Descendant (23 page)

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.

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.

“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.

“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.”