Jenna Black - Dark Descendant

“If he was really weary enough to end his life,” Anderson continued, his voice steadier, “I should have seen it. I should have been able to help him. I’d much rather you were lying about it than to accept that I was so blind.”

I took a deep, quiet breath, trying to distance myself from Anderson’s pain. Yes, I could understand he was grieving for his friend, and I could even understand why he didn’t want Emmitt’s death to have been suicide. But none of that could forgive the threats and the strong-arm tactics.

“But the reasons for my behavior don’t matter much to you, do they?” Anderson asked as if he’d read my mind. “I treated you like your guilt was a foregone conclusion last night, and for that I’m sorry. From now on, how about I presume you’re innocent until proven guilty. And if you really are innocent, then we need to talk. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

I resisted the urge to snort at the understatement. “I’m happy to talk on the phone for as long as my battery holds out.”

“In person would be better.”

I laughed. “Maybe for you.”

“For you, too. Nikki, you have no idea the kind of danger you’re in. I know I haven’t exactly come off to you as one of the good guys, but I am. At least in comparison to Konstantin and the rest of the Olympians. They will stop at nothing to get their hands on you. You can’t go up against them alone; and I promise you, you wouldn’t like what would happen if they captured you.”

“Why would they want to capture me?”

“Because Descendants of Artemis are exceedingly rare. Contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t literally a virgin goddess, but she bore only one child, and her line has nearly died out. She was a goddess of the hunt, and a lot of the skills her descendants possess would be of great use to the Olympians.”

“Go on,” I prompted. “Prove to me that you’re a good source of information.”

“I believe in the proverb that with great power comes great responsibility. The Olympians believe that with great power comes great privilege and no responsibility whatsoever. From their perspective, they are better than everyone else, and that’s the natural order of the universe. They are selfishness incarnate, but as reprehensible as I find that, it’s not why I oppose them as I do.

“I understand that Maggie explained the origins of the Liberi Deorum last night.”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. Even after all I’d seen, there was a part of me that desperately wanted to deny I believed what Maggie had told me.

“So she explained that anyone descended from the ancient gods can steal the immortality of a Liberi ?”

“Yes.”

“Because Descendants can potentially steal their immortality, the Olympians see them as a threat that needs to be eliminated. For centuries, they have hunted Descendants. Generally, when they find a family of Descendants, they kill all the adults and all the children over the age of five. They then raise those youngest children themselves, indoctrinating them into their beliefs. If the children show any signs that they question the ‘natural order,’ they are disposed of.”

I sank down onto the edge of my bed, knees suddenly weak at the images Anderson’s words brought to mind. “By disposed of, you mean killed.”

“Yes. Remember, as far as the Olympians are concerned, they are the pinnacle of perfection, and everyone else is expendable. Even children they have raised themselves.”

“Why do they raise the children at all? Why not…” I let the question trail off because I couldn’t put the horror into words.

“Because only a mortal Descendant can kill a Liberi . The Olympians can’t kill rival Liberi themselves, so they need pet Descendants to do the dirty work for them. That’s how they raise these children—with the philosophy that if they are good enough, the Olympians will one day give them a sacrificial Liberi so they can become immortal themselves.

“And if you don’t find all of this distasteful enough, know also that only those descended from the Greek gods are considered worthy to become Liberi . If the Olympians find a family descended from one of the other pantheons, they leave no survivors.

“They want you to join them because they believe they can use your skills to help them hunt down and slaughter more Descendants. Without a Descendant of Artemis in their employ, the Olympians have to hunt Descendants using only conventional methods. They’re always on the lookout for unfamiliar people with visible glyphs. If they find a Descendant, they’ll extract a family history and go looking for all the relatives. If you join them, they’ll use your powers to track down the ones they can’t find.”

“That’s never going to happen,” I said immediately. “I wouldn’t help them kill anyone , much less helpless children!”

“That’s what you think now,” Anderson countered, “but the Olympians are very good at… persuasion. Come back to the house. You’ll be much safer with us than you would be out on your own.”

I laughed briefly, then swallowed it before it could turn into hysteria. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You let Jamaal practically choke me to death last night, you yourself threatened to torture me, and then you sent Blake with his slimy lust power after me, and you expect me to just hand myself over because you claim the other guys are worse?”

“I realize that—”

“You don’t realize a goddamn thing!” I squeezed the phone so hard I accidentally hung up on Anderson. Then I decided my subconscious had the right idea, and I turned the phone off.

Maybe he was telling me the truth. But I had no way of knowing. And even if he was , I saw no reason why I would be better off hanging out at Psycho Central. Jamaal had made it crystal clear that he wanted to make me suffer, and Blake no doubt hated my guts after what I’d done to him this morning.

Geez, I was just making friends all over the place.

I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose where an exhaustion headache was starting up. I might not be willing to hand myself over to Anderson, but I was no closer to figuring out what I should do.

As a child, I’d been a real pro at getting into trouble. There was a good reason I’d been bounced from foster home to foster home so often before I’d landed with the Glasses. I couldn’t blame the other foster families for getting rid of me. I’d been well on my way to becoming a juvenile delinquent, getting angrier and angrier each time a family gave up on me, my behavior worsening each time. But as much trouble as I’d gotten into, as close as I’d come to spending some quality time in juvie, none of it came close to preparing me for the trouble I was in now.

Between the physical exhaustion and the sense of hopelessness that enveloped me, I couldn’t help curling up on my side, clutching a pillow to my chest. In no time, I was fast asleep.

The dream was familiar, one that I’d had countless timesover the years. More a memory than a dream, really, though I wasn’t sure how much of the memory was real, and how much was pieced together by my subconscious. I’d been awfully young at the time, but in my dreams, at least, the memory was crystal clear.

It was a nasty, rainy day, the air so thick with moisture you could drown in it. The rain should have made it cooler, but instead it merely made it feel like we were walking through a steam room.

I don’t know where we were, exactly, except that it was in the South somewhere and that it was a long way from home. My mom was carrying my baby brother, Billy, his chubby little arms lost under her thick hair as he wailed and tried to hide from the rain. Momma murmured assurances, shielding his face with her other hand. Until Billy had started to cry, she’d been holding my hand. I kept plucking at her sleeve, wanting her to take my hand again, but she was too busy with Billy.