The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(17)

“God, my head hurts.”

I turned back to look at Slate; he had scooted back into the shadows of the alcove, his knees pulled up to his chest. “It’s called a hangover,” I told him. Then I frowned—my own temples were still throbbing. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

“Do we have any aspirin?”

Tucking the maps back onto the shelves, I knelt to look in the cupboard under the desk. The first aid kit had been decimated in the last few days, and the little bottle of aspirin was empty. “I’ll go get you some.”

“I love you, Nixie.”

The words made me stumble on the threshold. I licked my lips—I didn’t know how to respond, so I hurried through the doorway, pretending I hadn’t heard. Out on deck, the afternoon sunlight was like a knife through the eyes; my own headache had only worsened. When I looked west, I saw why. The horizon, so blue only half an hour ago, had curdled with clouds, and the air was as hot as steam. A summer storm was coming.

As I closed the door, Blake and Kashmir turned to me, faces expectant. “He’s sleeping off the drink,” I told them.

“And the map, amira? It wasn’t in his pockets.”

“It might be stolen—or it might only be misplaced.” I bit my lip. “He took it out to—to look at it. Maybe it blew into the water. Or he left it at Bruce’s. I don’t know.”

“Shouldn’t we alert the authorities, Miss Song?” Blake’s brow was furrowed. “Are there authorities here?”

“Oh, there are authorities,” Kashmir said. “But they’re not worth alerting. We could search his room again, just to be sure.”

“Maybe later,” I said, glancing up at the sun; there wasn’t much time left before the party. “I need to run to the store for some aspirin first.”

“Do you want some company, amira?” Kashmir’s tone was casual, but the hope was back in his eyes, and it surprised me. How could he be so unconcerned? I hesitated, but only for a moment. After all, he was likely safer on land than on the ship, under my watchful eye.

“Sure.” I took his hand as we went down the gangplank, to make sure he didn’t slip. But when we reached the hot pavement of the wharf, I didn’t let go. Our hands fit together perfectly; our palms two halves of a living shell, and something tender between them.

We matched steps in an easy rhythm. My shoulders dropped slowly as we walked, the tension in them easing; they’d been tighter than the halyard in a high wind. As we stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a bike to pass, Kashmir spoke. “I can’t help but wonder . . . about what you said before.”

“What part, exactly?”

“Joss said you’re going to lose the one you love.” His voice was quiet, as though the words were sneaking out; his fingers flexed around mine. “Is that me?”

I looked at him, startled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

To my surprise, his face lit up, brighter than the noon sky. “It is when you put it that way.”

I felt the color rising on my cheeks. Thankfully, the light changed; I started across the street. “Why do you look so happy about it?”

“Amira . . .” He faltered then. “I won’t let fear of tomorrow steal joy from today.”

“The joy of learning you’ll be lost?”

“The joy of learning I’m loved.”

“My love is a curse, Kashmir!”

“I’d rather be cursed with it than damned without it.”

“Kash . . .” I turned to look at him; he gave me a crooked smile. “How can you talk about love at a time like this?”

His smile fell. “How much time do you think I have left?”

The next block was capped by a bodega with a red-and-yellow awning labeled GROCERY, the window lined with bottles of castile soap and bleach. Over the door, an ancient air conditioner dripped onto the sidewalk and did little to alleviate the stifling heat inside. The aspirin was behind the counter, between the condoms and the religious candles. “I won’t let it happen,” I said at last, as we waited for the proprietor to make change. “I’m not going to lose you, Kashmir.”

He cocked his head. “How will you prevent it?”

I spoke through my teeth. “I’ll find a way.”

“Where your father never could?”

“I’m not my father,” I said, but the words rang hollow. To cover, I opened the bottle of pills and dry-swallowed two. Kash slid his hand up under my hair to rub the back of my neck; his fingers were cool on my skin. I took a deep breath, trying to relax, but the heat hit me like a fist as we stepped outside again.

Tossing the bottle of aspirin into my bag, I squinted up at the blackening sky. “We’re about to get soaked.”

Kash preened and plucked at his thin white shirt. “Glad I’m dressed for it.”

I tried to laugh, and we hurried down the block so quickly I didn’t register the first time the girl on the sidewalk called me by my name.





CHAPTER SIX


There was something odd about her eyes.

They were the color of polished mahogany, almost doll-like, as though they were made of glass. Everything else about her seemed normal, or normal enough. She looked like she was my age, or maybe a bit younger. Her skin was rich brown, and her black hair, thick and glossy, was twisted into a bun. She wore a white bohemian top and carried a canvas tote bag, like a hundred other New Yorkers. I might never have looked at her if she hadn’t said my name.