hadn’t bothered with a coat, making do with a weathered-looking sport jacket. Blake handed over his stylish wool coat, and I handed over my not-so-stylish, but probably much warmer, parka. When the butler laid the coats over his arm, I caught a glimpse of a trident-shaped glyph on the inside of his wrist. I made an educated guess that he was a mortal Descendant whose divine ancestor was Poseidon. I also guessed that since he was middle aged and working as a butler, he was never going to be given the honor of becoming a Liberi.
Coats still draped over his arm, the butler led us to a two-story library that would make any reader drool. I don’t know how many books, both modern and antique, were on those floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, but it was a lot. I breathed in deep to take in the comforting scent of ink and paper, even as I mentally rolled my eyes at the rest of the decor. The room would have fit right in as the set of some period drama taking place in one of those British men’s clubs the aristocracy was so fond of, all dark colors and manly leather-and-wood furniture. It seemed awfully formal and stodgy for someone like Cyrus.
Cyrus was reclining in a forest-green leather armchair, holding a highball glass filled with something amber colored on the rocks. His pet goon, Mark, had been sitting on the arm of the chair when I first caught sight of him, but he rose to his feet and stood at full bodyguard attention when Anderson, Blake, and I entered the room. He had an enormous, angry-red hickey on his neck, and I had the immediate suspicion that Anderson wasn’t the only one who was already playing mind games. Either Anderson had told Cyrus he was bringing Blake, or Cyrus had guessed his old flame would be joining the party.
I stole a quick glance at Blake out of the corner of my eye, but he gave no indication that he’d noticed Mark one way or the other. He and I hung back just a little as Anderson stepped forward.
Smiling, Cyrus put down his drink and rose from his chair. “So nice of you to join us,” he said, holding out his hand for Anderson to shake. “I was beginning to worry you’d had an accident. I hear the roads are terrible.”
Cyrus had to know that our late arrival was deliberate, but he didn’t let it show in either his voice or his face. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that he actually meant it and had been worried. Anderson paused just long enough for it to be noticeable before he shook Cyrus’s hand.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Anderson said, making no attempt to sound like he meant it. “The weather delayed us.”
Cyrus’s smile broadened. “No worries. Mark and I managed to keep ourselves entertained while we waited.” He reached out to pat Mark’s shoulder, and I doubted it was an accident that his hand landed right near the hickey. “You remember Mark, don’t you?”
Anderson nodded, but Blake shook his head.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. He sounded ruefully amused. Either he was a good actor, or he wasn’t even a smidge jealous. I wondered if he’d noticed that he and Mark resembled one another. He didn’t try to shake Mark’s hand, and Mark didn’t offer.
“Can I get anyone a drink?” Cyrus asked, playing the gracious host.
“Don’t be more of an ass about this than you have to be,” Blake said. “We’re not here to make friendly.”
Cyrus sighed dramatically. “When did you become so serious all the time?”
Blake stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “When you—”
“Blake,” Anderson said mildly, but that one word was enough to shut Blake up.
Score one for Team Evil. They’d managed to provoke us, and they hadn’t even had to work at it very hard. Blake shut up as ordered.
“Will you sit down, at least?” Cyrus asked. “Or would that be too civilized?”
“We’re here because one of your Olympians attacked one of my people,” Anderson countered. “I’m not feeling terribly civilized.”
Interesting how Emma had suddenly been transformed from Anderson’s ex-wife into “one of your Olympians.” I wondered if this meant Anderson was officially over her.
Cyrus sighed again. “Understandable, I suppose. Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
“I already told you on the phone,” Anderson snapped. He’d been willing to put up with Cyrus’s feigned friendliness the last time we’d talked, but apparently that was not the case today.
“So you