Gameboard of the Gods (Age of X, #1)(34)

“Why are we here?” he asked again as Mae knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately. Justin had only half a second to register his sister’s face before she backhanded him and sent him staggering back a couple of steps.

“You have a lot of nerve!” she yelled, advancing menacingly forward. Justin hastily retreated, bitterly wondering what had happened to Mae not allowing anyone to lay a hand on him.

“What exactly did I do?” he asked. Looking back on their lives together, it probably could’ve been any number of things.

Cynthia didn’t answer. The rage on her face vanished, and suddenly, she looked as though she was going to burst into tears. She flung herself into his arms. “I thought you were dead.”

He patted her awkwardly on the back. “Not yet. Let’s, uh, go inside.”

The house’s interior was as beautiful as the exterior, decorated at a level even he approved of, but he had little time to admire it. By the time they made it to the kitchen, Cynthia’s rage had returned. Justin had grown up disguising his emotions and manipulating others’. Cynthia played no such games. Her feelings were always out in the open. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” she demanded. “Having them bring me here?”

Last night’s negotiations came back to Justin, and all of this began to make more sense. He had to admit, they’d really come through when he’d requested nice accommodations for her. And they hadn’t wasted any time. “What’s wrong with it? This place is great. Don’t tell me you were living anywhere like this in Anchorage. You were still in Anchorage, right?”

Cynthia put her hands on her hips. “A group of soldiers came and abducted me from work! No warning. No time to get ready. They just said I had to come with them. Do you know how humiliating that was?”

It echoed too closely to what Justin had experienced when he’d been exiled. He gave Mae a curious glance. “What happened?”

She leaned against the counter, perfectly at ease. “You said you wanted her here immediately.”

“So they took me literally?”

“How else were they supposed to take you?”

Cynthia glanced back and forth between them, her eyes widening when she noticed Tessa. “Who are these people?”

“This is Pr?torian Mae Koskinen,” he said. Cynthia didn’t even have time to be shocked by that before he really played his trump card. “And this is Tessa Cruz. She’s from Panama.”

“Panama?” Judging from Cynthia’s face, Justin might as well have said Tessa was from the moon.

“That’s where I’ve been,” he explained, like he’d been on an extended vacation. “I brought Tessa back to study here.”

Cynthia frowned as she took it all in, and then a look of horror crossed her face. “You guys aren’t—”

“No,” he said in exasperation. From Tessa’s innocent expression, she thankfully hadn’t picked up on the insinuation. “Why does everyone keep thinking that?”

“Probably because they know how you are,” Cynthia retorted.

“I’ve got limits,” he grumbled, trying to ignore Mae’s I told you so look. “Tessa’s father is a friend of mine, and I’m helping them out. She’s going to stay here with you.”

Cynthia’s face went still. “I see. And I don’t suppose you thought to check with me first? Just like you didn’t bother to check when you had me degraded in front of my coworkers?”

“What the f*ck is the problem?” This reunion wasn’t going at all like he’d expected. “You should be grateful. This place is like a palace.”

“Grateful? Grateful?” Justin worried Cynthia might slap him again, and if past events were any indication, his great protector was just going to keep leaning against the counter. “Justin, I was on the verge of a post-prime grant to go back to school. My interview was today!”

He relaxed a little. “So? You don’t need the grant now. I’ll cover it. The universities are better here anyway.”

Some of the anger faded out of Cynthia. She looked tired, and just a little sad. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re the same as ever, still heavy-handed and so goddamned sure that—” She stopped as her eyes focused on something behind Justin. He turned and saw a boy standing in the kitchen’s doorway.

“Quentin,” said Justin, surprised at how much his nephew had grown. What was he now? Eight. “Do you remember me?”

Quentin’s face said he didn’t. “This is your uncle Justin,” Cynthia explained.

Recognition lit the boy’s features. “The arrogant bastard who ran out on us.”

“That’s the one,” she said. She looked quite proud of her son’s excellent memory.

Justin scoffed. “No question that you’re part of this family, huh?”

Really, though, Quentin’s features said more than enough about which family he belonged to. He looked just like Cynthia, from the high cheekbones to the almond-shaped eyes. They were hazel flecked with green, an unusual recessive variation. His hair was all plebeian, though: the dark, almost black shade of brown that Justin, Cynthia, and their mother all shared.

“I should go,” said Mae. “It looks like you’ve got a few things to sort out.” She managed to keep a straight face as she delivered that understatement.