Aphrodite's Secret (4 page)

Zoë blinked, then opened her eyes wide and looked around. Considering her most honed superpower was her X-ray vision—usually negated by her Council-issued glasses—she hoped the walls would turn transparent and she’d get a view of Davy, bored out of his mind and wondering where she and Deena were hiding.

Nope. The walls stayed quite solid, thank you very much, and no matter how hard she concentrated, squinted, or silently cursed, the world beyond the wall simply refused to reveal itself.

Zoë licked her lips, not wanting to concern Deena, and not wanting to confess about this new and inconvenient loss of her powers. The
cause
might be reason to celebrate, but the
symptom
was definitely a problem. Especially if it meant she was going to have to face Hieronymous without any superpowers. She gulped.
That
didn’t sound like a good time at all.

“Well?” Deena asked.

Zoë shook her head. “I don’t see Davy,” she said. Not
exactly
a lie ...

Deena’s brow furrowed. “Well, hopefully you’re right and he’s just headed off to the information center to wait for us like we told him.” They’d given the little boy very clear instructions about what to do if they got separated. He was a brilliant kid, but still . .. Zoë‘s stomach twisted at the thought of him alone in a park with Hieronymous running around wreaking havoc. Hopefully some nice mommy type would take care of him until she could get back.

She banged her head against the wall in frustration. She hated not knowing what was going on. And right now, she didn’t know anything about anything—where Davy was, or what Hieronymous was up to. No, instead of having a bead on the problem, she was sitting in the dark, as helpless as a mortal.

Her stomach clenched, its knots tightening as much as the ones around her wrists. “I didn’t even hear anything coming,” she said with a scowl. So much for her supposed super senses. “Damn hormones.” They’d been affecting her moods as well as her powers to the point where she didn’t trust her own judgment, much less her ability to manufacture an escape from this predicament.

Deena glanced up from her bindings long enough to offer a quizzical look. Then she tilted her head back down, gnawing at the ropes like a rat. Zoë sighed. That could take forever.

“Got it!” Deena yelled.

Or maybe not
. Zoë cocked her head. “You got your wrists free?”

Deena nodded, scrambling forward on all fours. “It wasn’t a very good knot,” she admitted.

“Can you find my purse?” Zoë asked hopefully. “Find my cell phone?”

“You want to make a
call
?” Deena asked, her voice rising with incredulity. “You can leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you’re going to call the
cops
? Puh-lease!”

“But—”

“Just roll over,” Deena insisted.

Zoë did. It was easier than arguing, and as soon as she was free, she could look for her own phone. Deena started tugging and yanking on the ties that held her captive. After a few grunts and groans and a surprisingly minimal number of colorful curses, Deena managed to work the knots free. “Ta-da!”

Glancing around the room, Zoë stretched, happy to be free but not sure they were any better off than before. Especially since her purse seemed to be missing.

Deena leaned back on her heels, obviously pleased with herself. “Can you get us out of here?”

Zoë licked her lips. “I hope so.” She looked Deena in the eye. “If I can’t,” she added, “Lane’s never going to let me baby-sit again.”

She purposely kept her tone light to ward off the fear that was fast threatening to consume her. Deep breaths, she told herself. Her powers might be wonky, but that was all the more reason to rely on her training. A superhero never freaked out. A superhero analyzed, then acted.

“Nothing’s going to happen to Davy,” Deena said, her voice firm. “And you’re a wonderful aunt and Lane knows it.”

Zoë frowned, not bothering to mention that a “wonderful aunt” didn’t get tied up and lose track of her nephew. Instead, she examined her prison inch by inch, looking for a weak spot where—
maybe
—she’d be able to break out even sans her super strength.

As she meticulously searched, she compared herself to her sister-in-law. As moms went, Lane was as good as they came. As aunts went, Zoë had just a couple of years’ experience under her belt. She’d only acquired a nephew after she married Lane’s foster brother. It was only recently that she’d started to take stock of her child-care skills. Despite working as an elementary school librarian before becoming a full-time superhero, her mental assessment of herself had shown Zoë lacking. Apparently, checking out endless copies of
Ramona the Pest
wasn’t the same thing as watching over a little boy 24-7.

That was why, in what she’d considered a burst of self-educatory brilliance, she’d offered to take Davy on the fun-filled trip to Sea World. A challenge? Sure. But she was always up for a challenge. She’d just expected something more along the lines of negotiating showtimes and exhausted-little-boy melt-downs. Getting separated from Davy, suspecting the meddling of her evil uncle, and being locked in a small room
definitely
had not been on her agenda.

“Any day now,” Deena complained, her foot tapping.

Zoë gave her an irritated glance. “Do you mind? I can’t just knock a wall down and end up in Hieronymous’s lap or anything.” Which, again, was literally true. Zoë just wasn’t clarifying the little fact that, no matter how much she might want to, knocking down a wall wasn’t in her current list of abilities.

“Fine. Sorry. Just hurry.”

Zoë scowled, then sat back on her heels as she finished her reconnaissance. “Looks like we’re in some sort of storage compartment,” she said. She traced her hand down a seam in the wall. “It must open right here.”

“Well, open it,” Deena said, her patience clearly wearing thin. Zoë didn’t blame her. She wanted to get the heck out of here, too.

Might as well give it a try.
In a quick, practiced move, she twisted, bending at the waist as she sent her leg shooting toward the door with all the strength she could muster. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. The rubber sole of her white Keds connected with the metal plate, and a dull
thwang
echoed through the chamber. The door panel stayed firmly shut.

“I can’t,” she said, turning toward Deena.

Her friend looked at her like she’d just said the moon was made of green cheese. “Excuse me?” She cocked her head. “Is it made of lead or something? I thought that was just a myth.”

“It is, but that’s, uh, not the problem.”

Deena cocked an eyebrow. “Care to elucidate?”

Zoë nibbled on her lower lip. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly at my best right now.” As a halfling, she’d had a more difficult time harnessing her powers than full-blooded Protectors like her half brother Hale. But she’d been working her tail off and, recently, she’d gotten her powers pretty much under control. Except right now all her hard work seemed for naught. She couldn’t get her powers to cooperate in the slightest.

Deena looked concerned. “Are you okay? Have you seen a doctor? You have been acting tired lately. Does the Council have some Dr. Bombay type dude on retainer who can examine you?”

“I’m fine,” Zoë reassured her. “Really. I’ve been thoroughly checked out. It’s just a short-term thing. Should pass in a few more weeks.” She mentally calculated. Yeah, about nine more weeks and she’d be past this phase. “But in the meantime, it’s very disconcerting.”

“Not to mention inconvenient,” Deena complained. She aimed one more quizzical glance at Zoë but didn’t press the subject, and for that Zoë was grateful. “So, what do we do? We need to find Davy. We need to stop your uncle.” Then she shook her head and frowned. “No offense, but if you’re . .. under the weather . . .
how
are we going to stop Hieronymous? For that matter, how the heck are we going to get out of here? Your cell phone?” she finished, hopefully.

“I already looked,” Zoë said. “Gone.”

“Then how?”

Zoë shook her head. “I wish I knew,” she said. “I really wish I knew.”

Mordichai stepped back from the whale’s pool, certain Shamu was shooting him dirty looks. “I think he’s on to us,” he whispered, knowing the tiny microphone hidden in his molar would transmit his voice back to his father.

A burst of static, and then a rhythmic
tap, tap, tap
registered in his earpiece. The sound was crystal clear, and Mordi could imagine Hieronymous sitting behind his enormous desk, fingers drumming its surface in that damnably irritating manner he had.

“
He
?” Hieronymous asked. “If you are referring to that beast of a whale, then I don’t understand the cause for concern. What is
he
going to do? Perform tricks so fascinating that all the Council will gather to watch?”

Mordi licked his lips, his mouth unbearably dry. He glanced toward little Davy, tied up nice and tight and dangling from a wire strung over the whale’s pool. Before kidnapping the boy, Mordi had shifted, taking the form of a Sea World employee and then sneaking up behind Zoë and Deena to capture and stash them safely out of the way. Then he’d ushered the audience out of the stands, claiming Shamu was going to have to miss this performance.

Next, Hieronymous had kicked up the tempo of the storm, using the vile weather to keep the patrons in the rest of the park occupied while Mordi did his father’s dirty work and trussed Davy up like a turkey.

Despite Davy’s predicament, the boy wasn’t crying.

Good for him. Mordi always had liked the kid, and now he felt even more affinity. After all, Davy was a halfling, just like Mordi himself—only Davy didn’t know it yet. Being a halfling could be tough. Worse, the poor kid was about to be kidnapped, holed up in one of Hieronymous’s sterile “guest” rooms, and scared out of his wits. He wouldn’t enjoy that.

Lane, the boy’s mother, wasn’t going to be happy about the arrangement either. Too bad. Mordi rather liked her. They’d had their past little run-ins, but Mordi liked to think she’d forgiven him.

He sighed, then addressed his father once again. “I’m just not certain this is the best—”

“Not certain? Not
certain
?” Hieronymous’s howl blasted Mordi’s eardrum. “Did you hear that, Clyde? My son isn’t
certain.”

Mordi cringed as he imagined his father drawing himself up to his full height and stomping about his Manhattan penthouse apartment. Clyde, his father’s Chief of Guards, would be stomping right along behind him.

“My offspring. Fruit of my loins. And he’s not certain.”

In the background, Mordi could hear Clyde snicker and add, “He
is
a halfling, sir.”

“A fact I’m well aware of,” Hieronymous answered. The derision in his voice was inescapable. “He is also, however, my offspring. And one must take what one can get.”

Mordi straightened, telling himself that his father’s cruel words didn’t matter. Maybe once, a long time ago, Hieronymous’s opinion could have hurt him, but not anymore.
Not anymore
.

He took a deep breath for courage. “I just meant that the timing might not be right. We haven’t had a chance to plan, to consider all the variables.” And he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to check in with Zephron and update him.

Sometimes, being a mole was very,
very
complicated.

“This boy is the key to my plan,” Hieronymous snapped. “I’ve been observing him, biding my time, for weeks now. And I consider it a stroke of supreme good fortune that I learned the boy would be here today. And, then, to learn this morning that the Council has ordered the boy’s father to whisk the little tyke away to boarding school...” He trailed off, and Mordi imagined his father’s icy smile, the evil twisting of his hands. “I couldn’t have asked for a better situation.”

“But if you only want Davy, why don’t I just grab him and run? Why go to all this trouble?” He gestured toward the child dangling above the water, knowing Hieronymous could see him. The Outcast’s penthouse apartment was lined with monitors. One was always devoted to some financial program, but the remaining eleven varied from surveillance to entertainment. Often Hieronymous indulged in a variety of films.
Superman II
was his favorite; he identified with Zod. And he had other films he would watch repeatedly. But today, of course, Mordi was certain at least one monitor displayed this scene at Sea World—courtesy of Hieronymous’s skill at illegally tapping into Council-controlled satellites.

“Fool,” Hieronymous hissed, and behind him Clyde snickered. “Why simply take the child when we have the opportunity to do so much more?”

“More?” Mordi inquired, almost afraid to ask.

Hieronymous hissed. “I am surrounded by unimaginative idiots.” He shook his head. “I will explain only once. Do try to follow.”

Mordi gritted his teeth but remained silent. After almost thirty years, he’d learned when to keep his mouth closed.

“All the pieces have come together. I will acquire the boy, of course, but in doing so, I will ensure that the Council—and the mortal world—believes it is his father who absconded with the little brat.”

Mordi nodded. He understood. Jason had escaped from Hieronymous’s clutches, and Daddy Dearest was definitely one to hold a grudge. “But the Council will never believe Jason took his own son,” he said.

“Nonsense. Your shape shifting abilities will ensure the success of my plan. At least in that regard you are good for something.”

Mordi’s jaw clenched against the all-too-familiar insult.

“The mortals cannot see the boy’s current predicament. And with the evidence we leave, the MLO will put a spin on the incident so that most mortals will believe this was a child kidnapped by his father. This will be a simple child-custody abduction, a dispute so common among members of that inferior breed.”

Mordi nodded. His father was right; no matter what actually went on at the park, the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office would put a spin on it for the mortal press. The press liaisons at the MLO were damn good at their job, too. They had to be. Heck, they’d been covering up Protector activity—and Outcast uprisings—for years. So far at least, the bulk of the mortal population was none the wiser— except, of course, for the readers of the
National Enquirer,
whom no one believed anyway.