by Julie Kenner
The rat’s mouth clamped down on her hand, and she yelped as needle-sharp teeth pierced the tender skin, shaking her hand wildly to get loose. It worked, and he fell to the ground—right into a gutter labeled NO DUMPING. DRAINS TO OCEAN.
She let out a groan of frustration as she massaged her sore hand. In that gutter, he was gone for good. At least for now. And she was left with a million questions and no answers.
She collapsed onto the curb and dropped her head to her knees, letting out an exhausted sigh. Whatever the heck Mordi thought he was doing, he hadn’t gotten away with it.
She heard the patter of approaching feet and looked up. A small group, led by the woman clutching the little boy, was rounding the corner. Uh-oh. She really needed to get the heck out of Dodge.
The woman knelt beside her, breathless, as she scooped up her purse and jewelry. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Zoë put her hand to her face, relieved to find her hood was still in place. A police siren sounded in the distance, and Zoë stood up. Behind them, the crowd applauded and snapped pictures. Oh, sweet Hera, the newspapers. Zoë cringed. “I should really get out of here now.”
“Wait!” The woman grabbed Zoë’s arm.
Zoë glanced around, frantic, wondering how the heck she was going to get away.
“Please,” the woman said.
The siren drew closer, and she stumbled backward, needing to get away from the flashing camera bulbs and the siren. She was afraid that if she stayed too long, she’d somehow be recognized.
“No, really,” she said, stepping back again. “I need to—”
“That’s a wrap, everyone!” That was Deena’s voice, breathless from running, and Zoë flashed her a grateful smile.
“We hope you all enjoyed watching our rehearsal for Boopsey Saves the World.” Deena waved at the small crowd gathered on the far sidewalk. “We’ll be running through the space alien segment in ten minutes, five blocks that direction. Go early for the best seats.” She gestured toward the end of the street and, with cameras and tote bags in tow, the herd of tourists moved down the side street toward Hollywood Boulevard.
As the crowd stampeded away, Deena flashed a triumphant smile, and a wave of relief washed over Zoë. Deena hadn’t disappeared. In fact, just the opposite. Deena was pretty much taking charge, and now she grabbed Zoë’s arm and tugged her the wrong way through the tower’s emergency exit.
Zoë was so relieved, she didn’t even realize that the woman and her toddler had followed until the door closed behind them.
“A movie?” the woman asked, incredulity in her voice. She looked from Zoë to Deena, then back to Zoë again, all the while balancing the little boy on her hip.
“Uh,” Zoë said stupidly, then looked to Deena for help.
“We’ve got some bigwig backers,” Deena said, and the woman turned to look at her. “Some heavy-duty product placement.”
The woman shifted the child. “Uh-huh.”
“No, really,” Deena said. She pointed to Zoë’s propulsion cloak. “It’s specially designed. Works like a hang glider. Has microthin, superstrong wires in there.”
“Really?” the woman asked, almost sounding like she was actually buying Deena’s wacko story. She took a step forward, and Zoë took a step back, keeping Deena’s microthin super-wires just out of reach.
“Absolutely,” Deena said. She turned to Zoë, her eyebrows riding high above her Ray-Bans. “Right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Zoë said. “I was up there getting ready to shoot my scene. And, uh, I saw that guy, and I figured I could help.” She nibbled on her lower lip, wondering if she sounded like a total idiot or just a partial one. “But it’s top secret. You won’t say anything to the, uh, newspapers, will you?”
“Please,” Deena added. “If other special effects companies knew . . .”
“I won’t say anything,” the woman said, snuggling close to her little boy. “I mean, I owe you, after all.” She squinted. “A movie, huh? I didn’t even see a camera.”
Zoë looked at Deena. “On top of the tower,” she said, only barely making it a statement rather than a question.
“We were hoping not to draw too much of a crowd.”
“Exactly,” added Zoë, getting more into the spirit. “We’re taking a huge risk not filming on a closed set.”
“Oh,” said the woman, still looking bewildered. “Well. Lucky for me you took a chance.”
“You have no idea,” Zoë said.
The woman caught her gaze and smiled, holding out her hand. “Thank you. For saving Davy, and for getting that creep off me.”
“Do you know him? What did he want?” Maybe this woman had the answer, because Zoë couldn’t think of one reason why Mordi would be robbing mortals.
“I don’t have a clue.” She bit her lip. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
“Money and jewelry,” Deena said, pointing to the purse and necklace the woman still held in her hand. The chain was wrapped around her palm, and the stone pendant swung free. “Your basic mugger staples.”
“He’s a stupid mugger,” the woman said. “I’m flat broke, and I bought this thing for a buck at a thrift shop.” She grinned. “I thought it was so ugly that it was fun.”
“Ugly?” Zoë asked. “It’s fabulous.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“She has lousy taste,” Deena said with a laugh. Zoë scowled at her, but she just shrugged. “Well, you do.”
The woman pressed the stone into Zoë’s palm. “Take it.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“Please. It’s the least I can do.”
Zoë closed her fingers over the smooth stone. It seemed to fit her hand, and the stone pulsed warmly in her palm. “Okay, then. Thank you.”
The little boy yawned, and his mother smiled. “It’s nothing compared to what you gave me. I thought Davy . . .” She bunked, her eyes moist. “Anyway, thank you again.” She cocked her head. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me the name of your production company?”
“No,” said Zoë.
“Can’t,” added Deena, flashing Zoë a glare. “Top secret, remember.”
“Right.” Then, with a wink and a smile, she slipped out the emergency exit, leaving Zoë and Deena staring at each other in the service area.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Deena put a hand on her hip, and Zoë braced for a barrage of questions.
“So,” Deena finally said. “I’m guessing those issues you mentioned run a little deeper than just not wanting to share a bathroom with a guy, huh?”
Five
Deep beneath the Washington Monument, the American base of the Venerate Council of Protectors hummed with activity, computers churning, viewscreens displaying precise layouts of the nation’s cities. In the ops center, Donis and Hale sat in front of a static-filled image of Zephron, the high elder.
Hale drummed his fingers on his knees, waiting for the holographic transmission to clear. He had no idea why he’d been summoned to the center, and he hoped like Hades it wasn’t going to interfere with his vacation plans.
On his shoulder, Elmer stretched and yawned. Well, this is fun—not! I thought you said we’d be in Greece by now. . . .
Hale scowled. The little ferret had a heck of a mouth on him. “Quiet,” he whispered. “Do you want to get me in trouble?”
Donis shot them both a look. “If you insist on bringing your furry sidekick, you should teach him some manners.”
“Have you ever tried to teach a ferret manners?”
Hey! I’ve read Miss Manners. I know which fork to use. What do I look like? A heathen?
“He’s talking back, isn’t he?” Donis asked, eyeing Elmer suspiciously.
Hale rolled his eyes, wondering for the umpteen-millionth time why he had to have been born with the ability to talk with animals. At least Zoë and Donis got some peace and quiet once in awhile. Even in the park, when Hale was alone . . .
well, let’s just say no one knew all the really nutty jokes the squirrels tended to shout out.
Elmer nipped at his earlobe. Yo, Hale, my man. You’re not really mad, are you? Not at little ol’ Elmer. Are you?
For about half a second, Hale considered letting Elmer stew. Then he shook his head. Elmer had been his buddy for three years, and before that, Elmer’s dad, Ercel, had been his constant companion. They were family, he and Elmer. And he couldn’t stay mad at family. “But stay quiet,” he whispered. “We don’t want to irritate Zephron.”
As he was laying down the law to Elmer, the holograph shimmered, coming into focus.
“Hieronymous is attempting to rally the Outcasts,” Zephron announced, and Hale’s stomach twisted. He turned to look at his father, and saw that Donis’s eyes were wide, confirming what Hale already knew—this was bad. Very bad.
Hoo boy. This sucks big-time.
“But the new treaty—” Donis began.
“Exactly,” Zephron said.
The council Web site had recently been filled with news about the negotiations between the council and the mortal heads of state. The original Mortal-Protector Treaty had been in place since 1970, the year Hale was born. Under its terms, only a select few mortals who worked for the top-secret Liaison Office knew of the existence of Protectors and their governing body. Under the newly proposed treaty, council members would take a more open role in society, aiding mortals as always, but abandoning the need for absolute secrecy.
Hieronymous and his Outcast followers, however, didn’t belong to the council, and had no intention of working for mortals.
“Surely you don’t think—” Donis began.
“If he does manage to rally the Outcasts, they can wreak enough havoc that the mortals will fear us. Everything we’ve worked for will break down. Our relationship with the mortal governments will be destroyed, our hopes for a broader treaty will be squelched, and we will likely end up in a war with the Outcasts.” He paused, his image flickering. “How many mortal lives would be lost in the battle?”
“But what can he do?” Hale asked. “He’s an Outcast. He’s under constant supervision. He can’t even communicate with other Outcasts without using a monitored device. He’s forbidden to use his powers except in private. So how can he possibly interfere?”
“He is forbidden, true. His offspring, however, is not.” Zephron’s image shimmered. “You have heard of Aphrodite’s girdle?”
Hale and Donis exchanged a look. “Who hasn’t?” Hale asked, confused by the change in topic. “It’s a bedtime story.”
“The belt worn by Aphrodite centuries ago,” Donis added. “She forged it with her powers, and when she wore it, anyone she desired fell hopelessly in love with her.”
“Exactly,” said Zephron. “And there’s more. The belt has many unexplored properties. Its centerpiece, for example, has many mysterious characteristics. For one, that stone can act as a transmitter under certain circumstances. At the right time, at the right place, a skilled Protector could speak directly to all Outcasts, circumventing all our efforts to forestall communications among the Outcasts.”
“And what exactly are the right circumstances?” Donis pressed.
Zephron looked him straight in the eye. “A lunar eclipse coupled with a certain planetary alignment.”
“When?” asked Hale.
“Next Wednesday. Midnight exactly.”
Hale’s head was spinning. “I’m still confused. Are you saying Hieronymous has this stone? Hasn’t the belt been missing for centuries?”
“He does not have the stone. Yet. But I’m certain he is aware of the legend.”
This was the part about being on the council that drove Hale nuts. No one would just come out and say what was on their mind. Everything had to be riddles and legends. Mysticism was all well and good, but a little straight talking would surely move things along.
What legend? Elmer asked.
“My question exactly,” Hale said. “What legend?”
Donis closed his eyes. “Mother of Zeus, now I remember.” He turned and faced Hale. “There’s a legend that says that prior to the night the moon vanishes from the sky, the stone from Aphrodite’s girdle will find its way to the hand of a halfling, who will then be welcomed to or shunned from the council.”
“Zoë and Mordichai,” Hale whispered. “They have the same birthday. Next Tuesday. Right before the eclipse.”
“Two halflings, born on the same day, both nearing their twenty-fifth birthday.” Zephron paused. “One has not yet completed her application. The other seeks admission to the council, and yet is the child of Hieronymous.”
“Okay. I know Zoë hasn’t turned in the Affidavit of Mortal Disclosure. She doesn’t want to freak out her mother. But you don’t really think Mordi’s gonna chuck it all and throw in with his dad? I mean, I grew up with him. I helped train him. Zoë used to play with him. He’s a bit of a weasel, but he’s okay.”
Zephron’s lips thinned. “We shall see, won’t we? It appears, gentlemen, that the council admission tests for young Zoë and master Mordichai have been determined.”
Hale swallowed. “So where will this Outcast ceremony take place? Here? On Olympus?”
Zephon shook his head. “No. The ceremony must take place at a certain longitude and latitude.”
“Where?” asked Hale, dreading the answer.
“The grounds of the Griffith Observatory.”
Hale swallowed. “That’s in Los Angeles.”
“So it is.”
“Zoë’s in Los Angeles.”
“It would appear the legend is accurate.”
Hale rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the beginnings of a monster of a headache. “So basically, what you’re saying is that the fate of the world rests with my sister or Mordi. And if either one fails their test, we’re in big trouble.”
“That is so. Unless you recover the stone first, of course.”
“Excuse me?”
“You will look for the stone as well,” Zephron said. “It is far too dangerous an artifact to be lost in the mortal world.” He looked straight at Hale, who saw his vacation go flying out the window. Except, of course, there wasn’t a window this far underground.
“Why Hale?” Donis said.
“Why me?” Hale asked at exactly the same time.
Why not you? This fits right in with your undercover mortal job. Elmer said, an obvious snicker in his squeaky ferret voice. Fashion accessories, I mean.
Hale scowled. Despite his sister’s, his father’s, and his ferret’s teasing, Hale’s assignment suited him just fine. Of course, being a romance novel cover model wasn’t a typical disguise. It wasn’t like he was a cop or a mild-mannered reporter. Still, it had some perks—good hours, good pay, gorgeous women. Plenty of time to search out and battle evil.
But that hadn’t meant Elmer teased him any less frequently.
“Why me?” Hale repeated.
“Hieronymous has minions everywhere, and this mission requires the utmost discretion. Hieronymous won’t think it’s odd that you are visiting your sister. Especially if the apparent purpose of your trip is to remind her of proper council protocol and procedure.”
Hale squinted. “Huh?”
Zephron’s image shuddered, shifting and shimmering until he was gone, replaced by video footage of a news program—“Witnesses say the hooded female actually flew thirty stories from the roof of the Tripoli Tower. . . .” The reporter’s voice faded out, and Hale cringed as Zephron’s image reappeared.
“You’re her mentor, after all,” Zephron said. “It’s only natural that you travel to Los Angeles to discuss such indiscretions.”
“Maybe she had a good reason,” Hale said, trying to suppress a smile. He should be annoyed, he knew. After all, she could’ve gotten hurt. But she’d actually flown. Which meant things were definitely shaping up in the fate-of-the-world department. Plus, he was going to California. Maybe he’d have a day or so to do some thong watchin
g after all.
“Hale,” Donis said, a note of warning in his voice.
Hale shrugged. “Or maybe we should just dump old Uncle H. into the pit and get on with our lives.” It seemed like a reasonable enough solution. Hieronymous bad. Punishment good.
“There is the small matter of proof,” Zephron said.
“So you’re not even sure Hieronymous is planning this Outcast-a-thon?”
“There are changes afoot, my friends,” Zephron said, which didn’t exactly answer Hale’s question. “Donis, you will travel with me to Olympus. We must prepare for the possibility that Mordichai will deliver the stone to Hieronymous before the eclipse.”
“Thanks so much for the vote of confidence,” Hale muttered.
“We hope for the best, but will prepare for the worst.” Zephron’s smile was grandfatherly and genuine. “The fact that I am sending you to recover the stone is all the proof you should require of my faith in your abilities.”
Hale sighed. He never could handle compliments. “Fine. Forget Greece. California, here I come.”
Woo-hoo! screeched Elmer. Maybe we can work in a trip to Hollywood Boulevard or even Disneyland. Maybe watch a taping of The Tonight Show! He started humming “Hooray For Hollywood,” and Hale rolled his eyes. Los Angeles wasn’t high up on his list. The smog made him sneeze, and when he sneezed, he tended to turn invisible. Which was never easy to explain—even in a town like L.A. that had seen it all before.
He pulled his thoughts back to the problem at hand. “So I’ll just tell the Zoëster what’s going on. We can scour the town and get this wrapped up in no time.” And maybe he could still work in some beach time.
“No,” said Zephron.
“Excuse me?” Hale said.
Donis leaned forward and stared at the head of the council. “Don’t you think my daughter would have a better chance at succeeding if she knew what she was doing?”
“She is a halfling,” Zephron said. “And from what I understand, her skill level leaves much to be desired.”
“She’s my daughter.”
