by J. Kenner
Today, unfortunately, wasn’t going to be that day.
“He’s going to think I’m a slob,” she said, pushing past Hoop to get into the closet next to the door. She shoved aside an ankle-length, black wool coat that was wholly unnecessary in Los Angeles and grabbed the handle of her Hoover vacuum. “This place is a mess.”
With a yank, she managed to free the vacuum, then dragged the cord to the nearest socket. From her half-upside-down position plugging it in, she shot glares at the others in the room. Deena and Hoop, Zoe, Taylor, and Jason all stared back at her, their faces either blank or confused.
“Well?” she prompted.
Deena’s tongue traced the edge of her mouth, cleaning up a tiny bit of filling from the Twinkie she’d snagged from Hoop. “Well, what?”
“Don’t just stand there,” Lane said. “Start picking up some of this clutter.” She swept her arm to indicate the room and all the textbooks, study outlines, and Harry Potter books that covered its every horizontal surface.
Zoe had managed to get through to Zephron, and instead of the High Elder ordering them all to Washington, the grandfatherly old man was coming here. To her apartment. And he would surely arrive any minute.
But here her friends and Jason were, standing around doing nothing.
“Move,” she snapped. She shoved the handle of her vacuum into Jason’s hands. “Clean.” She wiped the palms of her hands on her shorts, her gaze taking in all of her tiny apartment. This was not the lap of luxury, but it would do. “Okay. I’m going to go make cookies or something.” She had slice-and-bake. Nine minutes for soft and chewy. No problem.
In truth, as much as she wanted to see the Ops Center, she was secretly grateful that Zephron was coming here. And focusing on cleaning for her friends’ head honcho’s arrival meant she didn’t have to think about Jason, his recent revelation, or the rather surprising update to Davy’s family tree.
Jason’s hand closed over her wrist, and she started, looking up at him with surprise. “Uh, Lane,” he said. “Zephron’s not coming here. Just his hologram.” He glanced around the room. “Trust me. He won’t be able to see a thing. Or have any cookies.”
“Oh.” She blinked, reaching out to clutch the vacuum, then hung on to it like a life vest. “Well. Hmmm.”
“We should talk.” His low voice, meant only for her ears, was like a caress. She shivered, despite herself.
“Zephron,” she said. “There’s no time. He’ll hologramize or something here any minute.”
“Lane . . .” Jason’s voice held a hint of reproach, and she scowled.
“I’m not the one keeping secrets,” she snapped. “You’ve had your entire life to get used to the idea of who your father is. At the very least, you owe me twenty minutes to get my thoughts together.”
She never heard his response, because Zoe’s pager beeped, signaling Zephron’s call. Zoe placed the device on the floor, and it emitted a swirl of light that ultimately solidified, forming a shape. The soft edges of that light faded, leaving only Zephron, glowing like some ethereal creature right in the middle of Lane’s still-unvacuumed seventies-style shag carpeting.
Amazing.
“I understand Hieronymous has been up to his old tricks,” the High Elder said without preamble. Zephron looked just as Lane had imagined: a kindly grandfather with a hint of Merlin mixed in.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Jason piped up.
Zephron’s eyes softened. “I would never believe that you did.”
Zoe sighed. “I’m sorry about calling you here, but Prigg . . . and Jason’s father . . . and, well, everything—”
Zephron interrupted. “Would you have the Council judge you by the fact that you’re a halfling? That your uncle is an Outcast? That you are married to a mortal?”
Zoe shook her head, silent.
“And well you should not.” The High Elder straightened, seeming to tower over everyone in the room despite taking up a mere eight inches of space from the floor to the top of his projection. “There are those in the Inner Circle who question Jason’s loyalty. I, myself, do not. Character will prevail.”
Jason sighed. “So, why are you here? Can’t you set Prigg and the Inner Circle straight?”
“The boy,” Zephron said. His hologram turned to Jason. “You are a man and capable of taking care of yourself, of making your own decisions. But the boy needs our protection. Under the circumstances, Hieronymous will surely double his efforts to reacquire the child.”
“Circumstances?” Lane asked, barely able to force the word past the dryness in her throat. She stumbled forward, intent on heading for Davy’s room, just to take a peek, just to make sure he was all right.
Deena’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Stay,” the woman whispered. “I’ll go.”
Lane nodded, grateful to have friends who knew her so well.
“Why?” Jason asked. “What does he want with Davy?”
“His mind,” Zephron explained.
Lane blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The child is brilliant. And he will become more so—perhaps one of the smartest of our kind.”
“It’s true,” Jason said. “He made a tracking device. That’s how I found him.”
Lane shook her head, shocked. None of that made any sense. “Davy made it?” She shook her head, amazed that she’d completely misunderstood what Jason had told her about the Lite-Brite map. “I thought his inventions were just toys,” she said. “I never even suspected—”
“Nor would most mortals,” Zephron said. “But I assure you it is true. And soon his mental prowess will reach the first moment of . . . adjustment.”
“What’s that?”
“A halfling’s seventh birthday,” Zephron explained.
“I remember that,” Zoe said. “My powers went nuts then.”
“Indeed,” Zephron agreed, smiling at her like a prize pupil. “And so will Davy’s. Unlimited potential. Shifting in his mind. Sorting through the corridors of his brain. Loose energy looking for an anchor.”
“This makes no sense at all,” Lane muttered, harsher than she intended. But, damn them all, this was her son they were talking about. She didn’t need riddles. She needed answers.
As if reading her mind, Zephron aimed his calming smile her way. “Hieronymous seeks to usurp the boy’s power. At midnight on his seventh birthday, that power is, in fact, in flux. With the right equipment, Hieronymous could, shall we say, bottle Davy’s intellect.”
Lane swallowed. “And what happens to my son?” Her voice came out only a whisper, and she reached for Jason’s hands, reassured by his fingers, which closed tight around hers.
“The child would live, but he would lose that part of himself forever.”
A tear trickled down Lane’s face, and she brushed it away, hating herself for being emotional. Still, nothing would happen to Davy. Nothing. Hieronymous wouldn’t get past her.
“But it has to be on his seventh birthday,” Zoe spoke up, all business. “On the midnight leading into his birthday. So . . . between Thursday and Friday?”
Zephron nodded. “Correct.” His image shifted, and he turned, taking in each one of them. “Remember: midnight. Protect the boy until then, and the boy will be safe forever.” He smiled. “Safe, that is, from this danger at least.”
The High Elder’s image sputtered and sparked, and then it disappeared, leaving them all alone in the living room. Lane hugged herself, feeling both hopeful and terrified. She leaned against Jason, drawing strength from the arm he wrapped around her.
“We’ll just keep him inside until then,” Taylor suggested. “It’s that simple. Me and Zoe and Boreas, too. We’ll all stay here.”
“What about me and Deena?” Hoop asked. “I’m tracking a deadbeat dad, but I can put that on hold if you need me.”
Jason shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ve got it covered.”
“He’s right,” Taylor said. “Go earn a paycheck.”
“Besides,” Jason added, “the houseboat’s pretty small. One bedroom, and not too many places to sleep in the rest of the place.”
“The houseboat?” Taylor asked.
“Absolutely,” Jason said. “I know the boat better, it’s already secure, and I feel safer on the water.”
Taylor and Zoe exchanged glances.
“Lane and I have already talked about it,” Jason added.
Lane nodded. He was right; she’d agreed. But now . . . She licked her lips, unsure. Being in such close quarters with Jason—she wasn’t certain it would be smart. But if his houseboat was the best place to keep Davy safe, she really didn’t have a choice. “I agreed we’d stay until Davy’s safe,” she said, needing to make sure the boundaries were clear.
“Then we’re settled.” Jason grinned. “Looks like Hotel Jason is open for business.”
Dinner at Hotel Jason would never earn a four-star ranking, but Davy had a great time, which counted big in Lane’s book.
“You’re sure he liked it?” Jason asked from behind her. The houseboat had two stories, and Jason’s bedroom was on top. A balcony opened off that room, separated by a sliding glass door. Lane stood on the balcony, her arms wrapped around her to fight the chill of the ocean breeze.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Mac and cheese and hot dogs? That’s a six-year-old’s idea of heaven.”
“Taylor looked pretty grossed out,” Jason said.
“True,” Lane admitted. She took his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t worry about it, though. They’re here to help, not to critique your cooking.”
“I . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“They’re your family. Your friends. I’m already starting at a disadvantage. I’m the guy who walked away.”
She didn’t know what to say. The truth was, he was right.
For years she’d complained about the jerk who’d left her. Here he was.
Rather than tackle the topic head-on, she sidestepped it. “So . . . Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sat down on a wrought-iron settee, pulling her down next to him. “I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t know how many times I started to.” He squeezed her hand. “About being a Protector, I mean. The other—Hieronymous being my dad—that, I didn’t find out myself until . . . well, the timing wasn’t good.”
She cocked her head, not understanding. “You didn’t know who your father was?” Of course, she’d never known her father either. Her mother was a shadowy, irresponsible figure; her father was a complete mystery.
“My mother figured it was best I didn’t know. She didn’t tell Hieronymous either. He had no idea he had a son. I found out later from the Inner Circle. Apparently some of the elders did a bit of genealogical research—they were convinced I had bad blood.” He snorted. “Hell, when they first told me, I thought the same thing.”
Lane was silent a moment, then asked, “What did you mean by bad timing?”
Jason took a deep breath, then kissed her fingertips. The simple gesture sent shock waves through her body, and Lane struggled to maintain her composure. She and Jason were just talking. Talking. Nothing more.
“One of the elders told me about my father the same day you told me you were pregnant.”
“Oh, my,” Lane whispered.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “So off I went to capture my big, bad dad.”
“Except he captured you.”
Jason smiled, the expression slightly sick. “Got it in one,” he said. “And Hieronymous kept me locked up for years. I lost track of time—that happens when I’m transformed—but at some point Hieronymous figured out who I was. He offered me money, power, whatever I wanted. All I had to do was join him.”
“But you said no.”
“And he didn’t take that particularly well.”
“What happened?”
Jason squeezed her fingers. “I finally escaped. A good thing, too. I’m not certain Hieronymous would have let me live. He’s not the type to take rejection lightly.”
“Then it should be over,” she said. “The elders must know you’re on the Council’s side, and—”
He pressed a finger to her lips.
“No?” she murmured.
“No.” He drew in a deep breath, his face taking on an intensity she’d never seen before. “But they’ll know soon enough. Hieronymous stole my life from me. He stole years, he stole you, he stole my son. And he stole my honor. Soon enough, I’ll have my revenge. And once and for all the elders will know just where my loyalty lies.”
The icy fury in his voice scared Lane, and she pulled her hand away. The ocean’s chill once again touched her, and she felt anger of her own. “You’ll do what you have to do,” she said. “I know that better than anyone.” She turned back, faced him. “But don’t do anything until Davy’s safe. I don’t care about your ‘honor,’ I don’t care about your ‘stolen years.’ I don’t care about revenge. I want my son safe.”
He took her hand. “I know.”
“Do you? Let me be perfectly clear. You ran off once before when I needed you. I need you again now, and so does Davy. Dammit, you better come through. I don’t care what you do on Friday, but until then, you stick to your son like glue. After that, you can go off and do whatever you like.”
He took her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She felt the tears trickling down her face, and she tilted her head back, blinking. He caught her mouth, and she returned his kiss hungrily, angry at herself for wanting him so much.
“I promised you,” he said, breaking away. “Nothing else will happen to Davy.”
She nodded, then lifted her head for another kiss. She wanted to lose herself in his lips before she lost him entirely. She’d seen the intensity in his eyes. Once Davy was safe, Jason would be gone. He had a debt he wanted paid, and she saw now he put that debt above her. Above his son.
She told herself she wasn’t hurt. But she was. She didn’t want him to leave. Jason had come back into her life such a short time ago, but there was no question it still felt right.
She pulled away, breaking their kiss. She’d already screwed up once this time around; she didn’t intend to make the same mistake twice. She’d had her life under control before Jason had come back into it. Best she stayed centered on the path she’d plotted.
“Lane?”
“I’m okay,” she said with a watery smile. And it was even sort of true.
Because, with or without Jason, Lane would make sure she and Davy were fine. And that would be true no matter what.
13
“There,” Hieronymous said, pointing at the center monitor. “The fools. They took the boy to the most obvious place.” Mordi squinted at the screen, trying to make out the fuzzy images: a marina, a houseboat, and—moving about just past the glass door—a little boy. Davy.
“It’s probably safer than any other place they could take him,” Mordi said. “His father’s surely got the thing rigged up with tons of security devices.”
From the corner, Clyde snorted. “Your father can penetrate any security device.”
Hieronymous ignored his Chief of Guards, instead staring down his son. Mordi swallowed, wondering what the hell he’d done wrong this time.
“Safer?” Hieronymous asked. “Is that a question in your voice? A passive-aggressive suggestion that you do not approve of my methods?”
Mordi licked his lips. The last time he blinked, he’d been in his father’s good graces. Now, apparently, he was scum. So, what else was new? “No, sir. I’m only saying that Jason intends to protect his boy.”
Hieronymous didn’t answer, just tapped his fingers on his desktop.
Clyde stepped forward, his shoulders pulled back and his chest sticking out. “Shall I go retrieve the boy, sir?” He looked down his nose at Mordi. “Or are you still sending him?”
His father regarded Mordi, then shook his head ever so slightly. “No. It is already Wednesday. Success is cr
ucial.” He met Clyde’s eyes. “We shall send one of my little pets.”
Mordi cringed, wondering if Hieronymous would have found Jason lacking. He told himself it didn’t matter; Jason had turned his back on his father, and Mordi was still right here. One simple twist of fate, and despite his perceived failings, Mordi had become the favored child. The son who stood by his father. The loyal son. The true heir.
It was a new perspective on the world, and it was one Mordi wasn’t certain he wanted to give up.
He had to decide soon, though. The plots and schemes and plans of attack were all centered on him. His father was pulling one way, the Council the other.
Here he was; caught in the middle, just one more pawn in someone else’s game.
“I used the circuit board from my Game Boy, and then I used some parts from the clock radio, and then I just put it all together.” Davy shrugged. “It was easy.”
Jason settled down on the ground in front of his son, looking at the automatic coffee timer the boy had created and been in the process of installing when he had stepped into the kitchen.
He’d about had a heart attack when he saw the kid balancing precariously on a stack of pillows atop a three-legged stool. And then he’d come near to suffering an aneurysm when he realized Davy had taken apart the machine’s wiring and was splicing some sort of gizmo into its center.
“Mommy likes coffee right when she wakes up,” the boy had said.
“Uh-huh,” Jason responded. He’d grabbed Davy around the waist and, over his howls of protest, schlepped the kid to the patio that opened off the dining area. One nice thing about his boat: it had lots of patios.
Now he was outside, with his almost-seven-year-old, and had absolutely no idea what to talk about. Part of him wanted to go back indoors and start breakfast, but Lane and the rest of the gang were still sleeping, scattered across the boat in all its nooks and crannies. If he and Davy went in, they’d surely wake someone. Besides, his son looked perfectly content. It was Jason who hadn’t a clue what to say.