck my face into his neck. We stay like this, our bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces, unmoving and unbreakable, until a salesperson shoos us away.

  Shaking his head about my choice of outerwear, Kye drapes the wrap over my shoulders. “Tell her to buy a coat and she picks out a blanket with holes for arms.”

  “It’s called style.” I drop my wallet and camera in his jacket pocket.

  He offers his elbow and escorts me outside, saying, “You better not end up with pneumonia.”

  The show is amazing; Christine’s terror, the hypnotic Phantom, Raoul’s haunting voice. My chest aches with emotion and tears pool in my eyes as I clutch Kye’s hand, watching the story unfold. We stand for the curtain call, clapping until my palms are sore, then Kye slides his arm around my waist. “We should get going.”

  We stop in front of the theater to pose for a few snapshots, and then Kye puts the camera away and brushes a soft kiss across my lips. I grab his lapel and pull him closer, kiss him harder, afraid to let go. What will happen when we get home? He pulls away with a shaky breath. “We should find a cab.”

  I nod, shivering with nerves.

  “You’re cold.” Kye shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders over the top of my wrap.

  “Not really.” But I put my arms through the sleeves and hold the jacket close, breathing in his scent. I’ll never forget this day—this entire trip—with Kye. Glowing energy spreads from the top of my head, pouring like soft, warm liquid to the tips of my toes.

  My heart will shatter if I have to let him go, but nothing in the past or future can change what’s between us right now. I’ll never forget what he is to me, always. And what he can’t be.

  Unless we fracture the curse. Reverse the spell.

  The line for cabs is long, so we cross the street and walk another block. Not far from the theater, an eerie feeling of danger ripples in the air. I open my mouth to warn Kye, but before I can make a sound, someone grabs me from behind, wrenching me out of Kye’s grasp.

  Then all I can do is scream.

  THIRTY

  Self-Defense

  “Kye!”

  Abby!” he screams.

  With my arms pinned to my sides, I’m dragged backwards into an alley, losing sight of him.

  “Didn’t think you could hide forever, did you?” The gravelly voice belongs to Juri.

  I kick him, struggling to free myself while he hauls me into the shadows. “Let me go.”

  His breath is hot in my ear as he cuffs my wrists together behind me. “I don’t think so, princess.” Juri runs his hand down the side of my jaw—a mocking caress—and I shudder. “You’ve given me more trouble than expected.”

  “Back atcha.” I try not to swallow, letting the saliva pool in my mouth so I can spit in his face when the angle is right.

  “Landon always had too much faith in people. Some things never change.”

  Wishing I could turn around and see his face, I say nothing.

  “You know, you interest me. Raina always interested me. Pretty enough to start the whole bloody Elen war. Pretty. Not beautiful, not breathtaking or stunning. Just pretty. A woman who can cause a cataclysm of that proportion is a curious thing. Makes a man wonder about her other attributes.”

  I shudder again. Disgusted. Terrified. Where is Kye?

  Juri’s fingers trace my collarbone and caress the necklace at my throat. “This is an added bonus,” he says, wrapping his fingers around the center stone. “Two prized items in one. Saves me some work.” I think he’s going to yank it off, but he lets it drop as his hand moves lower to cup my breast.

  My mouth goes dry. Run away. Get away, run away, get away. Shaking, I hit, scream, kick, gouge. But Juri has a firm grip on my wrists. I’m trapped.

  “I love a girl who fights.” He heaves me off my feet and dumps me on the ground, my hip thudding on the cold concrete. The rough surface scrapes the skin off my elbows and shoots pain up my arms. Desperate, I continue screaming, struggling.

  “If you stop fighting, I’ll make it less painful. You’ll never escape on your own.” Breath wheezes in and out of his mouth. He drops to his knees, his hands fumbling with his belt buckle. No. My sandal heel scrapes across the ground as I pick up my foot and kick, connect with his groin. Juri falls on his side, howling. My hip throbs as I drag myself up to stand, to run. My entire body feels bruised.

  Without Kye, I’m not fast. Juri tackles me again a few feet away. His amber eyes glint and an angry sound rumbles in his chest. “You don’t know when to stop, do you? Tell you what. I’ll be gentle with you if you give me the ring first.”

  “I’d rather die than have your hands on me,” I say through ragged breaths.

  “I can arrange that.” He yanks me up by the front of my dress and pins me against the brick wall, breath streaming out like a mouthful of smoke. His right arm pulses with a greenish glow and the skin—starting from the tips of his fingers—rolls back over his elbow, the bone mutating into a gleaming white sword.

  Before I can process what’s happened, the sharp edge of his blade is pressed against my throat.

  My insides clench and I’m frozen in terror when he fumbles with his belt, the button on his pants. The blade bites into my skin, deeper with his every move, and a trickle of blood rolls down my neck. Juri’s teeth graze my ear with a feral hunger as he nudges aside Kye’s jacket and bites my shoulder until he draws blood.

  As pain blossoms across my entire shoulder, a void breaks open inside me, a wide chasm of distance that tells me Kye will not come charging to my rescue this time, because he’s gone. Taken far away. My ring, powerful in his presence, is now still, dormant.

  Gram’s voice echoes in my head. Concentrate, Abby. Find the light inside you. Knowledge is power.

  Still struggling against my captor, I close my eyes, digging deeper than I ever have, searching for anything that will help me.

  I will not give up. I will not give in.

  Juri lowers his sword to slice open a slit in my dress, and finally my self-defense instinct kicks in. I wrench my arm free and aim for his face with the heel of my hand. The impact sends a shockwave up my arm. He screams, blood spurting from his nose.

  While he’s disoriented, I whirl around and plunge my spiked heel into his upper thigh. He shrieks, and I yank my shoe out with a sickening pop, watching as a river of blood oozes down his leg.

  He thrusts the sword under my chin, cutting a thin line of skin all the way across. The back of my head hits the wall and pain explodes in my skull.

  “Kick me again, and you’ll lose that pretty head of yours. We only need your heart and a few vials of blood to take your powers.”

  Bile rises in my mouth, but I swallow it, allowing anger to override fear. Balling my hand into a fist, I swing hard and low, catching him in the gut.

  As he doubles over, stubby spikes force through his scalp and a sharp, hot pain rips into my thigh where Juri’s sword stabs, just below the slit in my dress. Blood spills from the wound, surging down my leg.

  Black spots swim in front of my eyes and I force them away, knowing I won’t survive if I pass out. “Kye!” I cry feebly, picturing his face.

  “He won’t be saving you today, princess. I’m afraid he’s busy—if Tynan hasn’t killed him already.” Juri twists the sword in my leg, sending searing fire through my body, and I scream in agony.

  I hear Gram’s voice, louder this time, and stronger. Find the light.

  A warm breeze catches my hair. I reach deep, gather all my courage, all my strength, and bring it up until my body shakes with unused power. The gemstones against my throat, in my ears, and on my finger heat and glow until I’m surrounded by a pocket of light. Juri’s sword is forced out of my thigh and he falls back, looking afraid.

  I’ve never experienced power like this, but I somehow know how to use it. In a flash of brilliant light, I cross my arms over my c
hest and fling energy at Juri. He flies backward with the force of a speeding car and hits the brick so hard that pieces of it crumble, raining on his head while he lies face-down on the pavement, unconscious.

  There is nothing left for me to do now except run.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Desperate

  Adrenaline propels me to the street where I last saw Kye. Blood pours down my leg at an alarming rate. All pain and feeling is now centered in my throbbing wound, while the rest of me feels numb.

  Tears streak my cheeks as I wrap Kye’s jacket around me, stumbling down the street with no idea where I’m going or what I should do next. “Kye!” I sob, knowing he can’t hear me. “Kye. I need you.” A cold breeze blows past, wraps around me like a glacial funnel, sparkling with crystals of black ice, and I feel a frighteningly familiar tingling sensation.

  Less than a block away, a group of people huddle together, laughing and carrying on a conversation, but none of them notices me, or the man who materializes out of thin air, here to terrorize me further. “Hello, Raina.”

  The first time we met, I didn’t pay close enough attention to see that Tynan and Kye have the same facial structure. They’re the same height, the same build, and have similar voices. They have different hair colors, skin tone, and eyes, but otherwise, they could be twins.

  Polar opposites, like the babies we saw in the Cairn Elen.

  “Where’s Kye?” I choke, fighting the black spots again. “What have you done with him?”

  “He’s gone to where it started.”

  A vision—short but strong.

  Kye hangs by his arms from a ceiling in a dim room. Blood trickles down his face, past his swollen, bruised eyes, and soaks into the dirt beneath his feet where a large, reddish stain spreads into a puddle.

  I stagger. “What do you want? You’ve already cursed us to death. Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

  “Happy to—as soon as you set me free. Unseal the door you closed, undo the curse binding me here.” He blinks out of focus, like an image projected from a camera. “You must deliver the remaining Keys into the jaws of the beast. Free the lost civilization and restore the true order of Dryden.”

  “What does that mean?” Tynan’s image blinks again, fades away. “And where do I go?” It does me no good. Tynan’s gone.

  Black spots pop and float in my eyes, and the toes on my right foot feel numb from lack of blood. One step at a time, I move forward. I brace against a building so I can assess the damage. The cut on my neck is shallow but should still be treated, and blood gushes from the wound in my leg. This one needs to be cleaned and bound to protect against germs and the cold, dirty air, and to prevent me from losing too much blood. I’m grateful Juri didn’t hit an artery—I’d be dead already.

  Kye is too far away to help me now. I have ten dollars in my wallet, which is still in the pocket of Kye’s jacket. If I go to a hospital, no one will believe the truth and I’ll miss my plane. It shouldn’t matter, but going back to Jackson is the only thing I can think to do. Kye’s dad was going to meet us there, so he’s probably already on his way. It’s the only place where I can get help. If I can find a way to get to the airport on time, and not bleed to death.

  I rub my neck where Juri’s knife sliced, swearing when my fingers come away red.

  Tears of anger and frustration burn my eyes, and I let them fall. Healing is about taking broken energy into a whole vessel and sending it back repaired. Gram never taught me how to Heal myself. Drops of cold water drip into my hair from somewhere high above, and I bury my face in my hands, sobbing as the cold seeps all the way to my bones.

  Use pressure to stop the bleeding.

  Gram’s voice.

  Swallowing another sob, I rip a strip off the bottom of my new dress and tie it around my leg, pull tight until the circulation slows. Pain burns all the way down—I won’t be able to walk far—but I brace my hands against the wall and limp stiffly forward.

  Once again, I clutch Kye’s jacket closed at the neck, taking strength from his unique woodsy scent while hiding my injury. Feeling a smidgen of energy Kye left behind, I wrap my arms around myself to absorb whatever I can. A stiff crackle from inside the breast pocket leads me to one of the crisp fifty-dollar bills Kye withdrew from an ATM while we were shopping. Maybe it’s enough. I hail a cab.

  “Newark airport, please. And hurry, I’m going to miss my plane.”

  The dark-haired man turns, and I cower, half expecting violet eyes and a wicked sneer. “You sure you don’t want a hospital?” he asks. “Looks like you need stitches.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have time. It may already be too late.”

  “Suit yourself.” As we shoot into traffic, I dig through my cosmetic bag until I find my homemade Healing ointment and smear a liberal amount on my neck, hoping it works fast. Then I lean back and stare out the window, watching the crowds, lights, and neon signs fade into the distance. When I’m sure we’re out of the danger zone, I focus my third eye on Kye, trying to see where he’s been taken or what’s being done to him.

  Clouds of steam pour out of a cave protected by a boiling pool of gray liquid. Bits of greenery fight through the dirt in patches. Farther away, several feet of snow are piled high, but there’s none near the mouth of the cave. More steam puffs out and a roar, like that of a dragon or a waterfall, fills my ears.

  “You’re bleeding through.” The driver’s voice breaks my concentration. I glance down, and see that he’s right. A bright red circle is forming on the outside of my makeshift bandage.

  “You know,” he continues, casually. “Security probably won’t let you board, bad as you’re bleeding. Having passengers die in the air don’t make for good press.”

  My heart sinks. Of course not. “What should I do? I have to make that plane.” I’m not exactly asking him—a complete stranger—so much as I’m asking the universe, which seems to be out to get me lately.

  “I don’t know, lady. I’m not a doctor or an airline official. I just call it like I see it.”

  Swallowing another lump, I unwrap the bandage. Though the flow of blood has slowed significantly, I’m still losing too much. My driver’s right. If I leave the wound open, they won’t let me on the plane. In fact, I need to clean up a lot if I want to make it through security.

  My eyes fill with tears as I press down on the fabric, try to force the blood to clot, desperately humming Healing tones I only vaguely remember from Gram’s lessons and leaning over so the pendant can swing in a clockwise circle above my leg wound. As the pain eases, I focus my concentration harder. Maybe it will work. Maybe.

  Clots of blood coagulate inside the cut as the Healing process cleans, and then begins to mend. I watch in fascination as the muscles and tissues shrink and then slowly knit back together, bit by bit like a vacuum. The action sucks the oxygen out of the car until I can’t catch a breath. “Hey, can we roll down a window?”

  Outside, horns are honking wildly, people shouting.

  When the driver doesn’t respond, I look up and realize he’s slumped in his seat, breathing shallow. We’re stopped in the middle of the road.

  I lean over the seat, shove the driver back, and hit the automatic window button, worried he’s passed out from lack of oxygen. “I’ll take over from here.”

  My wound isn’t completely closed, but the bleeding has slowed enough that a good strong bandage will hold it for a while.

  Careful of speeding traffic, I swing the door open and shimmy into the driver’s seat—shoving the man out of the way. “I’m really sorry, mister. I don’t think I could lift you.” With my uninjured left leg, I press gently on the gas—worried, because I’ve never in my life used my left foot to drive. The car jerks forward, and I let up a bit. The driver’s body slumps against me and I push him away again.

  Then I notice the blood.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Murtagh

  The driver’s pant leg is stained dark red from blood oozing out of his thigh. A h
eavy ball of guilt settles in my stomach as my mind reels. “I ... what the ... this is ...” I can’t form coherent sentences, but as my brain swirls, I must have unintentionally used the driver—the nearest whole vessel—to Heal myself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I pat the man’s arm, as if that makes it better. “Please, please wake up.” He stirs, moans, but doesn’t open his eyes. Cold air, perfumed with asphalt and car emissions, streams through the open window, and I let it slap me in the face, praying for a miracle.

  Unless I figure out how to get to the airport on my own, I’ll never make the plane. Tears slide down my cheeks and I swipe at them with the sleeve of Kye’s jacket Just outside the tunnel, a buzzing dragonfly zooms through the open window and lands on the dash. I’m too busy scanning the sky for signs of landing planes to worry about it—until it starts talking.

  “Why you cry, mo chara?”

  My foot slides off the pedal and the cab slows. I stare at the dragonfly, squinting through my tears. “What?”

  “You need help, no? Pray the goddess, not?” The little bug flits around, hovering near the cabbie’s bleeding wound. I pull to a stop on side of the road. The lump in my throat grows from golf ball to baseball size and I swallow around it. “It was an accident.”

  When I look again, I realize he isn’t a dragonfly, but a sprite with a set of rapidly fluttering iridescent wings. His blue skin and yellow hair—along with his size—work together to give him the appearance of an insect, but now that I’ve experienced a faery party, I know better.

  He clucks his tongue at my cab driver, who’s slumped against the passenger window, and flits between my Healing leg and the driver’s wounded one. “Transference, yes?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  After a long string of untranslatable phrases, the sprite finally seems to realize I don’t understand him. Switching to broken English, he strokes his chin and points at the unconscious man. “You heal self. Use him.”