Jenna Black - Dark Descendant

“Nikki. I talked to Jim, and he said you ducked out early last night. No one has seen or heard from you since. Please call me back as soon as you get this. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to call the police. Please call.”

I winced in guilt as I heard the quaver in my sister’s voice. It wasn’t like me not to return phone calls, and after what must have seemed like a somewhat mysterious exit from the restaurant last night, I couldn’t blame Steph for being worried. I might not run into the kind of daily danger that cops did, but my profession was not without its risks. She’d probably come up with a boatload of worst-case scenarios already. I prayed to God she hadn’t gotten worried enough to try to call the Glasses yet. Surely she wouldn’t interrupt their cruise unless she were certain there was something wrong. At least, I hoped not.

Knowing I could put it off no longer, I put on my big-girl panties and called Steph’s house. She answered on the first ring, like she’d been hovering over the phone willing me to call. Maybe she had.

“Oh, thank God!” she said in lieu of a greeting, then immediately burst into tears.

Another wave of guilt rolled over me, even as I was momentarily annoyed at the melodrama. Steph bursts into tears at the drop of a hat. Which is probably healthier than my stoic reserve, but it gets on my nerves anyway.

In a lot of ways, it’s a minor miracle that Steph and I are so close, seeing as we’re polar opposites. Steph is a true blond bombshell, the kind that makes anyone with a Y chromosome start drooling. She’s perky as hell, and everyone seems to like her. She’d always run with the popular clique at school—naturally, she’d been a cheerleader—but she’d been friendly with just about everyone, even the kids at whom cheerleaders traditionally looked down their noses. Steph may have been a card-carrying member of the popular crowd, but behind the frothy façade, she had a backbone of steel. No amount of peer pressure was going to make her be cruel to people who were outside her usual social circle. And heaven help anyone who dared to be cruel to her adopted little sister, even when said little sister made being an outsider a point of pride.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” I told Steph as she fought to control her tears. I hadn’t yet figured out what I was going to tell her—if I’d waited until I dreamed up the perfect explanation, I’d never have gotten around to calling—but I knew I had to come up with something fast.

“I’m fine,” I continued. “I promise. Not a scratch on me. But I was in a car accident last night.”

“What?” she shrieked, and I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

“I’m fine!” I repeated. “My car has gone on to its heavenly reward, but I’m not hurt, so please don’t be upset.”

“Don’t be upset? You’re joking, right?”

Please, please, please let her not have called the Glasses yet. Mrs. Glass was the quintessential overprotective mother hen, and she mothered me every bit as thoroughly as she did Steph. Dealing with Steph’s distress was enough already—I couldn’t bear the thought of having to call and reassure Mrs. Glass afterward.

“If you were in an accident last night,” Steph continued, and there was a hint of anger seeping into her voice, “then why am I just hearing about it now? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls? You knew I was going to call to ask you how things went, and you had to know I’d get worried when you didn’t call back.”

I sighed and wished I’d forced myself to call earlier. I couldn’t blame her for being upset with me. If the situation had been reversed, I’d have been furious.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I wasn’t hurt, but I was pretty badly shaken up. I haven’t been quite myself, and I just didn’t think. My phone was turned off all day, and I didn’t even notice until just now.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

I blinked and shook my head at the non sequitur. “Huh?”

“Meet me at Angelo’s at seven. A phone call doesn’t cut it for this conversation, kiddo.”

I groaned, thinking I should have drunk more coffee before picking up the phone. If my brain had been fully awake, I’d have known Steph wouldn’t settle for a phone call. Angelo’s was her favorite Italian restaurant, a real dive that served great food and mediocre wine. My body was too confused to know whether it was hungry or not, but I knew I wasn’t up to the level of scrutiny I would undergo over dinner.

“I’m really not up to—” I started.

“Be there at seven, or I’m going to call Mom and tell her you totaled the car.”

“You bitch!” I cried. “Don’t you dare!”

I knew Mrs. Glass would have to find out about it eventually, but the more time that passed before she heard about it, the less chance that she would become hysterical.

“Show up for dinner, and I won’t have to,” Steph said, sounding smug. “You owe me for scaring the life out of me.”

I considered trying to argue some more. There was no way I could behave as if nothing was wrong if I talked to Steph in person, and I still had no clue what I could use as a convincing cover story. But as I mentioned, Steph has a quite a backbone beneath her deceptively sweet exterior. If she was determined to talk to me in person, nothing would change her mind. And if I didn’t show up, she really would call her mom and rat me out.

“Fine,” I said with poor grace. “I’ll see you at seven.”

I almost decided to skip the dinner, despite Steph’s threat.I didn’t like the idea that I might lead that creep Alexis right to her, and I didn’t want him anywhere near my sister. However, Blake had told me that the Oracle’s visions were rarely clear, so I figured the odds that Alexis would find me twice in one day were low. The odds that Steph would rat me out if I didn’t show up were a hundred percent. Besides, I couldn’t avoid her forever.

I pushed open the door to Angelo’s at 7:15, and the scent of garlic and tomatoes set my mouth to watering instantly. A quick glance around the chipped Formica tables showed me what I’d already expected to find: Steph wasn’t here yet. She is biologically incapable of showing up anywhere on time, despite all Mrs. Glass’s best efforts to train her to punctuality. She also has a sixth sense about what time I’ll arrive. Even when I specifically try to be late enough for her to get there before me, she’s always just a little bit later.

The hostess led me to a table for two near the back. There was no longer any smoking allowed inside, but the walls themselves must have absorbed the stink of cigarette smoke over the years, because I could still catch a whiff of it in the air. Or maybe it was just because I’d been coming here so long I knew the table was in the old smoking section.

Steph made her grand entrance about five minutes later, rushing through the door and scanning the restaurant anxiously, like she was afraid I’d have bolted by now. I waved, and saw her sigh of relief.

The Glasses had already made their fortune by the time Steph was in her formative years, so she’d grown up with the best fashion sense money could buy. She was wearing perfectly tailored slate gray slacks and a luxurious red cashmere sweater that clung to her near-flawless figure. She’d finished the outfit with a black swing coat and a pair of stiletto-heeled boots that I’d have broken my neck trying to walk in.

As usual, every male over the age of twelve gave her at least one or two appreciative glances as she snaked her way through the tables toward me. I told myself I was not jealous, but it was a lie. She was just so damn … perfect. If only she were a bitch, so I could hate her like she deserved to be hated…