Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) (15 page)

Cyrus thought about that a moment, then nodded. “I could do that. We don’t
always
have nefarious purposes when we’re looking for people.”

I glanced at Anderson, wondering if there was some big loophole I was overlooking. I was pretty sure that Cyrus would be getting the better of this deal, but as Anderson had told me, we had no leverage.

“I think Cyrus is about as close to honest as an Olympian can be,” Anderson said in answer to my questioning look.

“Gee, thanks,” Cyrus said with another of his grins.

“It’s up to you whether you’re willing to put yourself in his debt,” Anderson finished.

It still wasn’t exactly a rousing endorsement. The idea of owing Cyrus held no appeal, but if that was what it took to keep the other Olympians off my back, then I’d just have to suck it up. “Just to clarify,”
I said, “if I promise to hunt someone for you in the future, you will get whoever’s been setting the fires to stop?”

Cyrus shook his head. “I can’t promise it will stop. If I’m wrong and my father’s behind this, he might not listen to me. But I will warn all of my people off, and if anyone acts against you after my warning, then they’ll be disobeying my direct orders. I’m not as much of a hard ass as my father, but I will
not
tolerate disobedience.” He leaned forward and looked back and forth between me and Anderson. No charming smiles this time, and the look in his eyes said that he was dead serious. “And let me make this perfectly clear: if you go after my father, all bets are off.”

“What if he sets another fire after you warn him off?” I asked.

“Then I’ll have to conclude I’m a gullible idiot and declare open season on him. But that’s not going to happen, because he’s not behind this in the first place.”

Anderson leaned back in his chair and didn’t say anything. I didn’t for a moment think he was going to let Konstantin go for my sake, at least not in the long run. He would have his revenge, one way or another. But he would have to find a new way to convince me to find him if the agreement with Cyrus worked out. That was a problem for another day.

Both Cyrus and I were looking at Anderson expectantly.

“What?” he asked. “I’ve already agreed to let him be. Do you need me to agree again?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Cyrus said, and I think he was as skeptical about Anderson’s agreement as I was. After all, he’d already sort of caught me on the hunt after Anderson and I had both agreed to leave Konstantin alone.

“All right,” Anderson said. “I’ll say it again. Neither I nor any of my people will harm Konstantin as long as he is an Olympian, and as long as he commits no acts of aggression against us. Satisfied?”

“I guess I am.” Cyrus didn’t sound convinced, and I didn’t blame him. “Shall we shake on it?”

A round of handshaking followed. This time, Mark didn’t even try to participate.

I returned home from our meeting with Cyrus more
than a little unsettled. I couldn’t shake the feeling that although Anderson had raised no objection, I had made a tactical error in promising Cyrus a hunt. The fact that I’d specified no violence made me feel marginally better, but I imagined there were any number of ways Cyrus could twist my promise into something I’d later regret.

I was so worried about what I might have gotten myself into that I went looking for Blake, whom I usually preferred to avoid. The door to his suite was ajar when I arrived. I rapped on it as I pushed it open and stuck my head in, but apparently Blake didn’t hear me, because he didn’t look up. When I saw what he was doing, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to gape in shock.

He hadn’t heard me knock because he was
wearing earbuds, his head nodding along to whatever was playing on his iPod. He was sitting on his couch, one leg tucked under him, as he concentrated intensely on the pair of knitting needles he was holding. I couldn’t tell what he was making—he only had about four or five inches of fabric so far—but the yarn was a thin, silky-looking crimson, and the little bit he had done was almost lacy. He executed some complex maneuver with the yarn and needles, his forehead creasing with the effort, then came to the end of his row and let out a sigh of what sounded like satisfaction.

If you had asked me what Blake did in his spare time, I’d have put knitting somewhere at about 1,001 on the list of possibilities. He wasn’t as macho as guys like Jamaal and Logan, but despite his pretty-boy looks and his onetime romance with Cyrus, he’d never given me the impression that he might be the sort to engage in such a stereotypically feminine pursuit.

“What are you making?” I asked, loud enough that Blake could hear me over whatever was playing on his iPod.

He jumped and practically dropped his needles. He’d been concentrating so hard that I doubt there was any way I could have made my presence known without startling him, but I gave him a sheepish smile anyway.

“Sorry,” I said, as Blake pulled out the earbuds and laid his knitting carefully on the coffee table. “I knocked, but you didn’t hear me.”

He eyed me suspiciously from his seat on the couch. I guess my sudden and unexpected appearance in his suite worried him. Maybe he thought I was going to try to warn him away from Steph for the millionth time.

“I’m making a scarf for Steph for Valentine’s Day,” he said, that wary look still on his face. “I haven’t knitted for a long time, so I thought I’d get an early start.”

The admission made me strangely uncomfortable. The idea that he was making something for Steph
by hand,
something he expected to take him nearly a month to complete, suggested a deeper attachment than I’d allowed myself to imagine. I’d known Blake was
fond
of Steph, and I’d even had to admit to myself that he genuinely cared about her, but I’d hoped it was something fun and casual. You don’t spend a month knitting something for someone if the relationship is casual.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for the knitting type,” I said. My voice came out a bit tight. I’d promised not to
voice
my disapproval of his relationship with my sister, but that didn’t mean I didn’t
feel
it.

Blake shrugged. “I grew up with three sisters. I was a rebel, so when my parents told me boys don’t knit, I immediately wanted to do it.” He grinned. “I learned by unraveling a couple of my sisters’ projects so I could figure out how it worked. Strangely enough, they weren’t very happy with me when they found the piles of yarn I left behind.”

I chuckled, reluctantly charmed. “How old were you?”

“Nine, the first time. Dad took his belt to me something fierce, so next time, I was more sneaky about it and buried the evidence. I’m pretty sure Dad knew it was me, but there was an outside chance the dog had made off with it, and he wasn’t going to thrash me unless he was sure.”

I imagined blue-eyed, blond-haired Blake had been a pro at looking angelically innocent as a child.

“But you didn’t come here to talk about my hobbies,” Blake said. “What’s up?”

I hesitated, unsure if bringing up his relationship with Cyrus would come across as some kind of subtle rebuke under the circumstances. But it was why I’d come to Blake in the first place, so I straightened my spine and closed the door behind me. Blake hadn’t invited me to sit, so I stood awkwardly and put my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t fidget.

“You know Anderson and I went to meet with Cyrus this afternoon, right?”

He nodded, and his suspicious look made a return appearance.

“Cyrus promised to tell all the Olympians to back off me if I promised to owe him a hunt someday.” Blake’s eyes widened in alarm and surprise, and I hastened to clarify the details of the deal we’d made. “My question is, is Cyrus like Konstantin? Will he try to find some way to make this deal hurt me despite the conditions I set?”

Blake thought about it a moment, and I decided to sit down despite the lack of invitation. I suspect it hadn’t even occurred to him to issue one—he’d just
assumed I’d make myself comfortable. He wasn’t as formal as Anderson or as standoffish as Jamaal.

“Here’s the thing to understand about Cyrus,” Blake said slowly, thinking over his words carefully before he spoke. “Unlike Konstantin, there’s no malice in him. He’d never go out of his way to hurt someone, and he’s even capable of being a nice guy, when the spirit strikes him.”

“Nice guys don’t lead the Olympians!” I protested.

“I said he’s
capable
of it. He’s not in the least bit malicious, but what he
does
have in common with his daddy is a deep, abiding selfishness. He’ll be nice and actually help someone, if it doesn’t cost him anything and he’s in the mood. But if you’re standing between him and something that he wants, all bets are off. So in answer to your question, no, he won’t look for a way to make the deal bite you in the ass. But he won’t hesitate to exploit a loophole if he finds one and it’s to his advantage.”

I shook my head. “How the hell did you end up involved with someone like that?” I asked, not really expecting him to answer.

A hint of sadness crossed Blake’s face. “I honestly thought I could change him. He was a good friend for a long time, and I’ve seen sides of him that no one else has seen. He could be a good person, if he wanted to be.” Bitterness now colored Blake’s voice, the sadness gone. “But I found out the hard way that he has no desire to change. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”

From some of the things I’d heard Cyrus say to and about Blake, I got the feeling the desire to change each other had been mutual. Cyrus would have loved to convert Blake into a full-scale Olympian, and the fact that his current boy toy bore such a striking resemblance to Blake made me wonder if he’d ever fully abandoned that hope.

“Did this stuff make you feel better, or worse?” Blake inquired.

Honestly, I had no idea. “Knowledge is power, right?” I said with a shrug that was supposed to look careless, but probably didn’t. “I’ll just have to hope he finds some inoffensive use for me before anything potentially sticky comes up.”

What I didn’t say, but I suspect we both knew, was that if something sticky came up, I might balk at it despite it fitting the letter of our agreement. The consequences of balking might turn out to be disastrous—no way would Cyrus take it well if I failed to honor our agreement—but I would just have to cross that bridge when I came to it. And hope I never did.

I’d turned my cell
phone off during the meeting with Cyrus, and I didn’t remember to turn it back on until I was in my suite after talking to Blake. I saw that I’d missed a call from Steph.

With the way my life had been going lately, I couldn’t help bracing a bit in fear of bad news, but Steph’s perky greeting instantly put me at ease.

“I got your message,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I called that trustee I know,” she answered, and for a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about. In all the stress and drama, I’d temporarily forgotten about my plan to draw Jamaal out of his shell.

“Wow. You work fast.” I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d dragged her feet about it, considering how much she disapproved of my interest in Jamaal.

She breathed a delicate sigh. “Well, after what happened, I figured you’d be badly in need of an escape.”

My heart swelled with love for my sister, who was way better to me than I had any right to expect. “You have enough balls in the air trying to get ready for the big homecoming. I don’t want to add to your workload.” I knew Steph had already talked to the insurance company multiple times, and that she had rented a furnished condo for the Glasses to stay in while the house was being rebuilt.

“It wasn’t that much work. Just a few phone calls.”

“Have I ever told you you’re amazing?”

I could hear Steph’s smile in her voice. “Will you still think I’m amazing if I tell you I’ve arranged for you to meet with the curator of the exhibit for a private showing at seven o’clock tonight?”

“Tonight?” I asked in a startled squeak.

“Yeah. Sorry for the short notice, but Dr. Prakash is going to be massively busy in the next few weeks, so the only time she could fit you in was today.”

When I’d asked Steph if she could set something up, I’d imagined Jamaal and me being shown around during regular business hours by a docent. Not being given a special, after-hours showing with the curator, who was probably already overworked and underpaid.

“I don’t want to put her out,” I said, hedging.

“It’s a done deal,” Steph said firmly. “I’ve done a lot of favors for people who’ve donated a lot of money and art, and I was past due to call some of them in.”

“Yeah, but the curator isn’t—”

“She’ll be excited to have a chance to show off the exhibit, especially if Jamaal is knowledgeable about art, which I gather he is.”

The books in his room gave me the same impression, but I wasn’t convinced Dr. Prakash was going to be as thrilled to show us around as Steph thought. If it were me, I’d resent being made to drop everything just because someone with connections wanted a special perk.

“She’s already rearranged her schedule to fit you in,” Steph said. “Don’t you dare try to wriggle out of it. And instead of asking Jamaal if he wants to go, you’d better
tell
him he’s going. It would be unspeakably rude to stand her up.”

I glanced at my watch and saw that it was already three thirty. I didn’t have a whole lot of time to track down Jamaal, convince him this was a good idea, and get to the museum. I wondered if putting me in such an awkward position was part of Steph’s plan, if she was giving me extra fuel I could use to help me talk Jamaal into going. She can be a bit devious at times, though always for a good cause.

“I’ll get Jamaal out there, one way or another,” I promised. I wished I felt more certain that I could deliver, but I would at least do everything in my power. “Thanks so much. You’re the best.”

“I know. Now get off the phone and go give him the good news.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I could almost see Steph shaking her head and laughing as she hung up.