Descendant

by Giles, Nichole

  I shrug. “Sorry, I don’t—”

  “Man un-powerful. No Gift.”

  “Yes—I mean, no. He—I’m the one who—I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I ...” I pause to swallow another lump. “I have to get to the airport, fast, and I need his help.”

  The sprite nods as if he has the answers to all my problems, but says nothing.

  I blink, wait a few heartbeats, then say, “Can you wake him up?”

  With a slow shake of his head, the sprite clucks his tongue again. “Not a Healer.”

  “Oh.” Of course not. I put the car in gear and merge into traffic, watching the sky again.

  He taps his chest with his thumbs. “Murtagh. Friend.”

  “Abby.” I offer my pinkie to shake. My head pounds and my neck itches like it’s on fire—a sign of healing—so I grind my teeth against the pain. The wound in my leg aches like nothing I’ve ever felt before, even though the bleeding has stopped. “You don’t happen to know how to get to the airport?”

  “Know to flying place. That way. That way.” A light blinks from his middle when he gets excited. “Turn there.”

  By the time the airport lights glow through the windshield, the driver’s eyelids are fluttering. He moans, coming to, and finally opens his eyes.

  “How are you feeling?”

  He squints, focusing first on me—driving his cab—then Murtagh. “What the ...” He sits up straighter as I park behind a white limousine. “A witch!” he yells. “You’re a witch!” He glances at his leg and points a shaky finger at me. “Get out! Get out of my cab. I don’t care what happened to you, I just want you gone. And take your freaky bug with you. Out!”

  His accusation stings. Now I understand why Gram warned against calling myself a witch. It’s become a label, a bad word, a curse. I can’t really blame the guy, though. Look what I did to him. I wonder fleetingly if this is how Gifted people started being labeled in the first place.

  The driver shoves me out the open door and chucks Kye’s jacket at my face. I hug it to my chest, my only possession, and offer money through the open window. My voice shakes. “Thanks for the ride.”

  He snatches the bill, throws the car in gear, and guns the gas, tires barely missing my toes. Murtagh urges me on. “Hasten, cailín girl! Must go.”

  “Right.” A swell of anxiety threatens to drown me when I think about getting on the plane without Kye. I feel like I’m leaving him behind, even though I know I’m not. I know. He isn’t here anymore. And I have to hurry. Find him. Save him.

  I stop outside the automatic doors. “Thanks for your help, Murtagh. I can take it from here.”

  He shakes his head. “No, mo chara. Take you to sacred place. Fly. With you go.”

  For some reason, Murtagh’s words comfort me. It makes me feel better to know I won’t be traveling all alone, even if my companion is a sprite. I slide on Kye’s jacket and hold open a pocket. “All right, then. In you go.”

  Pain surges up my leg into my spine, sending shockwaves through my head with every step as I limp to the restroom to clean myself up. I’m relieved that the cut on my neck now resembles a long scratch, and once I clean off the blood, my leg doesn’t look nearly so scary, either. After smearing some Healing balm on my leg wound, I rinse the bandage and retie it, adjusting my skirt to cover as much as possible. Then I pull on Kye’s jacket and button the front to cover the stains on my dress. It’s not perfect by any means, but I look a lot better than I did when I came in.

  With Murtagh still urging me to hurry, I limp to the checkin counter. The lady looks concerned when she types in my name and gets my flight information. “Honey, you’re one lucky woman. Plane’s already boarding. Luggage?”

  I shake my head, wondering what happened to Kye’s backpack.

  “Speeds things up some.” The woman hands me a boarding pass. “What about your traveling companion? Mr. Kye Murphy?”

  A few tears escape and I wipe them off my cheeks with my fingertips. “He’s not coming.”

  Her fingers pause on the keyboard and her eyes fill with sympathy. “I’ll call the flight attendants, have them hold the plane—but you’ll have to run.”

  I let another tear escape. She calls a skycap to drive me in a cart, and I slide through the security line at warp speed, finally having found a moment of luck. To my relief, they don’t question my injuries, even when I take off Kye’s jacket, so I must have hidden the worst of it well enough. It still takes all my strength to not limp to where the skycap is waiting.

  I’m ushered aboard and settled into first class, glad for once that Kye splurged. The crew seals the door and reads the emergency instructions as we roll onto the tarmac. Then the engines rumble, the pilot makes an announcement, and we hurl into the sky with a jolt.

  The city lights fade as I huddle under a blanket, shaking, chilled all the way through as the adrenaline that has kept me going abates. With the blanket drawn up to my chin, I open my pocket to check on Murtagh. He’s curled into a ball with his wings wrapped around him so he looks like a shiny pebble.

  His inner light pulses and fades, the rhythm of his breathing the only indication he isn’t actually a rock. “Are you okay in there?” I whisper. “Murtagh?”

  He doesn’t answer, but his wings ripple. He’s asleep.

  I prop my head on a pillow and bury my nose in Kye’s jacket, once again searching for his scent. My mind’s too troubled for sleep, but I close my eyes anyway. The way things are going, this will probably be my only chance to rest.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Explanations

  It’s a rough flight. Rather than sleep, I chastise myself for all the should-haves. Should have tried harder to find Kye. Should have called Eoin. Shouldn’t have gone to the play. Should have walked the other direction. What else should I have done?

  Is Kye suffering?

  Am I selfish for getting on the plane?

  Murtagh is still rolled up in my pocket. Maybe I should be suspicious of him, all things considered, but instinct tells me to trust him, and I’m learning to trust my instincts.

  Once we reach cruising altitude, I ask the flight attendant for a first aid kit. She obliges with a frown, and I take it into the restroom and bandage my leg with actual gauze and medical tape. It isn’t a pretty sight by any means, but heaps better than the strip of satin I’ve been using.

  At the airport in Denver, I veer into the restroom and change my dressings again, grateful that this one lesson from Gram—how to make Healing balm—has proven its worth. Then I search for something that would’ve helped me in New York even more than the money in Kye’s jacket. A phone.

  I dial my home number, hoping Mom hears it and answers. She doesn’t.

  My flight boards in ten minutes and I don’t have anyone else’s number, so I dial Rose’s cell. She answers on the first ring with a husky, “Hello?”

  “I’m so glad you answered.” The sound of her familiar, friendly voice fills me with relief.

  “Abby?”

  “Yes.” My voice breaks, so I clear my throat. “Sorry to call so early, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  I sniffle. “I need a favor.”

  “What’s up?” She sounds alert now, more awake.

  “Can you get a hold of Mr. Akers? Tell him I’m coming home—alone—and ask him to meet me at the Jackson airport in an hour. I need to find a guy named Valdemar.”

  She hesitates. “Where are you? I thought you were sick.”

  “I was. I’m in Denver.”

  “What are you doing in Denver?”

  “Changing planes to get my stupid-self home. I’ll explain later.”

  Rose pauses. “You really are in trouble, aren’t you?”

  My fingers twist in my hair, pulling, as I try to keep my emotions in check. “You have no idea.” A few early-morning passengers wander around the terminal and I turn my back to the wall, suspicious of every unfamiliar face.

  “Ar
e you okay?”

  I can’t hide the tremor in my voice as I answer. “No, Rose, I’m not.”

  “What kind of trouble? What else can I do?”

  I stare down at my strappy heels and hold Kye’s jacket closed at the neck. “Could you have Akers bring me a coat and some shoes? You wouldn’t believe what I’m wearing.”

  Rose groans. “This has something to do with Kye, doesn’t it?”

  I hear the announcement that my flight is boarding.

  “Yes. Listen, I have to go. Thanks for your help.”

  She yawns. “You better be prepared to share the deets first thing.”

  “I will. And Rose? One more thing.”

  “Hat? Gloves? Socks? Underwear? You name it. I am your friend-in-waiting.”

  “Sorry I missed your party. I really wanted to be there.”

  She tries to laugh, but it sounds brittle. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much.”

  Murtagh makes an appearance during takeoff. He moves around in my pocket, so I look inside and find him cradled in the seam, kicking to get my attention. “So tired.” He yawns, stretches up to his full three-inch height.

  “Then go back to sleep. We’re almost there.”

  “No, cailín girl. Sacred place, very far. Must walk.” Murtagh sits up. “Find warrior-prince.”

  I wonder how he found me, why he’s still here. “Who are you, Murtagh? Where did you come from?”

  With a proud smile, he pats his chest. “Murtagh water sprite. Called by warrior.” He points at me. “Help young woman. You, mo chara.”

  Murtagh’s English is so broken, he’s hard to understand. “Mo chara. What does that mean?”

  He taps the top of his head with a tiny finger, then, seeming to have translated my question, says, “Mo chara. My friend.”

  “And cailín? What is that?”

  Again, the pause for translation, then, “Girl.”

  It dawns on me that Murtagh has probably been providing me with the translations to his words all along and I’ve just been to overwhelmed to hear them. Promising myself that I’ll listen closer, I decide against asking him to translate more. “Okay, back to how you got here. What did you say about a warrior?”

  “White animal. Moose. Friend warrior-prince.”

  I lean against the window. “Finn?” It makes no sense to me, but that’s nothing new.

  “Go to sacred place, fight battle. Murtagh hero!”

  My confusion is only getting worse, but the corners of my lips turn up at his determined posture. “Is that what this is about? You want to be a hero?”

  Murtagh spreads his arms wide. “Murtagh brave.”

  I shake my head, smiling wider. I believe him, though I shouldn’t. “Yes, Murtagh the water sprite. You are brave.”

  And despite his size and broken English, Murtagh is already, in a way, my hero.

  As the plane descends, the sky turns from ink black to navy, royal blue, purple, and finally the smallest hint of pink creeps up over the mountains in the east.

  The freezing Jackson air seeps into my skin as I disembark bundled in Kye’s jacket, watching for a familiar face. I’m shocked to find several. Rose is here, with Jen and Eric, Akers, and a white-haired man I’ve never met. Something about his eyes—steady and so dark they’re nearly black—seems familiar to me.

  Rose dashes to my side, horrified, as she takes in my appearance. Dress ripped and stained, hair hanging in strings around my shoulders, and cheeks probably streaked with mascara. Not to mention my wounds that are healing but still appear red and angry.

  “Abby! What’s going on? What happened to you?”

  I open my mouth, ready to spill everything, but my throat is clogged and my eyes burn. A heavy weight settles on my chest as the enormity of everything that’s transpired over the last three days hits me. Swallowing, I try again.

  My pocket vibrates and Murtagh flies out, fluttering around and speaking his strange language with almost no English mixed in. I do manage to catch a few words, though. “No fail. Cannot fail. Must find sacred place.”

  “What is that?”

  “Is he talking?”

  “What’s he saying?”

  I hear all the questions, but still can’t find my voice. Luckily, Akers answers for me. “That, kids, is a water sprite. Abby’s picked up a friend. Water sprites don’t attach themselves to just anyone, and they especially don’t often travel long distances from home.”

  Murtagh buzzes around my head, repeating the same jumbled words over and over again. Jen looks enchanted. “What’s he saying?”

  The white-haired man answers, his voice grave. “He says, ‘Death, pain, misery. Must not fail. Powerful magic. Must find sacred place.’” He turns to me. “Young lady, you have some explaining to do. What exactly is going on? And where is my boy, Kye?”

  My gaze darts from person to person, finally settling on the familiar eyes belonging to the only person I don’t know. “Kye’s gone. They took him. He’s gone.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Rally the Troops

  At my own words, my knees buckle. Rose wraps her arm around me and helps me to my feet.

  “Who took him, Abby?” Mr. Akers asks.

  “I think it was Boone.” Jen hands me a tissue and I wipe my eyes. “Juri grabbed me. They separated us, so I didn’t see what happened to Kye, and by the time I got away, Kye had disappeared. Then Tynan showed up, only he wasn’t really there, he was projecting, and he told me Kye was gone, and I knew it was true because I felt it first, then saw it in a vision, and then Tynan said if I wanted to find Kye I would have to deliver the Keys into the jaws of the beast and unseal the tomb. Whatever that means.” I stop to take a breath. “I had a vision of Kye hanging from a ceiling by his wrists, and they’re hurting him. He can’t escape by himself, so we have to help him.” Hysteria bubbles in my throat; my breathing is quick and shallow.

  “Calm down, Abby.” Akers squeezes my hand. “We’re going to help him.”

  Again, I realize how many people have come to pick me up. “What are you all doing here?”

  Rose clears her throat. “You said you needed help. So, I rounded up the troops—so to speak.”

  Eric coughs. He’s standing apart from the rest of the group, nursing his arm in a way that reminds me he’s still injured. “How are you doing?”

  He shrugs. “Could be worse. It’s my own fault. Well, and Johnny’s. I never could resist a dare.”

  When he coughs again, I wince, feeling a touch of sympathy until I realize he’s laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You should see yourself.” His shoulders are shaking. “You took off with that guy and came back looking like you did battle with a small army. You’re a wreck, and now you’ve come back needing us all to rescue you? I’d say I told you so, but I never got the chance to warn you before you left.”

  I cross to him in two strides and haul my fist back, but Jen catches my elbow, shaking her head. “Not now. We have more important things to deal with.” She scowls at Rose. “I can’t believe you got me into this.”

  Rose flips back her rumpled hair, smoothing it behind her collar. “You were born into it. No amount of denial’s gonna take it away. Besides, Abby’s our friend and Kye’s my cousin. They need our help.”

  Jen won’t meet anyone’s eye. “My assistance might burn the place down. How is that helpful?”

  Everyone objects to Jen’s comment at once—except me. I’m curious what she means. The white-haired man shushes them and herds us out the door. “Are you sure it was Tynan? What did he look like?”

  I hang back from the group. “Not to be rude, but who are you?”

  He stalks over and shakes my hand. “I’m Valdemar. Nice to meet you.”

  Valdemar. The man who raised Kye. Suddenly, I’m flustered, but I manage a smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, Valdemar.”

  “Yes. I’m sure you have. Call me Val.” He drags me to the parking lot and hits the remote start on
a waiting Suburban. “Can you describe Tynan for me?”

  I tell him everything I remember while we all pile into the car. Murtagh buzzes around but doesn’t get in. “Aren’t you coming?” I ask.

  He flutters near me, looking torn. “No, cailín girl. Murtagh find sacred place. We separate.”

  Murtagh’s leaving now? The thought makes me feel like I’ve been stabbed in the chest. I’m surrounded by people who care, so why do I feel like I’m losing my only friend? My voice catches. “Where will you go?”

  “No worry, mo chara.” He points at the carload. “Friends, not?”

  A tiny smile plays at my cold lips. “Yes.”

  “Murtagh fly to sacred place. cailín girl go with friends. Yes?”

  “Okay.” I nod and swallow some threatening tears. “Will I see you again?”

  “Soon, yes.” Murtagh bobs up and down, and in a flurry of light and shiny wings, he’s gone.

  At Mr. Akers’s insistence, I sit in the front passenger side, where he covers me with a heavy blanket. My teeth are chattering when he closes the door.

  Valdemar hardly glances in the mirror as he pulls out of the parking lot. “How much has Kye told you about Dryden’s royal family?”

  I recount a shortened version of what Kye and Eoin told me.

  “It’s good you know all that.” Val rubs a hand over his stubbly cheek. “You should also know that Tynan is Theron’s biological brother.”

  “Kye has a brother?” As I say the words, I realize my mistake.

  “No, Kye doesn’t.” Val shoots me a startled look as he turns north toward the parks—instead of south to Jackson. “Theron does. They were twins. Theron was to rule as King of the mortal Elen, while Tynan’s destiny lay in the Otherworld with the immortal ones. The boys were like the sun and moon, opposites in every way. They were evenly matched in power and ability, and were forever in competition.”

  “Bet the king loved that.” Snow flurries land on the windshield, so cold they flutter around like leaves on the wind rather than melting where they land.