Descendant

by Giles, Nichole

We get back to work, running our hands along the walls, the floor, around the windows. Dust tickles my nose and I sneeze. When the light dances on something above my head, I direct it at the ceiling, heart pounding in excitement. “Kye! There it is. I think I found it.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Scaling the Beast

  Kye’s head jerks up. “Brilliant.” He stretches to his toes but isn’t quite tall enough to touch the symbol etched on the low ceiling.

  “Give me a boost,” I demand.

  Kye looks incredulous, but steps into a manageable squat. After kicking off my shoes, I wedge my foot on his thigh and swing up onto his shoulders. From here I’m able to scrape the ceiling with my fingernails. Dust and crumbling mortar rains on my face and stings my eyes until I’m sneezing like crazy.

  Kye’s hands tighten on my ankles to keep me steady. “You okay up there?”

  “Just a hundred years of dust build-up falling in my face.” I’ve rubbed off enough grime so the symbol is visible.

  “What are you doing?” Kye leans his head to look up and whacks my hipbone with his skull.

  “Ow. Careful.”

  “Sorry.”

  I probe the ceiling with my fingers again, my stomach sinking in defeat. “There’s nothing.” He crouches enough so I can drop onto the ground, and then straightens. He wipes sweat off his forehead. “It’s here. It has to be.”

  The final rays of sunlight cast long shadows on the floor. I wander to the window, raking my fingers through my tangled hair.

  “Abby ...” Kye trails off.

  “What?”

  “Look at your ring. It’s fading.”

  The radiance that shone so brightly only a minute ago has dimmed, though the diamonds still glitter. “Why would it do that? How?”

  “There has to be something here. A clue at least.” He circles the room and looks up one last time. “I think we need to try again. Wish we had a ladder.”

  “We can add it to the list of travel must-haves,” I mutter, “along with my flashlight.”

  He crouches again, motioning for me to climb up. “One more time?”

  All I can think to do is to rub the dust off the symbol and the area around it. As I do, my ring starts to glow again, the platinum heating my skin. Simultaneously, the lines in the symbol sparkle to life, outlining cracks around the edges. I open my hand and brush the dust with my palm and a burst of color shoots a circle around the symbol, bright enough to hurt my eyes. I yank my hand away in fear of the heat, the light, but the symbol keeps glowing. Pieces of ceiling crumble and rain down on us, leaving a hole the size of a fist. I blink the grit out of my eyes. “Kye, you have to see this.”

  A plume of dust falls on his head and he’s coughing as he leans back. “What did you do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The opening is small, so I have to squeeze my hand through the hole to feel around inside. The texture is smooth like metal, probably copper, the same as the rest of the statue. My fingernail snags on a piece of cloth. I catch it between my fingers and tug until a small bundle is in my hand.

  “I’ve got something,” I say, coughing away more dust.

  “Good.” Kye squeezes my ankles. “Are you ready for me to put you down?”

  “Not unless you want me to lose my hand. I’ll have to work it through the opening.” The fabric is wadded and tangled, and it takes several minutes for me to wrestle free. Something hard and heavy tumbles out and lands with a tinkling clatter on the floor.

  “Are you out now?” Kye’s shoulder muscles quiver beneath me.

  “Yes. You can put me down.” He sets me on my feet and I run over to pick up the pendant. A large, brilliant-green emerald set in an intricate platinum scroll dangles from a shiny platinum chain. The clear green stone flickers with power and feels warm to the touch.

  My eyes go misty. “I dreamed about this necklace.”

  He stares at the pendant, speechless. The chain drips fluidly through my fingers and I close my hand around it.

  “It’s the Key,” Kye says. “I can’t believe we actually found it.”

  “If my ring is one Key, and this pendant is another, that’s two of the four.” I drop the pendant in his open palm so he can take a closer look. “And if Juri’s dagger is also one of the Keys, then we still have one more left to find.” I beat the dirty cloth against my jeans to get the dust out.

  Kye shakes his head, twisting the pendant so it catches a ray from the rapidly fading twilight and washes the room in flashing green sparkles. “Juri has the fourth, remember? He said he has two.”

  After a thorough search of my memory, I realize Kye is right. Juri did say that, though we have no idea what the Key is, or if he was actually telling the truth. “What do we do now?”

  “We take the Keys we have to Valdemar and hope he knows what to do with them.”

  “Can’t we just ask your dad?”

  “No, it has to be Val.” He crosses to where we’ve left our bags. “Dad has a lot of information because he’s studied it, but Val was there. He experienced the fall first-hand.”

  Two loud bangs echo in the lower stairwell and we both freeze. Another bang, then footsteps coming our way. My heart thuds as I look around, futilely wishing for somewhere to hide.

  Muffled voices and clanging announce someone—or several someones—climbing the ladder.

  “Someone’s coming,” I whisper.

  “Time to go.” Kye wraps the pendant in the cloth and shoves it in his pocket. He tosses me the backpack and straps my heavier bag across his chest, his eyes darting around the room. “Guess we’re not going down the way we came.” His gaze lands on a door. I assume it leads onto the observation deck. Kye tries the knob.

  It’s locked.

  He pulls, twists, and bangs, but it doesn’t budge.

  Overwhelming fear threatens to consume all logical sense when I imagine spending the night in a New York City jail cell. “Kye! They’ll arrest us. We shouldn’t be up here.”

  Our eyes meet, and my terror is mirrored in his. He kicks the door. It doesn’t open. He kicks it again. On the third try I grab his hand and kick with him, and finally the door flies open. We climb onto the observation deck and push the door closed.

  The cool evening wind buffets my ears and whips my hair. The sun has set, leaving only a rim of golden orange on the horizon. Kye unzips his backpack—still on my back—and digs in it, producing a lumpy black bag. He dumps the contents on the ground, mumbling, and sifts through, finding some black straps and threading them between his legs. After hooking the straps to his belt, he connects them with a metal ring and attaches a smaller bag to his buckle. All this is managed in a matter of seconds, as if he’s done it hundreds of times before.

  From the bag attached to his waist, he loops the end of a thin, high-tech cable through another metal ring and attaches it to the bottom portion of the iron railing. Once he’s satisfied the cable will hold, he pulls on a pair of fingerless gloves. “Do you trust me?”

  “Uh.” I stare at the ground hundreds of feet below. “Do I have a choice?”

  He tests the cable again and swings his leg over the railing, letting out more slack from the bag at his waist and wrapping it under his backside, holding with his right hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  He swings his other leg over and braces against the rail, waiting. “Not getting arrested.” He holds an arm out, looking expectant. “Come on. Climb over and hold on to me.”

  I shudder. Being arrested doesn’t sound quite as scary as dying. “Kye ...”

  He glances away from his white knuckles, searching my face. “You trust me, right?”

  Angry voices bark in the torch room. “They were here. I knew they snuck up here the moment I took my eyes off them. Look at this mess!”

  “Well, there’s only one way down, and we would have run into them. They’re up here somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Abby!” Kye hisses. “Come on.”

>   With a jolt, I scramble over the rail and wrap my arms around Kye’s neck and my legs around his waist. His biceps shake as he lowers us from the edge. I fight the instinct to look down as we slide farther, stopping when Kye’s feet hit something. I open my eyes long enough to see that it’s one of Lady Liberty’s giant fingers. Tangled together, we lean against the base of the torch to catch our breath, listening to the door as it scrapes across the observation deck and feet shuffle out.

  “They aren’t out here.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “They didn’t disappear into thin air!”

  “Well, they didn’t come down. We would have seen them.”

  “They didn’t jump, did they?”

  “Man, I hope not. Who do you think would get stuck cleaning up that mess?”

  I tighten my grip on Kye and close my eyes—praying I won’t throw up on him—and fight the urge to scream when I open them again and accidentally look down. I cling to Kye, huddled against the torch handle. His steadiness renews my confidence, and I loosen my strangle-hold on his neck. “They almost caught us.”

  “You did well.” Kye drops a kiss on my lips.

  My body quakes. “I didn’t do anything but hang on to you.” I gulp, still trying to avoid looking at the ground. “What do we do now? We can’t get back up there.”

  Kye squeezes my waist as if bracing me for bad news. “Nope, we aren’t going back up.”

  My arms tighten involuntarily around his neck. “Um, I hate to tell you this, but I’m not scaling down the rest of this beast.” I pat the statue’s finger. “No offense, Ms. Liberty.”

  “Just keep your arms around me and hold on tight,” he says. “You won’t have to scale anything, we’re rappelling down.”

  “What if someone sees us?” I fight for control of my growing panic. This day just keeps getting better. “How do you know your little contraption-thingy will hold us?”

  “This contraption was designed for military special forces and can hold as many as four full-grown men. I promise it’ll hold us just fine.” He rubs my back, comforting. “Let’s just hope it’s too dark for anyone to see.” He retightens his grip on my waist. “Hold on.”

  I do as he asks—what other choice do I have?—and close my eyes as he kicks off the statue.

  When I open them again, we’re dangling three hundred feet in the air with nothing below but the star-shaped building and the rough ground. An involuntary scream escapes my throat.

  “Shhh,” Kye soothes. “Don’t panic, I’ve got you. I promise I won’t drop you.” I wrap my legs around him tighter, and then we’re moving, dipping lower and lower with nothing but a thin cable and a little piece of metal to keep us from falling to our deaths. I keep my eyes closed and try not to wonder if anyone sees us or is staring at our backsides this very moment.

  We make it to the observation deck on top of the pedestal at Lady Liberty’s feet and Kye releases the clip connecting the cable to the harness so we can drop the last few yards. He sets me down, and then catches me when I sway. “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” Bracing my hand on the building, I peer up one last time as the contents of my stomach prepare to make a reappearance. “Yeah, that was awesome.” Then I run to a garbage can a few feet away and throw up.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Narrow Escape

  As I wipe my mouth, Kye removes the harness straps and clips and crams them back in his pack, leaving the cable dangling.

  “Over there, officer. Someone was trying to climb the statue.” The agitated voice is followed by footsteps pounding up the concrete stairs.

  “I saw him too. But he was coming down, not going up.”

  We’ve been seen.

  Kye grabs my hand. “Now would be a really good time to disappear.”

  We slide through an open door, trying to look casual as we wind around tourists and personnel, doing our best to blend in. Not long after we’ve “joined” a tour group, a security officer jogs past, radio in hand. As he heads for the door, not even glancing in our direction, his radio crackles. “Suspects appear to have climbed down the statue. Be on the alert for two teens, one male, one female, unknown descriptions, possibly armed.”

  I shake my head. Armed? “That was close.”

  “Too close.” Kye pulls off a glove and gingerly touches his palm. His hands are red and irritated, starting to swell with blisters. I want to Heal them, to take those hands in mine and kiss them better, but now is not the time.

  We stay with the group, trying to look casual and blend in, while security guards swarm the island. Twenty minutes later, I’m starting to worry that they’re going to question every teenager here, so we slip outside and head for the ferry.

  “What if they’re looking for us at the dock?” I choke. “What if they won’t let the boats leave until they find us?” It’s what I would do if I were them.

  “Don’t even think that,” Kye says. “We’re not getting trapped here.”

  Near the concession stand, I see a restroom. We burst through the door and lock it behind us, panting with nerves. I turn on the tap and wash my hands, then lean over the basin and rinse my mouth. “What do we do now?”

  Kye’s brows furrow as I move aside. He lets the water run over his hands, grimacing when it stings. The water washing down the drain is pink. “Do you think they’re still looking for us?”

  “Yes.” Shaking my head at his injury, I dig in my bag for a specific jar and rub Healing silver cream over Kye’s already festering blisters, massaging his palms until his fingers wrap around mine.

  “They’ll stop running the ferries soon,” he murmurs. “We can’t hide forever.”

  I look up, meet his worried eyes, and—thinking of Raina—come up with a sort-of plan. “Take off your coat.” I remove mine as well, dump my peach-colored airport sweater in the trash, and pull a bulky gray one over my head. Kye catches on and changes into a khaki-green hoodie, then stows our coats. While I shove my hair into a knit beanie, Kye dons a baseball cap. As a final touch, I slip Kye’s backpack under my sweater—in the front—and evaluate myself in the mirror. It’s not exactly a natural looking pregnant belly, but it might pass if no one looks too closely.

  “You’re kidding, right?” A look of almost-panic flits across Kye’s face, but is quickly replaced by a forced smile. He picks up my duffle and peers outside. “Guess we’ll leave our coats?”

  Not knowing what else to do, I shrug. “Guess so.”

  He goes first to make sure the way is clear, and I follow. We walk slowly toward the dock, trying not to bring attention to ourselves, and are beyond relieved when the ferry captain calls all aboard. We fall in with the shuffling crowd and no one even gives us a second glance as we find seats near the front railing.

  A security guard boards behind us, and it takes all my willpower not to break down and have another panic attack and confess every misdeed I’ve ever committed. Kye sees him too, but rather than freak out, he pulls me close, wordlessly encouraging me to lean my head on his shoulder while he rests his hand on my fake-pregnant belly, then he tips his head so the visor of his hat conceals his face.

  There’s no mermaid song coming from the river as the ferry casts off. I glance at Kye, my eyes asking the silent question. “Probably long gone,” he says. “It’s pretty unusual for them to be here in the first place.”

  “Nothing about this week has been usual.” I close my eyes with a sigh, exhausted, and try to ignore my rumbling stomach, which seems to get louder by the minute. Kye sends me a sympathetic look and offers me a piece of mint gum.

  The security guard walks by. It appears as though he’s checking out the passengers, watching for something. Probably us. He pauses a few feet away, his gaze skimming over us at first, but then he turns and looks again.

  “What do you think of the name Isabelle?” I say, rather louder than necessary. “I mean, if it’s a girl.”

  Kye frowns for a second
before catching on. “Hm. Bella for short?”

  “No, Izzy. Cute, don’t you think?”

  He nods. “I like Jack for a boy. Or Jake.”

  “What about Collin?”

  He makes a face, shaking his head. We continue this conversation, throwing out baby names and discussing possible nicknames and the bullying ramifications until the security guard frowns and walks on. Kye’s fingers loosen on mine, and I realize he’s been squeezing my hand until it’s numb. I want to sigh in relief but don’t dare. We haven’t escaped yet.

  I’m afraid to ask what’s next. The thought of going anywhere besides home—even if it isn’t mine—is enough to bring tears to my eyes. Right now, I need sleep—in a bed—and a solid meal to fill my empty stomach and calm my shaky hands, but I have no idea when I’ll get either. The water is choppy, so I spend the duration of the ride with my eyes closed, drifting along with the toss and roll of the boat, grateful that mint helps fight nausea.

  The sky is completely dark by the time the ferry docks. I shiver, wishing I had my coat. The guard disembarks behind us, so I take care to walk slowly, painfully even (not hard to do, since my muscles ache anyway) and we talk about how much we have to do before the baby comes.

  I’m starting to worry we’ll never get rid of this guard when the ferry boat captain yells to him and waves him over, and we beeline down the street.

  That was way too close for comfort.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Beat

  “You can probably take my backpack out of your sweater now.” Kye drops my duffle on a bus stop bench. “Have I ever told you you’re brilliant?”

  I slump down on the bench. “Not since we left the statue.”

  “Abigail Johnson, you are the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.” A piece of hair has escaped my hat, and he tucks it behind my ear. “We make a good team.”

  “Thanks.” I pull off my beanie and finger comb the tangled locks, my stomach rumbling again.

  “You need food.” Kye pats his backpack in my middle.