me, and I desperately wanted to dismiss it as some kind of hyperbole. A shudder ran through me. When the first shock wore off, I was going to have a million questions—none of which Anderson would answer—but right now I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I opened my mouth a couple of times in hopes that I would magically say something, even if it wasn’t something intelligent or meaningful, but nothing came out. So instead, I opened the door and hurried out of the room.
TEN
It was still raining later that afternoon when Anderson and I left for our meeting with Cyrus. Anderson had invited Cyrus to the mansion, but Cyrus insisted the meeting be held on neutral ground, so we were meeting him at a coffee bar downtown.
I whipped out my umbrella as Anderson and I walked from the main entrance of the mansion to the outbuilding that held the garage. Anderson didn’t bother with an umbrella, stepping out into the steady rain without hesitation. He jogged ahead of me to the garage before I could offer to share my umbrella. I’d have suggested Anderson not make himself look any more disheveled than usual when going to meet Cyrus—I wasn’t sure the frumpy look gave off quite the aura of power he would need to convince Cyrus he meant business—but he wouldn’t have listened to me.
I followed at a more sedate pace. I was carrying the manila folder with the article about the fire in it, and I’d also tucked in the email from Konstantin.
Anderson was waiting for me behind the wheel of his black Mercedes by the time I reached the garage, the engine already running. His car was more elegant than he was, but in this area of politicians and diplomats, black Mercedes were a dime a dozen, so his car didn’t catch the eye any more than Anderson himself did. I took a deep breath as I slid into the passenger seat. I can’t say I held out any great hope that we’d get Cyrus to see things our way, and I was more than a little worried about Anderson’s temper.
“Are you sure you can have a civilized conversation with Cyrus after what happened to Erin?” I asked as Anderson drove out of the mansion’s gates. I figured with his distorted view of Emma, he’d probably shifted a lot of the blame for Erin’s death onto Cyrus.
“Yes,” Anderson said in his familiar mild voice. “He’s an Olympian. He did what Olympians do, and I know it was nothing personal on his part.”
I was impressed with his stoicism, and wondered if that meant he was finally going to stop making excuses for Emma.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, except for the annoying squeak of the windshield wipers. The rain was just hard enough to make them necessary, but not enough to keep them silent. The noise grated on me, but that was just because of my generally crappy state of mind. It took a lot of effort to keep myself from dwelling on the deaths that had occurred because of me. I wasn’t responsible, but I was part of the chain of events that had led to them. That was more than enough to have my conscience bothering me.
Cyrus was waiting for us at a corner table when we arrived at the coffee bar. Not surprisingly, he wasn’t alone. No self-respecting Olympian would attend a meeting with Anderson and not have a pet Descendant in tow. It always seemed a bit rude to me—kind of like carrying a gun in your hand—but obviously they felt threatened by him, despite being under the impression that he couldn’t kill them.
Not being a Liberi, Anderson couldn’t be killed by the Descendant, so Cyrus’s gun would be shooting blanks if it ever came to that. Of course, I could be killed by a Descendant, so I gave Cyrus’s companion a careful once-over as Anderson and I approached the table.
He wasn’t as goonish as most of the Descendants Olympians liked to use as bodyguards, though he wasn’t a ninety-pound weakling, either. Blond, good-looking, and stylishly dressed, he reminded me more than a little of Blake. I darted a quick glance at Cyrus, wondering if the resemblance was coincidental.
Cyrus and his companion were standing when we reached the table. With his trademark friendly smile, he greeted us, shaking hands first with Anderson, then with me.
“This is my friend, Mark,” he said, indicating the Descendant, who offered his hand. “I