Deadly Descendant (Nikki Glass)

by Jenna Black

  It wasn’t easy to let it go, but I managed somehow.

  “Fine. We won’t talk about it. Yet. But someday, when this whole mess with Kerner is over, you and I are going to have a long talk.” My stomach knotted up as I remembered that when this mess was over, I would be hitting the road and wouldn’t be having any long talks with anyone.

  Secure in his victory, Jamaal visibly eased back from the edge. He arched an eyebrow at me. “You think so?”

  I nodded briskly and hoped my face hadn’t given away my sudden burst of gloom. “Yep.”

  The arousal of our little make-out session hadn’t fully faded yet, but I did the best I could to shove it to the background of my mind. Later, I’d probably regret letting things go as far as they had, and I’d be grateful that Jamaal had put on the brakes, but for now, I had to battle my own frustration.

  Rebuttoning my shirt, I plopped back down onto the futon. I really wanted to go back to my own suite to pull myself together and lick my wounds—possibly even to do a little sulking—but I’d sought Jamaal out for a reason, and sex wasn’t it.

  “All right, then,” I said with a sigh of resignation. “Let’s talk strategy.”

  NINETEEN

  Not surprisingly, it was a little hard to change gears back into problem-solving mode. Especially when Jamaal was brooding and I was suffering from an acute case of sexual frustration. I knew Jamaal still wanted to tell Anderson about Emma’s threat, but, at least for the time being, he was willing to respect my desire to keep Anderson out of the loop.

  From hours of staring at my map, I had determined approximately where Kerner spent his days—or at least, I had a theory about where he spent his days. That didn’t necessarily mean I was right, and even if I was, I didn’t know which of the likely cemeteries Kerner actually hung out in. The fact that Kerner was most likely hiding in a cemetery made Jamaal into a less-than-optimal ally, but I had no other choice but to use him as my co-conspirator.

  “I won’t go apeshit the moment I set foot in a cemetery,” he assured me. “It took a couple of hours for me to lose control that first time. We’ll just have to make sure we don’t need that much time to track Kerner down.”

  I bit my tongue to avoid pointing out that my power wasn’t as predictable as that. He already knew.

  “So what do we do if we find him?” I asked. “I’d really rather not be a jackal’s chew toy again. That wasn’t fun.”

  “If the jackals are a manifestation of Kerner’s death magic, then it’s possible they wouldn’t be able to hurt me; Emmitt’s magic couldn’t.” He frowned. “At least, it couldn’t when I countered it with my own. I’m not sure if I’d have to target Kerner or the jackals.”

  Whichever one he didn’t direct his death magic at would be all over me. Assuming his death magic had any effect at all. Which sounded like a pretty big, scary if.

  “I could act as a diversion,” Jamaal continued. “Draw off Kerner’s jackals while you take him out with a shot to the head. It wouldn’t kill him permanently, of course, but if you can knock him out of commission, that’ll take care of the jackals, and we can … do what we need to do.”

  I found it interesting that Jamaal was unwilling to put into words exactly what it was we needed to do to keep Kerner contained. I couldn’t blame him, and I still hoped that somehow I’d be able to persuade Anderson to do the right thing. Which was almost certainly wishful thinking on my part, because Anderson was not an easy man to persuade, and he obviously felt very, very strongly about keeping his damn secret.

  “But if you’re wrong about the death magic …” I said.

  Jamaal shrugged. “If I’m wrong, then I get mauled. I’ll still be a distraction, and we know how to ‘cure’ the rabies. I’d rather not go through that, but I’m willing to if that’s what it takes.”

  I have to admit, I was impressed at the nonchalance with which he offered himself up. No, he didn’t act like he was all eager or anything, but he was willing to put himself through hell—a hell he’d personally experienced before, so he knew exactly what he was getting into—to stop a bad guy. I like to think that I’d have been able to do the same thing, take one for the team if it were necessary, but I wasn’t so sure. I’m not a total wimp or anything, but I’ve never thought of myself as particularly brave, either.

  “All of this assumes we can even find him,” I said, not at all secure in my ability to do so. All I had was a hunch that he was in one of two places. The cemeteries were relatively small, compared with, say Rock Creek, but if Kerner realized I was there, he could lead us on a merry chase, and we might never catch up to him. At least, not until the proximity to the dead pushed Jamaal over the edge.

  “Maybe we need him to find us instead,” Jamaal suggested.

  That might be the way it happened, whether we wanted it to or not. After having warned me off, Kerner would probably turn out to be a little grumpy if he saw me poking around. Maybe he would come out of hiding to show his displeasure. But I didn’t know if we could count on it. He was crazy but not stupid. If he saw us looking for him, he’d know we were rejecting his deal, and he might play hide-and-seek with us, then go find some innocent victim on whom to take out his frustrations.

  “Maybe isn’t good enough,” I said. “We need to draw him out for sure, or we’ll get people killed.”

  What would draw Kerner out of hiding?

  The first thing that came to my mind was Konstantin. Kerner’s plan was to torment and terrify Konstantin by taking out his Olympians one by one, but it was Konstantin himself he hated most, and he might not be able to resist the temptation if he thought Konstantin was within his reach. Of course, there was the small problem that in order to use Konstantin to draw Kerner out, we’d have to get hold of him. Somehow I didn’t think that would be so easy.

  “Do you think there’s some way we can trick Konstantin into meeting us at one of the cemeteries?” I asked, thinking out loud. “If we could jump him, we could use him as bait.” And wouldn’t it be a shame if we used him as bait and then didn’t manage to stop Kerner until Konstantin was dead?

  I felt a brief twinge of shame for thinking like Emma, but all I had to do was remind myself what had happened to Steph on Konstantin’s orders, and I didn’t feel bad about it anymore. If we could kill Konstantin and capture Kerner, it would be an entirely satisfying mission.

  Jamaal gave me an incredulous look that told me just how impressed he was with my idea.

  “That was a joke, right?” he asked. “Konstantin would smell this rat from a mile away. And even if we could trick him out into the open, he’s a descendant of Ares. He could take the two of us in a fight with his hands tied behind his back. There’s a reason he’s been the leader of the Olympians for so long, and it’s not because he’s an easy target.”

  I gave him a dirty look. “Come up with a better idea. Then you can criticize all you like.”

  We mulled things over for a few minutes, both lost in thought. I could see the moment an idea struck Jamaal by the way his eyes suddenly sharpened with interest.

  “You’ve got something?” I asked.

  Jamaal frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think. But you’d have to be willing to let someone else in on the plan. You willing to do that?”

  I didn’t like that idea one bit. The more people who knew, the more likely someone was going to blab to Anderson, and that could be a disaster.

  “Depends how good your idea is,” I answered cautiously. “And who the someone is.”

  “Getting hold of Konstantin would be the next best thing to impossible. But getting hold of someone who could impersonate Konstantin would be doable.”

  I had to think about it a second before I got it. “Jack,” I finally said. I still hadn’t taken the time to look up Loki on the Internet, but clearly Jack possessed strong illusion magic. And he could change into a dog. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine he could disguise himself as Konstantin.

  Jamaal made a face—he couldn’t seem to help
expressing distaste when Jack’s name came up—but he nodded. “He can create an illusion that no one would be able to see through.”

  The idea had merit, I had to admit. “So we have Jack disguise himself as Konstantin, then we drag him out to the cemeteries and parade him around until Kerner makes an appearance.” A few more things clicked into place in my mind, and I found myself liking the idea more and more.

  “We can pretend we grabbed Konstantin to hand him over so that Kerner won’t kill any more innocents on his way to his main goal. Maybe we can have Jack make his illusion look like Konstantin is in rough shape, extra vulnerable.”

  Jamaal shrugged. “I suspect if Kerner gets a look at Konstantin, his brain will short-circuit, and he won’t bother worrying that it’s too good to be true. Some temptations are strong enough to make people forget to be cautious.”

  He had a point, but I suspected we were getting just a bit ahead of ourselves. It sounded like Jack might be an extremely useful ally if we were going to take Kerner down, but …

  “Are we really willing to make a plan that relies on Jack?”

  I didn’t feel like I had much of a read on Jack. Being part of Anderson’s crew made him automatically one of the good guys—I trusted Anderson’s judgment where anyone but Emma was concerned. But his trickster heritage made him unpredictable. Would he think it was more “fun” to rat Jamaal and me out to Anderson, thereby getting us into trouble he might find entertaining to watch? Not to mention the fact that he and Jamaal weren’t exactly the best of friends.

  Jamaal made a dismissive sound. “The little shit will get a kick out of going behind Anderson’s back.”

  Was I crazy, or was there a hint of gruff affection beneath Jamaal’s expressed disdain? He made such a habit of snarling it was hard to take it very seriously or personally, but I’d always assumed his animosity toward Jack was real and heartfelt.

  “That isn’t exactly what I’d call a rousing endorsement,” I pointed out.

  “Come up with a plan that doesn’t require illusion magic, then.”

  “You’re not being very helpful,” I grumbled.

  Jamaal didn’t bother with a response, which was just as well. He was right, and for the plan we’d come up with, we’d need Jack’s help. I still didn’t like it. I was used to working alone, and it had taken some adjustment to get used to thinking of myself as part of a team. I didn’t like having to trust other people, especially someone as mercurial as Jack.

  There was that, and there was also the fact that even if our plan worked out perfectly, Anderson would be furious with us. Then, if Emma threw a little more gasoline on the fire by trotting out her accusations against me, I could find myself in big trouble. There were makeshift prison cells in the basement of the mansion—Anderson’s version of the preschooler’s “time-out”—and I didn’t want to think about what would happen to Steph if I found myself locked up in one. Emma would have a field day. And that was the best-case scenario! If our plans failed, it would be much, much worse.

  If I’d been able to think of another plan, even if I’d just had an inkling of one, I’d have seized it. But I had nothing, and I wanted to stop Kerner before he killed again.

  “All right,” I said reluctantly. “Jack’s in. Assuming he agrees to join us, that is.”

  “Oh, he’ll join us, all right,” Jamaal said with complete confidence.

  I gave him an inquiring raise of the eyebrows.

  “Sneaking around? Doing something recklessly dangerous? That is so his cup of tea. He’ll be all for it.”

  “Great,” I answered while trying to silence my internal alarm bells. Either my gut was trying to tell me that this plan sucked, or I was suffering an acute bout of paranoia. I wished like hell I knew which one.

  TWENTY

  After reaching our decision, Jamaal and I sought out Jack—who was surprised to see us, to say the least—and laid it all out for him.

  Jamaal was right, and Jack was more than eager to participate. I would have liked to have gone running out to the cemetery right that moment and get the whole mess over with, but I managed to put a lid on my eagerness.

  The phases of the moon seemed to have an effect on my hunting abilities, and though the moon was near full tonight, it was cloudy out. If I had more moonlight, I’d have a better chance of tracking Kerner down, and the clouds were supposed to clear during the day.

  I discussed timing with Jack and Jamaal, and we all agreed it would be best to wait until the next night to implement our plan. We needed to stack the odds in our favor as much as possible.

  Not surprisingly, I couldn’t sleep that night. Let’s face it, I was scared. There were so many things that could go wrong with our plan. And even if everything went perfectly, I knew I had to make myself disappear before Emma realized I was reneging on our “deal.” The only reason I was still hanging around was that I needed to stop Kerner first.

  In the wee hours of the night, I packed my bag, taking only the essentials, and snuck through the darkened house out to the garage while no one was around to see me. I stashed the bag in the trunk of my car. Tomorrow night, regardless of what happened with Kerner, I would make my escape.

  I didn’t think I could bear to say good-bye, but I couldn’t just disappear without a word. I spent the rest of the night composing letters of farewell to those who mattered most to me: Steph, my adoptive parents, Anderson—who needed to hear the truth, even if he refused to believe it—and, yes, Jamaal. I even wrote a short note for Blake, asking him to take good care of Steph.

  It was a good thing I composed those letters on my laptop, because if I had been writing by hand, I’d have smudged the ink with my tears. You never appreciate what you have as much as you do when you’ve lost it. I wished I could hug the Glasses one more time before I disappeared from their lives completely—thanks to their cruise, it had been weeks since I’d seen them. More than anything, I wished I could hold on to the fantasy of being part of Anderson’s team, of living with fellow immortals who knew my secrets and would remain constant as the years, decades, and centuries passed. I had tried to keep myself aloof from them, and I had failed miserably.

  As the long, slow hours of the night crept by, I couldn’t help wondering if the best-case scenario wasn’t for the jackals to get me. But I wasn’t Emmitt, to think only of myself and my own needs. If I went on the run tomorrow, it would hurt Steph and our parents—and maybe some of the Liberi—pretty badly, but at least they’d know I was alive. And maybe in their own minds, they could imagine a better and brighter future for me than the one I knew was coming.

  As consolations go, it wasn’t much.

  We met on the front porch at a little after nine the next night, going out one at a time so that no one would see the three of us leaving together and wonder what we were up to. I was the last to arrive, because I’d waited until the last possible moment to print out my farewell letters, seal them, and leave them on my desk. Seeing those envelopes neatly lined up on my desk had made everything seem much more real. My heart was already aching with loss, and I hoped like hell Steph would one day forgive me for leaving her like this. I was pretty sure she would understand, but understanding isn’t the same as forgiving.

  I wondered if this was how my mother had felt when she’d walked out of that church without me. Had she had a good reason? Had she hoped I’d forgive her someday?

  I shook the thought off. This wasn’t the same thing. Steph wasn’t a child, and I wasn’t disappearing without a word. Yeah, like leaving a typewritten note is going to make it all better.

  Jeez, I was a maudlin bundle of nerves tonight, but who could blame me under the circumstances? When I stepped out onto the porch and found Jamaal smoking a joint, I was almost tempted to ask him to give me a puff. But somehow I didn’t think adding drugs to my anxiety and sleep deprivation was going to be an improvement.

  While my stomach was tight with dread and Jamaal was smoking the joint because he needed it to help him stay calm, Jack
seemed more excited than nervous. He watched Jamaal smoking with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

  “You gonna share that?” he asked hopefully. Jamaal gave him a withering look, and Jack pouted.

  “You’re bad enough sober,” I said, to save Jamaal the trouble of responding. “I don’t want to be around you if you’re stoned.”

  Jack grinned at me. Sometimes I swear I thought his face had frozen that way. “But it doesn’t bother you to be around a stoned death goddess descendant?”

  “I’m not getting stoned,” Jamaal snapped, playing right into Jack’s game as usual. Amazing how easily Jack was able to provoke him. And that he’d lived to tell about it. “I’m just trying to keep the death magic quiet.”

  “Riiiight,” Jack drawled. “And you read Playboy for the articles.”

  “Guys,” I interrupted before Jamaal could react, “let’s not start this, okay?” I glared at Jack, though I’d never seen any evidence that glares affected him. “If you set Jamaal off before we even get in the car, you’ll have screwed up our plan at step one, because it’ll be noisy, and someone will wonder what the hell we’re up to.”

  Jack’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and Jamaal grumbled something under his breath that I was perfectly glad not to have heard. I ignored them both and headed out to the garage, glancing over my shoulder at the lighted windows behind me, hoping no one would see us. But who sits around looking out windows at night?

  We made it to the garage without incident and without anyone from the house seeming to notice us. The moment we were inside the garage, Jack started in on the troublemaking again, reminding me of all the reasons why I’d hesitated to include him in the plan.

  “I’m driving,” he announced, pulling a rabbit’s-foot key fob out of his jeans pocket.