Descendant (14 page)

Rhys nods, grasping Theron’s hand tightly. “I swear protection to the queen until peace and order is restored. My life and hers are joined from this moment.” Their clasped hands glow.

“The goddesses will hold you to this bond.” Theron releases his friend’s hand. “If Tynan is behind this, my mother’s life is in danger. You must flee.”

Isleen grips her son’s arm before he can rush into the melee. “What of you and Raina? What of Damon? Our people are injured. I must help Heal them!”

Theron shakes his head. “It is too risky, Mother. Go! For the sake of our people, you must live.” He shakes out of her grasp and rushes forward.

“Theron.” Rhys meets him at the door. “Find Sergeant Liam. Swear him into the protection of Raina. When Tynan doesn’t find Isleen in the castle, he will attempt to take Raina in her stead. He is looking for a Healer.”

Theron nods, wrapping an arm around the man who has been as a father to him. “Live well, until we meet again.”

Rhys returns the embrace. “And you.”

T
he bright winter sunshine soaks through my eyelids. I turn my head slowly, testing the ache. Finding the pain bearable, I open my eyes. The curtain over the sliding glass door is pulled back, revealing a foot of fresh snow on my tiny wooden deck. Crystals of all colors and shapes hang from the doorframe and rest on the windowsill.

Erda dozes on the hardwood floor in a pool of sunshine, her favorite tennis ball between her front paws.

I take a deep breath. It doesn’t hurt too badly, so I try again and smile when my lungs fill with herb-scented air. Several potted plants adorn my desk, along with another handful of multi-colored crystals. My heart warms at Mom’s attempt at Healing. I shift and try to sit up.

“You’re awake.” The voice is familiar. And male.

I pull the blankets up higher and roll to my other side. “Guess so.”

Kye leans forward in my rocking chair, holding a hand out as if he wants to touch me but is afraid I’ll break. Dark circles shadow his eyes and his hair looks like he’s run his hands through it at least a thousand times. A shadow of brown stubble makes his chin look dirty. “How do you feel?”

With one arm braced on the bed, I ease myself up. My head spins a little, but since my stomach is growling, I decide the dizziness has as much to do with hunger as pain or injury. “I’m starving.”

Kye looks relieved. “That’s a good sign. Do you hurt anywhere?”

I wiggle my toes, circle my ankles, and repeat the action with my fingers and wrists. “I don’t know yet.” It occurs to me that we’re in my bedroom—at my house—instead of at the Inn. “How did I get home?”

He rubs the smooth arm of the chair, standing to stretch. “I brought you.”

I laugh, and then wince when a pain shoots up my side. “Not on Finn?”

Concern and worry flicker across Kye’s face as he perches on the edge of my bed. “No, in that guy’s Jeep. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod and throw off the covers, realizing for the first time that I’m wearing my flannel pajamas. Heat floods my cheeks.
Who changed my clothes?
“How long have I been asleep?”

Kye checks his watch. “Forty-five hours and thirty-nine minutes.”

I rub my eyes, squeeze them tight. That can’t be right. “Really, Kye. How long?”

“I’m not joking, Abby. It’s 10:52, Monday morning.” His hand kneads my foot while he talks.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, crap.” I jump up, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side, and move the plants around on my desk so I can see the clock. “I missed Rose’s party. I missed the bus. I missed breakfast.” In shock, I plunk down on the bed. “I’m late for school.”

With his hands on my shoulders, Kye turns me to face him. “It’s spring break. And I hate to tell you this, but even if it wasn’t, being late for school is the least of our problems right now.”

Kye
  tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, extra gentle. Too gentle. The look in his eyes makes my stomach clench in fear.

“No. Oh no.” My eyes burn and my voice cracks with emotion. “He’s dead. Eric’s dead. I killed him, the same way I killed my gram.”

“What are you talking about?” With gentle fingers, Kye brushes wisps of hair off my forehead. “Eric’s fine. Well. He has two broken ribs, a concussion, and a whole lot of bruises, but he’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, have hardly stirred since you passed out in my arms Saturday afternoon. I’ve never been so freaked out. What happened? What went wrong?”

Frustrated, I free my feet from the covers and curl my knees up to my chest. “I screwed up somehow. Gram tried to teach me Healing, but obviously I never caught on.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I really wanted to help Eric. He’s been nice to me since my first day here. Even if I don’t like him the way he hopes, I would like to be his friend. He deserves that much.”

“But?” Kye’s eyebrows wrinkle together like he’s trying to figure me out.

“But something about him feels off. He makes me uncomfortable. There’s no real reason. He’s never been anything but nice. Except ... I don’t know. There’s just
something
.”

Kye pats my knee and stands. “Listen to your instincts. You never know who people are under the masks they wear.”

I ease myself off the bed and take the brush from my dresser. “I’m trying, but ever since we moved here, my intuitive senses are hazy. They’re all smooshed together like meatloaf.”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about your Sight?”

I set the brush down and try to demonstrate with my hands. “Say you’re driving through really thick fog. You can’t see the road, but you smell something unusual, something out of the ordinary. You know it doesn’t belong, but have no idea what it is. And while you’re trying to figure that out, you hear muted sounds. You should know what’s causing them, but you can’t match it to anything in your head. You reach out, try to feel your way, but everything you touch slips out of your grasp. There are a zillion tastes in your mouth, but no way to know which ones are important. I’m completely handicapped.”

Kye scrubs the back of his neck with his hand. “That must be scary.”

“It is.” I pick up my brush again and attempt to pull it through my hair, but pain shoots across my torso. My ribs are sore. Very sore. “I’ve always had such clarity. Well, almost always. Everything was fuzzy when Gram died, but that was just one incident. This feeling I have right now has been almost constant since we moved here. Like a radio with jammed frequencies.”

Kye stares out the window, lost in contemplation while I dig through my drawers, looking for clothes.

A wave of nausea hits, disorienting me, and I grab the edge of the dresser. “I’ll hurry. I bet we can make it to class by fourth period.”

He catches my arm as I move into my closet to find jeans. “Abby, didn’t you hear me? It’s spring break. No school.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I back into the door and hit my side on the knob, gasping when pain slices my midsection and black spots dance in front of my eyes.

Wincing, he wraps his arm around my waist, holding me upright and ignoring my muttered curses. “Your mom said you’re going to experience aches and pains similar to Eric’s for a while. Somehow, you took his injury into yourself but didn’t Heal him.”

“She’s right.” My head throbs. “I’m going back to bed.”

His eyes are a mixture of sympathy and anxiety when they search
my face. “I hate to bring it up, but we told Alena we’d help look for those Keys. Boone thinks we already have one, which means we need to move soon.”

“Soon. As in now?”

He cringes, looking torn. “When you’re up to it. But today, if possible.”

“Why me?” I ask, feeling weary and confused and a whole lot of other conflicting emotions. “What do I have to do with this?”

“I’m not sure. First your ring and your Gifts, and then Boone tries to kidnap you to get to me. And he was right. It did get to me. I’ve never been so scared—and I’ve been in some pretty precarious situations. We’ve known each other for, like, three days, and the thought of leaving your side makes me want to throw up. No joke. I haven’t even been home since Yellowstone. You’re involved. I don’t know how, I just know it’s true.” He touches his forehead to mine. “So do you.”

“Great.” I lean against the doorframe, feeling shaky. “So, assuming you’re right, what comes next?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Look, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t think anyone does, but my dad might have some.”

“Okay.” Holding my things to my chest, I back into the hall. “Why don’t you give him a call while I get cleaned up?”

“It’s not that simple.” He follows me into the bathroom where I set my clothes on the counter.

“What do you mean, not that simple?”

“We have to talk to him in person.”

I lean against the cabinet for support and grimace at my reflection in the mirror. I’m not exactly looking my best. “Fine. We’ll go see him after I get dressed.” I can probably handle it. I think.

“Uh. About that ...” He looks away, his eyes focus on the counter top, and he rubs a scratch with his thumb. “Remember how I told you my dad lives in New York?”

It takes a second for his words to sink in. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Listen, it’s all arranged. I’ve already talked to your mom, and she agreed to let you come with me for a few days. I promised—”

“Wait, what? You talked to my mom? What exactly did you tell her?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Um, all of it.”

“All of what? Like, about the bus? The Mud Pots? The faeries?”

He gulps, nodding. “I brought you home unconscious. What else was I supposed to tell her?”

Groaning, I bury my face in my hands. “You could have told her I got drunk, partied all night, and passed out.”

“Why?”

“It would probably be easier to have her worried about underage drinking than that I went to a faery party and nearly got kidnapped and then tried to Heal someone I hardly know. Do you realize that in the world of Abby and Marian, this could mean I’m moving to Alaska tomorrow?” I grab his shoulders to shake some sense into him, but only manage to hold myself upright. “And how is she supposed to react when her seventeen-year-old daughter runs off to New York with a guy she just met? Let’s not even mention that I’m about to be caught up in a battle between good and evil that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the human population will never freaking know about.”

Kye laughs out loud and rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Your mother will be fine, I promise. And as far as Alaska goes—well, that can’t very well happen while you’re gone, can it?” He turns away and backs into the hall. “Get ready. We’ll talk more over breakfast.”

“Thanks for letting me clean up first. I feel like I haven’t showered in days—oh, wait, I haven’t.”

Kye starts down the stairs, ignoring my sarcasm. “I hope you like eggs, because it’s about all I know how to cook.”

It’s easier to breathe in the steam from the shower, with hot water soaking my hair and running down my back. Every time I lift my right arm, pain shoots through my side and down my leg. It makes shampooing tricky.
How did this happen? What went wrong?

After I dry my hair and apply enough makeup to make me look less haggard, I rub one of Gram’s homemade herbal lotions into my skin, knowing the concoction will help the pain fade faster. Though I have no visible bruises, a deep ache resonates in my ribs and throbs in my head—leaving me weak, despite my lack of success in Healing
Eric.
It doesn’t add up.
I must have started right, because his pain became mine. But at some point I screwed up, because I lapsed into a Healer’s coma without finishing the process.
That’s not supposed to happen.

Kye seems at home with a plate of scrambled eggs near his elbow, the newspaper spread in front of him, and Erda at his feet. I’m flooded with the strongest sense of déjà vu that Kye’s been here before, that we’ve had breakfast together dozens of times—maybe hundreds. Except the picture that comes to mind is not of Kye sitting at a polished oak table wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and eating eggs. Instead, I see him wearing a long cloak and traveling boots, sitting at a crude pine table, eating mush out of a clay bowl. The pictures superimpose themselves on each other until the vision disappears, leaving only Kye. I can’t place the memory.

Or is it a vision?

As I sit, Kye folds the paper on the table and pushes a plate toward me. “If you hurry, we can catch the 4:30 flight.”

“That’s fast.” I push the eggs around my plate, wondering why I haven’t seen my mother yet. “Where’s my mom? Does she know what’s going on?”

“She went to work to handle a couple appointments that couldn’t be cancelled. I called her while you were showering and told her you’re awake. She wants to see you before we go.”

I manage to swallow the bite of egg I was chewing. Barely. “You called her for me?”

“No, I called because I promised I would let her know when you woke up. While I had her on the phone, I filled her in on our possible flight plan.”

It takes some effort to find my voice again, but find it I do. “And she’s okay with this ... plan?”