Dark Descendant (28 page)

but I’d never been out on the grounds. I had no idea where we were going. I glanced up at the

sky as we walked, but though it was a clear night, the moon hadn’t yet risen.

We walked past the nicely manicured garden that dominated the view from the kitchen

windows, plunging into the woods behind it. The woods were as meticulously pruned as those

that surrounded the driveway. Although we weren’t following a path, it was a simple matter to

slip between the trees without tripping on undergrowth.

It was an eerie sight, this silent procession of grim-faced
Liberi
. The lanterns barely

penetrated the dark, and it was easy for the mind to imagine terrors that lay just beyond the reach

of the lanterns’ glow. Or maybe that was just me and my nerves. Except for that terrible night

when I’d killed Emmitt, I’d never seen anyone die before, and though I knew Jamaal would not

stay dead, I desperately wanted to run back to the house and hide in my room. But Anderson had

been very clear this morning, and I knew I had to bear witness, just as the rest of the
Liberi
did. I might not feel like I was truly one of them, but just as I’d had to in my many foster homes, I had

to go through the motions and pretend I belonged.

We walked what I estimated was about one hundred yards before the trees gave way to a

perfectly circular clearing. Someone—probably Logan—had already set the stage. A double row

of torches flickered just far enough from the edge of the trees to avoid being a fire hazard.

My heart leapt into my throat when I saw what was in the center of the clearing: a low

wooden block with a semicircular notch carved into the top. I might have been able to convince

myself it was a stool or something else innocuous, if it weren’t for the huge sword, held upright

in a black iron stand just to the left of it.

I swallowed hard and sweat trickled down my back despite the brisk temperature. Maggie

had walked beside me the entire way, offering her silent moral support. I didn’t think she’d

completely gotten over the suspicions that awakened when I’d found Emma’s ring, but she was

still friendly, even if not as warm. I reached out to clutch her arm.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I hissed, too freaked out to speak above a whisper.

She spared me a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, no can do.”

“They’re going to cut his head off?” This time, my voice came out in something more

like a squeal. Nausea roiled in my stomach at the thought of it.

Maggie patted my back in a gesture that might have been comforting if I’d been capable

of being comforted. “It’s a mercy,” she said. “It’ll be over too quickly for Jamaal to suffer any

pain.”

I swallowed again, hoping to keep my gorge down. Maybe it was a mercy for Jamaal, but

it sure as hell wasn’t one for me. I looked around at the other
Liberi
. Although everyone still

looked grim, I seemed to be the only one close to passing out or hurling. Even Leo, with his

mild-mannered accountant look, didn’t seem particularly disturbed by what was about to happen.

“We are none of us young, nor have we led sheltered lives,” Maggie said, correctly

reading the expression on my face as usual. “We’ve seen horrors you wouldn’t believe,

especially those of us who were Olympians for a time.”

I took a deep breath, wishing it would settle my nerves. “How the hell can he survive

being beheaded?”

“He can’t. That’s the point.”

“You know what I mean!” I snapped, nerves making my temper brittle.

Luckily, Maggie wasn’t put off by my snappishness. “It’s magic, Nikki. I don’t know

exactly
how
he’ll come back. All I know is that he will.”

I was saved from further embarrassing myself when Anderson entered the clearing,

closely followed by Blake and Jamaal. Jamaal held his head up proudly, no flicker of emotion on

his face when he caught sight of the block and the sword. If he was afraid, he was hiding it well.

I expected speeches and ceremony, but Anderson merely joined our silent ranks while

Logan gestured Jamaal to the block. Jamaal scanned the assembled
Liberi
and caught my eyes. I

wanted to look away, too squeamish to deal with what I was about to witness—and too afraid of

his continued anger. I managed to hold onto my courage and meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so softly that I only understood him by reading his lips. I suspected

that apology was harder for him than his actual punishment.

I doubted I’d completely won him over, but I believed the apology was sincere, so I

nodded at him in acceptance. He held my gaze a moment longer, then knelt before the block

without having to be prompted. Holding on to the block with both hands, he laid his neck in the

notch. Logan bent over and brushed Jamaal’s braids to the side, baring his neck. Then he

grabbed the sword.

Maggie reached over and took my sweaty hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, for which

I was absurdly grateful.

“When you’re ready,” Logan said to Jamaal, “let go of the block and put your hands to

your sides.”

Logan held the sword in both hands, poised to strike, while Jamaal took a deep breath.

The moment Jamaal’s hands moved, I shut my eyes tightly. Anderson had insisted I be present

for this, but he couldn’t force me to actually
watch
.

I heard the whistle of the blade as it sliced through the air, then the wet thunk as it made

contact, then the soft, sympathetic gasps of the onlookers. They might not be as squeamish as me

about it, and they might have seen worse horrors during their long lives, but they weren’t

completely hardened. That made me feel better even as the wind carried the scent of blood to my

nose.

“It’s over,” Maggie whispered to me. She was still holding my hand, a very welcome

anchor.

“Good,” I said, but I didn’t open my eyes. I knew without a doubt that I would hurl if I

did.

The light behind my closed eyelids grew dimmer, and at first I was afraid I was about to

pass out. Then I realized someone was dousing the torches.

“I’ll stay with him until he revives,” Logan was saying, and I heard the gathered
Liberi

starting to stir.

I was tempted to let Maggie lead me out of the clearing without ever opening my eyes,

but at the last moment, morbid curiosity got the better of me. Still sure the sight was going to

make me hurl, I opened my eyes.

There was a lot of blood, though with the torches doused that blood was black enough I

could pretend it was just pools of shadow. Logan had laid Jamaal out on his back, placing the

head right up against the neck so that I could almost believe the two were attached.

“He’ll heal,” Maggie reminded me yet again, giving my arm a little pull.

I turned away and followed her back to the house, my stomach unsettled, but so far under

control. Despite everything I knew about the
Liberi
, I would have to see Jamaal up and walking

around before I could fully believe he could survive beheading.

The moon was just beginning to rise as Maggie and I headed toward the kitchen. If I were

following the plan I’d made during the afternoon, I’d immediately get in my car and go visit a

couple of properties. Instead, I made a cup of coffee and parked myself in the kitchen. Logan and

Jamaal would almost certainly come back this way when Jamaal was healed. Then, once I’d seen

with my own two eyes that he was still alive, I’d be able to concentrate on my hunt enough to

have a hope of success.

I sat in that kitchen, drinking coffee and waiting, for
more than three hours. I don’t

know how many times I halfway convinced myself to go back out to the clearing and see what

was going on, but every time I made it to the back door, I changed my mind. If something had

gone wrong, if Jamaal was truly dead against all expectations, I didn’t want to know about it

until I absolutely had to. There comes a point when you just can’t deal with any more shocks,

and I had passed that point a long time ago.

I was so wired on caffeine that I jumped and spilled my coffee when I heard the back

door open. Lucky for me, the coffee had gone cold as I held it and stared off into space, so I

didn’t burn myself. I put the mug down on the table, then dried my wet hand on the leg of my

jeans as I stood up and listened to the approaching footsteps.

Logan went by first, the sword belted to his side, though I’d seen no sign of the scabbard

earlier. He gave me an unfathomable look as he passed by, not stopping for a friendly

conversation. He’d voted to expel Jamaal, but I got the feeling he resented me for putting him in

the role of executioner—though maybe that was just my own guilt speaking.

Jamaal did not look good, though he looked far better than he had the last time I’d seen

him. A bloody, bruised scar circled his neck where his head had somehow reattached itself to his

body, and there was dried blood caked in his hair and on his shirt. More dried blood mixed with

dirt speckled his face, and behind that blood his skin was unnaturally pale.

He came to a stop when he saw me, swaying on his feet and grabbing onto the doorjamb

to steady himself. I took a couple of steps forward. Maybe I was a fool to dismiss him as a threat

because of his current condition, but it was obvious from the tightness at the corners of his eyes

that he was still in pain, and I knew from personal experience how weak the supernatural healing

made you.

“Do you need a hand?” I asked him, because even if I didn’t feel threatened at the

moment, I didn’t think touching him without his permission was the best idea in the world.

His eyes widened at the suggestion, and he swayed a little more. I hoped he wasn’t about

to fall down, because I knew for a fact I wasn’t strong enough to get him back up if he did.

“Thanks,” he said, and he didn’t even sound sarcastic. “I think I need a rest before I

tackle the stairs.”

Why Logan wasn’t helping him was anyone’s guess, since it was clear he was still in bad

shape. Maybe he was in Logan’s doghouse, though why Logan should get mad on my account or

even on Steph’s, I didn’t know. I’d had only the briefest interactions with him since we’d met,

and as far as I knew, he’d never even set eyes on Steph.

Doing my best to ignore the blood, I draped Jamaal’s arm over my shoulders and

supported him to the nearest chair. He was built of solid muscle, and the operation would have

been a heck of a lot easier if I were bigger and stronger—like, say, Logan. However, I managed

to get him into the chair without either of us going down in a heap. He closed his eyes and

breathed hard from the exertion. He’d probably have been better off lying out in the clearing for

a little longer, though I supposed that would have been cold and unpleasant.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked. “I made way more than I should drink.”

He opened his eyes, frowning in puzzlement. “Why are you trying to help me? You of all

people …”

What could I say? To properly explain, I’d have to lay out my life’s history, and I wasn’t

about to do that. Instead, I shrugged in what I hoped looked like a casual manner.

“I’m not the type to hold a grudge. If you’d intended Steph harm, that would be one

thing, but I know you didn’t believe me.”

“I intended
you
harm.” His expression was almost challenging, although I heard no hint

of threat in his voice. It occurred to me that he wasn’t very used to people being nice to him or

forgiving him and that he was looking for some hidden motive.

“Well I took out your eye, and you just got your head chopped off, so I think that makes

us even. Now do you want some coffee or not?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head like he’d changed his mind.

“Yes. Thanks. Black.”

I poured him a mug of the now rather stale coffee, then set it on the table in front of him.

That should have been the end of our conversation. After all, I had a plan for the evening, and

through the kitchen window I could see the moon, almost full, gleaming in the clear night sky. It

was a perfect night for me to go hunting if the moon would indeed help me in some way. Yet I

couldn’t just walk out and leave Jamaal sitting here by himself. Not in the condition he was in. I

wasn’t sure how he would make it downstairs without falling and breaking his neck—again. So I

pulled out a chair and joined him at the table.

Jamaal raised an eyebrow at me, and despite the dried blood and the unnatural pallor of

his face, I noticed again how amazingly attractive he was when he wasn’t scowling or frothing at

the mouth. He’d be devastating if he ever smiled, which I suspected he hadn’t done often even

before Emmitt’s death.

“I’m going to ask Anderson to … give you a stay of execution, for lack of a better term.”

The words came out of my mouth without any conscious thought behind them, so that I was

almost as startled by them as Jamaal was. I avoided his gaze, staring instead at the coffee I had

no intention of drinking. “You’ve been through enough already.” I wasn’t just thinking about

tonight’s ordeal, either.

“Don’t bother.”

I looked up again, unable to interpret the tone of his voice. The words sounded brusque,

but he wasn’t giving me the evil eye.

“It wouldn’t do any good,” he continued. “He’s not going to reverse his decision. He