by Jenna Black
“What if I said I’m up to the task? Would that be funny enough for you, or would you still have a bone to pick?”
There was a collective groan and more than one “shut up, Jack.” All of which only served to encourage him.
“Hey, I want Miss Rose to know she’s getting the best bang for her buck,” he said, stepping forward and making a sweeping bow in Rose’s direction. Interestingly, while the rest of us were groaning and rolling our eyes, Rose’s lips were twitching with a barely suppressed smile.
“And prove you’re cock of the walk?” she asked, letting the smile bloom.
Jack was almost always smiling or laughing, his eyes twinkling with humor, but the way his face lit up now was like nothing I’d ever seen before. For someone who made such a point of trying to annoy people, he seemed to really like having Rose share his humor.
“A woman after my own heart!” he declared, forgetting to work in another pun. “Excuse me while I swoon.”
Jack put his hand to his forehead and threw his head backward, then crumpled to the floor in a boneless heap. Rose rewarded him with a warm laugh. It looked like Jack was officially part of this expedition, which could turn out to be quite a headache for anyone else who went along.
“So, how many bodyguards do you suppose you’ll need?” I asked, hoping comedy hour was over. “What kind of ambush are we talking about? I mean no offense, but I can’t picture a fertility goddess as some kind of assassin-ninja.”
Rose smiled again. “No. Niobe herself isn’t much of a threat—there’s nothing she can do that I can’t do equally well. She couldn’t have harmed Jasmine without help, and I presume she will bring whatever help she used before. They will likely be mortal men who are so enthralled by her that they’ll obey her every command.”
Blake looked at her skeptically as Jack, no longer the center of attention, rose without fanfare and returned to his seat. “So you’re telling me a bunch of mortal men can kill or kidnap a goddess?”
“No,” Rose said with a shake of her head. “But though we are stronger than mortal women, we are still vulnerable to superior numbers. If Niobe brings three or four men with her, they can likely restrain me long enough for her to kill me. She may well anticipate that I won’t come undefended, so I suspect she will have more than three or four men with her.”
“What about Liberi?” I asked, remembering suddenly that Cyrus had said a couple of his Olympians had gone missing.
Rose looked thoughtful. “It would likely be difficult for her to enthrall Liberi men, at least not with any great security. Liberi have enough of the divine in them not to be so susceptible to a goddess’s charms.”
Then again, Cyrus had said the ones who went missing were Konstantin’s cronies, most of whom wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the fate of the human race. If Niobe offered them something tempting in return, she wouldn’t need to use supernatural powers to convince them to help her.
“We have to plan for the worst,” I said, looking around the room and assessing who would be most useful to have in a fight. “I should go. If I can somehow figure out how to take a gun with me, I can take out a lot of men in a short amount of time.” Assuming I could get over my squeamishness about shooting people. I’d forced myself to kill before, but it would never be easy for me—at least I hoped not. “I’d say bringing a war-god descendant is a no-brainer,” I continued, indicating Logan. “And Jamaal and Sita might be scary enough to make mortal men run for their lives instead of sticking around.” As a descendant of the death goddess, Kali, Jamaal was scary enough all on his own. He’d recently learned how to channel his death magic into a phantom tiger named Sita, who was one hell of a mean kitty. She also hated my guts, so letting her loose when I was around might not be the brightest idea.
“Well,” Jack said, “since I’m going, you don’t have to worry about getting weapons through security. I can make ’em look like ladies’ underwear until we actually need them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And your illusions will fool the high-tech scanners at the airport?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “And even if they don’t, what TSA agent is going to hold up a pair of panties and try to convince people they’re actually a gun?”
I gave him the dirty look he’d no doubt been hoping for. “Will it fool the scanner, or will they just not be able to find the gun the scanner’s revealed? You can’t have it both ways.” He gave me what was supposed to be a mysterious grin, but looked more like a smirk.
I was pretty sure he’d meant it when he’d first replied that the scanner would be fooled, and he’d only tacked on that last bit about the panties because he was being his usual annoying self. But though it was hard to say I really trusted Jack, I did believe in the power of his illusion magic. One way or another, he would get us through security with every weapon we could possibly need tucked in our luggage.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be planning a hasty trip to Bermuda when the problem of Cyrus and his one-week deadline was still hanging over our heads. I would have liked to take some more time to try to hunt down Anderson, but with my subconscious not divulging any clues, I wasn’t sure I would do much good. Besides, I still harbored the hope that Anderson would soon get his head out of his ass and come back before the deadline. What would happen when he did was anyone’s guess, but at least it would be his problem to solve, not mine.
According to Rose, Jasmine’s altar was due to be renewed in three days’ time, which added a certain frantic note to the preparations.
“If we’re a couple of days late,” Rose said, “the effects won’t be too bad. But the longer it goes untended, the longer it will take to get it activated again, so sooner is better than later.”
It would have been nice to have at least a week to plan our little excursion, but with Anderson MIA, Cyrus ready to go on the warpath, and the altar’s juice failing, time was a luxury we didn’t have. I wanted to be in Bermuda before the altar expired, and back from Bermuda with at least a couple of days to spare before Cyrus’s deadline.
I arrived in Bermuda with Jamaal, Jack, Logan, and Rose one day before Jasmine’s altar needed to be renewed. With a little help from Rose, Leo had rented a set of luxury cottages for us about a mile down the road from Jasmine’s house, a gorgeous Bermuda-sand-pink stucco house on a cliff with a breathtaking view of the ocean.
From the beach below the cottages, we could just make out the house in the distance. We didn’t know what kind of resistance to expect. Rose informed us that the altar could only be accessed from the basement, which concealed a secret chamber.
As soon as we arrived, we went down to the beach, and Logan used some military-grade binoculars to look over Jasmine’s house from a safe distance.
“It’s hard to see much,” he said when he lowered the binoculars. “Too many trees in the way. The place looks empty, but there could be an army hiding in the bushes and I wouldn’t be able to tell.”
I bit my lip. Going in there blind was out of the question. We knew Niobe would have help guarding the altar, and we suspected some of that help might consist of the missing Olympians, but that wasn’t enough information to go on.
“I can do some recon before we go in,” Jack volunteered.
He promptly disappeared, and an ugly orange tomcat appeared in his place. He looked up at me and let out a plaintive, high-pitched meow. Then he trotted over to Jamaal and started winding himself around and between Jamaal’s legs while purring like an outboard motor. He was lucky not to get booted in the face for his troubles.
“Not a bad idea,” Logan said. “No one’s going to pay any attention to a stray cat wandering around. Can you look around inside the house, or just outside?”
Jack turned back into himself while still practically standing on top of Jamaal, who shoved him away. Jack gave him a mock wounded stare, but thankfully let it go at that. He was being relatively well behaved, at least by his standards.
“Not as a cat,” he said. “I’m not really turning
into a cat. I can’t slip through small openings or anything. I’m sure I can get in, but not without spoiling the ‘I’m just a harmless cat’ illusion.”
“Stay outside, then,” I said. “Recon does us no good if you get caught.”
It didn’t occur to me until after the words were out that I’d spoken as if I were somehow in charge. I would have apologized for the presumption, except no one else seemed to notice.
“Should I go now?” Jack asked. “Or should I wait until we’re ready to go for the altar?”
Everyone looked to me for an answer, which made me squirm inside. “Both. We’ll come up with a plan based on what you see tonight, then we’ll double-check to make sure nothing’s changed before we go in tomorrow.”
Jack nodded. “You got it, boss.”
I’d have objected to the term, but Jack had put on his cat disguise and streaked off into the bushes before I had a chance to say anything.
FOUR
Jack’s recon gave us nothing. There were no guards lurking in the lush foliage that surrounded the house. Nor did he see any signs of life inside the house itself, despite having peeked through every window he could reach in his cat disguise.
“I could have gotten to the second-floor windows,” he said, “but it might have looked pretty unnatural—and likely suspicious—if someone saw a cat climbing a drainpipe.”
I had to agree that caution was the best choice. Niobe probably had at least two Olympians with her, and they might very well guess an illusion was at work if they saw a cat behaving in an un-catlike manner around the house.
“What about video surveillance?”
Jack shook his head. “Not that I could see.”
“So whatever Niobe’s got in store for us,” I said, “it’s probably inside the house.”
Just because Jack hadn’t seen any video surveillance didn’t mean there was none. I knew just how small spy cameras could be. But at least we wouldn’t have to worry about an ambush the moment we set foot on the property, assuming nothing changed between now and then.
“If you want, I can spend more time casing the place tomorrow,” Jack said. “Maybe if I make myself comfortable in a tree for a few hours during the day, I’ll see something interesting.”
It was worth a shot, but I wasn’t feeling terribly hopeful.
“If we don’t learn anything new tomorrow,” Jamaal said, “then we’ll have to go in anyway. We don’t have time to watch the place for days. We’ve got too many other problems to deal with.”
I didn’t like feeling rushed, but Jamaal was right. This couldn’t wait.
“Once we get there,” he continued, “Sita can check out the inside of the house. She won’t be able to tell us what she sees, but if anyone’s waiting in ambush, she’ll definitely flush them out.”
It sounded like a pretty good plan—if we could trust Sita. It would suck—especially for me—if we counted on her helping us and she decided she’d rather maul me instead.
We all agreed it was best to go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep, but I was too uncomfortable with the Sita situation to be that practical. Instead, I made my way over to Jamaal’s cottage and knocked on his door. When he opened it and saw me standing there, he looked wary. I restrained my urge to roll my eyes.
“Come down to the beach with me,” I said, pointing to the narrow stone stairway that led from our cottages to the beach below.
Jamaal’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”
This time, I did roll my eyes. “Because we’re in Bermuda, and it’s a beautiful, clear night, and we have our own private beach.”
He looked at me like I was nuts. “Do I look like the kind of guy who likes romantic walks on the beach?”
“You don’t look like a guy who likes going to art museums, either. Looks can be deceiving.”
There was no way Jamaal believed I wanted nothing more than to snuggle on the beach . . . though that certainly would have been nice under other circumstances. But despite his long list of hang-ups, he truly was beginning to emerge from the rock-hard shell he’d hidden behind for so long.
“Fine,” he grumped, as if this were all some great inconvenience. “We’ll go for a moonlit walk on the beach.”
I tried not to look too smug as he stepped outside and closed the cottage door behind him.
“Don’t you want a sweatshirt or jacket or something?” I asked. He was wearing his usual jeans and plain short-sleeved T-shirt, but though it was nowhere near as cold here as it was at home, the air still had a definite nip.
“I’m fine,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets while shrugging. “Don’t try to mother me.”
I held my hands up in a gesture of surrender. I’d seen Jamaal walk around outside in the snow with just a T-shirt on. He was made of much sterner stuff than I.
I led the way down to the beach. My nerves were pretty jittery, because I knew how terribly wrong this conversation was capable of going, but even so I couldn’t help drinking in the beauty of my surroundings. The moon was bright enough to light our way without completely drowning out the blanket of stars. The stairway to the beach was surrounded on both sides by bushes, some of which were flowering and fragrant even in January.
When we emerged from the bushes and my feet hit the sand, I let out a little sigh of contentment. The water was calm, gently lapping at the beach, and though the moon provided enough light to see by, you couldn’t see very far, which made our cove feel even more secluded.
Despite the chill in the air, I found I couldn’t help slipping off my sneakers and rolling up my pants so I could feel the sand between my toes. I was surprised when I saw Jamaal following suit, and almost collapsed in shock when he reached out and took my hand. He grinned at me. Grinned. Jamaal doesn’t grin. Ever.
I sniffed for the scent of clove cigarettes or pot, both of which he smoked when his temper was on a knife’s edge. Not that I’d ever seen a hint that either one of them mellowed him out this much. And all I smelled was salt air and the faintest hint of some flower I didn’t recognize.
Still holding my hand, Jamaal shrugged. “Okay, I’ll admit it: I do actually kind of like moonlit walks on the beach. The atmosphere is very . . . soothing.”
Was this really Jamaal beside me, or was it Jack in disguise pulling a prank? I wouldn’t have put it past the trickster, but I knew in my heart that Jamaal was the real deal. I just didn’t know what to make of his calm.
Hand in hand, we walked till we found the firm damp sand just beyond the reach of the waves. Even in my fleecy pullover, I shivered at the chill as a gentle ocean breeze blew through my hair, but I wouldn’t have missed this moment for the world. Tomorrow could turn out to be total hell, and this peaceful night might be the calm before the storm, but that made me appreciate it even more.
I marveled that Jamaal was not only willing to hold my hand but had actually initiated the contact. Before, I always had to make the first move, and he would resist like his life depended on it, afraid showing any sign of connection to me would enrage Sita. I often wondered if Sita’s dislike of me was fueled by Jamaal’s own fear of intimacy. Did the tiger really have a mind of her own, or was her mind a reflection of Jamaal’s?
In the end, it was a moot point. Whether Sita’s jealousy was fueled by Jamaal’s subconscious or her own independent mind, it could potentially turn disastrous tomorrow.
I squeezed Jamaal’s hand. “So, what’s changed?” I asked him, risking a brief glance at his face before looking away so he wouldn’t feel cornered. The moonlight softened the sharp angles on his cheekbones and made him look less forbidding. “Why are you willing to hold my hand, when usually you act like there’s a restraining order keeping you at least fifty feet away?”
Jamaal made a soft growling sound under his breath. “I don’t!” he protested.
“Uh-huh. When was the last time you voluntarily touched me?”
He came to an abrupt stop and, not surprisingly, let go of my hand. “That would
be the time Sita came without being called and nearly bit your head off. There’s a reason I keep my distance.”
“I know that,” I responded. Using Sita to vent his death magic had definitely helped Jamaal calm his temper, but I still thought the price was too steep if she wouldn’t let him get close to anyone. I’d voiced that thought before and been shot down, so I kept it to myself this time. “So why did you take my hand tonight?”
He folded his arms across his chest and glared down at me. “Are you complaining?”
Jamaal is a pro at conversational diversionary tactics. Unfortunately for him, I was used to it, and refused to be diverted. “You know I’m not. And now I’m wondering why you’re trying so hard to avoid answering the question.”
He shook his head. He usually wore colorful beads at the ends of his shoulder-length braids, but tonight he’d gone with black ones, and only the sound of them clicking together reminded me they were there.
“Why do you always have to ask so many questions?” he asked. “Can’t you just take something at face value for once?”
I reached my hand out toward him as if to shake. “Hello, my name is Nikki, and I’m a private investigator. Nice to meet you.”
He glared at my hand until I dropped it back to my side. He’s one of the more strong-willed people I’ve ever known, but he’d met his match in me.
Jamaal let out a frustrated huff. “All right, all right. I just . . . I have a bad feeling about tomorrow. I don’t like walking into what we know is a trap without having any idea what’s lying in wait.” He put his hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes. “Sita already hates you. I don’t think us holding hands will make it any worse than it already is, and I just . . . wanted something nice in case tomorrow really sucks.”
I reached up and touched the side of his face, eyes locked with his. I wanted to go up on tiptoe and kiss him, but the difficult conversation had to come first. He might not want to kiss me afterward, but that was a risk I had to take.
