Descendant (29 page)

My wound isn’t completely closed, but the bleeding has slowed enough that a good strong bandage will hold it for a while.

Careful of speeding traffic, I swing the door open and shimmy into the driver’s seat—shoving the man out of the way. “I’m really sorry, mister. I don’t think I could lift you.” With my uninjured left leg, I press gently on the gas—worried, because I’ve never in my life used my left foot to drive. The car jerks forward, and I let up a bit. The driver’s body slumps against me and I push him away again.

Then I notice the blood.

The
  driver’s pant leg is stained dark red from blood oozing out of his thigh. A heavy ball of guilt settles in my stomach as my mind reels. “I ... what the ... this is ...” I can’t form coherent sentences, but as my brain swirls, I must have unintentionally used the driver—the nearest whole vessel—to Heal myself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I pat the man’s arm, as if that makes it better. “Please, please wake up.” He stirs, moans, but doesn’t open his eyes. Cold air, perfumed with asphalt and car emissions, streams through the open window, and I let it slap me in the face, praying for a miracle.

Unless I figure out how to get to the airport on my own, I’ll never make the plane. Tears slide down my cheeks and I swipe at them with the sleeve of Kye’s jacket Just outside the tunnel, a buzzing dragonfly zooms through the open window and lands on the dash. I’m too busy scanning the sky for signs of landing planes to worry about it—until it starts talking.

“Why you cry,
mo chara
?”

My foot slides off the pedal and the cab slows. I stare at the dragonfly, squinting through my tears. “What?”

“You need help, no? Pray the goddess, not?” The little bug flits around, hovering near the cabbie’s bleeding wound. I pull to a stop on side of the road. The lump in my throat grows from golf ball to baseball size and I swallow around it. “It was an accident.”

When I look again, I realize he isn’t a dragonfly, but a sprite with a set of rapidly fluttering iridescent wings. His blue skin and yellow hair—along with his size—work together to give him the appearance of an insect, but now that I’ve experienced a faery party, I know better.

He clucks his tongue at my cab driver, who’s slumped against the passenger window, and flits between my Healing leg and the driver’s wounded one. “Transference, yes?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means.”

After a long string of untranslatable phrases, the sprite finally seems to realize I don’t understand him. Switching to broken English, he strokes his chin and points at the unconscious man. “You heal self. Use him.”

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.”

B
y 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.

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.

“Are 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.”