“Tiernan disappeared seventeen years ago, but I have no delusions about my brother. About what he . . . became.” The muscle beneath Makai’s right eye twitches.
I lean forward. “And?”
His face softens for the first time since he walked through the door. “Tiernan turned Soulless.” A pause. A shift. “He’s never coming back.”
SEVEN
Tragic Place
It’s 10:00 a.m. but this makes no difference. No matter the time of day, the subway tunnels always smell like urine.
Joshua shoulders two backpacks—he refused to let me carry my own. I’m wearing my gray parka, unzipped over a long-sleeved aqua V-neck tee. Mom’s black Uggs are warm and cozy around my toes. We always shared clothes. Is there a chance we will again?
A hobo with fingerless gloves and Santa Claus whiskers lies incapacitated against the wall, a poster advertising an MTA smartphone app above him. We pass him. Stop a few feet behind the yellow safety line. Wait.
The subway isn’t empty on a Sunday by any means. It just attracts a different sort of crowd. A mom with twin boys in matching plaid shorts and polo shirts trots down the steps, followed by a dad with an umbrella stroller in one arm and a wiggling toddler in the other. CEOs dressed for a morning on the green and child-free nannies enjoy a day off. Columbia students with lattes in hand chat about the upcoming Thanksgiving and winter breaks. It’s a day of recreation, a day to forget the busyness of the week ahead. For everyone but us.
I lean toward Makai. “How far are we going?” Translation: How long until I’m in the same vicinity as Mom?
He’s still carrying his bow and quiver. Nobody looks at him twice though. It’s New York. Weird is normal.
“We’ll get off just before the tunnel passes beneath the East River. Then we walk.” An omniscient smile spreads across Makai’s face. For the first time he looks less than intimidating. Something tells me when he says “walk,” he doesn’t mean above ground.
When the train screeches toward us, Joshua enfolds a protective arm around me. I should shrug him off, still unable to completely forgive him for thwarting Mom’s rescue, but his nearness fills a longing inside. “Stay close. We’re not sure what awaits us at the Threshold.”
Threshold? There’s that word again. The doors slide open before I can ask. People pile in like remote-control droids. I start in after them, but Joshua’s embrace tightens as Makai extends an arm in front of us. It’s the same gesture Mom always made when a bus came to a sudden stop. The doors are about to close. We’re not going to make it. Then I’m rushed forward. We leave the platform just in time before being captured by the car’s metal jaws.
The car rattles into darkness. Joshua grasps the bar above his head. I can’t help but lean against him when the momentum impairs my balance.
Makai inclines his head. “Six o’clock.”
Joshua nods, then glances back and to the right.
I follow his gaze through the mass of bodies. A blond boy with nostrils flaring watches us from the car’s other end. My small breakfast of coffee and toast churns in my gut.
Joshua draws me closer. “Kyaphus. What do you suggest?”
Makai’s cool expression doesn’t alter. He’d be a good Buckingham Palace guard. “Follow my lead.”
Thump, thump, thump. Is that my heartbeat or Joshua’s? It palpitates faster, louder. I know what Ky is capable of. I never want to feel trapped inside my own body again.
When the train stops at Rockefeller Center, we exit. I’m expecting to book it up the stairs, but we just stand there, straddling the line between train and platform. What are we doing? We have to move.
Natives shove past, casting us dirty looks for blocking the exit. I glance between my protectors. Their eyes communicate understanding, while I remain clueless. Hello? Won’t someone fill me in?
Ky exits three doors down. Strides our way. Makai shoves Joshua and me onto the train. The doors close, reducing us to spectators while Makai enters the lion’s den.
I push against the doors, dig my fingers into the crevice between them. Worthless. My strongest link to Mom is going to sacrifice himself to save me. Us. What is Joshua doing? Why won’t he fight?
“Stop, Eliyana.” An eerie sort of calm, a resolve, laces his voice.
My face flames.
Beyond the glass, Ky pulls his glass blade from his sweatshirt pocket and lunges.
Makai vanishes. Where’d he go?
Ky grabs what appears to be thin air, struggling against an invisible duress. He jerks his head left, right, as if avoiding a punch to the face.
Now I’ve seen everything.
The train lurches and glides. Ky plunges his knife into nothing.
Makai reappears, the dagger sunk deep into his shoulder.
As the tunnel ingests us, I turn into Joshua. Let the walls crumble in this tragic place. I have a good excuse. I bury my face into his chest, and he strokes my hair. We don’t speak. We don’t have to. We spend the rest of the ride this way, clinging to each other. Somehow I know, in this moment, he needs me as much as I need him.
“Kyaphus won’t be far behind.” Joshua grasps my hand as we exit the train.
I won’t read too much into it. It’s part of his job, keeping me close.
We stand aside and wait for the train to leave. Joshua shrugs my backpack off his shoulder, passes it to me. “You should eat.”
I accept the purple JanSport and sling it over my back, sliding my arms through the loops. Our hands separate, but he joins them again the moment my backpack is in place. “Not hungry.”
“I’ll carry it, El. I just gave it to you so you could eat.”
I shake my head. “We’ll be faster if we’re balanced. I’ll pull my own weight.”
He knows I’m right. It’s why he doesn’t argue.
Once the train slithers away, he hops off the platform onto the tracks and reaches for me. “We need to hurry. Our window is small.”
I plant my hands on his shoulders, and he lifts me down. When I’m on firm ground, he takes my hand again, leads me into darkness. Nobody stops us or tries to wave us back. Welcome to the city of minding your own business.
Joshua removes a Maglite from his backpack and clicks it on, illuminating our trail. Then he picks up his pace.
I have to double my steps to keep my short legs in sync with his long ones. We veer close to the wall, maintaining a sizable distance from the third rail. Gulp. Becoming underground roadkill is one thing, but electrocution is probably the last way I’d choose to die.
“What are you thinking?”
What if Mom is already dead? What if we’re too late? It’s my fault Makai’s gone. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, El. I know you.”
“Do you?” I try to free my hand.
He holds on tighter. “More than you know.” I can’t see his face, but it doesn’t matter. I know every expression, every furrow and frown.
Grating metal resounds through the tunnel like fingernails on chalkboard.
We share one glance. Our hands part. Then we’re running, backpacks bouncing against our spines. Why does everything involve this stupid sport these days?
Slap. Slap. Slap.
We avoid the rails. Stay to one side. Our footsteps echo, lost beneath the scream of the approaching train. One thing’s for sure—if we survive this, I’ll never ride the subway again.
“There it is!”
Huh? Oh. An alcove, ahead and to the left. We’ll have to jump over the tracks to get there. Peachy.