Dark Descendant (11 page)

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 aban
donment 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, and 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