Aphrodite's Flame (17 page)

She frowned, pondering the current Re-Assimilation Act and her place in it. Some Outcasts could be brought back in, sure. But was Hieronymous really the kind they wanted? Could he ever really be an asset to the Council?

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts.

“Anything wrong?”

Mordi’s voice, low and intense, startled her, and her heart began to race.

“No. Nothing. Just thinking. About Dad. And... stuff.”

“Stuff,” he repeated, but while she’d expected him to sound amused, he looked deadly serious.

She stilled, sure he was on to her. That he’d heard her father’s reference to a silent partner and put two and two together. Oh, sweet Hera, what was she supposed to do now?

“What kind of stuff?” he pressed.

“You know. Stuff.” She shrugged, determined not to give anything away.

He didn’t appear thrilled by her oh-so-eloquent answer. She decided to elaborate. “Daddy and his inventions and how he used to torment me with all his gizmos and stuff. Just memories.”

His eyes narrowed, and her stomach twisted, but she held his gaze dead-on. She sniffed a little, then wished she hadn’t. The scent of suspicion was heavy in the air between them, and she realized just what a huge fool she’d been to let Mordichai Black into her apartment last night.

She’d been an even bigger fool to let him into her life.

She lifted her chin. “If you don’t mind, I’m trying to watch my dad.” She turned back toward the stage and watched with rapt attention as the ceremony finished up.

Her father had switched to a PowerPoint presentation, and was taking the audience through the ins and outs of the Polarity Reversal Prototype, the pocket-sized machine that had landed him this award, and that Izzy absolutely did not understand. Mordi shifted beside her, then pulled his arm free of hers. She stifled a little gasp, fighting an unreasonable sense of loss. She knew she shouldn’t, but she turned to him. His features were still hard, but the familiar softness was returning, and she relaxed a little.

“I need to run to the lobby. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, and as soon as he slipped down the row and up the aisle toward the lobby door, her face relaxed, and she realized she’d been clenching her jaw. She wanted him back—wanted his arm on hers—but at the moment, she was absurdly glad that he was gone. Her thoughts were too much in a ramble, and even though she knew intellectually that he couldn’t pick up on what she was thinking, emotionally she wanted to hide.

She didn’t want him to see the truth. Didn’t want him to know that she wanted Hieronymous far away from the Council even as much as she wanted him back in, a full-fledged, card-carrying Protector. And none of those desires had to do with the Outcast’s intentions or beliefs or motives. Instead, she wanted him on the Council because once he was there, her father would be safe.

With a slow sigh, her thoughts drifted to Mordi. He would hate that—

Mordichai!

Suddenly her mind was filled with thoughts of him, her senses overwhelmed by his essence. Her heart thrummed in her chest and she sat up sharply, confused and terrified. She was sensing something that was entirely removed from how she felt about Mordi or how she feared he might discover her deception. It was simply about the man himself.

Danger... harm ... deception.

The thoughts surrounded her, the bitter smell of animosity, and she twisted in her seat, trying to find their source. Who? Who wanted to harm Mordichai? She had to find his attacker ... had to warn him.

She couldn’t bear the thought that harm might come to him. And that realization scared her as much as the knowledge that she might already be too late.

Jason’s holographic image stood on Mordi’s holo-pager, his hands spread wide with agitation. “It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “
Why
would Dionys be excited about our father’s return to the fold? And what’s this B.S. about sitting at Zephron’s right hand? It’s a total cro—”

“One thing at a time,” Mordi said. He was in a small service hallway off the lobby. At the moment, the hall was completely deserted. “Did you talk to Romulus?”

“Out on bail.”

At that, Mordi took a step back. Apparently, his surprise showed on his face, because Jason’s image nodded.

“I know. Another oddity in a truly odd day.”

“But it makes some sense,” Mordi said. “Maybe he was the one planning something here tonight. But then he saw me and figured he shouldn’t press his luck, and that’s why nothing’s gone down yet.”

Jason nodded slowly. “Could be. Or maybe Isole Frost was the one planning something there tonight ... and you sidled in as her date and blew all her hard-made plans.”

Mordi scowled, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility, but knowing that he had to at least keep an open mind.

“Is
anything
happening there?” Jason asked.

Mordi had to assume that his half brother meant something other than the way his blood raced and his body stiffened when he was around Izzy. “Nothing,” he said. “Although I do have something I want you to check out.”

“Shoot.”

Mordi took a breath, thinking about his earlier suspicion that Hieronymous had invented some sort of control device.
He
couldn’t do it with the current Protector technology—at least, not using his powers directly—but maybe someone else could. “It’s probably nothing, but with Hieronymous being such an invention junkie, I thought it was worth checking out. During his speech, Harold Frost said that he—”

“Mordi!”

Izzy’s scream reverberated down the hall, and Mordi dove left just as a burly man smelling vaguely of cabbage plowed into him, sending him crashing to the ground.
What the hell
?

Mordi didn’t bother trying to analyze the situation, he was too intent on getting the gorilla off him. He reared back with his fist and landed a powerful punch right in the man’s face.

Nothing.

Just... squish.

A Henchman.

Henchmen. The vile creatures vaguely resembled squid in their natural form, but they could assume other shapes at will. Unlike Mordi, though, the shapeshift was essentially an illusion, so that when you actually fought a Henchman, it was like fighting a tub of slime. Score one for this Henchman.

The beasts were preternaturally strong, too, even stronger than most Protectors. Score another point for the hellish creatures.

They were not, however, very bright. And it was there that a Protector’s advantage really lay. At the moment, though, Mordi wasn’t thinking. He was reacting. He whipped his leg out, prepared for it to hit a wall of Jello rather than flesh, and was absurdly satisfied with the thick
slurp
as his leg impacted his attacker.

The creature tumbled backward, and Mordi climbed to his feet, already summoning his power. The thug was back up, though, and Mordi wasn’t ready. It lunged forward.

Mordi lashed out, hoping he had managed to gather some fire, but it didn’t matter. Before he could even attempt to engulf the creature in flames, the Henchman froze.

Literally.

Icicles hung from the creature’s nose, and his illusory pasty skin took on a bluish tint. Mordi blinked, then reached out and poked the thing. Hard as a brick... and cold as ice.

Mordi spun, searching for his savior, and found himself face-to-face with Izzy. Her already pale skin was even paler, and she was breathing hard. Her perfectly coiffed hair had come loose and now fell in waves around her shoulders. She smiled weakly, then lifted one shoulder.

“Just trying to help,” she said.

He met her grin. “Nice skill you have there.”

“It comes in handy when you’re thirsty and forgot to fill the ice trays.” She glanced at the Henchman. “We should move him. The ceremony will be over soon. People might come back here.”

“Right.” Mordi bent to retrieve his fallen holo-pager, saw that it was broken, and sighed. He’d have to use a real telephone to finish his conversation with Jason. What a pain.

“I’ve got some cuffs,” he said. He pulled them out of his jacket, and tossed them to her.

She held the golden binder cuffs out, her forehead furrowed. “If I move his arms like that, he’s going to crack. I’m not a field op, so I haven’t memorized the regulations, but I’m pretty sure that freezing people and then breaking them is a no-no.”

“True enough,” Mordi said. “But he’s not a person. He’s a Henchman.”

She drew in a breath and her eyes went wide, and Mordi was absolutely certain that she was as surprised to hear the news as he was to be attacked. If Izzy was involved with anything bad, it wasn’t tied to this Henchman.

“But... but...”

“My father,” he said simply.

A flicker of concern flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before Mordi could be certain. “Hieronymous isn’t the only Outcast that uses Henchmen,” she said. The Henchmen lived in the catacombs, were the embodiment of all the scary monsters and creepy crawlies that hid under beds and in dark closets. And because they did the bidding of whoever released them, some of the bolder Outcasts had taken to surreptitiously acquiring one or two as pets.

“This is his work,” Mordi said.

Again, Izzy shook her head. “No. He’s not here. And I felt someone else. Someone who wanted to hurt you.”

Mordi waved a hand toward the Henchman. “Duh.”

“No, someone
else
.”

He frowned. “What are you saying, Izzy?”

“I can’t pick up on Henchman thoughts. That’s impossible. But I knew
something
was happening. That’s why I ran out here. To warn you.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line as her eyes widened. “Mordi,” she finally said, “there’s still someone here. Someone who wants to hurt you.”

Mordi considered what Izzy said.
Someone else
? Clyde, perhaps. Or perhaps a compatriot of one of the thirteen traitorous Protectors he’d so far locked away. Or Romulus, who was out on bail and probably pissed. Both Mordi’s past and his present were dangerous. And here he was, unwittingly dragging Izzy into the danger zone—if she hadn’t already gotten there all by herself.

He focused again on her. She was frowning at the Henchman, concern etched on her face.

Was it really concern? Or was it all an act? He didn’t like it, but he still couldn’t entirely discount the possibility that there was no other attacker and that Izzy was simply trying to cover her own tracks.

The possibility disturbed him, and he pushed it away, mentally filing it in a to-deal-with-later pile. Right now, he had to get this Henchman in the stockade.

Inside the auditorium, applause crescendoed. They were running out of time. “Call in a retrieval team,” he said. “And be ready.”

While Izzy watched, binder cuffs at the ready, he gathered his power, took aim and—quite literally— fired. The Henchman defrosted, first blinking, then writhing about, bellowing at the top of his quite massive lungs. By that time, however, Izzy had snapped the cuffs on him and jumped back. She looked at Mordi, her eyes wide, and mouthed one word—“Fire.”

He nodded. “Ice,” he said, his gaze fixed on hers. And he didn’t have to say aloud that the two simply didn’t mix.

“How?” Hieronymous demanded. “How can it be that an assignment—no,
two
assignments—that I was assured would go off without a hitch have yet to be completed?”

In front of him, Clyde again cowered, a rather distressing posture for someone as burly as he was. “Sire—”

Hieronymous held up a hand. “I am tempted to find someone more capable to assist me in these matters. I fear that your success rate lately has been pitifully small.”

A muscle twitched in Clyde’s jaw and his eyes blazed with murder. Good. Perhaps if his puppet was sufficiently fired up and determined to prove himself, he would succeed where once he had failed.

“The girl warned Mordichai,” Clyde explained. “Apparently she realized what was coming.”

“Of course she realized! It was absurd to send someone in to oversee the operation without first slathering him with the empath balm and cologne.”

Clyde hung his head. “Yes, sire.”

Hieronymous turned, his cape whipping out behind him. He inhaled deeply, the air dank and stale in the abandoned station. “And the man? Frost?”

The silence behind him spoke volumes.

“I already know you failed,” Hieronymous said, adopting his most reasonable tone. “What I don’t know is why.”

He turned, watching as Clyde drew himself up to full attention. “Our recruit, sire. He assessed the situation, determined the high level of Protector activity, and made the decision that the mission shouldn’t go forth as planned.”

“
He
made the decision?”

“Yes, sire. I wasn’t present. I couldn’t—”

“
He
made the decision.”

This time, Clyde just nodded.

Hieronymous couldn’t answer; the rage in his head was too loud, drowning out even the remotest possibility of speech.

One thing, though, he knew for certain. If you wanted something done right, you simply had to do it yourself.

“This really wasn’t necessary,” Mordi said. “Nice, but not necessary.” He and Isole were on the stoop of her building, and he tilted his head back and looked up toward her window. He’d taken his tie off and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his pressed white shirt, a concession to having fought a minor battle.

Isole watched him, marveling at this man who had the strength to live the life he wanted despite a terrible past, who had strength in battle and who was still innately tender. She fought a smile, thinking about the previous night in her apartment. Truly, Mordi was an extraordinary man. And the fact that he was desperately gorgeous only added to the positives of the equation. The negative part, of course, was that she was falling (and fast!) for a man who could land her in no end of trouble. Not good.

She followed his gaze up just in time to see her light come on. They’d sent her father ahead, and he’d obviously made his way into the apartment.