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

 

 

“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.

 

How did she know me? My scalp prickled and my heart started to race, the blood pounding in my aching head. I pressed my fingers to my temple. The last time a stranger had hailed me in port, he’d come with a deal we couldn’t refuse—no matter how much I wished we had. So what did this girl want?

 

I bit my lip and glanced at Kashmir. He stood with his hip cocked and his free hand resting quite casually near his pocket. I knew he kept a knife there.

 

The girl had beckoned us to the meager slip of shade under the black awning of a retail shop that was selling, by all appearances, a single wooden chair, or perhaps the silk shirt draped over the chair’s back. The store was empty but for a hopeful saleswoman. The woman kept casting glances toward us, but the door was closed against the heat; there was no way she could hear what we said. Still, I was not in the habit of speaking frankly to strangers.

 

“How do you know me?” I said at last.

 

“I don’t think I do,” the girl replied with a soft accent and a sideways look. “Not yet, anyway. But my father sent me to give you something.” Her small hand dove into her tote bag. Kashmir tensed, but rather than a weapon, she lifted out a scroll.