Aphrodite's Flame (20 page)

“I understand he’s doing quite well so far,” Trystan said, sounding pleased. “Ms. Frost’s initial report was quite encouraging.”

For a second, Mordi almost couldn’t manage an answer. Then he nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

“Excellent,” Armistand said. “I’m certain that if he is doing that well, Ms. Frost will recommend complete re-assimilation.”

“And the committee will surely approve the recommendation,” Trystan added. “I know I will enthusiastically vote yes.”

Mordi frowned. The committee—like the treaty committee—was composed of the entire Inner Circle and a few other select Protectors.

“As will I,” Armistand agreed. “It will be wonderful having him back on the Council.”

“And in the Inner Circle,” Trystan added. “Don’t forget that.”

“Of course, of course.” Armistand bobbed his head jovially while Trystan beamed. Mordi wondered if he’d been transplanted to an alternate universe.

A fledgling Protector rushed forward, a clipboard in his hand. “Sirs, sirs! Could I get your signature on these power-use authorizations?” He tapped the paper. “Here, and here. And press hard because the form’s in triplicate.”

As the flunkie held out the clipboard, Mordi watched as both Trystan and Armistand pulled out identical purple fountain pens. Then they signed the papers with a flourish. Armistand turned to Mordi, as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Well, do run along, Mordi. Surely you have someplace to be.”

“Washington, D.C., I believe,” Trystan said. “Didn’t Bilius tell me you had a meeting this afternoon with Senator Banyon?”

Mordi blanched.
Hopping Hades
... was that today?

“It is a question of responsibilities,” Senator Banyon said. He was leaning back in his desk chair, Capitol Hill resplendent through the window behind him. His proper and controlled voice contained a thick, syrupy West Virginia drawl. He was tall, dressed impeccably in a tailored blue suit, and his demeanor and bearing screamed successful politician.

Damn, but Mordi hated politics.

“As a member of this committee,” the senator continued, “my responsibility is not just to the good citizens of West Virginia—or even the good folks of this country. I’m representing the world on this. And I don’t intend to go down in history as the man who unwittingly brought about the end of humanity as we know it.”

At that, Mordi started to pay more attention. He glanced toward Izzy, whose features were schooled in an expression of polite interest, and Mordi couldn’t tell if she had any clue what the man was talking about.

The treaty renegotiation committee was comprised of a delegation of Protectors—the Inner Circle plus several other Protectors—and a delegation of mortals. Up until now, Mordi had assumed that the mortal committee members all supported the renegotiated treaty, which would allow Protectors to go public with their powers and services. In other words, the need for the MLO spin doctors would evaporate.
The New York Times
could report mortal politics right alongside news of a team of Protectors rescuing a dozen passengers from a crashing plane.

In light of Banyon’s comments, though, Mordi had to reconsider his assumptions. Did Banyon not want the treaty to go through? If that was the case, Zephron was going to be supremely disappointed.

Banyon started on another rant, but Mordi held up a hand and the senator stopped in mid-sentence— something about the backstabbing nature on the Hill and how he had to watch every step. “Yes, son?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Could you go back to something you said earlier? The bit about the end of humanity as we know it. You lost me a little on that.”

Izzy’s mouth twitched. It was a hint of a smile, but it held absolutely no indication whether it meant that Mordi was the biggest idiot to ever live, or that she wanted to kiss him for finally asking the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

Banyon was more easily read. He simply looked annoyed. “My understanding was that Zephron asked you two to liaise with this committee because you have a unique understanding of our concerns. Of
mortal
concerns.”

Mordi wasn’t cowed. He’d spent twenty-five years taking crap from his father. He wasn’t going to take it now from this gentleman from West Virginia. “Considering we’re half-mortal,” Mordi began, looking Banyon square in the eye, “I’d say that there’s no question that we understand mortals. What I
don’t
understand, however, are your specific concerns. Perhaps you could give us a quick rundown?”

“I’d like that, too,” Izzy said, leaning back in the overstuffed sofa and crossing her legs. She wore a black business suit, a white shirt, and black pumps. She looked like a lawyer. And damned if Mordi didn’t think she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. “If you tell us your concerns now, we’ll be sure to avoid any misunderstandings in the future.”

Banyon hesitated, clearly irritated at having his little speech derailed. Finally, though, he moved back around his desk, sat, and clasped his hands in front of him, fingers intertwined.

After a brief moment to ensure that all eyes were on him, Banyon began. “I’m one of the few mortals who know about the existence of your kind,” he said. Mordi listened intently, trying to find a hint of derision in the words, but he heard nothing except the simple statement of an indisputable fact. “Even at the highest echelons of the government, the existence of the Venerate Council is known only to a select few.”

“Are you concerned that the majority of mortals will resent us? Fear us? I thought that was the point of negotiating this treaty. So that mortals-in-the-know and Protectors could go as one to the general populace and explain. You know,” Mordi added a bit lamely. “We come in peace, and all that.”

Banyon didn’t smile. In fact, his eyes narrowed. Apparently, the man wasn’t too happy with Mordi’s interruption. For that matter, neither was Izzy, who kicked him soundly in the calf, the maneuver disguised as simply crossing her legs.

“It is not the mortals we’re worried about,” Banyon said, his tone as cold as if Mordi had just said something nasty about his mother.

“You’re afraid of some sort of retribution by the Outcasts,” Izzy said.
She
got a smile for her comment. Teacher’s pet, already. “That they may resent or even try to sabotage mortal-Protector relations by mass attacks.”

“Indeed we are,” Banyon said. “We’re looking to the Council to alleviate those concerns. I, at least, am not yet convinced.”

“And you’re the committee chair,” Izzy said, her expression wry.

“Co-chair,” Banyon admitted. “Mr. Adamson does not share my concerns.” He spread his arms wide. “Being open-minded, I’m trying to gain a broader perspective.” A smile eased over his face, softening the stern features. “Please. I’d like your help. I can see significant benefits to the world by having those of your race act openly. But—”

“But you’re afraid that the Outcasts’ mischief would never let you actually reap the benefits,” Izzy said.

“That’s my fear. Yes.” He eyed each of them in turn. “As a result of my position, I’ve been given access to your personnel files.” Mordi’s insides shifted slightly, but Banyon didn’t hesitate. “You each have unique perspectives. I value your input.”

Mordi met Izzy’s eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure what Banyon expected from him, but she seemed to have no similar hesitations. He didn’t need her empathic powers to read her fury as she sat up in her chair, chin up and shoulders back, and met his gaze dead-on. “Considering it’s the two of us you have here, I assume you’re not concerned so much about Outcasts in general, but about one particular Outcast?”

“They are all a threat. It’s not—”

“Senator.” There was censure lacing Izzy’s voice. Mordi bumped her up a notch on his mental scorecard. When she wanted to be, the woman really could be as cold as ice. Judging from Banyon’s expression, her air of authority did the trick just fine.

“Fine,” he said, and his entire body slumped a little, just barely perceptibly, as if a tiny bit of air was being removed from a balloon. “Yes. We’ve researched the most aggressive of the Outcasts and, while there are several, only Hieronymous Black seems to have both the inclination and the connections to, well, to ...” He trailed off with a series of complicated hand movements that Mordi assumed represented some kind of horrific warfare.

He glanced at Izzy, hoping his expression didn’t say,
I told you so
. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed.

“Your concerns, while understandable, are no longer legitimate,” she said.

Banyon exhaled slowly, then sat back down. His face lost some of its rough edges and took on a quiet, thoughtful appearance. For a moment, Mordi almost liked the man.

“Then it’s true,” he said. “Hieronymous really has repented? He wants to ... what? Be one of you again?”

“It’s called re-assimilation,” Izzy said. “And yes, he’s applied.”

“And you believe he’s sincere?” Banyon held up a hand. “Wait. Before you answer, I want you to make sure you understand my concern. If Hieronymous—”

“Is no longer Outcast,” Izzy said, cutting the senator off, “then you don’t have to worry about the Outcasts rising up in some violent protest of the treaty. Yes, I understand your perspective. But yes, I think he’s sincere.”

“You’re very astute,” Banyon said. He cocked his head ever so slightly. “But I suppose I should have realized that.”

“If you had full access to my file, then yes, you should have.” Ice laced her voice. It wasn’t surprising. Files were maintained on Protectors on two levels. Basic information, including mission history, was public record. A description of specific powers, however, was not. The idea was that ultimate secrecy ensured that Protectors had the full advantage of their unique powers if attacked. If the committee had dumped full reports in Banyon’s lap, then things were definitely politically hot. And Izzy had every right to be pissed.

Even though she hadn’t voiced the question, still it hung in the air, awaiting a response. Banyon ignored it, turning instead to Mordi. That, he thought, was response enough.

Beside him, Izzy still looked miffed, the tips of her ears and nose taking on a pinkish tint, making her look a bit like an angry attack bunny: adorable, but dangerous.

He put a hand on her knee and squeezed, a silent entreaty to wait until later to express her displeasure. She jumped a little under his touch, but stayed quiet. Mordi kept his hand where it was, telling himself that he simply wanted to gauge her reactions.

He was lying to himself, of course. But that was something he’d wait until later to examine, too.

He realized that Banyon was talking to him. “What?”

Annoyance flashed across Banyon’s face, but was quickly erased. “Hieronymous Black is your father, and I understand you two have had a bit of a falling-out.”

That, Mordi thought, was putting it mildly.

“Do you agree with Ms. Frost’s assessment?” Banyon asked.

He drew in a breath and answered the only way that he could. “Yeah,” he said. “I completely agree.”

Sometime later, Izzy stood in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln and wondered what to think—about Mordichai, about Banyon, about Hieronymous. About
everything
.

She wanted to talk it out with Mordi, but he’d answered a holo-page as soon as their meeting with Banyon ended, and she’d felt like an idiot waiting around for him. She did want to talk to him. She
didn’t
want
him
to know that. After their movie night, it seemed even more important that she keep up a nice solid wall. Mordichai Black could get through her cracks too easily... and considering she had secrets to keep, Mordi was a complication she really didn’t need.

“I thought I’d find you here.” His voice.
Right here
.

Izzy
jumped, then spun around, heart beating in her throat. “What are you doing, sneaking up on people like that?”

He shrugged. “It’s a free country. I’m admiring the monuments.”

She stared him down.

The corner of Mordi’s mouth twitched, just a hint of a smile. For some inexplicable reason, that really ticked her off. “Am I amusing you?” she demanded.

“As a matter of fact, yeah.” And then he laughed, and instead of lashing out, slapping him, or stomping away in a huff, Izzy found herself laughing, too. Must be nerves.

“Are you going to clue me in?” she asked, trying hard to pull herself together.

“Depends,” he said. “What are your other powers?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Because I’m pretty sure that if I tell you why I was laughing, you’re going to wallop me. And if super strength is in your repertoire, I’d just as soon keep my mouth shut.”

She bit back a smile. “No super strength,” she acknowledged. “And I can’t turn you into a toad or give you a rash, or—”

“There are Protectors who can do that? Turn someone else into a toad?”

She flashed an innocent smile. “I’m sorry. That information is on a need-to-know basis only.” In truth, she had no idea at all. At the moment, though, she could see dozens of uses for just such a power. “Just tell me.”

“You’re cute.”

“Jumping Jupiter, Mordi, would you just—”

“No, that’s what I was thinking about. Earlier. That’s what you wanted to know.”

She peered at him, totally confused. “That’s why you were smiling? Because you thought I was cute?”

“ ‘Fraid so.”

“And you thought I would hit you? What? Did you just assume I can’t take a compliment?”

“I’ll take the Fifth.”

At that, she laughed outright, even though she knew she really shouldn’t encourage him. She tried to pull herself together and look stern. “So. Why did you come looking for me?”

“I wanted to talk with you.”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?” Mentally she cringed. She wanted to keep him at a distance, yes, but right now she was coming off like a bitch.

He looked at her as if she’d gone a little nuts. Maybe she had. “Oh, I don’t know. The weather. Who’s going to win the Academy Awards. Great literature. What in Hades do you
think
I want to talk about?”

She scowled and moved toward Lincoln’s plaque, pretending to study the inscription. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”