Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) (25 page)

Jamaal stood beside me, his arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the sight. He must have smoked that cigarette in record time, but I had to admit, if I were a smoker, I’d have been diving for the cigs myself.

“What the hell happened here?” I whispered, my words steaming in the brisk air.

Jamaal swallowed hard. “There was a loud noise in the middle of the night. Woke me up and shook the bed under me.”

I remembered. “I thought it was thunder,” I murmured.

“I did, too, at the time.”

I was pretty sure I had at least a clue of what had happened. Or at least
who
had happened. Anderson had made himself into a walking, talking automaton in his effort to contain his fury over what Emma had done. He had promised me he would be more like himself when we met with Cyrus today, and the only way that was possible was if he let out some of
that repressed fury. I had the distinct feeling we were looking at the results right now.

Jamaal didn’t know what I did about Anderson’s origins, but his mind was obviously traveling similar paths.

“No one knows who Anderson is descended from,” he said. “I don’t know why he’s so mysterious about it, but he is. I’ve never seen him do anything other than that trick with his hand. I have no idea what he’s capable of. What I
do
know is that none of the rest of us are capable of this.” He indicated the clearing with a sweep of his hand.

I didn’t know what Anderson was capable of, either, although I knew more than Jamaal. “If he has a power that lets him do this, I’m just as happy he keep it and any other powers he might have under wraps.”

Jamaal grunted something that might have been an agreement.

“You think we should ask him about this?” I asked.

Jamaal gave me a look of disbelief. “You go right ahead. Just tell me when you’re going to do it so I can arrange to be in the next county over.”

Okay, it had been a dumb question. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Anderson would not be open to discussion about whatever had happened out here. And even if he had vented some of his fury last night, he wasn’t exactly going to be in a good mood in the foreseeable future. Asking him questions he didn’t want to answer would be a poor survival tactic.

“I don’t want to be there when he confronts Cyrus,” I said. “Not that I have a choice.”

I wished he’d at least given himself a couple of days to absorb everything and calm down as much as he could before squaring off with someone who could start a war that could kill every one of Anderson’s
Liberi
if he wanted to.

“He’ll keep a lid on it,” Jamaal assured me, not very convincingly.

“Uh-huh.”

I sure as hell hoped he did, despite my skepticism. Because if Anderson let loose whatever it was he’d let loose in this clearing, I didn’t think anyone near him, even immortal
Liberi,
would survive.

As a general rule,
Olympians seem to have a taste for palatial homes set on acres of land in the most upscale of neighborhoods. Cyrus, however, lived in an impressive brownstone in Georgetown, perhaps too much of a city boy to enjoy the comforts of a country estate. I had driven by the place before when I’d been investigating Olympian properties, but now I was going to have an up-close-and-personal look at the interior. I wasn’t what you’d call thrilled at the prospect.

Because of the sensitive subject matter we’d be discussing, a neutral site with witnesses was deemed unacceptable. Anderson was apparently through with letting Olympians set foot within the borders of his own personal territory, and so we were meeting at Cyrus’s house instead. Walking into the lion’s den and making accusations didn’t seem like the best idea to me, but Anderson hadn’t asked my opinion. He seemed closer to normal than he had the day before,
able to speak in a natural tone of voice, but I still felt like I was in the presence of a bomb that could go off at the slightest provocation. All I had to do was think of what I’d seen in that clearing, and my desire to question Anderson’s decisions melted away.

Anderson didn’t have any pet Descendants he could take with him to keep the Olympians honest, but he was wary enough of them not to walk into Cyrus’s house completely “unarmed,” so Blake had the pleasure of coming with us. He couldn’t kill anybody, but he could make it so that all the bad guys were so overcome with lust for each other there wasn’t room in their brains for thoughts of attack. I didn’t get the feeling Blake was any happier to be going than I was, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue with Anderson’s decisions, either.

Thanks to the snow, which showed no sign of melting anytime soon, we had to leave extra early if we hoped to make it to Cyrus’s house by our scheduled three o’clock appointment time. Anderson knew that as well as anybody, but he wasn’t ready to leave until almost two thirty. There was no question in my mind the delay had been deliberate and that he was making some kind of power play by making Cyrus wait.

I didn’t trust Anderson’s mood, but when he announced he was driving, I once again didn’t feel up to arguing with him. Blake and I shared a doubtful look as we followed him out to the garage; then we both shrugged our acceptance. It wasn’t like a car accident would kill us anyway.

The drive was excruciating. All but the main roads were a mess, and there was the usual collection of idiots out who mistakenly thought they knew how to drive in the snow. We did a lot of stopping and starting and threading our way around stranded motorists, then had the always-enjoyable situation of being stuck behind a salt truck.

The ride was made just that much more unpleasant by the tense silence in the car. Anderson was in no mood to make conversation, and his presence was like an oppressive blanket, weighing us down. Blake dealt with the tension by incessantly cracking his knuckles until I turned around and gave him a pointed look. I don’t think Anderson even noticed the effect he was having on us.

Parking on the street in Georgetown is a pain in the butt on any day, but it was well-nigh impossible with the snow. The streets in the heart of the city had been cleared, but that meant there were mountains of dirty snow lining the curbs, blocking off a large percentage of what would ordinarily be parking spaces. Anderson didn’t even bother cruising in search of one, instead pulling into a garage.

Blake was out of the car almost before it had come to a full stop. I took my life into my hands and touched Anderson’s arm as he was turning the car off.

“Are you going to be all right?” I asked him softly.

He looked at me and blinked a couple of times, as if he didn’t quite know what I was talking about.
Then he frowned. “I’m in control of myself, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m still angry, but I’m not going to do anything rash. Come on. I think we’ve kept Cyrus waiting long enough.”

We were back to uncomfortable silence as the three of us walked from the garage to Cyrus’s house, now more than a half hour late. Anderson rang the bell, and moments later, the door was opened by a middle-aged man in a stuffy suit. I should have known better than to expect Cyrus to answer his own door. Even having grown up with the ultrarich Glasses, I’d never visited a house that had a butler before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

“Mr. Galanos has been expecting you,” the butler said with just a touch of reproof in his voice. “May I take your coats?”

Anderson hadn’t bothered with a coat, making do with a weathered-looking sport jacket. Blake handed over his stylish wool coat, and I handed over my not-so-stylish, but probably much warmer, parka. When the butler laid the coats over his arm, I caught a glimpse of a trident-shaped glyph on the inside of his wrist. I made an educated guess that he was a mortal Descendant whose divine ancestor was Poseidon. I also guessed that since he was middle aged and working as a butler, he was never going to be given the honor of becoming a
Liberi
.

Coats still draped over his arm, the butler led us to a two-story library that would make any reader drool. I don’t know how many books, both modern and antique, were on those floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves, but it was a lot. I breathed in deep to take in the comforting scent of ink and paper, even as I mentally rolled my eyes at the rest of the decor. The room would have fit right in as the set of some period drama taking place in one of those British men’s clubs the aristocracy was so fond of, all dark colors and manly leather-and-wood furniture. It seemed awfully formal and stodgy for someone like Cyrus.

Cyrus was reclining in a forest-green leather armchair, holding a highball glass filled with something amber colored on the rocks. His pet goon, Mark, had been sitting on the arm of the chair when I first caught sight of him, but he rose to his feet and stood at full bodyguard attention when Anderson, Blake, and I entered the room. He had an enormous, angry-red hickey on his neck, and I had the immediate suspicion that Anderson wasn’t the only one who was already playing mind games. Either Anderson had told Cyrus he was bringing Blake, or Cyrus had guessed his old flame would be joining the party.

I stole a quick glance at Blake out of the corner of my eye, but he gave no indication that he’d noticed Mark one way or the other. He and I hung back just a little as Anderson stepped forward.

Smiling, Cyrus put down his drink and rose from his chair. “So nice of you to join us,” he said, holding out his hand for Anderson to shake. “I was beginning to worry you’d had an accident. I hear the roads are terrible.”

Cyrus had to know that our late arrival was deliberate, but he didn’t let it show in either his voice
or his face. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that he actually meant it and had been worried. Anderson paused just long enough for it to be noticeable before he shook Cyrus’s hand.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Anderson said, making no attempt to sound like he meant it. “The weather delayed us.”

Cyrus’s smile broadened. “No worries. Mark and I managed to keep ourselves entertained while we waited.” He reached out to pat Mark’s shoulder, and I doubted it was an accident that his hand landed right near the hickey. “You remember Mark, don’t you?”

Anderson nodded, but Blake shook his head.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. He sounded ruefully amused. Either he was a good actor, or he wasn’t even a smidge jealous. I wondered if he’d noticed that he and Mark resembled one another. He didn’t try to shake Mark’s hand, and Mark didn’t offer.

“Can I get anyone a drink?” Cyrus asked, playing the gracious host.

“Don’t be more of an ass about this than you have to be,” Blake said. “We’re not here to make friendly.”

Cyrus sighed dramatically. “When did you become so serious all the time?”

Blake stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “When you—”

“Blake,” Anderson said mildly, but that one word was enough to shut Blake up.

Score one for Team Evil. They’d managed to
provoke us, and they hadn’t even had to work at it very hard. Blake shut up as ordered.

“Will you sit down, at least?” Cyrus asked. “Or would that be too civilized?”

“We’re here because one of your Olympians attacked one of my people,” Anderson countered. “I’m not feeling terribly civilized.”

Interesting how Emma had suddenly been transformed from Anderson’s ex-wife into “one of your Olympians.” I wondered if this meant Anderson was officially over her.

Cyrus sighed again. “Understandable, I suppose. Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“I already told you on the phone,” Anderson snapped. He’d been willing to put up with Cyrus’s feigned friendliness the last time we’d talked, but apparently that was not the case today.

“So you did, but I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Nikki.” He turned an unusually grave look toward me. “I’d like to hear it in your own words.”

Anderson raised no objection. I didn’t particularly want to talk about my abduction to anyone, much less Cyrus and his pet. I didn’t want to relive the memory, and I was also afraid I’d let too much emotion show. Showing Olympians signs of weakness was a recipe for disaster. Not to mention that I didn’t like the feeling that I was tattling, and that I was afraid the consequences would be dire. However, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of choice.

I tried to remain as impassive as possible as I recounted the events of the day before. It’s hard to
keep the emotion out of your voice when you’re talking about your own death, and especially about a deranged woman’s plan to bury you alive and leave you to suffer eternal torment. I could hear the occasional quaver in my voice, and there was nothing I could do to control it.

Cyrus made sympathetic faces while I spoke, but I couldn’t help noticing that Mark seemed to be enjoying the story. There was an eager glint in his eye, and he even licked his lips like a dog looking forward to its meal. I decided Cyrus had creepy taste in men.

There was a long silence after I finished my story. I took a moment to glare at Mark while Cyrus frowned thoughtfully.

“I knew she was unstable when I invited her to join us,” Cyrus finally said. “I could hardly blame her after what my father did to her. I thought that perhaps her moods would even out over time.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Anderson agreed grimly. “But her actions yesterday tell me she has been irrevocably altered. The Emma I knew died years ago when your father raped her and drowned her in that pond.”

Anderson was keeping control of himself, but there was no missing the fury behind his words, and something about the look in his eyes raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Whatever it was, Cyrus saw it, too, and his face lost just a little of its color. If he knew what Anderson really was, he’d be curled up in the fetal position.

“I am not my father,” Cyrus reminded Anderson. “And you won’t have to go medieval on my ass to get me to honor the treaty, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He looked over his shoulder at Mark. “Go fetch our other guest, will you?”

There was a visible flare of excitement in Mark’s eyes as he nodded and then hurried from the room. It occurred to me that he might have been present for reasons other than to try to make Blake jealous. Like maybe Cyrus planned to give him Emma’s immortality. The fact that Emma was already a “guest” in Cyrus’s house did not bode well for her.