Aphrodite's Kiss

TOUCHED

Oh, Apollo’s apples, his touch. A
firestorm of shocks ricocheted through her. Her chest constricted, her body warmed, and she felt faint. Then her body finally remembered that little detail about breathing and she exhaled in a
whoosh
. Mildly mortified, she opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again when she realized it wasn’t too keen on sounding out vowels or consonants.

Sucking in air, she slipped her arm through his, trying not to jump from the electricity that zinged through her when her skin brushed against his. Sooner or later, she’d get used to his touch. Sooner, hopefully, because if she waited for later, all her nerve endings would likely be fried.

She frowned, realizing just how much she wanted to be with this man. He made her laugh, he made her insides flutter. He made her want to take risks.

Huge risks, actually. She nibbled on her lower lip, worried. Did she really want to lose herself to this mortal? Could she? Or was it more likely she’d lose her mind since just the slightest brush of his skin against hers sent every one of her super-senses zooming into super-charged mode?

Insanity seemed like a small price to pay.

LOVE SPELL NEW YORK CITY

ISBN 0-505-52438-4

Some things are worth repeating,

and some friends should be reminded of how much they

mean along the way, even if they already know it so well.

So, this book is dedicated to

Kathleen Panov and Dee Davis.

Y’all know why. Thanks for everything.

VENERATE COUNCIL OF PROTECTORS

1-800-555-HERO

www.superherocentral.com

Protecting Mortals Is Our Business!

Official Business

Ms. Zoë Smith

Halfling

Los Angeles, California

Greetings and congratulations on your upcoming twenty-fifth birthday:

Enclosed please find your application for membership to the Venerate Council of Protectors (487 pages, excluding affidavits and attachments) and council publications numbers 1758-A(3) and 2987-Z(9), respectively titled “So You’re a Halfling!” and “The Venerate Council: A Brief History in 1,200 Pages.”

Please complete the application and return it in triplicate to the council by no later than one month prior to the twenty-fifth anniversary of your birth.

As part of the application process, you may be evaluated through field testing during your birthday week. Such testing is random, and applicants are not informed in advance.

You will be advised of your application status the morning following your twenty-fifth birthday. A decision as to your denial or acceptance will be based on your overall skill level and performance during the tests.

If you are accepted to the council, you will be informed at that time of the date and location of your swearing-in ceremony. If your application is declined, you will be escorted to the Bureau of Registration, where you will be required to either register as an Unlicensed Protector (Outcast) or forfeit your Protector heritage and undergo mortalization, at which time all memories of your Protector relatives will be removed. (For more detailed information on the mortalization process, including limitations of liability, warranties, and disclosures, please visit our Web site at
www.superherocentral.com.)

Failure to register as an Outcast or to select mortalization is a violation of Section IV, subpart 2(a)(ii) of the Mortal-Protector Treaty of 1970.

In addition to your formal application, you must submit—by no later than sunset on your twenty-fifth birthday—the enclosed Affidavit of Mortal Disclosure affirming that you have disclosed to your mortal parent your status as a halfling and your decision to apply for council membership.

As you are aware, your Protector parent filed a Notice of Halfling Nascence contemporaneously with your birth, and such information has been periodically updated. Your file currently states that, in addition to the speed, strength, and agility inherent in the Protector genetics, you have also demonstrated a propensity toward the following skill(s)/power(s)/characteristic(s):

heightened five senses (including X-ray vision)

As the anniversary of your birth draws closer, you will most likely experience significant oscillation in your ability to control/utilize such skills(s)/power(s)/ characteristic(s). Such fluctuations are an unfortunate by-product of your halfling status and are considered normal.

Our records further indicate that you have not yet mastered the following necessary skill(s):

matter manipulation (a.k.a. telekinesis)

Form 82-C(l)(a), on file with the Office of Halfling Registration, reflects the issuance of the following council-controlled articles:

propulsion cloak, model C-14A (training model)

and

X-ray blocking glasses, tortoiseshell variety

(regular and sunglasses)

Please be advised that at any time prior to the anniversary of your birth, you may formally announce your intent not to submit the affidavit and to select mortalization. Please use Form 93B, enclosed, Intent to Select Mortalization.

Upon submission of such form, you will be immediately escorted to the Bureau of Registration for processing. Please arrange return transportation in advance. Following the mortalization process, you will have no memory of the council of your Protector relatives. A stranded mortal is an unhappy mortal!

Thank you for your attention to this matter—and happy birthday!

Sincerely,

Phelonium Prigg

Phelonium Prigg

Assistant to Zephron, High Elder

jbk:PP

enclosure

Zoë Smith stared at the chocolate bar, wondering if it was going to attack. She’d confiscated it an hour ago from one of the students, who knew better than to bring food into the library, and she’d been contemplating the dastardly thing ever since. It looked innocent enough—sitting there on her desk surrounded by children’s book catalogs, order forms, and manila folders.

Zoë knew better.

That smooth, creamy milk chocolate mixed with chewy caramel had it in for her.

One bite, and
Riverdance
would begin tap-tapping away inside her mouth. Two bites, and her head would start spinning while smoke came out of her ears. Three bites, and those urban legends about spontaneous human combustion wouldn’t be legend anymore. Her whole life, Zoë‘d had to watch what she ate. Too spicy, too tangy, too
anything
and she’d be jumping up and down, trying to put out a fire on her tongue or otherwise calm her taste buds.

And she’d thought
that
was inconvenient....

Ha!

That was nothing compared to what her ridiculous senses had been doing recently. These days her senses had been shoved into the touch, smell, sight, taste, and sound version of
The Twilight Zone
. Sometimes perfectly calm, perfectly stable. Other times more unstable than a psychopath on a bad day. In other words, totally whacked-out.

At least her X-ray vision could be blocked by simple glasses. So far at least, Zoë hadn’t discovered any easy way to wrest back some control of the rest of her senses.

Her brother Hale had said she just needed to get used to it—that after a while she’d become more acclimated.

Yeah, right.

Zoë was pretty sure that Hale’s ability to understand animal-speak and turn invisible didn’t hold a candle to what she went through if she tried to eat spicy Mexican food. Or the noise when a hundred or so conversations popped into her head unannounced. The unexpected drone of voices was bad enough; trying to sort them out and hear just one conversation was exhausting.

Besides, since Hale was a full-fledged Protector, he’d never had to deal with this sudden increase in powers. Instead of sporadically peaking like an adolescent boy’s voice, his powers had developed calmly and slowly as he’d grown up. So Zoë doubted he had any idea just how overwhelming her megawatt senses really were.

As far as Zoë was concerned, at the moment her life was in a state of total chaos. Her senses were whacked-out, she still couldn’t levitate worth a darn, she could barely steer her propulsion cloak, and in just a few days she had to tell her mother that she was a halfling and about to join the Venerate Council.
You see, Mom, I just never got around to telling you that I’m a superhero
.

Oh, yeah
. That’s
gonna go over big
.

She tapped her fingers on the desk, considering the candy bar. Maybe Hale did have a point. She needed to start somewhere, and she’d certainly never get used to this new hyperaware state if she lived on rice cakes and oatmeal. Maybe she should put a little effort into acclimation.

Squinting, she leaned forward until she was nose-to-wrapper with the devious confection. “Okay, Mr. Goodbar. It’s you or me.” Slowly, ceremoniously, she peeled the wrapper away, waiting for her nose to start twitching as the decadent smell of chocolate surrounded her.

Nothing.

A good sign, maybe?

Experimentally, she touched the tip of her tongue against the candy. It was chocolate, all right. Yummy, delicious, fattening chocolate. But—so far, anyway— not in the least bit spaz-inducing.

Well, in for a penny and all that.

Before she had time to think about it, she opened her mouth, shoved the candy bar in, and bit down.

Heaven. Pure heaven in a bite-size package.

She closed her eyes, letting the chocolate melt on her tongue, the sweet sensation of caramel mixing with the pure, rich decadence. Delicious and wonderful, but not overwhelming. Just your average, everyday choco—

Uh-oh. Big-time, major uh-oh.

The world tilted on its axis, spinning faster and faster as the superfragilistic taste of chocolate grabbed hold of her taste buds and refused to let go.

Colors. She was tasting colors. Pinks and purples and yellows exploded in her mouth, forming and re-forming into kaleidoscopes of sensory delight, seeping into her blood and making her entire body flush. She tried to look around, tried to tell whether anyone could see her, but the rainbow blocked her vision.

She thought the library was empty, but what if someone came in? What if someone saw her losing her mind because of a chocolate bar?

What if someone thought she’d spiked a brownie?

Frantic, she dropped to the floor and scooted under her desk, pressing her hands against the solid wood as vibrant sensations ricocheted through her body. Deep breaths. That was what she needed. Lots and lots of deep breaths and no more chocolate.

Ever.

The worst of it passed, and she dug in her pocket for a tissue and tried to wipe any remaining chocolate off her tongue. The procedure left little bits of paper in her mouth, but since paper was a heck of a lot blander than chocolate, she couldn’t exactly complain.

Finally feeling normal again—well, normal for her, anyway—she leaned her head against the desk, closed her eyes, and let the sounds of the empty library surround her. At first she heard only a cacophony. She squinted, urging her ears to filter the auditory mess into something she could get her mind around.

Then, slowly, something happened. Sounds emerged. Sounds she knew. The whirr of the ancient air conditioner, the patter of footsteps in the hallway, the irritating buzz of the clock over the door. The gentle rasp of breathing.

Breathing?

She stiffened. It was very low, not audible to normal ears, but there it was. Well, wasn’t that just great? Probably Principal Dorsey, come to approve this week’s library book orders.

“Ms. Smith?”

Zoë exhaled. Not Mr. Dorsey. A kid. Probably one of the sixth graders.

“Ms. Smith?” he repeated, but this time a head popped around the side of the desk, and big eyes behind Coke-bottle glasses peered at her. “Oh. There you are. Do you want to buy some PTA candy?” he asked, as if it were perfectly normal to find the school librarian hiding under her desk.

With as much dignity as she could gather, Zoë climbed out from her hiding place and brushed off her skirt. She gave the kid a stern look and tried to look authoritative. “Do you have a hall pass?”

“Uh, yeah.” He dug deep into the pocket of his oversize jeans, then pulled out a mangled piece of paper. “I’m using my study period to sell the candy.” Once again he waved a box of chocolate bars toward her. “Want one? They’re only a buck.”

Not in a million years
. Aloud, she said, “No, thanks.”

“Oh. You’re sure? It’s for playground equipment.”

Then again . . . there was that whole acclimation thing. Maybe it was best just to jump in with both feet. She cocked her head as the kid stood in front of her, doing a good job of looking like Oliver holding out a porridge bowl. She sighed. “How many come in a box?”

For just a second, the kid looked confused. Then his salesman instincts kicked back in. “Uh, twenty-four. But I’ve already sold five.”