Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) (11 page)

She sighed dramatically. “I suppose so,” she said in a tone of long-suffering patience.

My lips twitched with a smile. Maybe I really
had
been imagining the hint of coolness I’d thought I’d seen when she first got out of the car. She seemed like her usual self, full of warmth and good humor.

“Thank you,” I said again, and then I gave her an impulsive hug. She was more than just my big sister; she was also my best friend, and a truly nice person at heart. Maybe somewhere deep down inside she was angry about all the chaos I’d brought into her life, but she would be ashamed of those feelings and would do her best not to show them. That was all I could ask for, and maybe more than I deserved.

“All righty then,” Steph said when I released her from the hug, “let’s get this show on the road.”

I smiled at the stupid pun, and Steph and I piled into the rental. I’d thought about planning out an elaborate route that would take us by more Olympian properties, but I hadn’t been near any of those properties when I’d spaced out last night, so I saw no reason to keep operating under the hopes that Konstantin was hiding somewhere I could find him by logic.

“So what’s the plan?” Steph asked as she adjusted the seat and mirrors, then started the car.

“It’s a pretty lame one,” I admitted. “But I think we should just get on the Beltway and see what happens.”

The Beltway circles all the way around the city, and driving on it is easily tedious enough to put anyone on autopilot. Unless you hit traffic or there’s an accident, in which case it’s more suited to road rage, but I was going to pretend those possibilities didn’t exist.

Steph’s sidelong glance told me how enamored she was of my plan, but she didn’t argue. “Do you care which way I go when I get to the Beltway?”

“I don’t think it matters. Take whichever way seems to be moving fastest. Once we get on the Beltway, I’ll need you not to talk to me anymore. Just let me zone out.”

“If you’re zoned out, how are you going to tell me which way to go?”

I made a face. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is really just an experiment. I have no idea if it’ll work. It might be a waste of time.”

Steph shrugged. “Okay then. Only one way to find out.”

During the ride to the Beltway, Steph and I tried to
concoct a plausible story about why I was living in the mansion. Preferably one that didn’t cause her parents—
our
parents—to ask too many questions. We didn’t have a whole lot of luck. Let’s face it, the situation was hard to explain. I could tell the Glasses I was working for Anderson, and they might almost
believe that I’d spend a night or two there if I was working late for some reason. However, being there
every
night, as well as me moving an awful lot of my stuff from the condo to the mansion, was a lot harder. I was almost glad when we hit the Beltway and it was time to invoke radio silence, because thinking about it was making my head hurt.

It was full dark when we got to the Beltway, and there wasn’t any sign of the upcoming storm yet. The moon’s light was bright and clear even with the city lights doing their best to drown it out. I checked with my gut to see if I had any compulsion to go one way or another on the Beltway, but I felt nothing. There seemed to be a lot of brake lights going east, so Steph chose to go west, and I tried to let my mind drift.

As I’d already established numerous times, it’s hard to get your mind to drift on command, especially when a sense of urgency is riding you. I found myself overanalyzing every minute sensation, every stray thought, every person, place, or thing that caught my eye. My mind bounced around like a hyperactive toddler on a sugar high, and the more annoyed I got at myself for not being able to knuckle down and concentrate, the harder it got for me to knuckle down and concentrate. Or
not
concentrate. Whatever.

After a fruitless half hour of driving in silence, I was climbing the walls and squirming in my seat with frustration. And that was when we hit the traffic.

I didn’t know whether refraining from talking was necessary, especially since the silence didn’t seem
to be helping me, but I bit back a couple of curse words as I caught sight of the brake lights ahead and our car slowed first to a crawl, then to a stop. It was six thirty on a Sunday night, but I’d run into traffic snarls on the Beltway at two in the morning, so I wasn’t entirely surprised. Irritated, yes, but not surprised.

Steph glanced over at me as the traffic eased forward about six inches before coming to a stop again. “Anything?”

I shook my head and wondered if we should just give up. We weren’t getting anywhere—literally or figuratively—and being stuck in stop-and-go traffic is about as much fun as having a root canal.

“Maybe we should just take the next exit and call it a night,” I said. To hell with my vow of silence.

Steph gave me a withering older-sister look. “You aren’t seriously planning to give up after a half hour on the road, are you?”

We’d actually been on the road almost an hour, because the mansion wasn’t particularly close to the Beltway, but I supposed that wasn’t really very long in the grand scheme of things. Both Steph and I had understood that this would be a long, tedious night.

I shook my head. “Sorry. That was frustration talking. I can’t seem to get my mind to shut up so I can zone out.”

Steph shot me a droll smile as she propped her elbow against the window and laid her head down on her hand, waiting for the next opportunity to inch forward. “If anything can make your eyes glaze over, it’ll be this traffic. Now hush and get back to work.”

I hushed as ordered, and tried once again to let my mind wander. I spent more time than I care to admit mentally cussing out the traffic, wondering what the holdup was. My guess was an accident with rubberneckers, but if I was right, it was far enough away that we couldn’t see any flashing lights yet.

Roll forward. Stop. Roll forward. Stop. Roll forward . . .

I can get pretty damned keyed up sometimes, particularly when I’ve been dipping into the coffee too much, but eventually the monotony of the drive got to me. My mind drifted a couple of times, but I unfortunately
noticed
it drifting, which yanked me back into full alertness. But it took me less time to start drifting, and I figured I was going to either get myself into the zone or fall asleep.

I blinked, and saw that not only were we not stuck in traffic anymore, we weren’t even on the Beltway. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs.

I remembered thinking—dreaming?—that I was in a hedge maze, trying to find my way to the center. I’d mumbled to myself each time I got to an intersection and had to decide which way to go. I remembered a sense of urgency pressing on me, telling me to hurry. I’d started out walking, then switched to jogging, then to an all-out run. It was . . . clearer and more coherent than an ordinary dream, but fuzzier than just a flight of imagination. I honestly had no idea if I’d been awake or asleep.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and Steph turned to me with an inquiring raise of her brow. A
couple of raindrops spattered on the windshield, and the trees swayed in a gust of wind. I leaned forward, staring up at the sky, but I saw no hint of the moon or of stars. The light turned green, and Steph drove through the intersection, continuing on straight, probably because I hadn’t told her to turn.

“Umm . . . Have I been giving you directions?” I asked.

Steph glanced over at me again. More raindrops spattered down, and she was forced to turn on the windshield wipers.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “You’ve been kind of mumbling to yourself for a while. I thought you’d fallen asleep, only your eyes were open. Don’t you remember?”

I rubbed my eyes, but I knew I hadn’t been asleep. “I remember daydreaming, or something, about being in a hedge maze.”

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “Let me guess: the clouds rolled in, and that’s when I stopped giving you directions.” The rain came down harder as if to emphasize the point that I wouldn’t be getting any more moon-fueled hunches tonight.

“Yeah.”

I was so frustrated I wanted to kick something. If I’d been able to get into the zone before the rain had started . . .

“We wouldn’t have gotten here any faster if you’d started directing me earlier,” Steph said, guessing my line of thought. “We were stuck in traffic, remember?”

I made a sound of grudging acceptance. I knew she was right, but it didn’t make me any less frustrated. Two nights in a row, I’d been on Konstantin’s scent, and two nights in a row, I’d failed to find him. I was not the happiest of campers.

Steph and I drove around the area a little while longer, just to be thorough, but the rain had settled in to stay, and the moon wouldn’t be giving me any more help tonight. Our meanderings had taken us deep into the heart of D.C., and the most convenient way to get back to Arlington was to take Independence Avenue to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. I was staring out the rain-speckled side window, brooding about what a total failure this expedition had turned out to be. It wasn’t until we passed the Sackler Gallery that I snapped out of my funk and directed my mind toward another of the many problems on my plate.

To be fair, I shouldn’t have been thinking of Jamaal as one of my problems. I wasn’t his girlfriend, was barely even his friend anymore. And he was a grown man, responsible for his own issues. But I couldn’t help wondering if his almost obsessive practice with Sita—and his decreasing ability to keep her controlled and contained—was a sign that his self-imposed isolation wasn’t good for him.

The new Indian art exhibit would be opening on Saturday, but I’d already determined that Jamaal would blow me off if I asked him to go see it with me. I needed a stronger temptation, something Jamaal couldn’t get on his own. I glanced sidelong at Steph,
who was quietly concentrating on driving. Through her extensive charity work, Steph knew practically everybody who was anybody in the D.C. area. Her virtual Rolodex contained a veritable cornucopia of the rich, famous, and powerful.

I didn’t know how to bring up the subject gracefully, so I just blurted it out.

“Do you happen to know anyone who’s a big muckety-muck at the Sackler Gallery?” I asked.

We conveniently came to a red light, so Steph could turn in her seat and give me a long, puzzled look. “The Sackler? Why? Have you developed a sudden interest in Asian art?”

There was something too knowing in her eyes as she stared at me. My sister’s no dummy, and not only was she aware I had the hots for Jamaal—despite my repeated attempts to deny it—but she was also aware that he was the descendant of an Indian goddess. Even if I could have thought of a more innocuous-sounding reason for my interest, I didn’t think Steph would buy it, not when the look in her eye said she’d already put two and two together.

The light turned green, and Steph returned her attention to the road. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Steph disapproved of Jamaal almost as much as I disapproved of Blake, so asking for her help might not have been the smartest idea I’d ever had. However, I’d already committed to the course of action.

“There’s a new Indian art exhibit opening up next weekend,” I said. “I’d like to see if I can draw Jamaal
out to go see it, but I know if I ask him, he’ll say no. I was thinking maybe you had a contact who could get us in for a private tour, maybe before the exhibit is open to the public. I think he’d have a much harder time saying no to that.”

Steph was silent for the next couple of blocks, and I forced myself to be quiet and let her think. If I tried too hard to persuade her, she might come to the conclusion that I was letting myself get too involved. Actually, she probably already thought that, but there was no reason to make it worse.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” she finally asked me.

I shrugged, trying to look casual. “It wouldn’t be that big a deal. Just a trip to a museum. But I think Jamaal needs to get out of his own head for a while.

“That’s your professional opinion, eh?”

I bristled, but managed to refrain from making an angry retort. “It’s my opinion as a fellow human being.” I didn’t think telling Steph about Sita’s walkabout was going to incline her to see things my way, though it was that more than anything that convinced me Jamaal needed more human contact. “We’re not meant to be solitary creatures. Or didn’t they teach you that in psych class?” Steph had been a psych major in college, although she’d chosen not to pursue a career.

She raised an eyebrow at me. “No reason to get testy.”

“I’m not!” I protested, though I knew I was.

Steph ignored me. “If I have to listen to you
telling me Blake isn’t good for me, then you have to listen to me telling you that Jamaal is bad news for
any
woman.”

I slumped in my seat. I thought I’d been getting better, refraining from editorializing about Blake, but maybe I hadn’t. “You
don’t
listen to me about Blake,” I pointed out.

“That doesn’t stop you from sharing your opinion.”

“When was the last time I said anything to you about him?” I honestly couldn’t remember. I’d bitten my tongue more times than I could count.

“You don’t have to say anything to make your opinion clear. All I have to do is take one look at your face when I’m talking about him.”

I glanced out the side window to orient myself, hoping we were almost at the mansion so I could escape this conversation. No such luck.

“I’m doing my best to keep my opinions to myself,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t
have
opinions, and I can’t just turn them off like a light. Sorry.”

Steph’s hands had tightened on the wheel, and I hated the tension that radiated from her. She was a genuinely nice, good person, and she deserved to be happy. Ever since I’d become
Liberi,
I’d been dragging her down, and I wished I could make things better. But I
knew
Blake was bad for her. Eventually, they would both get tired of a relationship that didn’t include sex, and then one of two things would happen: either Blake would sleep with her, thereby tying her to him for the rest of her life, or he’d dump her, breaking her heart. Neither of these alternatives was acceptable.