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Chapter Five

Izzy stood in the cafeteria line, bouncing a little as she checked her watch. She’d flown back to Manhattan from D.C. the night before, and she hadn’t yet even made it into her own office. She’d received an e-mail from Zephron that morning, sticking her on some committee (as if she had time for that!), and she’d raced from her apartment in the Village all the way to the Council’s headquarters under the U.N. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. She was starved. And if the line didn’t start moving faster, she was going to be late.
Greedily, she eyed the last lemon poppy-seed muffin, safe and snug in the display case. She was eighth in line, and mentally she tried to calculate the odds that the muffin would still be there when she reached the counter—taking into account the fact that she was definitely picking up on some strong poppy-seed-muffin vibes from somewhere ahead of her.
No idea. Math had never been her strong suit.
Maybe she could shout out that she wanted the muffin and ask them to set it aside for her. Might not work, but it was worth a shot.
Besides, she was ravenous, and if she didn’t get the lemon poppy-seed, she was stuck with zucchini (bad) or chocolate (worse). While she liked chocolate just fine, the idea of a chocolate muffin grossed her out. Cake, yes. Muffin, no. Some things were just plain sacred.
Inspired to lay her claim, she lifted her hand, trying to catch the clerk’s attention. No luck. But the seven Protectors in front of her and the five behind all noticed.
A few turned away immediately, making a point of not looking at her. Two started whispering together, and though her hearing wasn’t anything special, “that’s the one” drifted unmistakably toward her.
She blinked, lowering her hand. She couldn’t even stand in a stupid food line without getting stared at and whispered about. And she sure as Hades wasn’t going to ask that the muffin be set aside now. Zeus forbid it look like she were the recipient of some special muffin privilege.
She could hear it now. “Zephron’s her uncle, you know. Not only did he get her on the Council, he arranged it so that the cafeteria makes special meals for her. Veal when we have chicken. Eggs Benedict while we choke back dried-out pancakes. Lemon poppy-seed muffins while we’re stuck with those chocolate abominations. Privileged, undeserving little bit—”
“Ms. Frost?”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. She was sixth in line, the muffin was still there, and a familiar-looking man had sidled up next to her. She squinted, blinked, and then everything clicked into place.
“Patel! I didn’t recognize you. You look great.”
“Thanks.” He held out a hand to shake, then, obviously remembering the rules and who he was talking to, awkwardly tugged it back and shoved it into his pocket. “Re-assimilation will do that to a person. I feel like a new man.”
“You look like one.” He did, too. Where once he’d been a bit amphibious, now he seemed lean and trim. He gave the appearance of a man freshly scrubbed, and she caught the scent of his aftershave: an odd brand that reminded her of newly minted pennies. Unusual, but charming in its own way.
His face, once sheltered, now seemed more open. Happier. There was still a shadow behind his eyes, but she supposed that living six years as an Outcast would do that to a person.
Patel had been her very first re-assimilation, and one of the first group of Outcasts who’d applied after the passage of the Outcast Re-Assimilation Act. She hadn’t been surprised that he’d slipped so easily through the system. He was the ideal re-assimilation candidate, the kind of Outcast for which the act was passed in the first place.
He’d broken the rule against public defamation of the mortal political process—an Outcastable offense but (in Izzy’s opinion, anyway) nothing to get too worked up about. He’d been repentant, but it was a third offense, and the Council’s three-strikes rule was set in stone. Examples had to be made, and Patel had been out.
“I’ve been assigned to Elder Armistand,” he said. “Personal assistant.”
“No kidding? That’s great.” They moved forward in the line. Only four people ahead of her now, and the muffin was still there. “I’ve actually got a meeting with him in a few hours. I’ve never met him. What’s he like?”
“Oh, he’s fabulous,” Patel said. “Efficient, organized, no-nonsense. I’ve been doing a lot of work toward the treaty renegotiation.” He shrugged. “The man knows politics.”
“I suppose so,” Izzy said. “He hired you.”
Patel blushed a little. “Well, I like to think my re-assimilation essay played some role, but mostly I think you’re right.”
Izzy shrugged. There really was no sense sugarcoating the situation. Armistand had supported the act from day one. What better way to prove it was working like a charm than to hire the re-assimilated?
“And I get access to the elder spa,” he said. “So that’s cool.”
Izzy bit back a grin. The elders and their staff had access to exclusive spa facilities on Olympus. She’d been there once, as Zephron’s guest, and it had ruined her for every other spa experience.
From what she could see, Patel was taking full advantage of the facilities. He’d lost at least fifteen pounds, had a tan, smelled faintly of massage oil, and had been thoroughly cut, styled, and blow-dried.
Jealousy crested, and she made a mental note to schedule an appointment to have her hair trimmed and her nails done at Frederic Fekkai. Not Olympus, but not shabby either.
The line moved. Two people ahead of her now.
Patel shifted backward, clearly about to take his leave. “Anyway, I saw you and I just wanted to say hi and to tell you that I’m doing well. And it’s all due to you. Thank you.”
And then, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached out and took his hand, hoping that the gesture looked casual, as if she was so moved by the spirit that she simply forgot the rules. But it was a stupid rule, and she had to know. Had to be sure. He was her first and now, with Hieronymous’s re-assimilation dogging her, she just needed to know—with absolute certainty—that Patel was doing right.
That she’d done right.
His thoughts filled her, spilling into her head so quickly that she almost stumbled under the weight of him. Honor, commitment, honesty. Those things pervaded his brain. He was walking the straight and narrow, all right.
Izzy felt her smile broaden as she pulled her hand away. “It was great to see you,” she said. “I’m so glad you stopped to say hi.”
And then he was gone and she was the first in line. And, damn it all to Hades, the lemon poppy-seed muffin was gone.

Chapter Five

Izzy stood in the cafeteria line, bouncing a little as she checked her watch. She’d flown back to Manhattan from D.C. the night before, and she hadn’t yet even made it into her own office. She’d received an e-mail from Zephron that morning, sticking her on some committee (as if she had time for that!), and she’d raced from her apartment in the Village all the way to the Council’s headquarters under the U.N. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. She was starved. And if the line didn’t start moving faster, she was going to be late.
Greedily, she eyed the last lemon poppy-seed muffin, safe and snug in the display case. She was eighth in line, and mentally she tried to calculate the odds that the muffin would still be there when she reached the counter—taking into account the fact that she was definitely picking up on some strong poppy-seed-muffin vibes from somewhere ahead of her.
No idea. Math had never been her strong suit.
Maybe she could shout out that she wanted the muffin and ask them to set it aside for her. Might not work, but it was worth a shot.
Besides, she was ravenous, and if she didn’t get the lemon poppy-seed, she was stuck with zucchini (bad) or chocolate (worse). While she liked chocolate just fine, the idea of a chocolate muffin grossed her out. Cake, yes. Muffin, no. Some things were just plain sacred.
Inspired to lay her claim, she lifted her hand, trying to catch the clerk’s attention. No luck. But the seven Protectors in front of her and the five behind all noticed.
A few turned away immediately, making a point of not looking at her. Two started whispering together, and though her hearing wasn’t anything special, “that’s the one” drifted unmistakably toward her.
She blinked, lowering her hand. She couldn’t even stand in a stupid food line without getting stared at and whispered about. And she sure as Hades wasn’t going to ask that the muffin be set aside now. Zeus forbid it look like she were the recipient of some special muffin privilege.
She could hear it now. “Zephron’s her uncle, you know. Not only did he get her on the Council, he arranged it so that the cafeteria makes special meals for her. Veal when we have chicken. Eggs Benedict while we choke back dried-out pancakes. Lemon poppy-seed muffins while we’re stuck with those chocolate abominations. Privileged, undeserving little bit—”
“Ms. Frost?”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. She was sixth in line, the muffin was still there, and a familiar-looking man had sidled up next to her. She squinted, blinked, and then everything clicked into place.
“Patel! I didn’t recognize you. You look great.”
“Thanks.” He held out a hand to shake, then, obviously remembering the rules and who he was talking to, awkwardly tugged it back and shoved it into his pocket. “Re-assimilation will do that to a person. I feel like a new man.”
“You look like one.” He did, too. Where once he’d been a bit amphibious, now he seemed lean and trim. He gave the appearance of a man freshly scrubbed, and she caught the scent of his aftershave: an odd brand that reminded her of newly minted pennies. Unusual, but charming in its own way.
His face, once sheltered, now seemed more open. Happier. There was still a shadow behind his eyes, but she supposed that living six years as an Outcast would do that to a person.
Patel had been her very first re-assimilation, and one of the first group of Outcasts who’d applied after the passage of the Outcast Re-Assimilation Act. She hadn’t been surprised that he’d slipped so easily through the system. He was the ideal re-assimilation candidate, the kind of Outcast for which the act was passed in the first place.
He’d broken the rule against public defamation of the mortal political process—an Outcastable offense but (in Izzy’s opinion, anyway) nothing to get too worked up about. He’d been repentant, but it was a third offense, and the Council’s three-strikes rule was set in stone. Examples had to be made, and Patel had been out.
“I’ve been assigned to Elder Armistand,” he said. “Personal assistant.”
“No kidding? That’s great.” They moved forward in the line. Only four people ahead of her now, and the muffin was still there. “I’ve actually got a meeting with him in a few hours. I’ve never met him. What’s he like?”
“Oh, he’s fabulous,” Patel said. “Efficient, organized, no-nonsense. I’ve been doing a lot of work toward the treaty renegotiation.” He shrugged. “The man knows politics.”
“I suppose so,” Izzy said. “He hired you.”
Patel blushed a little. “Well, I like to think my re-assimilation essay played some role, but mostly I think you’re right.”
Izzy shrugged. There really was no sense sugarcoating the situation. Armistand had supported the act from day one. What better way to prove it was working like a charm than to hire the re-assimilated?
“And I get access to the elder spa,” he said. “So that’s cool.”
Izzy bit back a grin. The elders and their staff had access to exclusive spa facilities on Olympus. She’d been there once, as Zephron’s guest, and it had ruined her for every other spa experience.
From what she could see, Patel was taking full advantage of the facilities. He’d lost at least fifteen pounds, had a tan, smelled faintly of massage oil, and had been thoroughly cut, styled, and blow-dried.
Jealousy crested, and she made a mental note to schedule an appointment to have her hair trimmed and her nails done at Frederic Fekkai. Not Olympus, but not shabby either.
The line moved. Two people ahead of her now.
Patel shifted backward, clearly about to take his leave. “Anyway, I saw you and I just wanted to say hi and to tell you that I’m doing well. And it’s all due to you. Thank you.”
And then, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached out and took his hand, hoping that the gesture looked casual, as if she was so moved by the spirit that she simply forgot the rules. But it was a stupid rule, and she had to know. Had to be sure. He was her first and now, with Hieronymous’s re-assimilation dogging her, she just needed to know—with absolute certainty—that Patel was doing right.
That she’d done right.
His thoughts filled her, spilling into her head so quickly that she almost stumbled under the weight of him. Honor, commitment, honesty. Those things pervaded his brain. He was walking the straight and narrow, all right.
Izzy felt her smile broaden as she pulled her hand away. “It was great to see you,” she said. “I’m so glad you stopped to say hi.”
And then he was gone and she was the first in line. And, damn it all to Hades, the lemon poppy-seed muffin was gone.