Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) - By Jenna Black Page 0,35

frustration. “Let me guess: the clouds rolled in, and that’s when I stopped giving you directions.” The rain came down harder as if to emphasize the point that I wouldn’t be getting any more moon-fueled hunches tonight.

“Yeah.”

I was so frustrated I wanted to kick something. If I’d been able to get into the zone before the rain had started . . .

“We wouldn’t have gotten here any faster if you’d started directing me earlier,” Steph said, guessing my line of thought. “We were stuck in traffic, remember?”

I made a sound of grudging acceptance. I knew she was right, but it didn’t make me any less frustrated. Two nights in a row, I’d been on Konstantin’s scent, and two nights in a row, I’d failed to find him. I was not the happiest of campers.

Steph and I drove around the area a little while longer, just to be thorough, but the rain had settled in to stay, and the moon wouldn’t be giving me any more help tonight. Our meanderings had taken us deep into the heart of D.C., and the most convenient way to get back to Arlington was to take Independence Avenue to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. I was staring out the rain-speckled side window, brooding about what a total failure this expedition had turned out to be. It wasn’t until we passed the Sackler Gallery that I snapped out of my funk and directed my mind toward another of the many problems on my plate.

To be fair, I shouldn’t have been thinking of Jamaal as one of my problems. I wasn’t his girlfriend, was barely even his friend anymore. And he was a grown man, responsible for his own issues. But I couldn’t help wondering if his almost obsessive practice with Sita—and his decreasing ability to keep her controlled and contained—was a sign that his self-imposed isolation wasn’t good for him.

The new Indian art exhibit would be opening on Saturday, but I’d already determined that Jamaal would blow me off if I asked him to go see it with me. I needed a stronger temptation, something Jamaal couldn’t get on his own. I glanced sidelong at Steph, who was quietly concentrating on driving. Through her extensive charity work, Steph knew practically everybody who was anybody in the D.C. area. Her virtual Rolodex contained a veritable cornucopia of the rich, famous, and powerful.

I didn’t know how to bring up the subject gracefully, so I just blurted it out.

“Do you happen to know anyone who’s a big muckety-muck at the Sackler Gallery?” I asked.

We conveniently came to a red light, so Steph could turn in her seat and give me a long, puzzled look. “The Sackler? Why? Have you developed a sudden interest in Asian art?”

There was something too knowing in her eyes as she stared at me. My sister’s no dummy, and not only was she aware I had the hots for Jamaal—despite my repeated attempts to deny it—but she was also aware that he was the descendant of an Indian goddess. Even if I could have thought of a more innocuous-sounding reason for my interest, I didn’t think Steph would buy it, not when the look in her eye said she’d already put two and two together.

The light turned green, and Steph returned her attention to the road. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Steph disapproved of Jamaal almost as much as I disapproved of Blake, so asking for her help might not have been the smartest idea I’d ever had. However, I’d already committed to the course of action.

“There’s a new Indian art exhibit opening up next weekend,” I said. “I’d like to see if I can draw Jamaal out to go see it, but I know if I ask him, he’ll say no. I was thinking maybe you had a contact who could get us in for a private tour, maybe before the exhibit is open to the public. I think he’d have a much harder time saying no to that.”

Steph was silent for the next couple of blocks, and I forced myself to be quiet and let her think. If I tried too hard to persuade her, she might come to the conclusion that I was letting myself get too involved. Actually, she probably already thought that, but there was no reason to make it worse.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” she finally asked me.

I shrugged, trying to look casual. “It wouldn’t be that big a deal. Just