Dark Descendant (29 page)

can’t without looking weak.”

I snorted. “No one who’s known him for more than five seconds would think he’s weak.”

I might have been imagining things, but I think one corner of Jamaal’s mouth twitched a

bit, as if he’d been considering the possibility of trying on a small smile for size.

“All right, weak was the wrong word. But he’s already given me a second chance by not

banishing me. If he went any easier on me, it would set a bad precedent. I’ll take my medicine,

and I won’t complain about it. I might not have known your sister would get hurt, but I
did
know Anderson had forbidden me to hurt you, and I did it anyway. I’m not a victim.”

He had a point, but considering how many times I’d lashed out at people in my life, I

wasn’t in any position to throw stones. “I’m so sorry about Emmitt,” I blurted, then tensed for

Jamaal’s inevitable hostility.

There was a glint of anger in his eyes, and the muscles of his jaw worked, but he didn’t

leap across the table at me. That was an impressive amount of progress, as far as I was

concerned.

“I know you still don’t really believe me,” I said, figuring I might as well spit out the

whole apology while Jamaal was weakened enough not to attack me, “but I swear to you, it was

an accident. I’m not a killer.” The idea was so ridiculous it was all I could do not to laugh. Then I

remembered my earlier insistence that Alexis had to die, and it wasn’t so funny anymore. “Did

you know that when I shot Blake, I actually apologized to him before I ran?”

This time, the twitch in Jamaal’s lips was more obvious. Not quite enough to be a real

smile, but a hint that he did know how. “He did mention that.”

“Well, does that sound like the act of a coldblooded killer to you?”

He sipped his coffee, thinking about it. “If you’re actually one of Konstantin’s pets, then

it would all be part of your act. Even talking to me now, trying to disarm me—it’s all the role

you’ve taken on for the mission.”

Gone was the fury and malice he’d shown me time and time again, but somehow his

words stung more delivered calmly and at a reasonable volume. Stupid to have hurt feelings over

it, I know. What he said was completely true, and he had no reason not to believe I was

Konstantin’s spy.

“I’m going to find Emma,” I told him. My resolve strengthened, and I glanced out the

kitchen window at the moon. I wasn’t sure how much time I had before it disappeared from

view, but the more time I spent here sitting around, the less time I’d have to look for Emma

while its light lasted.

“I hope you do, but that won’t really prove anything—except that Konstantin’s desperate

enough to get a spy inside that he’s willing to give up Emma.”

My shoulders slumped. “So what you’re saying is there’s no way you’re ever going to

believe me, no matter what I do.” It shouldn’t matter so much.
I
knew I hadn’t killed Emmitt on

purpose. What did it matter if Jamaal thought the worst of me? And yet, it
did
matter to me. His suspicions had never bothered me when he was acting like a raving lunatic, but they were a lot

harder to take now, when for the first time he seemed completely rational. Either I’m pathetically

needy and desperate for approval, or I was just making the logical assumption that my life would

be a lot simpler and more pleasant if Jamaal weren’t seeing everything I did from behind a veil

of suspicion. I tried to convince myself it was the latter.

“Only time will tell,” he answered. “But I promise I won’t act against you again without

proof.”

I had the uncomfortable suspicion that his definition of proof and my own weren’t quite

the same. However, he was making what was for him a big concession, and that had to be a step

in the right direction.

I sighed. “Finish up your coffee. Then I’ll help you get downstairs.”

“I don’t need your help.”

I pushed back my chair with a huff of exasperation. “Fine. Be that way. Just try not to

crack your skull open when your legs give out and you fall down the stairs.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised gravely. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he was

teasing me.

Leaving him to his overblown sense of male pride, I headed up to my room to grab the

list of properties I planned to explore tonight.

TWENTY-THREE

The moon was one
night short of being full, but it was large and bright enough that I

could see pretty well even without the aid of streetlights. The first property on my list was a

gated monstrosity at least as large as Anderson’s mansion. It belonged to Konstantin, and he’d

obviously modeled the thing on a palace. I’d have stopped to take a closer look, but even this late

at night, the place was brightly lit and well-guarded. When I’d been by during the daytime,

there’d been just enough traffic on the street that I could drive past multiple times without

fearing I’d be noticed, but the same could not be said now.

I drove by without slowing down, though I kept my eye out for any neon signs saying

“Emma is here” that the moon’s light might reveal. There were none. I was pretty sure my gut

instinct said this was not where Emma was buried. But it was hard to know if that was really my

gut speaking, or if it was influenced by my rational mind, which said there was no way in hell I

was going to be able to sneak in there and find the grave even if it was the right place.

My next likely candidate was another mansion in Chevy Chase, this one belonging to

Alexis. It wasn’t quite on the scale of Anderson’s or Konstantin’s homes, but it was still huge,

the grounds vast enough to hold an entire graveyard’s worth of bodies. The place even had a

large man-made—I assumed—pond in the backyard.

An ornate gate blocked the driveway, but unlike Konstantin’s place, there was no wall or

fence to keep out people on foot. That didn’t mean the grounds were unprotected. The security

cameras were well hidden, but I had too much experience with surveillance not to spot them.

Again, I drove by without stopping. The cameras might be set up on motion sensors, only

photographing people who tried to pass across the borders of the property, but if any faced the

road recording a continuous feed, I didn’t want to be captured on them acting in any way

suspicious.

It was as I was driving away that I felt my first gut-level hunch, one that told me Emma

was on that property somewhere. The sensation was so strong, it took some willpower not to

slam on the brakes. My pulse sped up, and my palms started to sweat.

Was this a real hunch? Or did some part of me want Emma to be on Alexis’s property so

I could really stick it to him by sneaking her out from under his nose?

I let out a little growl of frustration. I had no way of knowing for sure.

I checked out the next three properties on my list, trying my best to listen to my instincts

without consciously influencing them. Although all of the other properties would have been

considerably easier to explore than Alexis’s, I didn’t feel any sudden piques of interest. My pulse

remained steady, and if I’d had to venture a guess, I’d have said Emma wasn’t at any of them.

The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds by the time I drove by Alexis’s

mansion the second time. I still had the vague feeling that it was the right place, but there was no

quickening of my pulse this time, and I felt no instinctive reluctance to drive by without

stopping. Either my reaction the first time had been a fluke, or it had been strengthened by the

light of the moon.

Unsure whether or not I’d made any progress, I headed back to Anderson’s and vowed to

check it out again tomorrow night.

The next day, I spent many hours digging up every scrap
of information I could find

on Alexis’s home: survey maps, floor plans, work permits, going as far back as I could find. I

was even able to find out some details about the security setup, having identified the security

company involved. They wouldn’t tell me anything about the specific setup at Alexis’s home, of course—I didn’t even ask, or I would have immediately flagged myself as a suspicious character.

Instead, I described a fictional property that bore a non-coincidental resemblance to Alexis’s and

asked for suggestions on how they would help me set up security.

Based on what I learned, and on the information I was able to dig up—illegally, I must

admit—on Alexis’s financial transactions, I made an educated guess as to which security

measures he had in place. It seemed likely that the cameras I’d spotted in the trees were indeed

motion-activated. There was probably a security center somewhere in the house, complete with a

guard who monitored the cameras. However, it was unlikely that triggering the cameras would

trip any kind of alarm. The area around Alexis’s home was heavily wooded, and thus full of deer.

If an alarm sounded every time a deer passed a camera, it would get old fast.

So, there was definitely security on the grounds, but it wasn’t exactly impenetrable. The

house itself was likely another story, but if I needed to get in
there
to dig Emma up, I’d have a whole new set of problems.

That evening, Jamaal was executed again. It was a hanging
this time, much less gory

than the beheading. I’d been relieved when I first saw the noose, thinking that this would be an

easier death to witness, but I’d been wrong. It was less gruesome—but it took Jamaal longer to

die, and I found his suffering bothered me more than the gore.

Once again, Logan stayed out in the clearing, waiting for Jamaal to revive. And once

again, I found myself unable to leave the house on my quest until I’d confirmed that Jamaal was

alive.

The one bright spot was that it took Jamaal less time to heal the damage from being

hanged, and he and Logan returned to the house less than an hour after the execution. Jamaal was

just as exhausted, however, and when I offered him a cup of coffee, he gladly accepted. His eyes

were sunken, his cheeks hollow, as he wrapped his hands around the mug and sipped. Physically,

he was healing, but I feared the ordeal was putting scars on his soul. That is to say,
more
scars—I knew without having to be told that he had plenty of them already.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d think you were worried about me.”

I forced something approximating a wry grin. “I’ve been told I’m a bleeding heart.

There’s some truth in the accusation.”

He cocked his head, the movement causing the beads to rattle and click. “You know I still

suspect you.”

“Yeah, I know. I also know that it wouldn’t take much to ‘prove’ to you that I’m

Konstantin’s bitch. I still think you’ve suffered more than enough already.”

For the first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a big smile, but he didn’t try to fight the expression

off, either. And I was right. Despite the haunted eyes and hollow cheeks, the smile was

devastating. My hormones woke from their long sleep and danced a jig at the sight, and I

suppressed a groan. Jamaal was
not
a man I should be attracted to, no matter how tasty he

looked. He thought I was a spy, a traitor who had murdered his friend. He’d threatened me and

attacked me, and because of him my sister had been brutalized. Not to mention that he was a

descendant of a death goddess and borderline crazy. No smile, no matter how devastating, could

erase any of that.

“You really are a bleeding heart, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Either that, or I play one on T.V.”

The smile made another cameo appearance, but faded even more quickly. “You might

want to skip tomorrow night’s … festivities, then. If you can.”

“Why?” I held my breath, already knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.

“Logan’s going to choose something heinous for the grand finale.”

As far as I was concerned, what I’d seen so far was more than heinous enough. Then

again, I wasn’t descended from some Germanic war god, like Logan was.

“Why?” I asked again. “This whole punishment is barbaric enough as it is. Why would he

want to make it worse?”

“Because it’s not just about punishing me for disobeying Anderson’s orders. It’s about

giving me a way to prove that I’m committed in spite of what I’ve done. The more I have to go

through to win the privilege of staying, the more Anderson—and all the rest—will believe I’m

determined to control myself, which I’ve done a shitty job of doing since Emmitt …” His voice

faded as grief clouded his eyes.

Impulsively, I reached out and laid my hand over his, wishing I could bring Emmitt back.

During the last couple of days, Jamaal and I seemed to have reached a truce, but that

truce only went so far. Jamaal glared and I jerked my hand away, my cheeks heating with a

blush.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, wishing the floor would swallow me. What had come over me? Just

because we weren’t currently at war with each other didn’t mean we were friends. I pushed my

chair away from the table, suddenly desperate to flee the room.

“Do you need any help getting downstairs?” I asked without looking at him.

“No.”

It was the answer I’d expected, and I left the kitchen at a pace just short of a run.

For tonight’s excursion, I dressed all in black, because I’d
be getting out of my car

and skulking around, not just driving by. The more inconspicuous I could make myself, the