The Council team was even now righting the bus, moving it to stable ground.
The children were safe! Hieronymous had done—
what
?
“A bomb,” Hieronymous said, answering Mordi’s unspoken question. “I recognized the damage when we approached the back of the bus. I feared there was another, and it would go off, so I did a quick pass under the bridge to confirm my fear.”
“And there was,” Mordi said. It wasn’t a question. The answer had become plainly obvious when the bridge had disintegrated under their feet.
“I didn’t have time to tell you. I simply reacted. The cable seemed the best bet. It was the only thing I could think of to keep the bus from falling into the river.” Hieronymous’s breath seemed to hitch. “So I did what I could to keep those poor, innocent children from falling to their doom.”
Mordi nodded, too stunned to conjure words. Hieronymous had just saved not only a busload of mortal children, but Mordi himself.
For the most infinitesimal moment of time, Mordi felt a surge of pride for his father, but that pride was quickly vanquished by fear. Because he still wasn’t convinced or the man’s goodness. If Hieronymous Black was resorting to saving mortal children to win the battle... then who knows what he would do to win the war.
Camera flashes strobed around him, and Hieronymous turned slowly, not wanting to thwart any of the reporters’ attempts to achieve the perfect camera angle. Because they’d been visible during the rescue, he, Mordi, and Isole were now the subject of the news media’s collective feeding frenzy. The other Protectors— those who’d been able to vanish under the shield of an invisibility cloak—had already surreptitiously departed.
Now, though Hieronymous knew that the Council elders would prefer silence, the three of them had no choice but to answer questions. The MLO would step in later and clear up the mess.
In the meantime, Hieronymous intended to make the most of this media-op. He had arranged it, after all. He would be a fool to let it simply pass by.
“Mr. Black! Mr. Black!” A reporter cried out for his attention. “Witnesses say you were
flying
. The footage from the news helicopters confirms this. Can you explain it? How did you and your companions accomplish something Like that?”
Mordichai stepped forward. “I don’t think—”
Hieronymous put an arm out, intercepting his son at chest level. “What my son means, Mr....”
“Branson,” the reporter said. “Roger Branson, Channel Two.”
“Mr. Branson,” Hieronymous acknowledged. “As my son was about to explain, that information is on a need-to-know basis only. If I were you, I’d simply be thankful that such technology does exist, and that it was able to come to the aid of those poor children.
They
, not me or my companions, should be the subject of your cameras.”
He flashed what he hoped seemed a genuine smile. He was a little out of practice, but he thought he managed okay. Branson looked suitably chastised and, Hieronymous knew, he himself would come off looking all the more like a hero for trying to deflect the media attention away toward the little brats.
It wouldn’t work, of course. The spotlight would remain firmly on him—as it should. But by having tried, he would raise his PR quotient a point or two. And, after all, this was all about perception.
Beside him, he saw Isole sidle toward Mordi. All doubts had left her; of that, Hieronymous was certain.
Good
. He wanted the pathetic Halfling to feel all the more foolish when she finally realized the truth: that she was nothing more than a pawn in a plan he’d been hatching for so very many years.
Reporters shouted more questions, and he deftly fielded them. As he spoke, his eyes skimmed the crowd, looking for any sign of Clyde or others of his soldiers.
No one
. Good. They’d faded back into the crowd, losing themselves in the sea of faces. They’d stay hidden, he knew, until next he called on them.
His mouth curved in the tiniest of smiles. Everything was coming together perfectly. Even the close proximity of his son couldn’t spoil his plan or his mood. Hieronymous was a new hero to the mortals. And soon—very soon—he’d be hailed as the most supreme of all Protectors.
And when he was once again swaddled in the warm and welcoming embrace of the Council, only then would he take final action.
And, yes, he would prevail. Failure was simply not an option.
“We should have shut him down,” Mordi said.
Izzy shrugged. She’d thought the same thing at the time, but then dismissed it. Normally, protocol required a Protector to avoid the mortal news media as much as possible. But these weren’t normal circumstances.
“The media was already there,” she said. “It would have caused a furor if we’d pulled him out.” She frowned. “Besides, I think the only way to have gotten him out would be to use some of our powers or our cloaks, or to call in a retrieval team. And any one of those acts would have created just as much of a stir.”
Mordi frowned, but he didn’t look convinced. They were back in her office, waiting for Hieronymous to finish his debriefing with the Council elders. It wasn’t standard procedure by any means, but considering who Hieronymous was, the elders had decided the meeting was prudent.
Mordi and Izzy had retired to her office and drafted their reports, taking turns at her computer. They’d been finished for almost ten minutes, and there was still no sign of Hieronymous.
“It may be a media nightmare, but frankly, I think this may have been the best thing that could have happened,” Izzy said.
Mordi blinked, his entire being emitting a total lack of comprehension.
“For the treaty, I mean. You heard what Banyon said. The mortals in-the-know fear the Outcasts, and your father is the biggest Outcast of all. If the emissaries see that he’s suddenly rescuing mortal children—”
“Well, sure. Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?”
“My father’s no hero. He’s just as conniving and
devious
as ever. More, even, since he’s actually willing to be
nice
to mortals if it gets him what he wants.”
Izzy gaped at him. “You still think he’s
faking
?”
“Hell, yes.”
“
Faking
?” she repeated, feeling slightly idiotic. But
really
, hadn’t he seen the man jump to action?
“Is there an echo in here?”
She drew in a breath. “Look, Mordichai, I understand that you and your father have some issues—”
“
That’s
the understatement of the year.”
“—but you can’t turn your back on reality.”
“No,” Mordi said, “that’s your job.”
Anger whipped through her. “Dammit, Mordi. Don’t you trust me even a little bit?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. I want to. But...”
“ ‘But?’ ” she repeated, her blood turning cold. Suddenly, it dawned on her. “You think I’m working with him! That your father has some ridiculous plot, and I’m in on it!” Oh, sweet Hera, had he simply been using her? Was she simply a pawn in some giant investigation? And she’d slept with him—
made love
with him—while he was simply doing his job!
“Dammit, Izzy, take a step back and tell me how it looks.”
“I
have
told you how it looks. I’ve seen inside your father’s head, and he looks sincere. But you don’t trust me. You either think I’m incompetent or that I’m lying, and—”
“No,” he said.
She glared at him, but didn’t say anything.
“Iz, I know my father. Maybe
you
should try listening to
me
. Or are
you
the one who’s not trusting?”
“You know what? I was factoring in your opinion—I really was. But did you miss what happened yesterday? He saved those kids!”
“Posturing.”
“I don’t agree,” she said.
The intercom buzzed, and Isole’s assistant announced that Elder Bilius requested her presence in his office. “Thanks,” she said into the speaker, relieved to have an excuse to leave. The tension between her and Mordi was impossibly thick, making her usually cozy office feel small, as if the walls were closing in. She needed some time alone, needed to think, to sort everything out.
“
Izzy
,” Mordi said as she opened the door. It was just her name, but his voice held a question. She turned back to him and waited. “I’ll pick you up after work?”
Isole swallowed. She’d agreed to go with him to a rehearsal dinner for two friends of his in Los Angeles who were getting married. They were supposed to catch the Council shuttle there, then stay the night on Mordi’s brother’s houseboat. Now, though ...
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m up to it.” She looked at the floor, not willing to meet his eyes. “Besides, it sounds like Bilius is going to have me working late.”
“You’re sure?” Mordi asked, and she understood that he was talking about more than just the rehearsal dinner.
She wasn’t. She wasn’t sure at all. But she didn’t say anything; she just nodded. And then she stepped into the hall and let the door shut behind her.
Izzy met with the Inner Circle that afternoon, in an emergency meeting called by Elder Bilius. All the elders were present. All, that is, except Zephron.
“The High Elder does not have time for these administrative details,” Elder Trystan said in response to Izzy’s query.
She nodded, duly chastised. “You wanted to see me?”
“The treaty negotiations have been pushed forward to tomorrow morning,” Bilius said. “The mortals are anxious, particularly after the school bus incident. Their ambassadors want to use that incident as a rallying cry to gain mortal support for the treaty.”
“I see,” Izzy said, though she didn’t see what that had to do with her.
“Obviously, we will also be pushing up the schedule for Hieronymous’s re-assimilation,” Armistand added.
“Oh.”
Now
she understood. “Yes, er, well...”
“You do have a positive opinion at this point, do you not?” That came from Bilius, along with a significant scent of hope. She frowned, once again remembering how he’d come a full 180 degrees from his original point of view.
“Well, child?” Dionys said. “We would like your recommendation. ”
“You can file the formal papers later, of course,” Trystan added.
Izzy swallowed. The elders hadn’t moved, but it seemed as though they were surrounding her, a tight circle moving closer and closer. She thought about Mordi’s doubts and about Bilius’s previous distaste for Hieronymous. She remembered the odd metallic smell she’d scented earlier on Patel... then remembered smelling the same scent on Hieronymous himself. Did that mean something?
And then, again, she thought about Mordi. He might not trust her, but she was beginning to wonder if she’d made a mistake by not trusting him. Hadn’t he known his father better than anyone else? Wasn’t this re-assimilation coming along a little too easily?
She couldn’t know for sure, and that’s what finally fueled her answer. “My recommendation is for further testing,” she said. “It would be imprudent to admit Hieronymus to the Council at this point. He hasn’t completed the tests, and politics should not be the deciding factor.”
The elders looked at each other, then Bilius said, “Thank you, child. We shall certainly give your recommendation the utmost weight.” He smiled, then, and though she tried to read his emotions, she couldn’t. All she could pick up on was a keen desire for Hieronymous’s return. The elder waved dismissively. “That will be all.”
When she got back to her office, Izzy found Hieronymous already waiting for her. He looked up, a charming smile on his features, nothing menacing at all.
Even so, she heard Mordi’s voice telling her she was wrong. Telling her the man was bad.
This time, she believed him.
She waited for Hieronymous to say something, anything, about his meeting with the elders, but when the silence continued to hang heavy between them, she had to assume he was going to keep those details to himself.
“Mr. Black,” she said, moving to sit behind her desk. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”
“My dear, I don’t know what you mean.” He rose from the sofa and moved across the room, finally pulling the guest chair up so that he was only inches away from her desk, his hand resting on its oak veneer. He started drumming a rhythm on the desk. She frowned at his hand, the noise irritating, but he didn’t seem to notice her consternation. “Everything is going exactly as planned.”
“As planned? Whose plan?”
His smile chilled her to the bone. “Mine, of course,” he said, and then began that damn finger-tapping again.
She slammed her hand down onto her desktop, startling him into silence. “Cut the cryptic bullshit, Mr. Black. Tell me what’s going on.”
A moment passed, and then another, before Hieronymous finally spoke. “I should thank you,” he said simply.
Izzy frowned. She didn’t want to ask, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Thank me for what?”
“Why, for believing in me, of course. It made everything so much easier.” His broad smile transformed the hard lines of his face, making it almost handsome. She stifled a shudder. This was bad. Though she didn’t know what, exactly,
this
was. But she did know with absolute certainty that it wasn’t good. And she knew that she’d screwed up. Mordi had been right, and the world was about to cave in around her shoulders.
Hieronymous watched her, apparently expecting her to speak. She didn’t. It was a tiny defiance, but she took a small amount of pride in it. He might be taking her down, but she wasn’t going willingly.
After a moment, he continued. “And, of course, I should thank you for being good at your job. Your promotion was most unexpected, but quite useful to my plan.”
She couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I’m not so sure I
am
good at my job. I’m pretty sure I got you completely wrong.”
He laughed, the sound utterly without mirth. “Well, my dear. I suppose that depends entirely on your point of view, yes?”