THREE
The phone call came at three thirty Saturday morning, startling me out of a deep sleep. For a moment after I opened my eyes, I just lay there and hoped the annoying ringing sound would go away, but of course it didn’t. I sat up, groping for the phone and staring blearily at the illuminated numbers on my clock. I’d had a land line installed in my room, but I rarely used it. I picked up the receiver and crossed my fingers it would be a wrong number.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Don’t panic,” Steph’s voice answered, and it sounded like she’d been crying recently. “I’m all right. No one is hurt.”
Well, that woke me up in a hurry. I yanked the chain on the bedside lamp, blinding myself with the glare, and rubbed at the crust on my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, panicking despite Steph’s orders not to. Anything bad enough for her to call me at this hour was going to suck even if no one was hurt.
Steph sniffled. “It’s our house.” Steph lived alone, so I could only assume that by “our” house, she meant the house we’d grown up in. My throat tightened. “There was a fire . . .” Her voice faded into more sniffles.
My own eyes burned with sympathetic tears as something cold and hard sank to the pit of my stomach. “How bad?”
Steph’s more of a crier than I am, and it took her a while to get her tears under control enough to talk. “The worst,” she finally said. “It’s gone. Everything’s . . . gone.”
I tried to absorb the enormity of what had happened, but I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around it. Maybe I wasn’t fully capable of it. Until I’d moved in with the Glasses at the age of eleven, the concept of a “home” had been alien to me. Homes were just temporary way stations, interchangeable places to sleep. I’d resided in more houses and apartments than I could count. The Glasses’ house meant more to me than all the rest of them put together, but I knew instinctively that it didn’t mean as much to me as it did to Steph and her parents. After my childhood, I just didn’t let myself grow attached to places the way normal people did.
That didn’t mean I didn’t feel the loss.
I’d spent the happiest years of my life in that house, after I’d finally come to accept that the Glasses were going to keep me no matter how badly I acted out. It was warm and beautiful, decorated with exquisite taste while still managing to look comfortable and inviting. It was the Glasses’ history, Steph’s childhood, and my safe haven, all rolled into one. I was going to miss it, but my adoptive family was going to grieve for it. And I was already grieving for them.
“What happened?” I asked. I wanted to say something comforting and sympathetic to Steph, but I knew better. Steph would expect me to be as devastated and heartsick as she was about the loss of our childhood home. Comforting her when I was supposed to be equally upset would make me sound aloof and distant. I was heartsick, but not for reasons she’d understand.
“They don’t know yet,” Steph said. “The fire’s out, but they won’t be able to investigate until daylight.”
I hoped like hell it had been a freak accident of some sort, but I couldn’t help wondering . . . Emma wasn’t allowed to hurt me or my family because of the treaty between the Olympians and Anderson. But I doubted that protection applied to our property. What also gave me pause was the fact that this wasn’t the first fire that had affected me in recent weeks. Earlier this month, the office building I was renting space in had had a fire, one that destroyed my office. It hadn’t started in my office, and the fire investigator had determined that some idiot had left his space heater on by accident. Maybe it was completely unrelated, but it seemed like quite the coincidence.
“Have you called your folks yet?” I asked.
The Glasses were on an around-the-world cruise and had been gone for two and a half months already. They still had three more weeks left, and I hated the idea of spoiling it for them when there was nothing they could do.
“Our folks, Nikki,” Steph said sharply.
Oops. I’d forgotten. It was about fourteen years too late, but I was trying to train myself to think of the Glasses as my parents. Despite all the warmth and love they’d shown me, I’d always managed to keep a little bit of distance between us. It wasn’t like I was trying to do it. It just sort of happened. I didn’t feel like I was really their daughter, no matter what the adoption papers said. I think my insistence on referring to them as Steph’s parents had been bugging her for a long time, but it was out in the open now.
“Our folks,” I repeated meekly. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get myself to call them Mom and Dad, but I could at least take a couple of baby steps. “Have you called them yet?”
“No,” she said in a small voice, and I knew she was about to cry again. “I don’t know how—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her voice breaking in a sob.
“I’ll do it,” I told her, though it was going to be hell. Who likes breaking that kind of news to people they loved? And I did love the Glasses, even if I didn’t truly think of them as my parents. But I could give them the news without bursting into tears, and I doubted Steph could.
“You don’t have to,” Steph managed to choke out, but I heard the hope in her voice.
“I’ll do it,” I repeated. “You shouldn’t have to make this phone call more than once.”
“And you can stay calm, cool, and collected when you tell them.”
I was pretty sure there was a hint of censure in those words, but I chose to ignore it. I was never going to be as open and demonstrative as Steph was, and I refused to apologize for it.
“Why don’t you come over when we get off the phone,” I suggested. “Neither one of us is going to get any more sleep tonight. We have several industrial-sized tubs of ice cream in the freezer. Maybe you and I can demolish one together.”
Steph thought about it briefly, then let out a shuddering sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”
Dreading what I had to do next, I hung up the phone.
The phone call with the Glasses was every bit as excruciating as I expected. My adoptive mother’s heartbroken sobs would haunt me for a long time. I wished I could give her a hug, but she was halfway around the world, and I wouldn’t be hugging her anytime soon. At least Mr. Glass was there so she could cry on his shoulder. He’s the stereotypical stoic male, and though the news had to have hit him hard, he kept himself together. I hoped that when he and Mrs. Glass were alone together and he didn’t feel like he had to put up a brave front for me, he would take comfort from her as well as give it.
“I don’t know how soon we’ll be able to get home,” he said. There was just a hint of hoarseness in his voice, betraying the emotions he was trying to repress. “Even if we get on the next flight, it’ll take a couple of days.”
“There’s no need for you to cut your trip short,” I said, and my motives in saying so weren’t entirely pure. No, I didn’t want them to miss out on whatever exciting destinations were still on their itinerary, but I also hadn’t yet figured out what the hell I was going to tell them about what was going on in my life. I’d talked to them a couple of times since I’d become Liberi, but I hadn’t told them much of anything. How I was going to explain that I was now living in a mansion with seven other people was beyond me. Especially when I insisted on holding on to the condo the Glasses had bought for me. (They’d bought it for me as a gift, but I insisted on paying rent. My baggage made it hard for me to accept money or gifts from them.)
“Steph and I can take care of anything that needs doing until you get back,” I continued, crossing my fingers that he’d find my argument sound.
Mr. Glass sighed heavily. “We’re not going to be in any mood for sightseeing or even relaxing after this. We might as well come home.”
I had to agree that I wouldn’t feel much like being on vacation, either. However, that didn’t mean I had to concede the point. “I know you’re not in the mood, but it might be nice to have something to take your mind off your troubles for a while. As far as I know, there’s nothing you have to do that can’t wait until you get back.” Not that I knew much of anything about what needed to be done. There would be insurance company wrangling for sure, and heaven only knew what would be involved in getting the ruins cleaned up and a new house built. Surely Steph and I could take care of some of that on their behalf.
“At least take a little time to think about it,” I urged. “If you decide to stay on the cruise, you can always change your mind and come home, but vice versa doesn’t work. Steph and I will find you a nice rental so you don’t have to stay in a hotel or anything. And we’ll start the ball rolling on insurance and stuff. There’s no need to make a bad situation worse by losing out on the rest of your cruise.”
He let out another heavy sigh. “When did you get so smart?”
I smiled at the affection in his tone. “Guess someone just raised me right.”
“All right. Your mother and I will talk it over before we make any hasty decisions. But you call us if there are any updates, or if there’s anything we need to do.”
“I promise.”
“We’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what we’ve decided.”
“Okay.”
I suspected from the tone of his voice that he was still leaning toward coming home immediately, and I couldn’t blame him. Probably I’d have done the same in his shoes. But at least I’d bought a little bit of time.
Of course, if I hadn’t been able to figure out how to explain my current circumstances over the course of the last few weeks, a couple of extra days probably weren’t going to help all that much.
For those of you who might be tempted, I wouldn’t recommend downing a tub of chocolate ice cream at four in the morning, even if you have just learned your childhood home burned to the ground. Steph and I had had help—she’d called Blake while I was on the phone with the Glasses, and he’d met me at the bottom of the stairs when I went to let Steph in. I felt like the third wheel all of a sudden, but that didn’t stop me from shoveling down the ice cream until my stomach felt queasy. The sugar high buoyed me for a while, but when the crash came, I decided it was safest to leave Steph and Blake to their own devices. I felt sick enough from overeating without getting myself all worked up about their relationship.
I excused myself and went back to my suite to brood in quiet solitude. I was trying to hold on to hope that the fire had been the result of faulty wiring or some other legitimate accidental cause. I’d brought enough hardship down on my adoptive family since the fateful day my car had slammed into Emmitt Cartwright and killed him, making me a Liberi. The last thing I wanted to do was be the cause of more pain and heartache.
I might have lived on in blissful ignorance for at least another few hours if I hadn’t decided to check my email.
I wasn’t getting a whole lot of email lately, not since I’d temporarily closed up my business as a private investigator. There was never anything important in my in-box, so mostly when I checked email, it was to delete the spam that had gotten through the filter. I was happily deleting away when my cursor hit a message that chilled my blood.
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING, screamed the subject line, and the name in the From column said Konstantin.
Dreading what I would see, I opened the email and held my breath.
Dear Nikki,
I hope this letter finds you well.
Actually, no, I don’t. I hope it finds you miserable and guilt stricken.
I’ve put a lot of time and thought into my current situation. I have been forced to step down as king of the Olympians, a position I’ve held for several centuries and to which I had become accustomed. I have been exiled from my people, forced to live in hiding for fear that the more predatory amongst them might want to ensure my permanent removal. I have been forced to abandon a magnificent home and watch as my worthless son attempts to destroy from within everything I’ve built over my long, long life.
All of these indignities I’ve been forced to face, I can trace back to one person: you.
If you had joined the Olympians when I invited you, none of this would have happened. You and I could have lived harmoniously together, and we could have hunted down Justin Kerner without all the fuss and fireworks. Maybe if I hadn’t had to ask for Anderson’s help to stop Kerner, we could have captured and neutralized him before he killed Phoebe. Certainly we could have taken care of him quietly, in such a way that no one untrustworthy had to know about my lapse in judgment.
But you didn’t join us. Instead, you set yourself up in opposition, and you went out of your way to reveal every detail of what had happened. You cost me everything I hold dear, and I plan to pay you back in kind.
This morning’s little surprise was nothing more than a warning shot across the bow. I have much, much more in store for you. I know you’ll be hunting for me, and maybe you think you’ll catch me before I can fully realize my revenge. But I didn’t manage to become king of the Olympians and lead them for centuries without having an impressive bag of tricks at hand. I’m betting I can break you before you get to me. And if you think you can invoke your silly little treaty and get Cyrus to control me, you are gravely mistaken. I will do nothing to harm you or your family. Nothing that will officially break the treaty. Hurting you without breaking the treaty will be quite the enjoyable test to my creativity. And believe me, I am highly creative.
Be afraid, Nikki Glass. I am coming for you.
Yours, Konstantin
I read the email twice, hardly believing what I was reading. Konstantin blamed me for all his troubles? That was nuts.
I’ll admit, I’d certainly had a hand in his downfall. It was I who’d unraveled the mystery and found out why Justin Kerner was hunting the D.C. area. I’d discovered that his death magic combined with the taint of supernatural madness made him capable of killing Liberi, and that he wanted to kill them all—starting with Konstantin—for having forced him to take the tainted seed in the first place. I’d uncovered the fact that all of the Olympians could have been killed because Konstantin made a mistake, and that was what caused him to lose power. But that didn’t mean it was my fault.
I rubbed my eyes, which ached with a combination of weariness and lingering grief over my family’s pain. Why did every Liberi blame me when things went wrong in their lives? Jamaal had originally blamed me for killing Emmitt. Emma blamed me for the dissolution of her marriage, which I believed she was 100 percent responsible for herself. And now Konstantin was blaming me for his own screwup.
I had only met Konstantin once, and though he’d chilled me to the bone with his coldness and malice, I had never once suspected he was insane. But a vendetta of this magnitude did not speak of a man of sound mind. Maybe losing his place at the top of the totem pole had cost him his sanity as well as his power.
Whatever the reason, he was one hell of a dangerous enemy. And if he was coming after me, my life was going to get a lot more difficult very soon.