Dark Descendant

by Jenna Black

  We’d been walking for what felt like miles, after having spent a day and a night riding on a stinky, crowded bus. I was hungry. I was soaked through. My feet hurt. And I wanted to curl up to sleep in my cozy, comfortable bed at home.

  “Momma! Pick me up!” I whined, at the end of what little patience I had at the age of four. “My feet hurt.”

  “Hush, sweetheart,” she said, absently reaching down to brush a dripping lock of hair out of my eyes. The stupid baby cried even louder once Momma wasn’t holding him with both hands. I hated him for it even though I knew I was supposed to love him. “We’re almost there.”

  I didn’t know where “there” was, but I didn’t see anything familiar on this run-down city street, so I knew “there” wasn’t home, and home was the only “there” I wanted.

  “Wanna go home!” I yelled, stamping my foot. Then I decided to see if I could out-wail my brother. If I was loud enough, maybe Momma would give me what I wanted. It always seemed to work for stupid Billy.

  Momma closed her eyes in pain and weariness when I started to cry, but she didn’t take me home. Instead, we continued to trudge through the rain. I tried going on a sit-down strike, but Momma grabbed my hand and dragged me along. I was too old to be carried, she informed me, so I was just going to have to walk.

  Finally, when I was sure I couldn’t walk another step even with Momma pulling on me, we climbed a set of weathered stone steps. Momma pushed open a door, and I followed her into a cool, dark entryway. It seemed we were finally “there.”

  I wiped my dripping hair away from my face as my eyes adjusted to the low light, which seemed to come almost entirely from candles. Ahead of us, a pair of doors were propped open to reveal a long aisle with rows of pews on either side. The rain had darkened the afternoon skies so that only the faintest glow of light shone through the stained glass windows, but a discreet spotlight illuminated a gruesome statue of Christ on the cross.

  I shivered in the air-conditioned breeze. Seconds ago, I’d have done anything to get inside out of the rain, and to sit down, but I didn’t like this church. Maybe it was a premonition. Or maybe it was just that I was reliving the memory/dream from my adult perspective, knowing what was going to happen.

  Momma led me down the aisle, to a pew in the middle of the church. There were a couple of old ladies sitting at the very front, but other than them we were the only people in the place. Our footsteps echoed, despite the strip of carpet down the center of the aisle. It was then that I realized the baby had finally stopped crying.

  Momma nudged me into the pew, and I sat down gratefully, no matter how uneasy the church made me. I thought she’d sit next to me, but she didn’t. She knelt in the aisle, still cradling Billy in her arms. He made a little sound of protest, like he was about to start screaming again, but then stuck his thumb firmly in his mouth instead. The quiet made the patter of the rain on the windows seem loud.

  Momma let go of Billy with one hand, and he was too busy sucking his thumb to complain. She brushed my cheek with the back of her hand, and the light glinted off the moisture in her eyes.

  “I want you to sit here and be a good girl, Nikki,” she said in a low whisper, the sound barely loud enough to hear over the patter of the rain. “I have to go change Billy’s diaper,” she continued, and her eyes shone even brighter. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek. I didn’t know why she was crying now that both Billy and I had stopped. I knew it was a bad sign, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Momma was supposed to comfort me when I cried, not the other way around. The confusion was more than I could deal with, so I just nodded and didn’t ask why she was so sad.

  “I love you so much, baby,” she said, leaning forward so she could plant a soft kiss on my forehead. “Never doubt that. Never.”

  When she pulled away from me, tears were streaming down her cheeks. And there was an iridescent glyph on her forehead.

  She stroked my wet, tangled hair one last time and stood up. Then she wrapped both arms around Billy, and hurried down the aisle.

  I never saw her again.

  I awoke with a start and a gasp. I’d dreamed of my abandonment about a zillion times. The details varied here and there, which was what made me wonder how much was really memory, but never before had the dream included a glyph on my mother’s forehead.

  I sat up slowly, my head foggy and confused. The bright sunlight of the afternoon had faded to blue twilight while I’d slept, leaving the room in shadows. Still groggy, I reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, squinting in the sudden brightness.

  Of course, it made sense for me to dream about my mom having a glyph on her forehead after all I’d gone through in the last twenty-four hours or so. Surely it was nothing more than the power of suggestion.

  But what if it wasn’t? Anderson said the Olympians hunted down Descendant families and killed them. What if I’d gotten my divine heritage through my mother’s side of the family? And what if she’d found out the Olympians were after her? Could that explain why she’d abandoned me?

  We’d been on that bus a day and a night—if my memory was accurate—which meant she’d traveled hundreds of miles away from our home, before she left me sitting on that church pew. When I’d finally realized she wasn’t coming back and the old ladies at the front of the church had called the police, I was so hysterical I couldn’t even tell them my own name, much less my mother’s. Nor could I tell them where I lived. My mom had made me memorize our address and phone number once, but I didn’t remember it.

  Eventually, I calmed down enough to remember the address, but it was just the street address—no city or state. The street name was common enough—Main, or Broad, or something like that—that the police were able to take me to the address, but since it was the wrong city, it didn’t help.

  My mother had not only abandoned me, she’d severed all ties to me. I was found so far from where I’d grown up that no one could possibly recognize me, and I was young enough to think my mother’s name was “Momma.” There was no way anyone could identify me, or associate me with my mother in any way. And if anyone was hunting her, if anyone found her, they’d still never have found me.

  Most likely, it was just wishful thinking that built this scenario in my mind. After all, my mother hadn’t left Billy at the church. Maybe she didn’t think the old women at the front would have let her leave a crying baby and a four-year-old alone in the pews. Or maybe she’d left Billy somewhere else, hiding her tracks even more.

  “Or maybe she just abandoned you because you were too much damn trouble,” I muttered, disgusted with myself for the stupid fantasy. Odds were, my mom had known nothing whatsoever about the Olympians. I couldn’t fathom why she was so desperate to get rid of me—I didn’t become a hellion until I started living in foster care—but there is, sadly, no shortage of women who abandon their children, one way or another. There was no reason to believe my own mother wasn’t just one more.

  EIGHT

  I felt even more tired now than I had before I’d taken my unintentional nap. I brewed a pot of the terrible in-room coffee, made even more terrible by non-dairy creamer. Then I took another shower, hoping it would clear my head.

  It didn’t.

  Afterward, I reluctantly turned my phone back on and checked messages. As I’d expected, Anderson had tried calling back a couple of times, though he hadn’t left any voice mails. Also as expected, I had a couple of messages from Steph, wondering where the hell I was and why I wasn’t calling her back. Her third message revealed that her slight concern was well on its way to becoming full-out worry.

  “Nikki. I talked to Jim, and he said you ducked out early last night. No one has seen or heard from you since. Please call me back as soon as you get this. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to call the police. Please call.”

  I winced in guilt as I heard the quaver in my sister’s voice. It wasn’t like me not to return phone calls, an
d after what must have seemed like a somewhat mysterious exit from the restaurant last night, I couldn’t blame Steph for being worried. I might not run into the kind of daily danger that cops did, but my profession was not without its risks. She’d probably come up with a boatload of worst-case scenarios already. I prayed to God she hadn’t gotten worried enough to try to call the Glasses yet. Surely she wouldn’t interrupt their cruise unless she were certain there was something wrong. At least, I hoped not.

  Knowing I could put it off no longer, I put on my big-girl panties and called Steph’s house. She answered on the first ring, like she’d been hovering over the phone willing me to call. Maybe she had.

  “Oh, thank God!” she said in lieu of a greeting, then immediately burst into tears.

  Another wave of guilt rolled over me, even as I was momentarily annoyed at the melodrama. Steph bursts into tears at the drop of a hat. Which is probably healthier than my stoic reserve, but it gets on my nerves anyway.

  In a lot of ways, it’s a minor miracle that Steph and I are so close, seeing as we’re polar opposites. Steph is a true blond bombshell, the kind that makes anyone with a Y chromosome start drooling. She’s perky as hell, and everyone seems to like her. She’d always run with the popular clique at school—naturally, she’d been a cheerleader—but she’d been friendly with just about everyone, even the kids at whom cheerleaders traditionally looked down their noses. Steph may have been a card-carrying member of the popular crowd, but behind the frothy façade, she had a backbone of steel. No amount of peer pressure was going to make her be cruel to people who were outside her usual social circle. And heaven help anyone who dared to be cruel to her adopted little sister, even when said little sister made being an outsider a point of pride.

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” I told Steph as she fought to control her tears. I hadn’t yet figured out what I was going to tell her—if I’d waited until I dreamed up the perfect explanation, I’d never have gotten around to calling—but I knew I had to come up with something fast.

  “I’m fine,” I continued. “I promise. Not a scratch on me. But I was in a car accident last night.”

  “What?” she shrieked, and I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

  “I’m fine!” I repeated. “My car has gone on to its heavenly reward, but I’m not hurt, so please don’t be upset.”

  “Don’t be upset? You’re joking, right?”

  Please, please, please let her not have called the Glasses yet. Mrs. Glass was the quintessential overprotective mother hen, and she mothered me every bit as thoroughly as she did Steph. Dealing with Steph’s distress was enough already—I couldn’t bear the thought of having to call and reassure Mrs. Glass afterward.

  “If you were in an accident last night,” Steph continued, and there was a hint of anger seeping into her voice, “then why am I just hearing about it now? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls? You knew I was going to call to ask you how things went, and you had to know I’d get worried when you didn’t call back.”

  I sighed and wished I’d forced myself to call earlier. I couldn’t blame her for being upset with me. If the situation had been reversed, I’d have been furious.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I wasn’t hurt, but I was pretty badly shaken up. I haven’t been quite myself, and I just didn’t think. My phone was turned off all day, and I didn’t even notice until just now.”

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  I blinked and shook my head at the non sequitur. “Huh?”

  “Meet me at Angelo’s at seven. A phone call doesn’t cut it for this conversation, kiddo.”

  I groaned, thinking I should have drunk more coffee before picking up the phone. If my brain had been fully awake, I’d have known Steph wouldn’t settle for a phone call. Angelo’s was her favorite Italian restaurant, a real dive that served great food and mediocre wine. My body was too confused to know whether it was hungry or not, but I knew I wasn’t up to the level of scrutiny I would undergo over dinner.

  “I’m really not up to—” I started.

  “Be there at seven, or I’m going to call Mom and tell her you totaled the car.”

  “You bitch!” I cried. “Don’t you dare!”

  I knew Mrs. Glass would have to find out about it eventually, but the more time that passed before she heard about it, the less chance that she would become hysterical.

  “Show up for dinner, and I won’t have to,” Steph said, sounding smug. “You owe me for scaring the life out of me.”

  I considered trying to argue some more. There was no way I could behave as if nothing was wrong if I talked to Steph in person, and I still had no clue what I could use as a convincing cover story. But as I mentioned, Steph has a quite a backbone beneath her deceptively sweet exterior. If she was determined to talk to me in person, nothing would change her mind. And if I didn’t show up, she really would call her mom and rat me out.

  “Fine,” I said with poor grace. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  I almost decided to skip the dinner, despite Steph’s threat. I didn’t like the idea that I might lead that creep Alexis right to her, and I didn’t want him anywhere near my sister. However, Blake had told me that the Oracle’s visions were rarely clear, so I figured the odds that Alexis would find me twice in one day were low. The odds that Steph would rat me out if I didn’t show up were a hundred percent. Besides, I couldn’t avoid her forever.

  I pushed open the door to Angelo’s at 7:15, and the scent of garlic and tomatoes set my mouth to watering instantly. A quick glance around the chipped Formica tables showed me what I’d already expected to find: Steph wasn’t here yet. She is biologically incapable of showing up anywhere on time, despite all Mrs. Glass’s best efforts to train her to punctuality. She also has a sixth sense about what time I’ll arrive. Even when I specifically try to be late enough for her to get there before me, she’s always just a little bit later.

  The hostess led me to a table for two near the back. There was no longer any smoking allowed inside, but the walls themselves must have absorbed the stink of cigarette smoke over the years, because I could still catch a whiff of it in the air. Or maybe it was just because I’d been coming here so long I knew the table was in the old smoking section.

  Steph made her grand entrance about five minutes later, rushing through the door and scanning the restaurant anxiously, like she was afraid I’d have bolted by now. I waved, and saw her sigh of relief.

  The Glasses had already made their fortune by the time Steph was in her formative years, so she’d grown up with the best fashion sense money could buy. She was wearing perfectly tailored slate gray slacks and a luxurious red cashmere sweater that clung to her near-flawless figure. She’d finished the outfit with a black swing coat and a pair of stiletto-heeled boots that I’d have broken my neck trying to walk in.

  As usual, every male over the age of twelve gave her at least one or two appreciative glances as she snaked her way through the tables toward me. I told myself I was not jealous, but it was a lie. She was just so damn … perfect. If only she were a bitch, so I could hate her like she deserved to be hated…

  Steph’s mischievous smile said she had an inkling what was running through my mind. She draped her coat over the back of her chair, then sat across from me and gave me a penetrating stare. It took every ounce of my willpower not to look away.

  Steph leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Something happened,” she said with great authority. “Something other than a car accident. What is it?”

  Great. I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet, and already Steph saw through me.

  I considered trying to bluff my way through it. When I was on the job, people always seemed to believe whatever pretext I made up, but Steph and her parents knew me too well, and I was rarely able to slip a lie past any of them.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I’ve got some stuff going on. But it’s not anything I can talk about.” Not without getting carted off to the loony bin, that
is.

  Steph uncrossed her arms and began tapping the table with her perfectly manicured nails.

  “I mean it, Steph. I can’t talk about it. I’m not willfully holding out on you.” Well, not too much, anyway.

  She continued tapping her fingers and staring at me, not saying a word. I recognized the ploy for what it was: she was hoping that the pressure of her silent scrutiny would make me blurt something out. It was a tactic she’d learned from her mom, and under normal circumstances, it might even have worked.

  The waitress interrupted our silent standoff to take our orders. Neither one of us had even consulted the menu, but then we’d memorized it years ago.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Steph finally asked when the waitress was out of earshot.

  “I can’t—”

  “Talk about it. Yeah, I heard you. I’m not asking for details. I just want to know if you’re in trouble, and if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  My throat tightened briefly. There were times when Steph bugged the hell out of me, but she was one of the nicest people I’d ever met. She could have resented me for inserting myself into her family when she’d had thirteen years of being an only child, but she’d been nothing but supportive even from the very beginning, when I’d been a sullen, sulky troublemaker.

  “Thanks, Steph,” I said, my voice a bit gruff. “But there’s nothing you can do.” I forced a grin. “Except stop setting me up on blind dates with assholes.”

  For a moment, I thought she was going to resist my attempt to deflect the conversation. Then her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “What’s wrong with Jim?” she asked, though her heart wasn’t in the question. “He’s nice, he’s handsome, he’s successful, and he’s single.”