Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)(3)

I breathed in, trying to get all that good exterior air into my lungs. I could smell hay, and in the distance, something rotten, sulfurous, maybe even burning. “Freedom smells different than I remember,” I commented to my lawyers.

“No, Anya, that’s just the Hudson River. It’s on fire again,” Mr. Kipling said with a yawn.

“What is it this time?” I asked.

“The usual,” Mr. Kipling replied. “Something to do with low water levels and chemical contamination.”

“Fear not, Anya,” Simon Green added. “The city’s nearly as run-down as you left it.”

*   *   *

When we arrived back at my apartment, the elevator wasn’t working, so I told Mr. Kipling and Simon Green that they needn’t see me to the door. Our apartment was on the penthouse level—the thirteenth floor, which the building elevator superstitiously referred to as the fourteenth floor. Thirteenth or fourteenth, it was a long trek up, and Mr. Kipling’s heart was still weak. My heart, however, was in terrific shape as I’d spent the summer doing Liberty’s strenuous athletic drills three, sometimes four times a day. I was lean and strong and I was able to race up the stairs. (Aside: Is it too much to add that, while my heart the muscle was in terrific shape, my heart the heart had certainly been better? Oh, probably, but there it is. Don’t judge me too harshly.)

Having left my keys (and other valuables) at home, I was forced to ring the doorbell.

Imogen, who I had left in charge of my sister, answered it. “Anya, we didn’t hear you come up!” She poked her head into the foyer. “Where are Misters Kipling and Green?”

I reported the condition of the elevator.

“Oh dear. That must have just happened. Maybe it’ll fix itself?” she said brightly.

What, in my life, had ever fixed itself?

Imogen told me that Scarlet was waiting for me in the living room.

“And Natty?” I asked. She should have been home from genius camp four weeks ago.

“Natty’s…” Imogen hesitated.

“Is something wrong with Natty?” I could feel the thrum of my heart.

“No. She’s fine. She’s spending the night at a friend’s.” Imogen shook her head. “A project for school she needs to work on.”

I tried very hard not to let my hurt feelings show. “Is she angry with me?”

Imogen pursed her lips. “Yes, a bit, I imagine. She was upset when she found out you’d lied about going to Liberty.” Imogen shook her head. “You know teenagers.”

“But Natty’s not—” I had been about to say that Natty wasn’t a teenager, but then I remembered that she was. She had turned thirteen in July. Yet another thing I had missed thanks to my incarceration.

A familiar voice came from down the hallway. “Is that the world famous Anya Balanchine I hear?” Scarlet ran up and threw her arms around me. “Anya, where did your boobs go?”

I pulled away from her. “Must have been that really nourishing Liberty food.”

“When I saw you at Liberty, you were always in the navy jumpsuit, but in your old Trinity uniform, it’s more obvious to me that you look…”

“Awful,” I filled in.

“No!” Imogen and Scarlet said in unison.

“It’s not like the last time you went to Liberty,” Scarlet continued. “You don’t look sick. You just look…” Scarlet’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. I remembered from my first year of Forensic Science that when a witness looked up that way, it meant that she was in the process of inventing. My very best friend was about to lie. “You look changed,” she said gently. Scarlet took me by the arm. “Let’s go into the living room. I have to catch you up on everything that’s been happening. Also, I hope you don’t mind, but Gable’s here. He really wanted to see you and he is my boyfriend, Anya.”

I did kind of mind, but Scarlet was my best friend, so what could I do.

We went into the living room, where Gable stood by the window. He was leaning on crutches, and there was no wheelchair in sight. In other respects, he was also much improved. His complexion was beyond pale, nearly white, but there was no obvious scarring where the skin grafts had been. Black leather gloves covered his hands so I couldn’t see what had become of his mangled fingers.

“Arsley, you’re walking again!” I congratulated him.

Scarlet applauded. “I know,” she said. “Isn’t it great? I’m so proud of him!”

With some difficulty, Gable maneuvered himself toward me. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? After months of physical therapy and countless painful surgeries, I can now accomplish what most two-year-olds manage much better. Aren’t I a miracle of modern medicine?”

Scarlet kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t go into that dark place, Gable. Stay in the light with Anya and me!”

Gable laughed at Scarlet’s joke, and then he kissed her, and then she whispered something in his ear, and he smiled, and she helped him over to the love seat where they both sat down. OMG, as Nana would have said, Scarlet and Gable might actually be in love! For a moment, I almost felt jealous of them. I didn’t want to be with Gable again—certainly not! After everything Scarlet had done for my family, I could not begrudge her a boyfriend. The plain truth was, I missed being in a couple.