Descendant

by Giles, Nichole

  “Yes. And sleep. Don’t you?” I maneuver my arms in the sweater sleeves and let the backpack fall on my knees.

  “Yes.” He flexes his fingers, shaking his head at the burns. “What’s worse? Hunger or exhaustion?”

  I yawn, the effort of covering my mouth almost requiring too much energy. “It’s a toss-up.”

  “If you had to choose one or the other, sleep or food, which would be most important right now? Your answer decides where we go from here.”

  It’s childish, I know, but I can’t stop my whimper. “Both. I need both.”

  “Okay.”

  We take the subway to Times Square and wind through the crowds for a couple blocks before choosing a building. The adrenaline that has kept me going is long gone now, and my eyes blur. Kye leads me—walking in a zombie-like trance—to a desk, where he talks to someone, but my brain is too fuzzy to understand his words. We’re ushered into an elevator and up one floor to emerge in a lavish lobby filled with floral-scented candles and a water scene projected on a blank wall. It doesn’t hit me that we’re in a hotel until Kye asks the receptionist if they have any rooms available.

  There are a lot of things I don’t know about Kye, but I learn something at the Marriott.

  He has a fake ID.

  I never realized hotels have a minimum check-in age requirement, but he must have done this before. Kye claims he’s twenty-three and hands the woman his license and a credit card.

  I stare at the ground, nervous. Kye squeezes my hand and accepts two plastic key cards. Another elevator takes us up seven more floors, my heart pounding the whole way.

  When Kye opens the door and I realize our room has two queen beds, I breathe an audible sigh of relief. Still, my hands tremble—and not because of hunger. Is this going to be the night that changes everything? The beds are piled high with soft pillows and puffy white down comforters. “It’s nice.”

  “Should be. It’s a four-star.” He fidgets with the zipper on his backpack, not looking up.

  “Why are we nervous?” I ask.

  “I have no idea.” He shakes his head and looks around the room, but not at me. “Why are we?”

  A giggle escapes my lips.

  Kye finally looks at me and laughs. The tension breaks, and I remember that I trust him. Care about him. Maybe even love him. “How does pizza sound?” he asks. “We can have it delivered.”

  “Perfect.” While he orders, I close myself in the bathroom and run a bath to soak away two days’ worth of grime. Washing my hair almost feels like a luxury, and though I rarely wear much makeup, I’m glad to wash what’s left of it away. The hotel has provided us with lavender sage lotion, and I use it liberally, then pull on cotton shorts and a faded T-shirt.

  “It’s all yours.” I drop my bag in the closet. The slice of pizza Kye is eating is almost as big as his head.

  “Okay. Food’s here.”

  “I see that.” I shake back my damp hair, noticing the pizza already has three pieces missing. “Glad you left me some,” I tease.

  He grins, handing me a yellow flower from a vase on the desk. “For you,” he says, heading to the bathroom and pausing outside the door. “I got us on a red-eye back to Jackson tomorrow night. It doesn’t leave until one AM, but it’s the best I could get on short notice.”

  “Oh.” I should be relieved. Why am I disappointed? “We’re going home?”

  “We’re taking the Keys to Val.” He smiles half-heartedly. “You can finally see where I live.”

  While Kye is in the shower, I relax against the pillows and gobble a slice of pizza, flipping through the TV channels. What would Mom think about where I am and what I’m doing? I haven’t even tried to call her yet.

  If Gram knew I was staying in a hotel with a guy, I would be grounded until I was ninety. Self-conscious, I pick up Kye’s cell and dial. When I get home, I’m getting a cell phone of my own, whether Mom likes it or not. I’ll figure out how to pay for it myself. I’ve never needed one before, but now—this can go on the list of things that are changing.

  She answers on the second ring.

  “Hi, Mom.” Something in me sighs at the sound of her voice. Everything will be okay.

  “Abby.” She sounds relieved. “Why didn’t you call yesterday? I’ve been worried sick. You were supposed to let me know when you got to Vegas.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong, honey? You sound exhausted.”

  Everything. “Nothing. I am exhausted. We’ve been on the go since we left.”

  “Doing what? Honey, you’ve got to rest. It’s not healthy to travel like that. You need to stop and sleep if you want to accomplish anything productive. Where are you?”

  I stare out the window, holding the flower to my nose. “New York.”

  She blows out an audible breath. “Already? I thought you were going to Vegas first?” I can hear murmuring in the background. Is she with someone? A man? I’m not sure I want to know, so I don’t ask.

  “We did, but it was quick,” I answer. “I’ll tell you about it when we get back.”

  “When you get back, we will also be discussing the hole in my sofa cushion. It looks like a burn mark, and if I find out someone was smoking in my house, heads will roll.”

  Even though I have zero idea what happened to the cushion, I burst out laughing.

  “It’s not funny, Abby. You know I can’t afford to buy new furniture.”

  “I know, Mom. Turn the cushion over. We can talk about everything the day after tomorrow. I should be home sometime in the morning.”

  “Where are you staying?” she asks, her voice low.

  I hesitate, knowing it doesn’t help my case, but unsure how to put it any way other than straight. “The Marriot.”

  There is an audible intake of breath. “Are you and Kye—” I hear another murmur and Mom mumbles something in response. She sounds distracted when she says, “Abby, whatever you do, please be ... careful.”

  I shudder, because I think she’s talking about sex as much as personal safety. “Gotta go, Mom. Love you.”

  When Kye comes out, I’m standing at the window, staring down at all the people on the street. The lights of Times Square blink, reflecting off of everything they touch. Billboard images bigger than my house cover the front of every building as far as I can see. “Amazing, huh?” he says.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Well, Las Vegas, but that’s different. More sparkle and glitz, less glamour.”

  His hair is damp and the dark circles under his eyes make him look vulnerable. I stroke his cheeks with my fingertips. “You’re beat.”

  “I was going to say the same about you.” He inspects my face and pushes a strand of hair off my forehead. His plaid flannel pants brush my leg, and my eyes wander down to the T-shirt stretching across his chest, hinting at the muscles beneath. “You should get some sleep,” he says.

  I stroke the hair above his ears then let my hands drop to my sides. “We both should.” His hands slide down my arms until our fingers lace together. He draws me toward one of the beds, and I feel a shiver of nerves before he kisses my forehead and takes a step back. I sit, testing the firmness of the mattress. “Why didn’t we go back to your dad’s apartment?”

  “It isn’t safe anymore. They know where he lives, and that we were there. If I were them, I’d keep someone watching for us to go back. Thanks to Juri, they probably know you have Raina’s ring, and they’ll eventually figure out we have the pendant too. So my dad’s apartment is probably the most dangerous place we could go right now. To be honest, it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Tynan projected today.” Kye crosses the space between us and sits next to me. “He must be more powerful than anyone thought. He found us on the subway. We have to assume he can find us again. Only next time, he’ll probably send someone who won’t fade away.”

  “Someone else? How many of these thugs ac
tually work for him?”

  “A lot. The worst ones were locked away, but some Dark Elen are still out there, and they get more powerful every day. There are tons of Gifted people in the world, but very few recognize their power. Those who do carry the burden for the rest.” I stare at the floor. With a finger under my chin, he tips my head to look at him. “Your grandmother was right, Abby. No matter what you do, you’ll never be completely safe. Not while the Dark Elen are after the Keys.”

  I shiver with the knowledge that I might never be free, and twist my ring around my finger. “What would happen if I gave this to them? Would they leave me alone? Or maybe we could hide it, bury it somewhere in a remote desert or something.” The idea gives me a pang of intense sadness.

  “No.” Kye clasps my shoulders. “You don’t understand. They’ll find it. You can’t ever let them get their hands on that ring. Ever. Giving it to them would only make you weaker. Hiding it might slow them down, but eventually, they’d find it, the same way Juri found the dagger. And that would be really bad. They might not be able to use the ring without you, but they could use it through you. And if they did ...” he shudders. “Do you remember those things we saw in Juri’s office in Vegas? The demons?”

  I nod.

  “That’s what’s locked in that tomb. An entire army of demons. If the Elen get their hands on all four Keys, that’s what will be unleashed.”

  I curl up on my side and pull the comforter tight around my shoulders to stop a sudden chill. “Why me, Kye? What does this have to do with me?”

  He leans over, one hand on each side of me. “Because in another life you were Princess Raina. And even in this life her blood runs in your veins.”

  The thought swirls around in circles and I try to catch up with it. Me. A princess in another life. I know, of course. I’ve always known on some level. It does sort of make sense, in a weird, convoluted way. But what does that make Kye? Could he really be Theron?

  He interrupts my thoughts. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

  “No,” I protest, fighting to open my heavy eyelids. “You have to sleep sometime. We’re safe here, I can feel it.”

  Kye finds my hand sticking out of the covers and entwines our fingers. “Abby, you aren’t safe anywhere right now.” His thumb plays with my ring. “I want you to promise me you won’t let your guard down. Not ever. Not even in your sleep.”

  “I promise.” I murmur.

  Kye blows a kiss across the space between us, and reaches to turn off the light. “Sweet dreams.”

  “Kye?”

  “Yes?” he whispers, his comforter rustling.

  “Can they find us here?”

  “Don’t worry,” he assures me. “This is a big city. They’ll have to sift through a lot of people before they do. Go to sleep.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Found

  Isleen’s skirts brush the tall blades of grass and her boot heels sink into the soil with every step. The pendant sparkles against her throat. Droplets of ice cling to trees and shrubs on one side of the path, but as the queen comes closer, the ice melts, leaving behind fresh, new-flowering buds.

  She continues down the path, waving her hand over struggling plants and dormant trees, which perk up and bloom as she passes. A group of sprites flutter around her head, buzzing like bees. Isleen holds out her hand, and one—whose glow has grown dim—lands in her palm and brightens immediately. He says something in another language, and Isleen laughs as he bobs in front of her before speeding away through the forest.

  “Thank you, Murtagh!” she calls after him.

  In the courtyard, Isleen stops near a barren rosebush. Pinching a thorny branch between her fingers, she breathes warm air all the way to the roots until it’s covered with peach-white blooms.

  “’Tis nearly as beautiful as you, my lady.” Rhys leans against an archway, shadowed by the walls and the position of the setting sun.

  Isleen doesn’t smile. Her eyes simply drink him in as she forces a second rosebush to bloom. Rhys’s hard expression softens as he watches her give life to the dormant plants. “Do you like what you see?” Isleen’s stare doesn’t leave her captain.

  “Far more lovely than the sunset. More beautiful than the flowers. The strength within your heart could hold my gaze for hours.” Rhys bows. “My lady.”

  Isleen laughs, lifting the hem of her dress to curtsy. “My captain, Rhys the poet.”

  Rhys smiles ruefully. “My queen, Isleen the ... noble.”

  Anguish is reflected in Isleen’s eyes. “I do what I must for the survival of the kingdom. As do you.”

  Rhys takes a hesitant step forward. “Would that my heart could stop beating for the one I cannot have. Every day I swear I shall leave, and every night I find ten reasons to stay.”

  Another step. “I would not survive if you did leave,” Isleen murmurs. “Nor would Theron. You are needed here.”

  “My heart breaks here, every minute of every hour.”

  Tears sparkle in the queen’s eyes. “Do you think you are the only one who hurts? Who lies awake in bed night after night, longing for the tender touch of a forbidden love?” She steps closer. “I taste you on my lips when I sleep, and wake with an aching heart. It aches still.”

  Rhys closes the distance between them in one bound, sweeps the queen off her feet and into the shadow of the doorway, wrapping his arms around her as the tears course down her cheeks. “Shh. My love. I cannot bear to see you cry.” He dries her tears with his lips and claims her mouth briefly before setting her on her feet and stepping away. “The king has not yet returned from his hunting expedition?”

  Isleen shakes her head. “Come to me, Rhys. I cannot bear to be apart from you one more day.”

  A tortured expression flits across his face. “I’ll be hanged for treason.”

  “I would never let him do that to you.”

  “You would not be able to stop him if he hanged you, too.”

  Isleen grabs hold of Rhys’s sleeve before he can turn away. “If my choice is to live in agony or die with you, I choose the latter.” She swallows. “A life without true love is no life at all. If I am to die tomorrow, let it be with the satisfaction of knowing that I spent one more night with you.”

  Rhys hesitates. “If only one night could last a lifetime.”

  I wake to a loud bang and something rattling. Kye untangles from his covers and vaults to the door. “Yes?”

  “Housekeeping,” says a gravelly voice.

  Kye turns on the light and checks the chain. “We’re sleeping.”

  I scramble out of bed and to his side. “Bring me the desk chair,” he murmurs.

  “Orders are for now, sir.”

  “We’re sleeping.” Kye shoves the chair under the doorknob. “It’s six o’clock in the morning. What kind of hotel wakes their guests at sunrise?”

  “Very sorry, sir,” the voice says. “We’ll come back later.”

  Kye’s frantic movements shoot my blood pressure into overdrive. He thrusts his backpack in my arms and seizes my duffle bag. This whole carry-your-junk-all-over-the-country thing is getting old. I stare at the door with wide eyes, my sleepy mind scrambling for a plan. A way out. Somewhere to hide. A weapon to protect us from the bad guys who might be on the other side of the door.

  He urges me to the window. It opens out from the bottom—toward the street—just enough for a really thin person to slide through and splat all over the road. “No way. There’s no fire escape. We’ll die.”

  “Abby.” Kye’s voice is strained as he unzips his backpack. “There’s no other way out and I think they’ve found us.” He digs in his stuff and dumps half of it on the floor, grasping his rappelling harness and looking lost.

  “Uh.” I hate to point out the obvious, but since he’s looking for it ... “You left the rest of it attached to the Statue of Liberty.”

  “Dammit.” His fingers dig into his hair again. “I can’t believe I forgot about that.”

  I push the window op
en farther, and can’t resist teasing. “You want to try flying?”

  “Come on, Abby. This is serious.” He shakes his head. “I guess down the outside of the building isn’t an option this time.”

  He grinds his teeth as I zip his pack and grab our shoes. A snicker dies in my throat when the door handle jiggles and something buzzes. Something like a drill. Or a saw.

  Kye’s lips move in silent horror as his gaze swings back and forth between the window and the door. I frown, my eyes landing on another door. An adjoining door. “What about that way?”

  He shakes his head. “Locked from both sides. Someone in the next room would have to open it, and even then, it only puts us one room away.”

  “One room away is better than nothing.” I throw his shoes to him as something slams into the door.

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “Probably our best option. Try knocking.”

  Clutching the handles of my bag, I open our door and pound on the other while Kye sifts through more stuff and comes up with a handful of thin metal rods. “What are those?”

  A third slam, and something sharp and white pokes through the wood, then disappears.

  “Lock picks.” He crouches in front of the smooth metal plate and pries it off with a screwdriver, revealing a regular deadbolt, and then chooses two picks and gets to work.

  I don’t even know how to respond to Kye owning a set of lock picks, let alone the fact that he knows how to use them. Another hit against the door sends the chair skidding across the carpet. The white object slices through again, leaving a second hole.

  Hysteria threatens to take over, so I squeak, “Not to sound pushy, but any chance you can hurry up?”

  Something clicks and Kye grins. Cautiously pushing the door open, he peeks through to the other side and then sighs in relief. He swings it wide and ushers me into the empty room, scooting the dumped contents of his backpack with his foot.

  Another bang rattles the lampshades as he closes both adjoining doors, locking our side again. Even so, it’s hard not to hear the next blow, and the rattle that sounds like the whole doorknob has flown across the room.