FIVE
The rest of the day didn’t go a whole lot better than the beginning of it had. Steph called me to say the fire investigator had already declared the incident was arson. Whoever had set it had made no attempt to be subtle or try to hide the crime. Which made sense, considering the whole point of it was for me to know it was the start of Konstantin’s path to revenge.
Steph was brisk and businesslike when we talked, telling me the facts without falling apart or betraying any emotion whatsoever. She was in problem-solver mode, and she’d distanced herself from her own pain. Considering how much charity work she did, and how often she ended up in charge of the charity functions she worked on, she was better suited for the job than I was. She’d already been in touch with the insurance company and had even tracked down the builder who’d designed and constructed the house more than twenty years ago.
Not once did Steph hint that she blamed me for what had happened, but I didn’t know how she could not. I had already brought so much misery into her life. She’d been attacked by Alexis because of me, and now her childhood home had been destroyed. She didn’t need me to tell her the fire had something to do with me, not after it was declared arson. Guilt pounded at me relentlessly, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Big Sister Steph was the one I leaned on when I needed emotional support, but that wasn’t an option this time.
I tried burying myself in work, digging up my previous list of Olympian properties in the D.C. area and then doing some research to see if they’d bought anything else since last I’d checked. Let me tell you, the Olympians own a lot of property, both commercial and residential, and I doubted I’d identified all of it despite my research. They knew how to use shell corporations and offshore bank accounts and out-and-out bribery to hide their assets. And let’s not even talk about their worldwide holdings.
My gut told me Konstantin would not have left town, and the fact that he’d sent that email from a local FedEx seemed to support the theory. My ever-present voice of self-doubt pointed out that Konstantin could easily have hired someone to do the dirty work from afar. Maybe he was living like the king he thought himself to be in Monte Carlo or somewhere else far away from here. But if I had to search the whole world for him, I was in deep trouble.
I mapped out a driving route that would take me past many of the Olympian properties that I deemed likely candidates. It would take several nights to do a drive-by on every one, especially if I wanted to actually get some sleep once in a while. For the time being, I was skipping the places that were directly owned by known Olympians, figuring those were just too obvious, but that still left me with a daunting list of possibilities. Yet I had to start somewhere.
I got so caught up in what I was doing that I forgot to eat lunch, and when I finally was satisfied with my itinerary for the first night, the sun was on its way down and I was ravenous. I ventured downstairs into the kitchen, hoping someone was cooking a communal dinner.
It was something of a frail hope, as only Maggie and Logan did much in the way of cooking, and they usually let everyone know when they were doing it. Anderson made a vat of chili every once in a while, and Jack had once made some kind of stew that no one in the house had been willing to touch. Maybe he’d thought he’d fool me into tasting it, seeing as I was the new person, but I wasn’t stupid enough to eat something a trickster prepared.
There were no enticing aromas drifting from the kitchen, and I figured it would be a Lean Cuisine night for me. However, I was in luck after all. There were no enticing smells, but Logan was hard at work on some kind of cold noodle dish. A huge salad bowl filled with noodles in brown sauce sat on the counter, and Logan was shredding a head of bok choy with the ease and quickness of a professional.
“Need a sous chef?” I asked as he tossed the shredded bok choy in with the noodles.
Logan looked at me doubtfully as he sliced a red pepper into ribbons. If it had been me wielding the knife, I’d probably have sliced my own fingers off, even if I was looking at what I was doing. He jerked his chin toward the salad bowl.
“You can toss all of that together, if you’d like. I’m almost done with the knife-work.”
I was just as happy not to be put to work slicing veggies, as it would take me at least four times as long as it was taking him. The man was almost as fast and efficient as a Cuisinart. He was a descendant of Tyr, a Germanic war god, and apparently his supernatural skills with weapons carried over to the kitchen.
I grabbed the salad tongs and began gingerly tossing the noodles and veggies with the sauce. I was afraid to do it too vigorously, or I’d spill stuff all over the place. Close up, I could smell soy sauce and ginger, and now the aromatic tang of red pepper. Leave it to Logan to make a cold salad into an enticing meal.
Logan finished his chopping and shredding, then nudged me aside to take over tossing the noodles. I don’t think he’d really wanted my help in the first place.
I drifted into the breakfast nook, which is like a mini-sunroom with three walls of glass looking out over the back lawn. Sunset tinged the scattered clouds with hints of peach and pink, and the woods beyond the lawn created the illusion that we were miles from civilization.
It was a nice view, until I saw the familiar orange and black stripes through a break in the trees. Moments later, Sita emerged onto the lawn, ambling along like she was taking a leisurely tour. I didn’t think it was smart of Jamaal to bring her this close to the house, particularly when she didn’t seem to differentiate friend from foe. Then again, I didn’t see Jamaal anywhere, so Sita might have decided to go on a walkabout all by herself, which did not speak well of his ability to control her.
“What are you looking at?” Logan asked as he set a couple of bowls of noodles down on the table.
Mutely, I pointed.
“Oh.” Logan sounded about as thrilled to see her as I was. There had been an . . . incident with Logan and Sita before and he’d almost gotten mauled before Jamaal was able to reel her in. I think he held a bit of a grudge. “Where the hell is Jamaal?” he muttered, and it was a good question.
If Sita were to leave the edge of the property, that would be bad. I didn’t want to think about how the humans around us would react if she toured the neighborhood, nor did I want to think about what Sita would do if she took exception to the reactions.
“We can’t just let her wander around loose,” I said.
“I know,” Logan replied grimly, then headed back into the main part of the kitchen and grabbed the chef’s knife he’d been using. “I’ll keep the damn cat busy, and you use your mojo to find Jamaal and drag his ass over here to corral her.”
This did not sound like the world’s greatest plan to me. Logan might be a war god descendant and really good with a knife, but I doubted he was a match for a full-grown tiger. Especially a supernatural one that might have powers we were as yet unaware of. However, he and I could survive being mauled if it came to that; our human neighbors could not. I hoped Jamaal wasn’t passed out somewhere.
Logan strode out the back door with me following close on his heels. Sita caught sight of us immediately and went eerily still. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.
“I am going to kick Jamaal’s ass,” Logan muttered, then started toward Sita with a resigned sigh.
I began edging my way toward the woods, keeping a wary eye on the tiger. She should have been focused on Logan, who was coming directly toward her, but to my dismay, she was looking straight at me.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Logan called, and I had to admit I was impressed with his bravery. He was acting like initiating hand-to-claw fighting with a supernatural tiger was nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.
Sita flicked a glance at Logan, flattening her ears, and I thought our plan, such as it was, was working. I sped up, making sure not to get any closer to her on my way to the woods. Unfortunately, Sita dismissed Logan after that single glance, fixing her gaze on me once more and stalking toward me. I’m no expert at reading tiger body language, but the predatory glide of her movement suggested she wasn’t heading over to give me an affectionate head-butt like she’d given Jamaal. I’d thought Jamaal was being a smartass when he said Sita didn’t like me, but I was beginning to think he’d meant it literally.
“Oh, come on, you dumb animal,” Logan said, moving to put himself between me and the tiger. “She’s no threat. I’m the one you have to worry about.”
Sita roared, and I didn’t know if she was pissed off because Logan had gotten between her and her prey, or if she was smarter than your average tiger and was insulted by the “dumb animal” comment. Logan crouched, ready for the tiger’s attack, but Sita decided that was a good time to remind us that she wasn’t really a tiger and was in fact a supernatural being. Instead of attacking Logan to get him out of the way, she merely leapt over him, her ridiculously powerful haunches lifting her so high that she sailed over the point of Logan’s knife as he tried to strike at her.
“Shit!” I yelled succinctly, and though I knew running would only stimulate her predatory instincts, I didn’t have a choice.
I bolted for the door as Logan yelled again, trying in vain to distract Sita. I could have sworn I felt the vibration of her footsteps as she thundered after me, but that was probably just my imagination. I knew better than to look over my shoulder, because the last thing I needed was to lose speed.
I made it to the door and shoved it open, skidding over the threshold and practically falling flat on my face. I turned to push the door closed, and saw that Sita was almost upon me. I pushed with all my might, and this time I really did knock myself down. But the door closed before Sita made it through, and for a moment, I lay there on the floor and tried to regain my breath and slow down my frantic heart.
Until Sita gave me another nasty reminder that she wasn’t a natural tiger and passed right through the door.
There was nothing I could do to defend myself. I was lying on my back on the floor, gasping for breath, and she was practically on top of me. She roared directly in my face, so close I could feel the heat and dampness of her breath. I closed my eyes and tried to brace myself for the pain I was about to suffer, and the horrifying ordeal of death that would come shortly after.
She roared again, nowhere near as close to my face, and I opened my eyes to see that Logan stood in the doorway and had grabbed her tail with his left hand. That finally got her attention, and she turned to swat at him with one massive paw. He let go of her tail and jumped backward, moving faster than should have been possible, and she just missed him. I could almost see her moment of indecision, as she tried to decide which of us she wanted to kill first.
“Sita, stop it!”
Jamaal’s voice was about the most welcome thing I’d ever heard. Sita gave a snarl that sounded almost surly. I didn’t want to attract her attention by moving while she was still in easy swatting range, but I didn’t much like lying flat on my back on the floor, so I cautiously pushed myself up into a sitting position.
Between Sita and Logan, my vision was well and truly blocked, and I couldn’t see Jamaal.
Logan couldn’t see Jamaal, either, because he was still focused on Sita, his knife at the ready. “I am going to kick your ass six ways from Sunday,” he said with feeling, and he wasn’t talking to the tiger.
Sita roared out another challenge, this one directed at Logan, not me.
“No!” Jamaal yelled, and his hand clamped down on Logan’s shoulder and pulled him back out of the doorway. “He didn’t mean it!” Jamaal said to Sita. “It was a figure of speech.”
I blinked at him. He looked terrible, his clothes drenched with sweat, his eyes bloodshot, but at least he wasn’t passed out somewhere.
“Does she understand you?” I asked.
Jamaal nodded. “I’m not sure exactly how much she understands, but yeah, she definitely understood that.”
Yet another reminder that she wasn’t a normal tiger. “Well, maybe you could have a talk with her about the difference between the good guys and the bad guys.”
Sita snorted, and flicked her tail across my face. I took that as an insult, though if she had to hit me with something, I definitely preferred her tail to her paws.
“Enough excitement for one day, sweetheart,” Jamaal said, smiling fondly at the creature that had just almost eaten Logan and me for dinner. He reached out and scratched behind her ears. She turned to look at me once more, and I could swear the expression on her face was smug. Then, she disappeared.
Jamaal sagged against the door frame, his head lowering in obvious exhaustion. He was shivering in the cold, and there was dirt ground into the knees of his jeans. I was pretty sure this meant he had collapsed during his practice session with Sita and that was why she’d been free to wander around the property on her own.
“Get inside and sit down before you fall down,” Logan said curtly, then gave Jamaal a little shove to get him moving.
Jamaal wasn’t up to handling a shove in the back, and he pitched forward just as I was getting up off the floor. I held out my hands, both to steady him and to avoid being crushed, while Logan stepped inside and closed the door behind him with more force than necessary. I had to admit, he had reason to be pissed off, but now wasn’t the time to express it. I gave him a dirty look as I looped Jamaal’s arm over my shoulders and braced myself against his not-inconsiderable weight. It says something about the shape he was in that when he tried to pull away from me, he couldn’t.
“Come on,” I said, taking a step toward the breakfast nook, which was the closest place to find a chair, and hoping Jamaal would move along with me. After a moment’s hesitation, he did. He was still shivering, and I didn’t think his sweat-soaked shirt was helping the situation.
I helped Jamaal to one of the chairs, which he practically fell into. Logan was still behind me, and I knew without looking that he was giving Jamaal the evil eye. Jamaal tried to take a deep breath, but he was shivering too hard.
“Will you let me get you a dry shirt?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he said with a shake of his head that rattled his beads. It would have been more convincing if his teeth weren’t chattering.
I knew without needing to be told that Jamaal had never taken his shirt off around his fellow Liberi. He was more than a little self-conscious about the wealth of scars that riddled his chest and back, a consequence of his mortal life, in which he’d been a slave. He had never told anyone but me about his background, and Anderson and the rest of his Liberi were under the impression that Jamaal was only about fifty years old.
“You are not fine,” Logan snapped, and to my surprise, he pulled off his own long-sleeved tee and threw it at Jamaal. “Put that on!”
Jamaal had never been too good at taking orders, and he gave Logan a snarl that would have done Sita proud. “I’m not wearing your f*cking shirt,” he said, and threw the shirt back at Logan. Which would have worked better if he weren’t weak as a kitten. The shirt fluttered to the floor well short of its goal.
Logan snatched the shirt from the floor and held it out to Jamaal. “Put it on yourself, or I’m putting it on you. You’re in no shape to fight me.”
Jamaal growled, but Logan was right and he didn’t have the strength to put up a fight. He took the shirt with obvious reluctance and went to pull it on over his head.
Logan rolled his eyes. “Take the wet shirt off first, dimwit.”
Jamaal froze, a look of near panic on his face. He gave me a pleading look, and it shows just how shaken he was that he was willing to reach out to me for help.
“You think I don’t know you have scars?” Logan asked, his voice suddenly gentling.
Jamaal’s eyes went even wider, and he gaped at Logan. “How can you know?” he asked.
“I tended your body after the executions, man. I know you have a shitload of scars. You don’t want to talk about them, that’s fine with me. Just change out of that wet shirt before someone else comes in looking for dinner.”
Still shivering, Jamaal reluctantly peeled off his shirt, his shoulders hunched in a protective posture. He pulled Logan’s shirt on so fast it was a wonder he didn’t rip it, especially since he was at least a size larger than Logan.
“I’m going to run up and get a new shirt,” Logan said, “and when I get back down, we’re going to talk about what just happened.”
“That’s what you think,” Jamaal muttered under his breath, but Logan hadn’t waited to hear his answer and was already on his way out the door.
Jamaal’s head was bowed, maybe in exhaustion, maybe in shame. He’d always seemed ashamed of himself when the death magic made his temper crack, but from my point of view, he had nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t like the death magic was a character flaw; he’d never asked for it. But I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it if I voiced the sentiment, especially when he seemed to be studiously avoiding my gaze. I decided acting as if nothing had happened might be the wisest course of action.
“Do you want some coffee?” I asked. “Or some food? Logan made some kind of cold noodle dish that looks delicious.”
“I’m sorry Sita went after you,” he said, ignoring my question and still not looking at me.
I sighed and pulled out a chair so I could sit closer to his eye level. He met my gaze for about a millisecond before glancing away again.
“Please talk to me,” I said. “I can’t help thinking Sita’s aversion to me may have something to do with how you feel about me.” It made sense to me that if Jamaal was still pissed at me for my attempted abandonment, Sita would pick up on it and hold it against me.
“I’m not the sharing-my-feelings type.” He shoved to his feet, his balance still unsteady.
I reached out to help him, but he neatly avoided my grasp.
“I don’t need your help.”
“Jamaal—”
“Leave me alone, Nikki.”
He turned his back on me and staggered out of the kitchen. I wanted to follow him, to try again, but I knew better. He had shut himself off from me—and from the rest of Anderson’s Liberi. Everyone was relieved that his temper was so much better controlled these days. So relieved I doubted anyone but me had seen the downside yet. Sure, he was easier to live with this way, but I didn’t think the isolation was good for him. Leo might be genuinely happy to live ensconced in his room with his computers and minimal human contact, but Jamaal needed people, whether he liked to admit it or not.
Someone was going to have to chip away at the barriers he’d built around himself. I had a feeling the only someone who’d even be willing to try was me.