Aphrodite's Flame (11 page)

His father was up to something. Something bad.

And whether she knew it or not, Isole Frost was wrapped up in it.

Until Mordi could figure out what his father had planned—and put a stop to it—he wasn’t about to risk getting booted off this case.

On the contrary, he intended to stay very, very close. And if that meant keeping Isole Frost happy, well, that was a mission he was more than willing to accomplish.

“He’s applied for
what
?” Jason bobbed in the water, only his head breaking the rippling surface.

Above him, Mordi frowned, leaning over the houseboat’s railing and staring down at his half brother. “Re-assimilation,” Mordi said. “You know. He wants to rejoin the Council. Be a good guy. All that jazz.”

Jason snorted. “And you believe him?”

“No, I don’t believe him! But it’s not up to me. This girl—” He cut himself off, waving a hand at Jason, who was silently treading water. “Will you get up here? How am I supposed to talk to you if you’re bobbing around like a buoy?”

“You look like you’re talking just fine,” Jason said. But then he held up a finger. “Give me one second. Davy dropped one of his gizmos off the boat, and I told him I’d find it.”

As if called by the mention of his name, Davy came charging out the patio door, bare feet pounding on the wooden deck as he yelled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Did you find it? Did you?”

“Not yet, kiddo.” And then, to Mordi: “Hang on.”

Down he went, slipping under the dark surface, which smoothed over him, not even a few bubbles to show that he’d once been bobbing there. Frowning, Mordi leaned farther out, trying to find some sign of his brother. Nothing.

Well, hell.

While Jason did his fish-man thing, Mordi leaned against the railing, feeling the eight-year-old’s eyes boring down on him.

Mordi shifted uncomfortably. He liked Davy just fine, but they’d had a decidedly iffy relationship, what with Mordi having attacked and kidnapped him at various times over the last few years. He hadn’t seen the kid for a bit.

“Mommy says you’re a nice guy now.” Davy squinted at him. “Are you really?”

“What do you think?”

The kid shrugged. “Dunno.” The frown faded, replaced by a bright smile. “You wanna wear my truth detector?”

It was Mordi’s turn to frown. “Um.”

“ ‘Cause if you’re telling Momma the truth and you’re really good, the detector will know.”

“Right. Well. I mean, why don’t you just believe me without the toy, okay?”

Davy just stared at him. Under the circumstances, Mordi supposed that made sense.

Mordi twisted to look over the rail again. “Your father should be back up by now.”

That wasn’t true, of course. Jason was more than capable of staying under the water indefinitely; he could turn himself into a fish when he wanted. But that didn’t stop Mordi from hoping the man would surface immediately and save him from this interrogation.

“You’re a chicken,” Davy accused. “I’m going to tell Momma.”

“I’m
not
a chicken.”

The little boy crossed his arms over his chest, looking dubious. “Yu-huh.”

“Come on, Davy. I’m your uncle. You can trust me.” Faulty logic if ever there was any, but Mordi wasn’t about to let the kid hook him up to any machine.

He told himself it was only that the eight-year-old might have mucked the whole thing up—the machine might fry his brain instead of reading it—except Mordi knew better. Davy was Hieronymous’s grandchild, and the kid had inherited the Outcast’s superior inventive powers. Give him a battery, some wires, a few sticks of gum, and some string, and the kid could make just about anything.

So, no. Mordi wasn’t afraid that the kid’s machine would be off. Instead, he was afraid that
he
would be. He was afraid that the machine would see some deep truth that he’d kept hidden even from himself. That somehow, some way, he still wanted his dad to succeed.

He shuddered, blocking the thought.
No
.

“Chicken,” Davy said again, and this time Mordi privately agreed with the assessment.

He didn’t have to conjure a response, though, because a splashing sounded behind him, and then came Jason’s triumphant “Found it!”

Davy jumped, then raced to the railing to see his dad holding a red metal cylinder with plastic straws extending like spiders’ legs.

“What is it?” Mordi asked.

“My pet spider robot, Fred,” Davy said. “He makes my bed and puts my shoes away even though Mommy says that’s my job.”

“Oh. I should have known.”

Jason had climbed up the ladder, and now he stepped onto the boat, water rolling off him to pool on the polished wood decking. He handed the soggy spider-bot to Davy, who took it and raced back inside, apparently no longer concerned with Mordi’s motives.

“Okay,” Jason said, pulling a pair of sweatpants on over his bathing suit and then dropping into one of the deck chairs. “So the girl thinks Dad is legitimate. Do you think
she’s
legitimate?”

“What do you mean?” Mordi thought about it; shifting uncomfortably.

Jason tossed his head back and laughed. “Let me guess: She’s a looker.”

Mordi waved the words away. “All right, I know what you mean.” Heck, he should. His job was to locate, capture, and prosecute Protectors who were colluding with Outcasts. Jason wanted to know if Isole was a secret traitor. “I did consider that, but she seems sincere. Obviously delusional if she thinks our father is legitimate, but sincere nonetheless.”

“And she’s a looker.”

“That has nothing to do with it.” Except that it did, and that simple fact pissed Mordi off. He’d worked his tail off to have his probation lifted and land this position in the Council. If there was even the slightest hint that Isole Frost was turning traitor, he should be zeroing in on her like a tractor beam. He
shouldn’t
be blinded by her ocean-deep eyes and frosty-seeming professionalism.

Jason was watching him, and Mordi swallowed. “I’m keeping my eye on her, of course. But my preliminary impression is that she’s on the level.” He shrugged. “And she’s Zephron’s niece, too. I’d be surprised if she’d turn.” He’d done some quick research on his flight from New York to Los Angeles. The Protector commuter shuttle took only twenty minutes, so he didn’t have time to get very in-depth, but he had learned that there were those in the Council who thought she owed her position to nepotism rather than skill. That was a huge motivator to prove herself. Of course, it could also be an impetus for revenge.

“Our father, though...” Jason trailed off with a shake of his head. “What do you think he’s up to?”

“I don’t know,” Mordi admitted. “Nothing good.”

“Really? No ideas at all?”

Mordi scowled. “I’d tell you. I came to
you
, remember?”

“Sorry.” Jason did seem contrite, and Mordi relaxed.

“The only thing I can think of is the treaty,” Mordi said. “He’s always been obsessed with foiling any Council attempts to get in closer with the mortals. But I don’t know what he could have in mind specifically.”

“Me neither,” Jason said. “Keep an eye on him, though.”

“Oh, I intend to.” He took a breath; he still had one bombshell to drop. “What’s your assignment schedule like these days?”

“Free as a flounder,” Jason said. “I’m on a two month leave.”

“How do you feel about an under-the-table assignment?”

Jason’s mouth quirked. “Why, little brother... is there something you’ve not been telling me?”

Mordi reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a copy of the note he’d taken from Romulus. He held it out to Jason, who opened it and read it, his expression darkening.

“What’s this about?”

Mordi explained how he’d retrieved the note from his quarry, and also explained how Romulus had gotten the note in the first place.

“Clyde,” Jason said. “Son of a bitch.”

Mordi had never liked Clyde, but his distaste for the Halfling-hating flunkie was mild compared to Jason’s animosity. Clyde had been Hieronymous’s right-hand man for years; and the Chief of Guards had been complicit in the scheme that had kept Jason imprisoned in a fishbowl for six long years.

“ ‘Holmes’ has to refer to Hieronymous. Clyde isn’t literary enough to think that up on his own,” Jason said, his voice cold. “They’re plotting something.”

“I
know
,” Mordi said. “But I don’t know what. Other than that this re-assimilation is part of it.”

“And that’s what you want me to figure out?”

“That’s right.”

Jason nodded slowly, not in agreement, really. It was just a sign that he was still thinking. “Won’t the elders assign a team? To investigate the note, I mean?”

Mordi shrugged. “Who knows? Not my jurisdiction. And they may not even believe that ‘Holmes’ means Hieronymous. I’d hope so, but—”

Jason’s face hardened. Jason would never turn traitor, that much Mordi knew. But Jason knew well enough that sometimes the deeply bureaucratic workings of the Council didn’t move quickly enough.

“All right,” Jason said. “I’ll do it.” He fixed Mordi with a stare. “And what will you be doing?”

“I’m going to be babysitting the man himself.”

Jason nodded. “So Romulus is in the stockade now?”

“Right.” He frowned. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m just wondering if that’s exactly where Hieronymous wanted him to be.”

Mordi considered the possibility and decided that Jason might be on to something. “Though I’m not sure what good it will do him with Romulus behind bars.”

“Who knows?” Jason agreed. “But with Daddy-O, it’s best not to take anything for granted. Romulus has always been considered pretty upstanding. He’ll have powerful friends.”

“And who knows how many other Protectors our father has gotten to,” Mordi added.

“Exactly.”

“Which is exactly why our operation has to be off the books,” Mordi said. “Completely unofficial.”

“I understand. I’ll let Zoë and Hale know, too. We might need them.”

Mordi rolled his eyes. “So much for low-key.”

“We can be discreet.”

“We’d better be.”

Jason reached out and brushed Mordi’s arm. Mordi stifled the urge to jerk away. “We won’t be Outcast for this,” said Jason. “It’s a technicality-type offense at best. And if we uncover a plot to mess up the treaty negotiations, we’ll be heroes.” He squeezed Mordi’s shoulders. “No worries.”

Mordi frowned. He was becoming more confident about the mission by the minute. Something else, however, still preyed at his mind.

He pushed the thoughts away and faced his brother. “So, we’ve got a plan?”

“Guess so,” Jason said. “You heading out?”

“Yeah. I’m going to go talk to Isole. Make sure she’s really one of us good guys.”

“Dirty job,” Jason said.

Mordi grinned. “But somebody’s got to do it.” He
paused, then
drew in a breath. “Jason—?”

“You want me to keep an eye on her, too?”

Mordi nodded. “I do think she’s sincere. Misguided, yes. But sincere.” He inhaled, then let the breath out slowly. “But I could be wrong, and we need to be smart about this. If I investigate, she’s likely to get wind of it. Can you—?”

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

“Nothing yet.” Instead of feeling the pride of doing a thorough job, though, Mordi only felt like a heel. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got a lead.”

He cocked his head toward the stairs. “I’m going to go tell the kid good-bye,” he said. He felt Jason’s eyes bore into his back as he headed up.

He maneuvered to the upper deck, finding Davy surrounded by piles of toys in various stages of disarray. The little boy looked up. “You want to use my truth detector.” It wasn’t a question. The kid was astute.

Mordi met the child’s pale eyes. “I want you to know your uncle’s one of the good guys.”

Davy looked at him uncertainly for a moment, and even though the kid was only eight, Mordi shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze. Finally the kid nodded, then pointed toward a small chair in the corner. “Sit there.”

Mordi did, and then the kid plunked a baseball cap threaded with a variety of colored wires on his head. He took the wires and threaded them into a metal cylinder that was attached to a car battery. Mordi frowned when he saw it and twisted around to look at Davy, who was fiddling with a control panel behind him. “This is safe?”

Davy shrugged. “I guess.”

Not exactly a rousing endorsement, but Mordi was still inclined to believe the kid knew what he was doing. He hoped so. “Okay. Plug me in.”

“It’s on,” Davy said. “You just gotta say something, and I can tell if it’s the truth or not.”

“Yeah? My name is Jason Murphy.”

The kid giggled. “Nuh-uh. I don’t even need the machine for that.” Maybe not, but the machine obviously knew its stuff. It made a sound like a raspberry. Mordi twisted back around and saw that a red light was flashing in time with the obnoxious noise.

“Okay, then. Last month I spent three days as a dog.”

Green light. And a little trill from the machine.

“You did?” Davy asked. “A collie?”

“Labrador,” Mordi said. “I was working undercover.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not bad work.”

“Uncle Mordi?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that really what you wanted to tell my machine?”

Mordi frowned, then cleared his throat. “No. Okay. Here goes.” He drew in a breath. This was the truth, by Zeus. So why was he so nervous? “I want my father to fail. I don’t want him to enslave any mortals or have some great Outcast empire. And I don’t believe he’s turned good.”

For a moment, the machine was silent, and Mordi held his breath. Then the little trill filled the room and the light flashed green. Mordi exhaled, unreasonably relieved that a pile of metal and a tortured baseball cap had heard the truth in his words.

“Cool beans,” Davy said. “I guess Aunt Zoë‘s right and you really are a good guy now, huh?”

“I guess so, kid.” He turned then to face his nephew, and as he did, he saw Jason leaning against the doorjamb. Mordi felt his face flush, but he met Jason’s steady gaze. “Just something I had to do.”