"I try. Now what questions do you have?"
She led him back into the room where the journal was lying on the bed. "You told me last night that you have a pregnant daughter. Now from the journal's date, I know how old you are. How old is she?"
"I was twenty-one when she was born." It was the easiest explanation for Kat's age.
Tory picked the journal up and opened to the scrap of paper where she'd left off reading. "Okay so she's a great-great-great-grandmother. Messes with my head, but I can deal with that." She made a note in the margin of the journal. "Who's her mother?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Artemis. Understood. We never talk about that."
He frowned at her ability to guess and to be so accommodating about his redheaded problem. "How—"
She put her hand to his lips to keep him from speaking. "I got it from the journal that you protect her even when she refuses to return the favor. But my next question to you is what is she going to do when she finds out about me?"
Satara stayed back in the shadows of Sanctuary, pretending to be a patron at a table sipping her longneck beer—a rather nasty concoction—as she waited for Acheron to leave the room where he was holed up with his newfound pet. The only real gift her father, Apollo, had ever given her was the ability to pass undetected by other gods. He'd done that so she could spy for him. Little did he know that she used her gift against him more than for him—for a god of prophecy, her father could be unbelievably dense. Then again, his ego was such that he couldn't conceive of anyone not absolutely adoring the very ground he stood upon.
And because of her gift, to Acheron, even with all the powers he possessed, she blended into the background. How nice to have an anti-Atlantean cloaking device.
Which had been very helpful last night while she'd been in the club trying to gather information for Stryker and instead had learned about Acheron's current female obsession. Or should she say, weakness.
The journal she sought was here—she could feel its pull but the Atlantean god protected it and as long as he did she couldn't touch it without risking his wrath.
So she was waiting for him to let down his guard and leave either the bag or the bimbo unguarded. And if her demons would do their job correctly, she'd have a shot at Ryssa's book and the secrets it contained.
Satara gasped as she felt the pain in her chest that signified Ash had left the building. Smiling, she got up and headed upstairs to steal his most guarded possession.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Satara pulled back as she caught sight of Aimee Peltier with Ash's new pet standing outside the room where the two of them were staying. Damn! She couldn't touch the little slut so long as the bear was with her. She'd attempted to violate the sanctity of a Were-Hunter safe zone once in Seattle and had almost been killed over it.
Savitar had made his point loud and clear. The Weres were off her menu.
Bastard.
But if nothing else, she learned from experience. Which meant she couldn't grab the journal until either the bear was gone or they left the opening of that room so that she could sneak inside. Not to mention the fact that two of Apollymi's high priestesses were near them too. The last thing she needed was for one of them to summon their goddess's powers—Apollymi was a lethal bitch who made Artemis appear a whipped puppy in comparison.
She'd have to bide her time.
Stepping back, she returned to the shadows to wait until either she had a moment to pounce, or her demons arrived—if they would just get here. Those demons were turning out to be more trouble than they were worth most days. Unlike the Daimons they had a god complex and didn't like answering to anyone they didn't have to obey.
But the demons were handy at times. If they violated sanctuary laws, oh well. Who cared if they died?
Or better yet . . .
Auntie Artie might prove to be the better ally in this. If nothing else, Artemis would get Acheron out of the way for a while . . . especially if Auntie were to learn that Acheron had been playing in another woman's garden.
Tory was desperate to keep reading, but on the off chance that Aimee might know the ancient language, she refrained and put the journal in her backpack purse to keep it safe.
She looked around the small round table where Aimee, Justina and Katherine were hanging out and exchanging bad date stories.
Not exactly Tory's favorite way to waste her life. "Guys," she said, smiling at them. "No offense, but I'm getting stir crazy. Can we please go downstairs and hang in the bar or do anything that keeps me from sitting here bored out of my mind while the three of you watch me grow eyebrow hair? I mean really, I am fine. I'm not going to spontaneously combust or do anything else freaky. Promise."
Aimee laughed. "Yeah, but if I go down there and the guys see me, they'll put me to work."
Tory grinned. "Put me to work, I beg you!" Anything was better than growing inert.