Transcendent (11 page)

Without making any kind of plan beyond that, I pulled my jacket on and grabbed my cell phone and purse. And then quietly—as quietly as I possibly could—I slid my window up and stepped onto the fire escape. I pushed the rusty ladder down slowly until it hovered just above the ground. Luckily my parents had insisted on fire drills every year when I was little, just in case. I knew how to work the ladder on my own, to make my getaway if necessary.

My feet hit the cement ground by the side entrance to the basement, and I wiped my dirty palms against my jeans. I started down our block, yanking the hood of my jacket up to cover my face. It was still light out. I would walk to the park first, and then decide where next. Walking was good. Walking gave me time to slow my thoughts, to take a deep breath with each step forward. Walking reminded me that I was just like everyone else, two feet on the ground, arms swinging, heart pumping in my chest. I was human. I was zero percent divine, one hundred percent mortal. I didn't need any fancy DNA tests to prove that.

I tried to clear my mind, to push all of it away, but I kept going back to the dream, the memory that it had brought back to me. Why
had
it been so easy to save Ethan?
Why hadn't the boys laughed me off, dared me to do something to stop them? Why had they looked at me like that, listened to me,
apologized
? Just like in the cafeteria earlier—Bryce and Noah, the way my stare shut them up so instantly . . .

No
. Not now. There was too much else that needed to be worked out first.

I picked up my pace and was almost at the end of the block when I saw him, popping out from behind a black pickup truck.

Kyle Bennett.

Looking much bigger, much more imposing, now that I wasn't staring down on him from two floors up. He stopped just a few feet in front of me, blocking my path.

“I won't touch you,” he said, his hands held high up above his head. But I had already jumped back, my legs banging heavily against my neighbor's iron gate. “I swear, I won't lay a hand on you.”

“What do you want?” I asked, the words scratching up along my throat. My heart was pounding hard, racing faster than I would have thought possible without first exploding from my chest. “I can't help you. Whatever you may think, I can't help you.”

“Well, I'm not so sure of that. And while I've had some conversations with your mom about all of this—about my sweet little girl—I wanted to give you the chance to answer
on your own first. To make the right decision.
Please
. I'm begging you.”

He turned away for a beat, lowering his arm a few inches so that he could wipe a stray tear with the sleeve of his leather jacket. His face looked so sad, so achingly pathetic, that I almost couldn't be afraid of him. There was hardly room for anything but pity.

But that didn't change the situation. The answer was the same.

“I'm sorry, but . . . I can't help you. Even if I wanted to. I can't.” I thought about my idea from earlier—going to Green Hill to disprove him, to disprove everyone. But what if my parents were right? What if that only made everything worse, made people even more fanatical? I couldn't do it. I couldn't take the risk. “I can't,” I repeated, louder this time.

Kyle shook his head and spat on the sidewalk. “Fine.
Fine
. I tried my goddamned best.” Any trace of sadness was gone from his face now—there was only fury, red and raw and burning hot. He flung open the front door of the truck and jumped inside. “I'm done with being nice, but don't think you've seen the last of me,” he said, his lips curling up in a terrifying snarl. “This was just the first round.” He slammed the door shut, the engine roaring to life. I stood paralyzed, watching as he drove off down the street. My eyes lingered even after he
disappeared around the corner. Back to Green Hill and Ella.

I probably should have turned right around, run straight up my front steps, but—no. This was even more cause to sort everything out—to make sure that things like this wouldn't keep happening. I needed to keep Kyle away for good, to end this ridiculous misunderstanding once and for all.

And so I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, away from Kyle, away from home.

I passed through Grand Army Plaza, feeling dwarfed as always by the grandness of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Arch, the towering, majestic Brooklyn Public Library, and the wide pillared park entrance just in front of me. I walked until I came to my bench, then immediately regretted that I hadn't thought to bring my violin. My shaking fingers ached for the bow, distraction.

I stared off into space, my thoughts whirring in an endless vortex, an ominous black tunnel leading nowhere I could see.
Where should I go? What should I do?

One of my friends' houses, maybe? They were acting so weird, though, and I was too tired to play normal. Besides, if their parents got a whiff of anything odd, I'd be sent straight back home anyway.

I glanced up, my eyes catching on some movement across the meadow—a woman sitting down near a small flock of pigeons.

Mikki? I squinted.

It
was
Mikki, tearing off tiny chunks of bread, tossing the bits into the circle. It was a relief to see her, to see anyone familiar. I didn't want to be alone right now—even if Kyle was probably already a bridge away from me, I couldn't shake his words, that look in his eyes.

I stood from the bench and made my way over to Mikki. She was so enthralled by the pigeons that she didn't notice me, not even when I paused just a few feet away. I was mesmerized by how attentive she was, cooing along with them, the sound she made so authentic that I could hardly separate her voice from those of the birds themselves. I watched as she reached out to stroke an unusually pretty pigeon, its feathers looking almost metallic in the early evening sun.

“Mikki?” I said quietly.

She jerked up, slipping from her crouch to topple onto her backside.

“Iris!” She looked up at me, chuckling. “Goodness, girl, don't scare an old lady like that.”

“I'm sorry, you looked so . . . so peaceful here, but I wanted to say hi.”

“Sure, sure,” she said, patting the grass next to her. “Glad you did.”

I sat down, hugging my knees in to stay warm. The wind was picking up, bringing in much cooler air as the
day began to fade. Mikki finished off the loaf of bread and we sat in silence for a few moments, watching the pigeons as one by one they flew away, bored with us now that the food was gone.

I felt her turn to me then, sensed that mesmerizing green gaze on my face without having to actually see it. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“Things at home are just . . . they're a little bit complicated right now,” I said slowly. “So I'm looking for somewhere else to go. Just to get away and think a little.”

She looked up toward the sky, and then back at me. “We got some time yet before it's dark. So tell me. Tell me about complicated.”

“Do you . . .” I started, taking a deep breath. “Do you remember how I asked you about miracles? About believing that something miraculous could actually happen?”

Mikki nodded.

“Well, my family . . . This is crazy, Mikki, but my family, they believe. They believe a miracle happened.”

She stared at me, waiting for more. “So? Go on. What was it? The miracle?”

I turned away, not able to look her in the eyes. “Me, Mikki.
Me
. My family thinks that
I'm
a miracle, and they think that that means I can help other people. Make other miracles happen, maybe. Make the world a better place. And they're not the only people who believe it—there are
desperate people out there, people who think I can help them. One of them has been watching our home, watching me. He just confronted me on my way here, begging me to do something. But I can't. I can't actually
do
anything. Even if something kind of miraculous did happen, a long time ago.”

I exhaled, waiting for her to respond. Mikki was silent, though, dead still. Everything I'd just said must have sounded like entirely nonsensical babbling to her, I realized, without more context. She'd think I was insane, probably. That was what I would think, if the situation were reversed.

After a minute with no response, I glanced back up at her, dreading the expression I would see on her face. She was still watching me, but I couldn't read the look in her eyes.

“Okay,” she said finally, shrugging her shoulders. “So what now? Where will you go?”

“I don't know.” I sighed, tugging at a few stray blades of grass. “My mom wants me to leave the city. Go somewhere different and hide away. For now, she says. But my life is here. And sure, I'll go away to college next year, but I'd still have my identity. This would still be home. I don't know what the answer is, but I can't believe it's just to run off somewhere.”

“But you said there's someone outside your home giving you trouble? Sounds dangerous to me. Maybe your mama has a point.”

Maybe that much was true—it
was
dangerous. There was no denying that. I'd read all about the dangers in my mom's book. Dangers from those who didn't believe her, people who called her a heretic, who wanted her to suffer for her lies. Threatening calls from strangers, nasty messages shoved in her locker and plastered on a website dedicated to Virgin Mina haters. And the worst of it, the mob that had rushed her house in the end—the mob that was so rowdy, so determined, they'd ended up knocking my mom unconscious.

There were dangers, too, from those who
did
believe—those who believed too much, expected too many things from her. From her baby.

But who was to say they wouldn't find me again? Kyle had tracked us down here, hadn't he? Maybe people could track us down anywhere. And when they did . . . when they did, they'd be even angrier.

A cold gust of wind pushed against us, snapping me back into my body. I pulled my jacket around me more tightly, yanking the zipper up to the bottom of my chin.

“Mikki . . . does it seem like it's getting dark too early? Or darker than usual maybe?” Something about the air
around us definitely felt off. Like the sun was running off before it should, ending the day with one sharp pull of the curtain.

Mikki scrunched her nose and squinted up into the sky. “Hm,” she grunted, spinning her fingers through the air like gnarled weather vanes. “I think we're in for some rain.”

“I usually check the weather first thing every morning, but I guess I've been a little distracted.” I looked up, really seeing the park for the first time since I'd sat down with Mikki. I realized with a start that suddenly there was no one else in the meadow or on the surrounding loop, that the entire park was oddly empty and still.

“When did everyone else leave?” I asked, the tiny hairs at the back of my neck prickling, making the decision for the rest of my body that it was time to be anxious. “It's not that late. People should still be out.”

“They must know more about the weather than we do. I guess they remembered to check their fancy phones today,” she said, winking at me. It would have felt like a joke, but the worried creases around her eyes said otherwise. Mikki knew better than I did what it meant to have a storm sweeping toward us. I was always comfortably inside when the rain hit, or at least dashing around with an umbrella for a few unpleasant minutes if absolutely necessary.

Just as I grabbed for my purse to check my phone, the rain began. A few drops to start, heavy and solid against
the top of my head. As I scrambled to push myself up to stand, it rapidly turned into a steady downpour.

“What should we do?” I asked, grabbing for Mikki's hand.

“I don't think that's the question,” she said, shaking her head at me. “Question is what
you
do, and what
I
do. You . . . I think you best be heading home. And me, I'll figure it out, find somewhere to hide away. Just got to get there fast enough now.”

“No,” I said, more forcefully than I'd intended. “No. I'm not letting you just run off. It's almost dark, Mikki, and it's cold. The wind is already bad and it's just starting up.” I pulled her along as I started running toward the edge of the meadow. Mikki dragged behind me, not able to move as quickly as I could. I slowed my pace, my mind racing, trying to decide next steps.

“Mikki,” I said, loudly enough to carry over the ominous whirling of rain and wind. “I want you to come home with me.” The words were out before I'd really thought them through, but what else was there? I couldn't leave her out here alone. My parents—they couldn't say no. Especially not after everything they'd said earlier. They thought I was special? Well then, they'd let me protect Mikki, wouldn't they?

I choked down a laugh—or maybe it was a sob; I couldn't quite tell.

“No, no,” Mikki said. “You're being silly. You go on home. I'll take care of me.”

“Mikki,” I said, clasping her hand even more tightly in mine. “Please. Just until the storm's over. My parents won't care, I promise. We have a spare bedroom in our basement. And you don't even have to stay the whole night if the rain stops before then, okay?”

She jerked to a stop so suddenly, our hands fell apart and I just barely saved myself from slipping backward into the wet grass. I turned back to face her, pleading; her green eyes were still so clear and sharp, even in the torrents of rain that were now lashing against us from all sides. Those usually perfect braids were falling around her neck, swinging wildly in the wind. She looked more myth than human to me, like a warrior from an epic battle, standing strong against whatever tests nature threw her way.

“Okay,” she said. “Just this once. Just until the storm stops.”

I smiled, relief washing through me as heavy as the rain.