The Wicked Within (Gods & Monsters #3)

The Wicked Within (Gods & Monsters #3) Page 10

Zaria drew in a breath and seemed to go right back into temptress mode. “Athena is not dead. Sorry to disappoint you,” she said slyly. “She sends me with a message. As you are all well aware, she wants what was in Anesidora’s Jar when it was gifted to your ancestors.”

Sebastian sat straighter. Shit. He knew where this was headed.

“Athena wants the Hands of Zeus. Let’s not play coy and kid ourselves. By now most of you have likely guessed what they are and why she wants them. But none of that matters. What matters is that you return what is hers.”

“Why would we do that?” Josephine asked in a casual tone that Sebastian knew was far from the truth.

“Why not? You have no need of them.”

Josephine drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the table. “I think we do. I think keeping the Hands in our possession keeps Athena in line. And keeps us safe.”

Murmurs of agreement went around the room.

Zaria seemed unaffected. “And that is why Athena has offered Donum Essentia Dea to the one who returns her property.”

Gasps echoed through the room. More than a few Novem went pale. Michel sat back in his chair, stunned. Bran let out a low whistle. And the tension in the room just shot sky-high. Sebastian had no idea what Donum Essentia Dea was, and from their confused looks, neither did any of the other heirs. Finally Hunter spoke up. “For those of us Latin-challenged attendees, mind telling us what that is exactly?”

Sebastian found it odd that the person most affected by Zaria’s words was Josephine. She looked as though she was about to be sick, while Zaria looked like the Cheshire cat. Whatever offering she made had just turned the tables in a major way.

Looks of warning passed around the table. It was clear the Novem didn’t want the heirs to know.

“All they have to do is look it up and put the pieces together,” Nell Cromley said. When no one took the initiative, she pushed back from the table and stood. “  Donum Essentia Dea is the act of gifting the essence of a god, or in this case, goddess. It means Athena has just offered everything that makes her who she is. Her immortality and all her accumulated power in exchange for the Hands of Zeus. She’s offering to make one of us a god.”

“She can do that?” Kieran asked her father in disbelief.

Bran answered, his deep voice resigned. “Aye. She can. She can give it all up and become mortal.”

The heirs went silent. And Sebastian was no exception. Athena was willing to give up her immortality, to be human, to get her kid back.

Zaria gazed over the assembly with a satisfied expression. “I’d suggest watching your backs from now on.” She pivoted and sauntered to the door, waving a hand as she went. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.” And then she disappeared into thin air.

As soon as she left, Bran glared at each Novem head. “Stop. Stop it right now. Do not let this divide us. That’s exactly what she wants, and you know it.”

“The Hands are currently in the library, correct?” Simon Baptiste asked quietly, flipping a pen through his fingers.

A shiver went down Sebastian’s spine.

Simon was known for his excesses and cruelties. He stayed just barely within Novem law, but everyone knew there were heinous crimes done in secret, things the group could never pin on him. His son, Gabriel, was fast becoming like his father.

No one answered Simon. They all believed the Hands were there. Sebastian half expected all of them to run for the door. The kind of power Athena was offering was staggering. Yet no one moved. No one wanted to be the first to show where their loyalties lay.

“We must agree the Hands stay in the library,” Michel said, glancing around the room. “We must vow never to let what was said here go farther than this room. To do so would mean chaos, betrayal, murder, war.”

“Michel is right,” Rowen said. “This is our home. If word gets out, the library will be under siege. We’ll be hunted for knowing how to get inside. Your heirs will be hunted for any knowledge they might possess about the library. We must agree to do nothing.”

“What about Ari?” Gabriel asked. “She knows how to get inside. She’d be the one Athena or anyone else goes after.”

“She doesn’t know how to get inside on her own,” Sebastian said, giving Gabriel a look that promised retribution.

“Sebastian is right. I let her into the library,” Michel said. “She does not have the blood or the ward combinations to get inside herself. Only we do. But we must agree. We must not speak of what happened here tonight or we are all targets.”

“Targets, or betrayers ourselves,” Nikolai Deschanel spoke up. “Do I put my trust in all of you? Do I do nothing while the rest of you grasp at immortality, at godhood? Or do I strike first?”

The question hung suspended in the room. The Novem’s collective energy became thick, making the room hot and stuffy. Sweat beaded on Sebastian’s skin.

Traitor he might be, but Sebastian knew he had to get those Hands out of the library before someone else did—if they were even there. He wouldn’t do it for immortality. He’d do it for Ari.

“We should give them back,” Nell Cromley said. “Doesn’t that solve everything? Just send them back before this whole situation blows up.”

“The heirs can be dismissed now,” Soren Mandeville said.

After vowing their silence, the heirs were let go. Sebastian was the first to exit, drawing in a deep breath of untainted air. He didn’t stop until he was on the second floor. He was shaking, adrenaline still speeding through his system like a rocket. His boots thudded across the long gallery that fronted Jackson Square below. At one of the arched windows, he stopped and dragged his fingers through his hair.

Hunter followed and parked himself on the other side of the window, his gaze somber as he stared. Hunter was older. He’d been imprisoned by Athena and set free with Michel when Ari had escaped her cell, rescuing the lot of them. “Athena knows exactly what she’s doing, I’ll say that for her.”

“Master of strategic warfare and all,” Sebastian said dryly.

“She has it all planned out, every possible outcome, every variable. We’re infants compared to her, to what she knows, her experience. . . . In other words, we’re fucked, my friend. Dangling a jewel like that in front of the council . . . ”

The low murmur of the other heirs filing down the steps made Sebastian turn toward the landing. “They won’t all keep silent.”

“Probably not. The Hands should go back.”

“Not everyone is going to feel that way. My grandmother for one.”

“Baptiste for another. Katherine Sinclair, too, from what I know about her. Mandeville, maybe . . . ” Hunter looked at him. “What about you?”

Sebastian laughed at the idea that he’d want that kind of power. Hell, he didn’t even want the power he had now.

Hunter smiled. “Yeah, me too.” He went quiet for a moment. “This is going to get out. Having the heirs at the meeting tonight . . . goddamn bad luck. Look out for your girl. Not everyone is going to believe that she can’t get inside the library on her own. She’ll be a target for those wanting to find the Hands.”

Hunter was sincere, Sebastian knew that. He also knew that in order to remove the target on Ari’s back, he needed to find the Hands before anyone else. And that meant figuring out whether they were still in the library.

“The council will make a decision about protecting the library tonight. If you’re going to get in, you need to do it now.”

Was he that obvious? Or was Hunter just extremely insightful? He’d have to raid the library tonight while they were still up there debating. It had to be now.

Hunter slapped him on the shoulder. “Take care, Lamarliere.”

Sebastian nodded and watched the shifter jog down the stairs before returning to the window.

He had a power very few beings had. He could trace, disappear from one location and appear at another. But he’d never tried going through walls or into warded rooms. He was only learning to master the ability.

Now or never.

SEVEN

MY PULSE THUMPED WITH ANXIETY as I hurried down the stairs and across the old, polished hardwoods. My father waited just inside the arched double door of Presby. Soft light filtered through the glass panes, highlighting him. When I imagined an ancient Greek warrior, it was my father’s image that came to mind. He was handsome. Golden. Strong. Lethal. An old warrior in the body of a thirtysomething man who didn’t look old on the outside, but old in the eyes.

We were taking it slow. No pressure. No rush to form an instant bond.

I liked that about him. He was patient. Guess he had to be after a couple hundred years in Athena’s service. My father had done some terrible things in the goddess’s name, things I never wanted to know about. He’d also been through hell and paid his dues. And he had the horrendous scars to prove it.

My palms were clammy. I rubbed them together as I caught his gaze. His expression remained neutral, but the slight, assessing survey, the quick study . . . The hunter in him couldn’t help but take note. Designed to sense his prey, he could tell every tiny thing going on with me. Of course, I wasn’t prey, but I was in his sights, and there was no doubt, even though he broke into a smile, that he’d detected my nervousness with ease.

Consoling myself with the idea that he was just as nervous as me, I stopped in front of him. My father had a good five inches on me. I wondered if I got my height solely from him or if my mother had been tall too. “Hey.”

“Ari.” His sharp blue gaze zeroed in on my bruise. A blond eyebrow rose. “I hope you gave the Celt a few of his own.”

“Bran will be nursing a couple aches and pains tonight.”

His lips quirked as he gestured for the door. “Shall we?”

We left Presby, keeping the conversation casual—the weather, school, training—as we headed through the square. The tall streetlamps had come on as dusk turned to night. Jazz musicians played. A group of tourists posed for pictures in front of the cathedral. It was a typical evening in the square.