"Aphrodite's_Secret_006" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)

APHRODITE'SSECRET-JULIEKENNER

Chapter Two

“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.
“But,” Hieronymous continued, “the Council will know the ‘truth.’ They will see a video replay, since I remotely reprogrammed the recording system on their North American satellite. They will see Jason taking his child. They will believe he did it so that he can thumb his nose at the Council. Thumb his nose at propriety itself.”
“I understand,” Mordi said. And he did. His father’s plan was nefarious. As usual. When the man put one of his plots into motion, he always pulled out all the stops.
Of all the Outcasts in the world, Hieronymous was the most ambitious. He wasn’t content to sit in exile; he wanted to crush both mortals and the Council. He wanted to be supreme ruler, and his enthusiasm was magnetic, drawing other Outcasts to him like flies to honey.
Mordi knew better than any just how compelling his father could be.
Hieronymous continued, “As I said, the plan is perfect. Not only will I get the boy; the Council will think our young Jason has defied them and pledged his allegiance to me.” He chuckled, a low, ominous sound.
Mordi had no idea why his father was so intent on destroying Jason. True, the Protector had escaped from one of his father’s infamous cells, but others had escaped Hieronymous’s clutches before. And yet Mordichai had never seen Hieronymous pursue his quarry with such vengefulness. Something else was going on, something personal, and Mordi had no idea what it was.
Under the circumstances, though, it didn’t matter. At the moment, he didn’t have any choice but to go along with his father’s plan. To do otherwise would blow his cover. And while Mordi didn’t have any clue why Hieronymous wanted the boy, one thing was certain: whatever the reason, it couldn’t possibly be good.

Jason frantically searched the park, but he couldn’t find any sign of his son. He wanted to leap from the tower, to search, to turn over leaves and ransack buildings until he found the boy, but he couldn’t. Right now, the lives of about fifteen people trapped in the Sky Tower were in danger.
Beneath him, the tower pitched and swayed with the raging storm, and the trapped mortals screamed again.
In one fluid motion, he dove from the Tower, hoping like heck that the propulsion properties of his cloak hadn’t short-circuited when the invisibility feature had gone kablooey. They hadn’t, and he gathered speed, zipping toward the lagoon, the closest body of water he could find.
If this were a movie, he’d simply hover beneath the Sky Tower, the bulk of the structure’s weight resting in one hand while he fought off an army of bad guys with his other. Not likely. He was strong, but not that strong. Maybe a few Protectors could pull off a stunt like that, but not him. No, his powers were subtler. He liked to think of them as classier. But he could still get the job done.
He broke the surface of the lagoon in a perfectly executed dive, the familiar feel of the water boosting his confidence. Almost immediately he flipped, turning 180 degrees until he was aimed back toward the surface. Without even pausing, he pushed off from the lagoon’s sandy bottom to spring up and out of the water, determining his plan of attack as he did.
When he surfaced, the tower was listing even more to the left, pressed down further by the weight of several wide-eyed mortals who’d shifted to watch his plunge into the water. A sharp, cracking noise ripped the air; this time not thunder but the sound of metal twisting and breaking. A cacophony of sounds followed, topped by the frightened screams of the mortals in the tower.
Jason tuned out the noise, hearing nothing except the sounds of the water in which he dipped his fingers, dragging his hand through the storm-roughened surface of the lagoon. He took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t hurry the process, his body tense nonetheless. Around his fingers, the water molecules shifted, spinning and humming as they conformed to his will.
Almost. . .
The structure groaned, the noise mimicking a cry of human pain.
Almost. . .
Jason held his breath.
Just a little more. ..
In front of him, the Sky Tower gave one last gasp of protest and lost its valiant fight. Down it went, plunging toward the solid earth below.
Now!
With lightning speed Jason drew up his hand, then splayed it sideways, sending a solid stream of water shooting out from the lagoon toward the falling tower. The timing was perfect and, with a few yards to spare, the stream slipped under the tower, cushioning its landing. Slowly the water melted away. Soon it would dissolve completely, leaving the tower to settle gently on the ground.
The mortals inside had grown surprisingly calm. Instead of screaming or fainting, most were simply goggle-eyed, staring and pointing at their salvation as if they’d never seen anything like it. Jason supposed that was true. Water rarely solidified and moved of its own accord. And even if the adults had watched James Cameron’s The Abyss—Jason’s all-time favorite movie—chances were they’d never actually seen a solid column of water up close and personal.
He suppressed a grin, pleased with his solution: subtle and classy, if a little bit wet.
Of course, the mortals were going to ask questions, but the MLO would put a good spin on his work. A freak miniature tidal wave, maybe? And that was their problem, not his. Right now he needed to go check out the rest of the park.
Jason frowned, suddenly realizing that the storm had ceased. The sky was perfectly blue, not a single cloud marring it.
Thank Zeus, he thought, then immediately cringed, realizing he had nothing to be thankful for. There was only one reason for the storm to have ended so abruptly, and it wasn’t good: while Jason was occupied with the Tower, Hieronymous had gotten what he’d come for.
Damn. Where in Hades was his backup? If he’d had some support, maybe they could have saved the mortals and prevented Hieronymous from finding the mysterious talisman he’d sought. As it was, Sea World was eerily quiet, so Hieronymous had probably gotten what he’d come for.
Jason’s stomach tightened as he remembered Davy. His boy was somewhere in the park. And even if squashing Davy wasn’t on Hieronymous’s agenda, Jason was certain that the Outcast leader would have no qualms whatsoever about doing so if the opportunity presented itself.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Jason leaped—in such a hurry to get to his son that he didn’t even check to make sure his cloak was still functional. Fortunately, it was. He adjusted its controls, and power surged around him, shooting him forward, across the park toward Shamu’s theater. As he soared over the building at the back of the enclosure, the pool came into full view—and so did Davy.
Jason shuddered. His father had outdone himself this time. Davy was strung up above the pool, tightly bound with sturdy white rope. The only thing missing from the horrifying picture was sharks swimming below—though that, considering Jason was on friendly terms with all the sharks in the park, could have come in handy.
But, no; the water was clear with the exception of the lovable orca Shamu pinioned to the bottom of his pool by some particularly strong-looking cables.
Jason exhaled, fighting to stay calm and professional. But it was hard. Hieronymous had both his son and his friend. Both were okay for the moment, but one of the first things they taught young Protectors was that when evil madmen string up children above a deep pool of water, it’s rarely for a nice reason.
In this case, of course, Jason knew the reason: revenge. This was retribution against him for not joining forces with his father.
His gut tightened, his hand clenching in anticipation of his own revenge. One way or another, he would make Hieronymous pay. And the more Hieronymous fought back, the worse it would be for him in the end.
Jason took two steadying breaths, focusing on the immediate problem of rescuing his son and Shamu. What happened? he called to the whale.
No answer.
Jason swallowed, fearing the worst. Unlike some species, orcas didn’t stay down for long, usually maxing out at fifteen or so minutes. And orcas needed to be conscious to breathe. If Shamu had been knocked out...
I’m okay. The whale’s voice was weak from under the water but understandable. But I’m trapped.
What happened!? Who did this? Is Hieronymous here? Jason spewed out his questions machine-gun style, one right after the other.
Someone else . . .
Who? Jason looked around wildly. Where is he?
Dunno. He was here, and then he was gone. Confusion filled the whale’s voice. He said something about me being on to him, and then he talked to himself about how this wasn‘t the right time; then the next thing I knew, those squid guys were strapping me to the bottom of the pool.
Jason grimaced. Henchmen. He’d suspected that they’d be here doing Hieronymous’s bidding. The slimy, slithery creatures were a pain, but he could handle them.
Protectors knew the truth about what mortals thought was only a bedtime story: creepy, crawly creatures really did roam the earth, often disguised as humans. For centuries, the Council had been tasked with locking in ancient catacombs those things that went bump in the night. When released, though, these “Henchmen” were loyal to a fault. And Hieronymous had used them on more than one occasion.
I’ll get you out of there, Jason promised, still not sure exactly how to do so without endangering the whale or his son. There was, after all, only one of him. And this was probably a trap. From what Shamu said, there was at least one Outcast and two Henchmen. Probably more.
From his perch atop the staff dressing room, Jason cursed, his mind going a million miles a minute. How could he do this?
A bolt of lightning streaked across the perfectly clear sky, followed by a clap of thunder so close it shook the stands. Jason’s eyes went to the stage at the front of the orca’s pool. There, a man had appeared front and center, his back to Jason.
Jason noted the invisibility cloak now crumpled at the man’s feet, and he tightened his jaw, desperate to attack—but not so desperate that he forgot his training. Until he either understood the situation or assessed that Davy or Shamu had to be saved immediately, he was going to wait and watch. Most likely, the Outcast would make a mistake he could use to his advantage. He ducked down, flattening himself on the rooftop. His lack of his own invisibility cloak was an irritation; hopefully, it wouldn’t become a liability.
The masked man nodded toward Davy, his polite gesture to the boy contrasting his decidedly evil intentions. “Please forgive the pyrotechnics,” he said, his voice polished and proper, with the hint of an accent. “They were necessary to serve my purpose.”
Definitely not Hieronymous, but... the voice was somehow familiar. Clearly, Hieronymous had directed one of his Outcast flunkies to this task, while the big dog himself called the shots from somewhere else. Jason snorted; that was just like the H-man.
Never quite willing to get his own hands dirty. That was why he was still allowed to roam freely, because there was never enough evidence to imprison him.
“Not that you care about my motives, of course,” the masked Outcast said. “But there are other ears listening and other eyes watching. I’m betting on it.” As he spoke, his hand drifted to his ear, and he nodded ever so slightly.
Jason frowned, wondering what the Outcast was up to. The reference to other eyes and ears had to mean the Council; even if they weren’t monitoring at the moment, this whole afternoon would be played back from the recordings the Council’s satellites made on a daily basis.
He crouched lower, maneuvering to the edge of the roof as he pondered the best plan of attack. At the moment, he believed Hieronymous’s flunky didn’t know he was there. A good thing, too. He needed the element of surprise. It was his only advantage.
His fingers itched with the desire to grab his cloak and zoom down to Davy’s rescue. But that would be foolhardy. He didn’t know how many Outcasts or other Henchmen were lurking about. And while he relished the opportunity to thwart one of Hieronymous’s schemes, he could never intentionally do anything that might put Davy further at risk.
He had to think of another approach. A subtler one.
Clenching his fists, Jason looked at the smaller holding pool behind Shamu’s tank. Maybe if he freed Shamu, the whale could somehow help him free his son.
Armed with a plan, Jason dropped back behind the building and ran to the holding pool.
As he did, the masked man continued speaking. “So many secrets,” the Outcast said. “About family. About alliances. Of course, it all boils down to politics—the bane of all adults’ existences. But you, Davy, are the key. Such a lucky, lucky little boy.”
Jason frowned, trying to process the words that sounded more like a rehearsed speech than a passionate diatribe. Politics? Secrets? What did this guy mean? Was Hieronymous’s flunky referring to the ongoing treaty negotiations between Protectors and mortals? It was no secret that Hieronymous was opposed to amending and expanding the Treaty of 1970. To him, mortals were nothing more than bugs to be squashed, and it irritated him to no end that the Council was negotiating with several governments to make a legitimate, open place in the world for Protectors.
Jason didn’t know exactly how Davy fit into Hieronymous’s plan, but he didn’t intend to waste time analyzing. Instead, he took a running leap, tossed his cloak aside, and soared through the air. He twisted, forming his body into a perfect dive. Slicing through the water with no splash, he sank to the bottom of Shamu’s holding pool. He felt his body change, his very pores drawing in oxygen.
Even as a human, he could stay down here forever. Today, though, he needed a disguise. He wasn’t a full shape shifter—someone who could assume any form—but he did have cetacean morphability. It was a handy trait inherited from his ancestor Delphinos.
A metal gate separated the holding pool from the performance pool where Shamu was trapped. In human form, Jason could easily raise the gate, but he didn’t want to risk being so obvious. So far, he hadn’t been noticed or recognized, and Jason intended to hold on to that advantage for as long as possible. He sped through the water, transforming at the same time. Faster and faster he went and then—as he approached the impenetrable metal bars of the gate—he launched himself, fully transformed as a gleaming, spectacular dolphin. He cleared the gate easily, landing in the main pool, just one more happy cetacean hanging out at Sea World.
As he neared the bottom his friend twisted, big black eye aimed straight at him. I can’t move, the whale said.
I can see that, Jason replied. How are you doing on air?
Starting to feel a little woozy.
I’ll get you out of here, Jason promised. Then I need your help.
The situation? Shamu asked.
Bad, Jason answered. And only going to get worse. He gave the orca a friendly nudge, then swam down toward the creature’s tail. I’m going to scope out what’s pinning you down. Stay calm.
Fortunately, Jason was able to make quick work of the bindings. Using the huge whale as cover, he changed back into his human form and released the latches. Then he shifted back into a dolphin.
Freed, the whale wriggled in delight and headed for the surface. Jason moved quickly to block his friend’s path. Stay down as long as you can stand it. We need to buy some time before that Outcast realizes you’re free and I’ve helped you.
You got it, Shamu said. But I can’t hold out much longer.
Jason didn’t waste time answering. Instead, he headed for the surface, then circled the pool, hoping his disguise was working. He didn’t want to be recognized as a Protector. Not yet. Not until he could figure out a way to get to his son.
The masked man took a little bow. “And now, dear Davy, you and I must run,” he said. “But before we go ...” Reaching up, he grasped the neck of the ski mask and pulled it over his head. “Anonymity is so cowardly, don’t you agree?”
And then the Outcast lifted his head, his disguise abandoned, his features clear for all to see.
Jason trembled, almost transforming back into human form from shock. Standing there on the stage, holding the child hostage and ranting like a madman . . . was himself.

APHRODITE'SSECRET-JULIEKENNER

Chapter Two

The storm whipped into a frenzy. Lightning crackled across the sky, thunder shook the buildings, and the wind blew cups, napkins, and plastic shopping bags around like so many leaves on an autumn afternoon.
Automatically, Jason’s gaze went to Davy. Zoë was right beside him, talking to a blond mortal while she pulled a child-sized Windbreaker out of her backpack and urged Davy into it. Jason had seen the blonde before with Lane, and now he searched both women’s faces. Neither looked concerned. Or, rather, they didn’t look concerned about anything other than keeping dry. All of which confirmed Jason’s assumption that Zoë wasn’t on duty. She was simply here with his son.
Zephron must not have realized that the boy was going to be around. If he’d known, he would have sent a Protector other than Jason here. Council Directive 827B made perfectly clear that Protectors were not to be assigned to any mission in which their offspring or mate were in danger. Which made sense, Jason supposed. A distracted Protector could end up botching his mission. Or worse.
His jaw tightened. He’d screwed up once before; he didn’t intend to do so again.
His cloak flapped around him, catching on the wild wind as he twisted, his eyes scouring the park for Hieronymous.
Nothing. No sign of the big, bad wolf anywhere. Yet he knew his father was involved in the storm.
A bolt of lightning cut the sky only inches from him, reaching down to split a tree with its finger of fire. The air hummed in its wake, Jason’s skin tingling and his hair standing on end. Around him, his cloak seemed to sag and fizzle. Looking down, Jason realized its invisibility shield was short-circuiting, leaving him visible to anyone who might glance up to the top of this building. He banged the heel of his hand against his forehead in frustration: he should have known better than to take a cloak that was still in beta-testing.
At the moment, though, that was a small worry. He had more important things to be concerned about. He reached for his holo-pager, this time actually turning it on. He set the dial for Council Dispatch, and almost immediately the operator appeared.
“Go ahead.”
“Jason, Protector Second Class. I have a level-two incident brewing. Backup requested.”
“Backup informed and en route. Over,” the dispatcher responded.
Jason clicked off, clinging tight to his perch with one hand as he used his binocs to search for any signs of Hieronymous, his band of Outcasts, or even the monstrous Henchmen that Hieronymous was prone to send out to do his mischief. Again, nothing. Just a freak storm that—according to Jason’s gut, at least—wasn’t freak at all. Surely he wasn’t wrong?
You better get over here, Shamu called. Despite the urgency in the whale’s voice, Jason smiled, happy to know his instincts weren’t failing him. Now, the whale added.
Roger. He wrapped his cloak tight around himself, preparing to jump down. Beneath him, the Sky Tower shifted, and he heard a child cry out. The tower tilted precariously and a cacophony of screams filled the air. The tower was also a ride, and it was now swaying back and forth—the terrified cries of the people inside growing as the tower looked ready to crash into the ground.
Jason glanced around, his mind sorting through possible ways to steady the pitching tower even as he searched the skies for his backup. No one. He glanced down, prepared to recruit Zoë‘s aid. But what he saw made his heart almost stop beating. Or, rather, what he didn’t see.
No Zoë.
No Davy.
Even the blonde was gone.
All that remained in the small enclosure was a child-sized yellow Windbreaker—torn, forlorn, and dejected on the park’s wet pavement.

“Zoë! Zoë, wake up!”
Deena’s voice, high-pitched and bordering on hysterical, filtered through the haze in Zoë‘s brain. She groaned, the only sound she could manage.
“Zoë?” Deena peered into her face, forehead creased with concern.
Her muscles screamed in protest, but Zoë tried to push herself up to a sitting position—only to realize that her wrists were behind her back, rather inconveniently tied to her ankles. She blinked, then blinked again, willing the world to come back into focus. “Davy,” she mumbled, her eyes opening wide as the import of her words struck her. “Where’s Davy?”
Deena shook her head, her eyes reflecting the fear that was fast consuming Zoë. “I don’t know. I came to just before you did.”
“Davy!” Zoë shouted. “Davy! Are you out there? Davy!”
No answer. Zoë took deep, even breaths, trying to stay calm and rational, to let her training kick in, even though all she wanted to do was scream hysterically.
She took another five deep breaths. “What in Hades happened?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
“Thomone thnuck up on uth, I gueth,” Deena said. The woman wasn’t quite as trussed up as Zoë, and at the moment she was gnawing away at the ropes binding her wrists.
“Hieronymous,” Zoë whispered, tugging at her own restraints. Every time Zoë blinked, Uncle H seemed to be doing something evil.
“We don’t know that,” Deena said, lifting her head. “Maybe we were just plain, old-fashioned mugged.”
“And tied up like this?” Zoë asked, using all her strength to urge her hands and ankles apart, willing the rope to fray. No luck. She exhaled, exhausted from the effort. “I don’t believe it. Too many coincidences. Davy missing. Us knocked out—”
“And some sort of magic rope, I guess,” Deena said, nodding toward her. “I mean, if you can’t get free ...”
Zoë just nodded. Now probably wasn’t the time to tell Deena that her powers had gone utterly wonky. “The storm, too,” she said instead. “I don’t think it’s really a storm.”
A burst of lightning illuminated their tiny prison, the glow seeping in through tiny cracks in the metal walls around them. A clap of thunder soon followed, and those walls shook angrily. Zoë cringed, hoping Davy had run inside somewhere, safe from the inclement weather.
“This isn’t a storm?” Deena said. “Trust me, Zo. It is.”
“I mean it’s not a natural storm,” she clarified.
“Hieronymous can control the weather?”
Zoë shook her head. “I didn’t think so. That’s what makes it all the more scary. Weather control’s a pretty rare talent. And unless he hid it from the Council for years, it’s not in Hieronymous’s skill set.”
Because of their past run-ins, Zoë considered herself well briefed on what Hieronymous could and couldn’t do. He had an amazing power of invention and a natural affinity for all things technical. He also had the Midas touch in investments, and he’d amassed a substantial fortune by trading in companies run by the mortals he so despised. But his superpowers weren’t up to this. Which meant...
“He made a weather machine,” Zoë said, voicing her guess. “Either that or he’s recruited a new Protector to do his dirty work. A powerful one.”
“Either way,” Deena said, “it sounds like he’s back to being a bad guy.”
Zoë nodded. Not that Hieronymous had ever stopped. Yet months had passed without a peep from the notorious Outcast leader.
It had been an interesting few months, with the Council focusing on other troublesome Outcasts. Hieronymous, it seemed, wasn’t the only one with delusions of grandeur. He was, however, the most notorious—so Zoë had been surprised when Zephron told her that her uncle was vacationing on an island somewhere. Apparently, he’d done enough work on his tan; now he’d returned to wreak havoc once more on the world of mortals.
“But why?” she asked. “Every time he’s popped up in the past, he’s wanted something particular. What does he want now?”
“Davy?” Deena guessed.
Zoë shot her friend a nasty look. “That’s not even funny.” There was no reason on earth why the Outcast boss would want a mortal six-year-old. “Davy’s probably right where we left him, wondering where the heck we went off to.”
“Duh!” Deena said. “We are so stupid! I forgot about your X-ray vision. I’ll just pull your glasses off and you can look outside. Maybe he’s sitting right there.”
Zoë swallowed. “Right,” she said. “No problem.” She held her breath, hoping it wouldn’t be a problem but knowing it probably would.
Deena scooted toward Zoë on her rear end, digging in with her heels as she inched forward. When she reached Zoë, she lashed out with her still-bound hands, managing to knock Zoë‘s tortoiseshell glasses to the ground.
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.
“But,” Hieronymous continued, “the Council will know the ‘truth.’ They will see a video replay, since I remotely reprogrammed the recording system on their North American satellite. They will see Jason taking his child. They will believe he did it so that he can thumb his nose at the Council. Thumb his nose at propriety itself.”
“I understand,” Mordi said. And he did. His father’s plan was nefarious. As usual. When the man put one of his plots into motion, he always pulled out all the stops.
Of all the Outcasts in the world, Hieronymous was the most ambitious. He wasn’t content to sit in exile; he wanted to crush both mortals and the Council. He wanted to be supreme ruler, and his enthusiasm was magnetic, drawing other Outcasts to him like flies to honey.
Mordi knew better than any just how compelling his father could be.
Hieronymous continued, “As I said, the plan is perfect. Not only will I get the boy; the Council will think our young Jason has defied them and pledged his allegiance to me.” He chuckled, a low, ominous sound.
Mordi had no idea why his father was so intent on destroying Jason. True, the Protector had escaped from one of his father’s infamous cells, but others had escaped Hieronymous’s clutches before. And yet Mordichai had never seen Hieronymous pursue his quarry with such vengefulness. Something else was going on, something personal, and Mordi had no idea what it was.
Under the circumstances, though, it didn’t matter. At the moment, he didn’t have any choice but to go along with his father’s plan. To do otherwise would blow his cover. And while Mordi didn’t have any clue why Hieronymous wanted the boy, one thing was certain: whatever the reason, it couldn’t possibly be good.

Jason frantically searched the park, but he couldn’t find any sign of his son. He wanted to leap from the tower, to search, to turn over leaves and ransack buildings until he found the boy, but he couldn’t. Right now, the lives of about fifteen people trapped in the Sky Tower were in danger.
Beneath him, the tower pitched and swayed with the raging storm, and the trapped mortals screamed again.
In one fluid motion, he dove from the Tower, hoping like heck that the propulsion properties of his cloak hadn’t short-circuited when the invisibility feature had gone kablooey. They hadn’t, and he gathered speed, zipping toward the lagoon, the closest body of water he could find.
If this were a movie, he’d simply hover beneath the Sky Tower, the bulk of the structure’s weight resting in one hand while he fought off an army of bad guys with his other. Not likely. He was strong, but not that strong. Maybe a few Protectors could pull off a stunt like that, but not him. No, his powers were subtler. He liked to think of them as classier. But he could still get the job done.
He broke the surface of the lagoon in a perfectly executed dive, the familiar feel of the water boosting his confidence. Almost immediately he flipped, turning 180 degrees until he was aimed back toward the surface. Without even pausing, he pushed off from the lagoon’s sandy bottom to spring up and out of the water, determining his plan of attack as he did.
When he surfaced, the tower was listing even more to the left, pressed down further by the weight of several wide-eyed mortals who’d shifted to watch his plunge into the water. A sharp, cracking noise ripped the air; this time not thunder but the sound of metal twisting and breaking. A cacophony of sounds followed, topped by the frightened screams of the mortals in the tower.
Jason tuned out the noise, hearing nothing except the sounds of the water in which he dipped his fingers, dragging his hand through the storm-roughened surface of the lagoon. He took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t hurry the process, his body tense nonetheless. Around his fingers, the water molecules shifted, spinning and humming as they conformed to his will.
Almost. . .
The structure groaned, the noise mimicking a cry of human pain.
Almost. . .
Jason held his breath.
Just a little more. ..
In front of him, the Sky Tower gave one last gasp of protest and lost its valiant fight. Down it went, plunging toward the solid earth below.
Now!
With lightning speed Jason drew up his hand, then splayed it sideways, sending a solid stream of water shooting out from the lagoon toward the falling tower. The timing was perfect and, with a few yards to spare, the stream slipped under the tower, cushioning its landing. Slowly the water melted away. Soon it would dissolve completely, leaving the tower to settle gently on the ground.
The mortals inside had grown surprisingly calm. Instead of screaming or fainting, most were simply goggle-eyed, staring and pointing at their salvation as if they’d never seen anything like it. Jason supposed that was true. Water rarely solidified and moved of its own accord. And even if the adults had watched James Cameron’s The Abyss—Jason’s all-time favorite movie—chances were they’d never actually seen a solid column of water up close and personal.
He suppressed a grin, pleased with his solution: subtle and classy, if a little bit wet.
Of course, the mortals were going to ask questions, but the MLO would put a good spin on his work. A freak miniature tidal wave, maybe? And that was their problem, not his. Right now he needed to go check out the rest of the park.
Jason frowned, suddenly realizing that the storm had ceased. The sky was perfectly blue, not a single cloud marring it.
Thank Zeus, he thought, then immediately cringed, realizing he had nothing to be thankful for. There was only one reason for the storm to have ended so abruptly, and it wasn’t good: while Jason was occupied with the Tower, Hieronymous had gotten what he’d come for.
Damn. Where in Hades was his backup? If he’d had some support, maybe they could have saved the mortals and prevented Hieronymous from finding the mysterious talisman he’d sought. As it was, Sea World was eerily quiet, so Hieronymous had probably gotten what he’d come for.
Jason’s stomach tightened as he remembered Davy. His boy was somewhere in the park. And even if squashing Davy wasn’t on Hieronymous’s agenda, Jason was certain that the Outcast leader would have no qualms whatsoever about doing so if the opportunity presented itself.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Jason leaped—in such a hurry to get to his son that he didn’t even check to make sure his cloak was still functional. Fortunately, it was. He adjusted its controls, and power surged around him, shooting him forward, across the park toward Shamu’s theater. As he soared over the building at the back of the enclosure, the pool came into full view—and so did Davy.
Jason shuddered. His father had outdone himself this time. Davy was strung up above the pool, tightly bound with sturdy white rope. The only thing missing from the horrifying picture was sharks swimming below—though that, considering Jason was on friendly terms with all the sharks in the park, could have come in handy.
But, no; the water was clear with the exception of the lovable orca Shamu pinioned to the bottom of his pool by some particularly strong-looking cables.
Jason exhaled, fighting to stay calm and professional. But it was hard. Hieronymous had both his son and his friend. Both were okay for the moment, but one of the first things they taught young Protectors was that when evil madmen string up children above a deep pool of water, it’s rarely for a nice reason.
In this case, of course, Jason knew the reason: revenge. This was retribution against him for not joining forces with his father.
His gut tightened, his hand clenching in anticipation of his own revenge. One way or another, he would make Hieronymous pay. And the more Hieronymous fought back, the worse it would be for him in the end.
Jason took two steadying breaths, focusing on the immediate problem of rescuing his son and Shamu. What happened? he called to the whale.
No answer.
Jason swallowed, fearing the worst. Unlike some species, orcas didn’t stay down for long, usually maxing out at fifteen or so minutes. And orcas needed to be conscious to breathe. If Shamu had been knocked out...
I’m okay. The whale’s voice was weak from under the water but understandable. But I’m trapped.
What happened!? Who did this? Is Hieronymous here? Jason spewed out his questions machine-gun style, one right after the other.
Someone else . . .
Who? Jason looked around wildly. Where is he?
Dunno. He was here, and then he was gone. Confusion filled the whale’s voice. He said something about me being on to him, and then he talked to himself about how this wasn‘t the right time; then the next thing I knew, those squid guys were strapping me to the bottom of the pool.
Jason grimaced. Henchmen. He’d suspected that they’d be here doing Hieronymous’s bidding. The slimy, slithery creatures were a pain, but he could handle them.
Protectors knew the truth about what mortals thought was only a bedtime story: creepy, crawly creatures really did roam the earth, often disguised as humans. For centuries, the Council had been tasked with locking in ancient catacombs those things that went bump in the night. When released, though, these “Henchmen” were loyal to a fault. And Hieronymous had used them on more than one occasion.
I’ll get you out of there, Jason promised, still not sure exactly how to do so without endangering the whale or his son. There was, after all, only one of him. And this was probably a trap. From what Shamu said, there was at least one Outcast and two Henchmen. Probably more.
From his perch atop the staff dressing room, Jason cursed, his mind going a million miles a minute. How could he do this?
A bolt of lightning streaked across the perfectly clear sky, followed by a clap of thunder so close it shook the stands. Jason’s eyes went to the stage at the front of the orca’s pool. There, a man had appeared front and center, his back to Jason.
Jason noted the invisibility cloak now crumpled at the man’s feet, and he tightened his jaw, desperate to attack—but not so desperate that he forgot his training. Until he either understood the situation or assessed that Davy or Shamu had to be saved immediately, he was going to wait and watch. Most likely, the Outcast would make a mistake he could use to his advantage. He ducked down, flattening himself on the rooftop. His lack of his own invisibility cloak was an irritation; hopefully, it wouldn’t become a liability.
The masked man nodded toward Davy, his polite gesture to the boy contrasting his decidedly evil intentions. “Please forgive the pyrotechnics,” he said, his voice polished and proper, with the hint of an accent. “They were necessary to serve my purpose.”
Definitely not Hieronymous, but... the voice was somehow familiar. Clearly, Hieronymous had directed one of his Outcast flunkies to this task, while the big dog himself called the shots from somewhere else. Jason snorted; that was just like the H-man.
Never quite willing to get his own hands dirty. That was why he was still allowed to roam freely, because there was never enough evidence to imprison him.
“Not that you care about my motives, of course,” the masked Outcast said. “But there are other ears listening and other eyes watching. I’m betting on it.” As he spoke, his hand drifted to his ear, and he nodded ever so slightly.
Jason frowned, wondering what the Outcast was up to. The reference to other eyes and ears had to mean the Council; even if they weren’t monitoring at the moment, this whole afternoon would be played back from the recordings the Council’s satellites made on a daily basis.
He crouched lower, maneuvering to the edge of the roof as he pondered the best plan of attack. At the moment, he believed Hieronymous’s flunky didn’t know he was there. A good thing, too. He needed the element of surprise. It was his only advantage.
His fingers itched with the desire to grab his cloak and zoom down to Davy’s rescue. But that would be foolhardy. He didn’t know how many Outcasts or other Henchmen were lurking about. And while he relished the opportunity to thwart one of Hieronymous’s schemes, he could never intentionally do anything that might put Davy further at risk.
He had to think of another approach. A subtler one.
Clenching his fists, Jason looked at the smaller holding pool behind Shamu’s tank. Maybe if he freed Shamu, the whale could somehow help him free his son.
Armed with a plan, Jason dropped back behind the building and ran to the holding pool.
As he did, the masked man continued speaking. “So many secrets,” the Outcast said. “About family. About alliances. Of course, it all boils down to politics—the bane of all adults’ existences. But you, Davy, are the key. Such a lucky, lucky little boy.”
Jason frowned, trying to process the words that sounded more like a rehearsed speech than a passionate diatribe. Politics? Secrets? What did this guy mean? Was Hieronymous’s flunky referring to the ongoing treaty negotiations between Protectors and mortals? It was no secret that Hieronymous was opposed to amending and expanding the Treaty of 1970. To him, mortals were nothing more than bugs to be squashed, and it irritated him to no end that the Council was negotiating with several governments to make a legitimate, open place in the world for Protectors.
Jason didn’t know exactly how Davy fit into Hieronymous’s plan, but he didn’t intend to waste time analyzing. Instead, he took a running leap, tossed his cloak aside, and soared through the air. He twisted, forming his body into a perfect dive. Slicing through the water with no splash, he sank to the bottom of Shamu’s holding pool. He felt his body change, his very pores drawing in oxygen.
Even as a human, he could stay down here forever. Today, though, he needed a disguise. He wasn’t a full shape shifter—someone who could assume any form—but he did have cetacean morphability. It was a handy trait inherited from his ancestor Delphinos.
A metal gate separated the holding pool from the performance pool where Shamu was trapped. In human form, Jason could easily raise the gate, but he didn’t want to risk being so obvious. So far, he hadn’t been noticed or recognized, and Jason intended to hold on to that advantage for as long as possible. He sped through the water, transforming at the same time. Faster and faster he went and then—as he approached the impenetrable metal bars of the gate—he launched himself, fully transformed as a gleaming, spectacular dolphin. He cleared the gate easily, landing in the main pool, just one more happy cetacean hanging out at Sea World.
As he neared the bottom his friend twisted, big black eye aimed straight at him. I can’t move, the whale said.
I can see that, Jason replied. How are you doing on air?
Starting to feel a little woozy.
I’ll get you out of here, Jason promised. Then I need your help.
The situation? Shamu asked.
Bad, Jason answered. And only going to get worse. He gave the orca a friendly nudge, then swam down toward the creature’s tail. I’m going to scope out what’s pinning you down. Stay calm.
Fortunately, Jason was able to make quick work of the bindings. Using the huge whale as cover, he changed back into his human form and released the latches. Then he shifted back into a dolphin.
Freed, the whale wriggled in delight and headed for the surface. Jason moved quickly to block his friend’s path. Stay down as long as you can stand it. We need to buy some time before that Outcast realizes you’re free and I’ve helped you.
You got it, Shamu said. But I can’t hold out much longer.
Jason didn’t waste time answering. Instead, he headed for the surface, then circled the pool, hoping his disguise was working. He didn’t want to be recognized as a Protector. Not yet. Not until he could figure out a way to get to his son.
The masked man took a little bow. “And now, dear Davy, you and I must run,” he said. “But before we go ...” Reaching up, he grasped the neck of the ski mask and pulled it over his head. “Anonymity is so cowardly, don’t you agree?”
And then the Outcast lifted his head, his disguise abandoned, his features clear for all to see.
Jason trembled, almost transforming back into human form from shock. Standing there on the stage, holding the child hostage and ranting like a madman . . . was himself.