Dark Descendant

“Why would the Olympians want to capture me?”

“Because Descendants of Artemis are exceedingly rare,” Anderson explained. “She was a

goddess of the hunt, and the skills her descendants possess would be of great use to the

Olympians.”

“Go on,” I prompted.

“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. 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 question the ‘natural order,’

they are disposed of.”

I sank down, knees weak at the images Anderson’s words brought to mind. “By disposed

of, you mean killed.”

Praise for the urban fantasy of Jenna Black

“Black seamlessly blends urban and fantasy elements.”

—
Publishers Weekly
on
Glimmerglass

“Black has done a remarkable job of taking an old myth … and spinning it into a

fabulous new world.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

Enter the dark and seductive world of

Dark Descendant

The Devil Inside

The Devil You Know

The Devil’s Due

Speak of the Devil

The Devil’s Playground

Watchers in the Night

Secrets in the Shadows

Shadows on the Soul

Hungers of the Heart

Glimmerglass

Shadowspell

Hamlet Dreams

In loving memory of Albert Barlow

DARK
DESCENDANT

ONE

My entire world shattered
on a cold, rainy, miserable night in early December.

The evening started off depressingly normal with a blind date arranged by my sister,

Steph. Now, I love Steph to death, and I know she means well, but her ability to pick just the

kind of man I’m least likely to hit it off with is legendary.

My date
du jour
, Jim, was good-looking, unattached, and conspicuously charming, at

least on the surface. In Steph’s book, that made him perfect for me. Little details like his

self-absorption and thinly veiled disrespect for women had apparently escaped her notice. They

did not, however, escape mine.

When my cell phone rang, I practically dove into my purse to find it, praying the call

would grant me a reprieve from the date from hell. I did a mental happy dance when I glanced at

the caller ID and saw the name Emmitt Cartwright.

I gave Jim my best imitation of a chagrined expression. “I’m so sorry,” I said, hoping I

didn’t sound relieved. “It’s a client. I have to take it.”

He indicated it was okay with a magnanimous sweep of his arm. His face conveyed

another message—something along the lines of how much he loathed people who interrupted

romantic dinners for something so crass as business. Considering some of the views he’d

expressed over appetizers, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he were a charter member of the

“women belong in the kitchen, barefoot, and pregnant” club.

I dismissed Jim’s disapproval and answered the call as I pushed away from the table,

heading for a quiet corner near the back of the restaurant where I could talk in something

resembling privacy.

“Nikki Glass,” I said.

“Miss Glass,” Emmitt said, sounding relieved to have reached me. I’d tried to convince

him to call me Nikki, but he had the quaintly old-fashioned habit of reverting to “Miss Glass”

whenever I failed to remind him. It made him sound almost grandfatherly, although he was

younger than me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I smiled, glancing over at the table where Jim sat with his legs crossed and his fingers

tapping impatiently. “Nothing that didn’t badly need interrupting,” I assured him. “Is everything

all right?”

He hesitated a moment. “I … don’t know.”

I raised an eyebrow at that hesitation. I’d only met him in person once, but that was

enough to leave a strong impression. He wasn’t the hesitant type. The man practically had “alpha

male” tattooed on his forehead.

“Maggie called me,” he said quietly.

I leaned against the wall and bit my lip, trying to figure out what to make of this new

development. Maggie was his ex-girlfriend, and he obviously hadn’t gotten over her yet. He’d

originally hired me to track her down after she’d left him for a guy he suspected of belonging to

a weird cult of some kind. He’d said he was worried the cult was going to indoctrinate her.

“What did she have to say?” I asked, genuinely curious. I’d had very little luck in my

investigations so far. Maggie and the other members of this so-called cult lived together in a

massive mansion in Arlington, Virginia, and discreet inquiries in the neighborhood had revealed

only that they “kept to themselves.” Real helpful. All I had to show for my investigation so far

were names and a handful of surveillance photos, and I’d been lucky to get those.

“She said she wanted out. She wants me to come get her.”

I frowned. This seemed like exactly the kind of break Emmitt had been hoping for, and I

wondered why he hadn’t already whisked her away.

“She’s going to wedge the front gate open, and I’m supposed to drive up to the back and

pick her up,” Emmitt continued.

Ah. Now I had a hint why he hadn’t already run to the rescue.

“In other words, she thinks someone might try to stop her, so she’s trying to make a fast,

quiet getaway.”

“Yeah. Something like that. I’d like you to come with me. I want another witness there in

case things get … weird.”

All right,
that
I hadn’t been expecting. “I’m not really sure I’d be much help,” I said.

Emmitt was about as imposing a human being as I could imagine. I’m five foot two, fine-boned,

and female. Anyone not intimidated by Emmitt wouldn’t even give me a second glance. “Maybe

you should call the police.”

“And tell them what? I have no proof of anything, and Maggie didn’t even say she was

being threatened. I’m probably just being paranoid, but I don’t like the idea of going up there

alone. Just in case. This cult believes some very strange stuff, and I don’t think it’s smart to

expect them to act rationally.”

Everything substantive I’d learned about the cult’s beliefs had come from Emmitt

himself, though he’d always been a little vague about how he’d learned the details. Apparently,

they believed themselves to be descended of gods and therefore immortal. I didn’t doubt that

these nut jobs were dangerous, but my gut was telling me to turn Emmitt down. This wasn’t a job

for a private investigator. At least, not for
this
private investigator.

“I’ll pay double your fee,” Emmitt said, sounding almost desperate. “But I don’t want to

keep her waiting too long. I don’t want to give her time to change her mind.”

“Money isn’t the issue,” I assured him. “I just don’t think …”

“Please humor me, okay? I don’t have anyone else I can ask on short notice.”

I glanced over at the table, where Jim’s body language was screaming even more loudly

that he resented me taking this call. The server had brought our entrees while I was talking. My

stomach gave an unhappy grumble at the thought of going hungry, but I wasn’t anxious to spend

the next hour or so gnashing my teeth to keep from telling Jim exactly what I thought of him.

Emmitt was giving me a perfect excuse to cut the evening short, and he was going to pay me, to

boot.

I decided to ignore my gut instinct and agreed to meet Emmitt at the gate in front of the

house.

I’m twenty-five years old and have been listening to my gut all my life. I should have

known better than to ignore it.

A little more than half an hour later, my gut was insisting
even more loudly that this

was a piss-poor idea.

The skies opened up as soon as I left the restaurant, and by the time I pulled up to the

gate in Arlington, the rain was mixed with sleet and the streets were growing slick. All the worst

moments of my life have been associated with rain, so this should have been another clue it was time for me to turn around. My windshield wipers squeaked and squealed as they tried their best

to dash the rain away. I’d meant to replace the wiper blades months ago.

The neighborhood was dark and quiet. Most of the houses were set far enough back from

the road that they were hidden from view, and the streetlights were few and far between. Close to

D.C. as it was, the neighborhood still felt distant from all the hustle and bustle, and I seemed to

be the only person out and about in this weather.

I’d expected Emmitt to be waiting for me at the gate, but when I pulled up, I saw no sign

of his car, nor of him. The gate stood open, however, making me wonder if Emmitt had gotten

impatient and decided not to wait for me.

I pulled off to the side of the road, keeping the car running and the headlights pointing at

the gate, then dug out my phone and called Emmitt’s cell. There was no answer. A chill that had

nothing to do with the frigid weather or the sleet crept down my spine. I knew he had his cell

phone with him, since that was the number he’d called me from. So why wasn’t he answering?

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. This was
so
not my type of gig.

I sat there for a good ten minutes, debating what to do between repeated attempts to get

Emmitt on the phone. The rain had turned to sleet, and icicles were forming on the gate. The

branches of the trees beside the road hung low, weighted down by a thin coating of ice. There

was no sound except the steady ping of the sleet bouncing off the windshield and the roof of my

car.

Finally, I blew out a deep breath and put the car in drive. I couldn’t sit idling forever. My

choices were to turn around and go home, or drive through the gate and make sure everything

was okay. Doing so was technically trespassing, but the gate
was
hanging open like an invitation.

Emmitt had almost certainly gone in without me, and if he had, his failure to answer the phone

was a bad sign.

“Screw it,” I decided, and maneuvered the car carefully down the driveway, my tires

struggling to find a grip on the ice-slicked asphalt.

I gave the ice the respect it deserved, driving slowly and trying not to make any sudden