Deadly Descendant (Nikki Glass)

by Jenna Black

  “Don’t bullshit me. You’re missing the point on purpose.”

  “He has to be contained.” The humanity was gone again. I wondered if he was doing that to make himself more forbidding, or if he just had to cut himself off from his humanity in order to be such an ass.

  “No, he has to be killed,” I said. “And you can do it.” As painful as death at Anderson’s hands would be, it had to be the lesser evil compared with being buried alive for eternity.

  “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. My ability and my origins are top secret. A secret that only you and Konstantin have survived learning. When I find a way to get to Konstantin without witnesses, I will kill him. If you don’t keep your mouth shut, I will have to kill you, too.”

  I was shocked by how much his words hurt. It wasn’t anything I didn’t know, wasn’t anything he hadn’t told me before. But in the past, it hadn’t been so … blunt. Or so cold. Anderson was my friend, at least sort of, and though I’d been under no illusions that I was as dear to him as the rest of his people, who’d been with him for decades, I’d thought he would be at least a little reluctant to kill me.

  Apparently, I’d been wrong, and to my shame, my eyes prickled with tears, and my chest felt heavy with loss. Loss I had no right to feel, because I was still an outsider, would always be an outsider, and I knew it. You can’t lose something you don’t have in the first place.

  The ice in Anderson’s expression thawed, and he reached out to put his hands on my shoulders. I took an instinctive step back, but he followed and trapped me against the door. His hands squeezed the tight muscles in my shoulders, and I knew the gesture was meant to be comforting. But his last words were still echoing through my head, and it was an effort for me to hold still and not try to jerk out of his grasp.

  “It’s nothing personal, Nikki,” he said gently. “I have good reasons for keeping this secret so … aggressively. I’m sorry to have to resort to threats, but I don’t know how else to be sure you’ll keep quiet.”

  My throat was tight, but I managed to get words out anyway. “You could try telling me the good reasons. Because from where I’m sitting, it all looks very selfish.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to trust me.” His eyes met mine, and I found myself trapped by his gaze. Usually, those eyes were a perfectly ordinary shade of brown, but right now, there was a hint of white light coming from the centers of his pupils. “I’ve taken a huge risk in letting you live. Konstantin I know well and understand. I know he will not reveal my secret because he fears that if others know, it will diminish his power. You I can’t predict as comfortably. I can’t know that you won’t someday get angry and blurt something out.” He raised his hand to my cheek, stroking the backs of his fingers over my skin as he continued to meet my gaze with those unsettling, inhuman eyes.

  “You’re alive because I care about you,” he continued. “I’m taking this massive risk because I like you too much to hurt you.” The light in his eyes grew a little brighter. “But I need you highly motivated to keep my secret, and so my threat will always be there, and I may at times feel it necessary to remind you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  “Right,” I responded in a hoarse whisper.

  I knew he was telling the truth as he saw it. It even made a sort of sense, in a coldly logical way. Anderson was, after all, a god. He’d never been human, and to expect him to have human values might not be very fair of me. That didn’t stop me from expecting it, however.

  Anderson gave a soft sigh, dropping his hands back to his sides and giving me a little space. The light in his eyes slowly faded until he was fully back in his unprepossessing human guise. The look in those eyes spoke of hurt and loneliness. It might have struck me as funny that he found my inability to accept his justification for threatening to kill me hurtful, except nothing was going to strike me as funny under the circumstances.

  I didn’t know what to say to him. Maybe there just wasn’t anything else to say, at least not at the moment. But if we managed to capture Kerner, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from opening my big mouth again.

  I settled for shaking my head and making a graceful retreat. Now that I had a name for our killer, I had a lot of research to do. Work was always a powerful balm for pain and fear, for keeping emotions at bay while the mind was busy being productive and logical. The problem with using work as a balm was that it was like taking aspirin for a brain tumor. It might mask the symptoms for a while, but it didn’t cure what was ailing you.

  I had a nasty feeling I was going to be in a world of hurt when the emotional aspirin wore off.

  THIRTEEN

  I wasn’t entirely shocked when my search on Justin Kerner didn’t yield any exciting results. I found out he’d been an army brat, spent much of his childhood traveling from place to place, never setting down roots. He’d continued the trend as an adult, working as a consultant, going wherever the jobs took him. In fact, he traveled so often that it took almost two months for anyone to notice when he went missing from his home in Alexandria five years ago. He’d only moved in a few weeks before and hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself to his neighbors.

  He was still officially listed as missing, and the police had made zero progress in finding him. They weren’t convinced that there was foul play involved.

  What this all meant for me was that Kerner didn’t have any ties I could exploit in my search for his whereabouts. No wife, no kids, no girlfriend, not even a real friend of any kind, as far as I could tell. No permanent home that might draw him back or sentimental locations he might want to revisit when he wasn’t busy killing people. His parents were both dead—his father having met his end in a car accident very close to the time Kerner disappeared—and he had no other living family I could find. No doubt, the Olympians had been thorough in their attempt to wipe out this non-Greek line.

  I slept on what little information I had, hoping I’d be able to make something of it in the morning, but no dice. When the Olympians had gotten their claws into him, Justin Kerner had left his old life in the dust, and it didn’t look like he had much of anything to look back on. That meant his past wasn’t going to help me catch him. Which left trying to anticipate his next move as my only option.

  I unfolded my huge map of D.C. and its surrounding area, laying it on my desk. I’d already marked the murder sites on it, and I’d highlighted every cemetery I could find. Until the attack at Rock Creek, Kerner had been going on a generally northerly path, but to continue that pattern, he’d have to go outside the D.C. limits. Now that we knew for sure he was making a statement to Konstantin with the murders, I was fairly certain he wasn’t going to keep going north.

  There were two cemeteries within the D.C. limits to the south of Anacostia, the site of the first kill, and one that was southwest of Rock Creek, where he’d struck last. When I looked at my numbered dots on the map and if I eliminated any cemeteries not within the D.C. limits, it seemed like the Oak Hill Cemetery, in Georgetown, would be the next logical site in his path if he was planning to circle back to the beginning.

  Had he realized what meeting a fellow Liberi at the cemetery had meant? Did he think it was just a strange coincidence, or did he know I’d been there waiting for him?

  If he thought I was just a bystander who got in his way, then there would be no reason for him to change his pattern, and I could feel fairly certain he’d make an appearance at Oak Hill. If he realized my presence at Rock Creek was part of a bungled ambush attempt, then he might be too wary to stick to his pattern. Then again, he might think I was dead, and our “ambush” hadn’t exactly been successful enough to strike fear in his heart.

  And that’s when the anomaly of his pattern finally struck me.

  His first kill had been the southernmost of all of them, and yet there were two other cemeteries on my map within the D.C. limits and farther south. So why hadn’t Kerner started with one of them if he was planning to do a grand tour of the cemeter
ies?

  There was no record of Kerner owning any property in the area—the house he’d been living in when he disappeared had been a rental—and when I’d seen him, he’d immediately struck me as a homeless guy. He had to be living somewhere when he wasn’t out hunting, and his pattern suggested to me that that somewhere was near one of those southern cemeteries, that he was avoiding them because he didn’t want to crap in his own backyard. If he was avoiding them and if he was restricting himself to cemeteries within the D.C. limits, then Oak Hill had to be his next target. Unless he decided to go to one of his previous locations, of course.

  I folded the map with a huff of exasperation. There were far too many ifs in this scenario. Even so, I had a hunch that Kerner would be at Oak Hill tonight. The big problem with my hunches was that it was really hard to tell the difference between a hunch that was fueled by my supernatural abilities and one that was fueled by wishful thinking. Was the fact that I could think of a logical reason for Kerner to be at Oak Hill and couldn’t think of a logical reason for him to be at one of the others influencing my gut reaction?

  A straightforward power, complete with step-by-step instructions on how to use it, would have been real nice.

  Anderson held a strategy meeting in his office in the afternoon. I did my best to explain to everyone why I thought Kerner would show up at Oak Hill, although the argument sounded even flimsier spoken out loud than it had in my head. I saw more than one skeptical look directed my way, and there was what felt to me like an uncomfortable silence when I finished speaking.

  “She was right about Emma,” Jamaal said, breaking the silence. “I don’t think the reasoning here is any more outlandish than that was.”

  “The guy is crazy, not stupid,” Blake argued. “Why would he risk sticking to his pattern? Even if he doesn’t think it’s likely we’re hunting him, he must have some idea it’s a possibility. I mean, what were the chances that a Liberi just happened to be wandering around the cemetery at night and just happened to run into him?”

  “I think the more important question is what good does it do us to assume Nikki is wrong?” Anderson put in. “If she’s wrong, then we have no idea where he’ll be, and we can’t do anything to stop him. But if she’s right, we might be able to get the drop on him before anyone else gets killed. I’d say that’s a very good reason to act on the assumption that she’s right.”

  No one could counter that argument, and though it wasn’t exactly what I’d call a vote of confidence, it did make me feel better. We might be deluding ourselves, but at least now we felt like we had a chance of finding Kerner. Never mind what we would do with him if we actually did.

  “Nikki,” Anderson continued, “if you see Kerner, ignore the jackals and just shoot him. Got it?”

  Of course, that was what I should have done last time, but I’d been too disoriented by the jackals’ attack to think about looking for their master—until it was too late. I nodded.

  “We’ll divide into pairs like we did last time,” Anderson said. Then he turned a regretful face to Jamaal. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to sit this one out, though.”

  Jamaal clearly didn’t like it, but he had to know it was coming after last week’s performance. He nodded tightly, lips pressed together and hands clenched.

  “So who gets to be my partner for the night instead?” I asked. I had a brief fantasy of going to the cemetery with Anderson at my side, capturing Kerner, and then persuading Anderson to kill him without anyone being the wiser, but of course, Anderson was partnering with Emma, and it was better for everyone that way.

  “You’re still the most likely of us to find Kerner,” Anderson said. “And the most likely to be able to take him out if you do. I’d like Logan to go with you.” His focus turned to Logan. Logan was probably tied with Leo in the category of people I lived in the same house with and knew least, but I did know he was the descendant of a war god and therefore pretty handy in a fight.

  “You might want to bring a sword,” Anderson instructed Logan. “If you do find Kerner, it’ll be up to you to keep the jackals at bay.”

  “Sword’s a little close-range for that,” Logan said skeptically.

  Anderson raised an eyebrow. “You were thinking maybe an automatic weapon? One gunshot might be dismissed as a backfiring car, but there will be more than one jackal. We got lucky last week in that Nikki ran into Kerner far enough away from houses that no one heard the shots, but we might not have that luxury this time. Unless you have a silencer somewhere in your arsenal?”

  Logan looked chagrined. “Never thought I needed one. Guess I’ll be polishing the rust off my sword. It’s been a while since I’ve fought with one.”

  The statement made me wonder just how old Logan was. It had been a while since anyone had done any serious swordfighting, but I got the feeling he’d done a fair amount of it in his life.

  “Let’s hope it’s like riding a bicycle, then,” Anderson said.

  There was a little more logistical discussion after that, and then we all went our separate ways to prepare. I was still a little less than my best after being dead for most of a week, so I took a nap. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Jamaal was right, and the horror of closing my eyes had faded to almost nothing.

  When the time came, we paired up for our hunt. I’d thought Logan, as a war god descendant, might be the kind of manly man who would insist on driving, but when I said I wanted to take the Mini, he didn’t make a fuss. That won him a couple of brownie points in my book.

  It was more than a little unnerving to see the long, sleek sword Logan stashed in the backseat as we got ready to go. He handled it with the careless ease of long familiarity, and he patted it almost affectionately when he put it down.

  Among all of the other difficulties of tonight’s venture would be avoiding the attention of the police. Logan was going to look a little conspicuous walking around with a sword, although he swore his trench coat would keep it hidden until it was needed. And I was once again carrying an illegal firearm within the D.C. city limits, which could turn out very bad for me if I got caught. Not as bad as things would turn out if I got caught unarmed, however, so I was more than willing to continue tempting fate.

  The Oak Hill Cemetery was in Georgetown, and even at this time of night, we couldn’t find enough parking for all of our cars together. I’d have preferred to have a central rallying point, but since we were going to split into four teams, I supposed it didn’t matter.

  I parked on Q Street at the southeast tip of the cemetery. Oak Hill was vaguely triangular in shape, with two sides of the triangle bordering residential areas. The longest side of the triangle ran parallel to the Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway and the scenic Rock Creek Trails. If Kerner was hitting this cemetery tonight, then it stood to reason he’d make an appearance in one of the residential areas, where there was more prey to choose from. I, however, was putting my money on the scenic route. There wouldn’t exactly be a lot of joggers or bicyclists out at this hour, but Kerner liked his privacy, and the isolation of that trail might be a draw.

  Logan climbed into the backseat and strapped on his sword as covertly as he could. When he emerged, I could still see the tip of the scabbard poking out from under the tail of his coat. We were just going to have to hope that wasn’t enough to draw attention.

  The other three teams were staking out the residential areas and the numerous side streets, while Logan and I got the trail all to ourselves.

  We walked back and forth, eyes peeled, nerves buzzing, for a couple of hours, but we didn’t see anything suspicious, nor did any of the others. Then, at a little after two, Anderson called.

  At first, I hoped that meant he’d spotted our quarry, but that turned out to be wishful thinking.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Leo’s been keeping an ear on the police scanner, just in case. There was just a report of someone seeing a pack of dogs in Fort Totten Park.”

  “That’s near the R
ock Creek Cemetery,” I said with an internal groan, even as I started hurrying back toward the car, gesturing for Logan to follow. I’d known my reasoning was flimsy, but I’d definitely gotten my hopes up that it would turn out to be sound.

  “Yes,” Anderson agreed, and the jostling sounds I heard told me he was moving fast, no doubt heading for his own car. “I doubt we’ll be able to get there fast enough to do any good …”

  “But we have to try,” I finished for him.

  “Exactly.”

  I picked up my pace to a brisk jog as I told Logan about the police report. We dove into the car, and I pulled out with an embarrassing shriek of tires.

  “If the jackals have been spotted,” Logan said, holding on to the oh-shit bar, “we’re already too late.”

  “I know,” I answered, hoping I wasn’t being unfairly snappish. I gave the car a little more gas, though I didn’t dare go too fast, or I’d attract police attention. I could just see trying to explain to the nice officer why there was a sword in the backseat and why I was carrying an illegal concealed firearm.

  Logan and I rode in silence for a few minutes as I worked to contain my impatience and not run any red lights or stop signs. And then a thought hit me.

  “Weird that Kerner would let someone see his jackals and live to tell the tale,” I said. “They’re invisible unless they’re in use, as far as I can tell.”

  “Maybe it really is just a pack of stray dogs,” Logan suggested.

  My foot eased on the gas pedal as something inside me shouted that this wasn’t right. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s some kind of trap. He knows we’re out looking for him, and he’s decided to lure us somewhere where he feels he has the advantage.”