Rogue Descendant

by Jenna Black

  “You are not all right!” he snapped. “You had no pulse when I first checked you.”

  I could see why he might find that a cause for concern. “Well, I have one now. And I really want out of this head contraption.”

  The siren stopped wailing, and the ambulance came to a stop. The EMT took our arrival at the hospital as an excuse to ignore my request, and I knew I was about to go through the whole rigmarole again, because the doctors and nurses of the ER weren’t going to believe their eyes, either.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was right about my reception at the emergency room. I once again had the delightful experience of being ignored when I claimed I was all right, and though I understood why, I couldn’t help getting crankier as time went on. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted a little quiet time in which I could try to process everything I’d just gone through. And I was so bone tired, I wanted a little time to sleep it off, too. None of which I was getting.

  I put my foot down when they started talking about skull X-rays and an MRI. If they started ordering tests where I’d have to wait my turn to get in and then wait for the results, I was going to be in there all day. I had a right to refuse medical treatment, and I asserted it with a vengeance.

  I swear every person in the entire ER tried to talk me out of checking myself out. It felt like I had to repeat myself to about twenty people, everyone from the attending physician to the freaking janitor, before I was finally given some papers to fill out that basically said it wasn’t their fault if I died a horrible death due to leaving the hospital against medical advice. If I’d been merely human, they might have scared me so much with their warnings and predictions that I’d have caved.

  I was mere moments from escape when the police caught up with me.

  For a little while there, I’d almost forgotten that I’d been found bound in duct tape in the trunk of a car. Naturally, the police wanted to know how I’d gotten there. The authorities had caught on to the fact that I was a common denominator between three separate fires—thanks to the Glasses’ insurance company, no doubt. I’d never been a direct target, and the first fire had been declared an accident, but it didn’t exactly lead them to believe my abduction was a random act by some wandering psycho.

  I saw no reason not to tell them the truth about the abduction, with a few errors and omissions. Like how I never mentioned being hit in the head with a tire iron, which would be completely unbelievable when I didn’t have any obvious wounds on my head. I knew there was some blood in my hair, because everyone had been looking for its source, but the wound itself was gone. I didn’t know how anyone was going to explain away the blood, and frankly, I didn’t care.

  The policemen shared a couple of significant looks as I told them about my abduction. Maybe they thought I was too shaken up to notice. I knew those looks meant something about my story was striking a false note, but I didn’t know what—unless my abductor was still alive and had told all, including the stuff I was leaving out.

  “Did the guy who tried to kidnap me survive the crash?” I asked, surprised that I hadn’t thought to ask before. Though maybe I’d been too preoccupied trying to get myself out of the hospital to think about anything else.

  The cops looked at each other again. Then one of them, a Detective Taylor, answered me.

  “A few broken bones, a lot of stitches, and even more bruises, but yeah, the lucky son of a bitch survived. He’s got a list of priors longer than my arm, and he was real eager to talk.”

  Shit. That probably wasn’t good for me. The more stuff didn’t add up, the more suspicious the cops were going to be, and the more determined they were going to be to get to the truth.

  “Are you sure you don’t know someone who might have a serious beef with you?” Taylor continued.

  I gave him my best baffled face. “I have no idea. I’ve made enemies because of my job, but I don’t know of anyone who would hate me enough to do all this to get back at me.”

  Taylor gave me a piercing look, no doubt trying to convey the message that he could see right through me. “Think hard.”

  I made a show of thinking about it, furrowing my brow as if I were racking my brain. Then I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t think of anyone.”

  “A woman, maybe?” he prompted, still not satisfied with my answer.

  “I assume you have a reason for asking that,” I said, hoping my face had shown no reaction. If they had reason to suspect a woman was gunning for me, there was only one logical suspect on my list.

  “I told you the guy was eager to talk. Said he was hired over the phone by some woman. Never met her in person, though, and of course never got a name.”

  I nodded sagely and pretended to think it over some more. Then I raised my hands in a gesture of defeat and shook my head some more. “I still don’t have a clue. Sorry.”

  Taylor gave me his card and asked me to call him if anything came to mind. Neither he nor his partner made much effort to hide the fact that they didn’t believe me. I was real glad I was the victim rather than the suspect, or I don’t think they would have let me off quite so easily. Even so, I felt their eyes on me as I retreated to the emergency room entrance, where I was able to borrow a cell phone and make a call.

  There were lots of people I could have called to come pick me up at the hospital. I could have called Steph, although I wouldn’t have wanted to worry her. I could have called Anderson, who, once he heard that an unknown woman had hired some thug to kill me and presumably bury me, would have to finally see Emma for what she really was. Or I could have called any of my friends at the mansion who would have driven me home without any hints of drama or complication.

  So who did I end up calling? Jamaal, of course.

  As far as I knew, he was the only one of Anderson’s Liberi who knew what it was like to die, having gone through the experience at least three times already. So far, I had held myself together through sheer force of will, but once I had a moment of anything resembling privacy, I was going to fall apart, and Jamaal was the only one who would truly understand why.

  “Sita’s not going to like it,” he reminded me when I called.

  “I died, Jamaal. I died.” There was a tremor in my voice, and for a moment I feared I was going to fall apart in front of an audience after all. Not that people in an emergency room waiting area are all that concerned with other peoples’ distress, but it would have been embarrassing to break down in tears in front of them anyway. Especially when I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get myself under control any time this century.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Jamaal said after a brief hesitation.

  He hung up before I could thank him. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly and deeply to calm myself. After my last experience with death, I should have known better.

  It wasn’t truly dark when I closed my eyes. The fluorescent lighting created a golden red glow behind my closed lids that was nothing like the darkness of death. My adrenal glands didn’t appreciate the difference, however, and terror shot through me from head to toe. I gasped and opened my eyes, my heart hammering, my skin clammy with sweat.

  “Are you all right, dear?” asked the nice old lady who’d loaned me her phone.

  I plastered on what I was sure was a patently false smile. “I’m fine,” I told her. “Thanks for letting me use your phone.”

  Her brow furrowed with concern, and I could see I had one more name I could add to the list of people who hadn’t believed me when I’d said I was fine today. Of course, I didn’t know her name, so it would be hard to add to the list.

  The thought struck me as funny, and I knew that my body was trying to find another outlet for all the turmoil I was holding inside. I had successfully blocked the hysterical tears that wanted to rise up, but the inappropriate laughter almost had its way with me. A sound reminiscent of a bark escaped my lips before I changed it into a fake cough and clamped down even harder on my emotions.

&n
bsp; “I’m going to wait for my ride outside,” I said, then turned on my heel and practically sprinted for the exit. I knew I was being rude to the little old lady, but if I hadn’t gotten myself away from her, I was sure all my walls were going to crack and I would make a fool of myself in front of everyone.

  I had kind of forgotten I’d gotten such an early start to my day because of the predicted weather front coming through. One step out of the emergency room doors was all it took to remind me. My kidnapper had removed my coat so he could bind my wrists more easily, and I had no idea where that coat had ended up. My clothes were still slightly damp from the time I’d spent crumpled in the trunk with the rain beating down through the gap the crash had created, and that first blast of cold air practically took my breath away.

  The temperature had dropped since I’d last been out, and the rain had changed into a light snow that so far was only sticking in patches here and there. My breath steamed, and I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. It didn’t help, and within seconds, I was shivering.

  The smart thing to do would be to go inside and wait where it was warm. However, the biting cold served two purposes: it kept me awake despite the exhaustion that dragged at me, and it made me so uncomfortable there wasn’t room in my brain to handle thoughts of death.

  I stood shivering in the cold and watched as the snowfall grew heavier, until there was a dusting of white over every exposed surface. So much for the “slight chance” of snow. Exhaustion had made my knees weak, and I was leaning against the side of the building to keep myself upright when I finally saw Jamaal’s black Saab turning into the entrance. I pushed away from the wall as he pulled up to the curb, and my legs were so shaky I almost fell. I was in rough shape, and I hoped I wouldn’t need Jamaal to help me into the car.

  The passenger door sprang open, and I saw that Jamaal had leaned across the seat to open it for me. He was watching me intently as I approached, I think trying to gauge whether I could make it on my own or not. If he hadn’t opened the door for me, I don’t know if I could have. I collapsed into the passenger seat in a boneless heap, shivering even more violently when the blast of heated air hit me.

  Jamaal reached over me to pull the door closed. I’d kind of forgotten that little detail in the blissful glory of sitting down and feeling the warmth of the heater. Despite my fear of the darkness, my eyelids weighed about a ton each, and sleep was pressing in on me from all sides. I was so out of it I’d forgotten about the seat belt, too. I thought about trying to take over as Jamaal buckled me in, but that simple task loomed like a Herculean labor, and I couldn’t find the energy to even start.

  I was asleep before the car started moving again.

  There’s no sleep quite so deep and dreamless as that which occurs after a lot of supernatural healing. I didn’t wake up when we arrived at the mansion, nor when Jamaal picked me up and carried me through the snow from the garage to the main house, nor when he carried me up to my room on the third floor. When I did wake up, it was dark outside. Someone—Jamaal, presumably—had considerately turned my bedside lamp on so that I wouldn’t wake up to a dark room. I smiled at that small act of kindness, even as my fuzzy brain realized I didn’t remember a thing since collapsing into the seat of Jamaal’s car.

  My body still felt strangely heavy, and I knew that if I curled up and tried to sleep some more, I’d probably drift off again. But that effort would require me to lie there with my eyes closed for a while, and I knew from experience I’d have to face panicky memories of being dead.

  Deciding I’d rather wait until the exhaustion had a mind of its own again before facing that ordeal, I pushed myself into a sitting position, and that’s when I noticed a number of things.

  For one, I wasn’t wearing my clothes. I glanced down at myself and saw the straps of my bra peeking out from beneath the covers, so at least I wasn’t completely naked, but someone had undressed me.

  Second, I noticed the heavenly scent of coffee. I breathed in deep, wondering if I had the strength to wander into the sitting room and fetch myself a cup.

  Then, and only then, did I realize I wasn’t alone in the room.

  I gave a startled little squeak when I caught sight of the shadowed form sitting quietly in an armchair in the corner. Jamaal leaned forward so that the light from my bedside lamp illuminated his face better. Not that I’d had any doubt who was there once I’d noticed him.

  “Coffee?” he asked in a gruff voice, not meeting my eyes.

  I wondered if he was the one who’d undressed me, and the thought made my cheeks heat with a blush. “Yes, please,” I answered, taking a page from his book and looking away. I felt almost like I was waking up on the dreaded morning after.

  Jamaal walked to the sitting room without another word. I wondered if I should scurry out of bed and grab a robe or something, but that seemed both prudish and pointless. I had sheets to cover myself with, after all, and Jamaal was likely the one who’d removed my clothes in the first place.

  I had the guilty thought that I wished I’d been awake for that, but I shoved it aside. Now was not the time to indulge in fantasy and wishful thinking.

  Jamaal returned with coffee moments later. He handed me the steaming mug, and I wrapped my hands around it, even though I was no longer chilled to the bone. Then he stood awkwardly by the side of the bed, and I wondered if he was having trouble deciding whether to go back to his chair or sit down beside me.

  “How long was I asleep?” I asked, hoping a little normal conversation would help dispel the awkwardness.

  “A couple of hours,” he answered, then came to a decision and sat hesitantly on the side of my bed.

  “Have you been here the whole time?”

  He shook his head, making his beads rattle and click, a sound I would forever associate with him. “Maggie and I went to pick up your car before the snow got too bad. You didn’t exactly tell me the whole story when you called for a ride, did you?” There was a hint of reproach in his voice, which suggested he’d filled in some of the blanks already one way or another.

  I tried to think back to what exactly I’d told him. I’d been nearly out of my mind with exhaustion and stress and leftover fear, and it would have taken more strength than I had to tell him everything that had happened. My memory felt a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure all I’d said was that I was in a car accident and that I’d been temporarily dead.

  “I wasn’t in any shape for a long explanation at the time,” I told him, taking a sip of my coffee. It tasted warm and soothing, and in a little while, I’d be enjoying a caffeine kick that might help me feel less like the walking dead.

  “No, I suppose not,” Jamaal said drily.

  Clearly, he knew something about what had happened. “What have you heard? And where did you hear it?”

  He shrugged and pulled at a loose string hanging off the edge of an artful tear in the knee of his jeans. “I figured the police would be called to the scene of an accident as bad as the one you must have been in, so I asked Leo to look up the police reports.”

  “I don’t know that I’m ever going to get used to him being able to do that.” I guess that explained how Jamaal had known where my car was to go pick it up.

  “They said you were found in the trunk of a car, bound in duct tape. They also said that the first responders had reported you dead.”

  “Did the reports also say the guy who’d tried to kidnap me confessed he was hired by some unknown woman?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Thanks to Leo, we actually got a look at his full confession. The guy’s orders were to kill you and then get you buried within an hour of your death.”

  I shuddered and hugged the covers closer to me. I had come so very, very close to facing my worst nightmare. If it hadn’t been for the accident . . .

  All day long, I’d been fighting to keep control of my emotions, to keep them contained inside me where they wouldn’t threaten my ability to think rationally. And all at once, I couldn’t hold them back an
other instant. Lord knows I tried, but after the first tears escaped, everything crumbled. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed, letting the aftermath of the terror have its way with me.

  I’ve never been a big fan of crying in front of people, and if I had to name the top-ten people I didn’t want to cry in front of, Jamaal would head the list. But there are some things in life you can’t control, and this particular burst of emotion was one of them.

  Covering my face with my hands didn’t seem like enough, so I bent over double, pulling my knees up and burying my face against them as I hugged them. I felt the sheets sliding away from my skin, but I was too distraught to care. I imagined a manly stoic like Jamaal was appalled enough by my outburst not to notice the expanses of skin I inadvertently revealed. These were not delicate, ladylike tears. These were wrenching, noisy, messy sobs.

  I expected Jamaal to sit there and look befuddled, or maybe even to beat a hasty retreat so he didn’t have to witness my meltdown. When I felt the tentative touch of his hand on the bare skin of my back, it was almost enough to startle me into silence. However, this meltdown wasn’t about to let a sympathetic touch derail it.

  Surely now Jamaal would retreat, I thought, but he remained beside me, his hand stroking gently up and down my back, more confident now that I hadn’t rebuffed him. For his sake—and yeah, okay, for the sake of my own dignity—I tried to get a handle on myself, but it seemed like the harder I fought to suppress the tears, the more determined they were to escape.

  Jamaal slid closer to me on the bed. He slipped his arm around me and pulled me against his chest, one hand on my back, one on the back of my head. I resisted for all of about one and a half seconds, then melted against him, clinging to him as if he were a life raft in a stormy sea. He rocked me back and forth like a child, and he made no obvious attempt to get me to stop crying.