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APHRODITE'SSECRET-JULIEKENNER

Chapter Twelve

“It’s been this whole big argument,” Deena continued. “Because, uh, Davy wants me and Hoop to come. But we’re not related. And, um, Lane wanted you to come, too, Aaron. But you’re not related either.”
“You did?” the man asked, smiling at Lane. Jason stifled the urge to slug him.
“Absolutely,” Lane agreed, nodding a bit more energetically than the situation called for.
“Oh,” Aaron said.
“Make sense?” Hoop asked.
“I’m not s—”
“Good,” Lane said. She swung an arm around his shoulder. “Maybe we can talk about it later?”
They were at the door. “I’d like that,” Aaron said. “Breakfast tomorrow?”
Lane pulled open the door even as Jason opened his mouth to say no. “Sure, that would be great,” she said. She urged the man out over the threshold.
Before she could close the door, though, he managed to take her hand and kiss her fingertips. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said, “but we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Lane agreed.
The door closed, and she pressed her back against it, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Let’s call Zephron,” she said.
Jason agreed, even though at the moment Jason couldn’t care less about the High Elder. All he wanted to do was run after Aaron and inform the man, in no uncertain terms, that Lane was his and she wouldn’t be going out on dates with anyone else.
Except she was. She was having breakfast with Aaron.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Lane had heard all about the secret Ops Center deep below the Washington Monument. Every time Zoë and Hale had an encounter with Zephron, that’s where they met him, and since the first time she’d heard about it, Lane had wanted to someday see the installation.
Today, unfortunately, wasn’t going to be that day.
“He’s going to think I’m a slob,” she said, pushing past Hoop to get into the closet next to the door. She shoved aside an ankle-length, black wool coat that was wholly unnecessary in Los Angeles and grabbed the handle of her Hoover vacuum. “This place is a mess.”
With a yank, she managed to free the vacuum, then dragged the cord to the nearest socket. From her half-upside-down position plugging it in, she shot glares at the others in the room. Deena and Hoop, Zoë, Taylor, and Jason all stared back at her, their faces either blank or confused.
“Well?” she prompted.
Deena’s tongue traced the edge of her mouth, cleaning up a tiny bit of filling from the Twinkie she’d snagged from Hoop. “Well, what?”
“Don’t just stand there,” Lane said. “Start picking up some of this clutter.” She swept her arm to indicate the room and all the textbooks, study outlines, and Harry Potter books that covered its every horizontal surface.
Zoë had managed to get through to Zephron, and instead of the High Elder ordering them all to Washington, the grandfatherly old man was coming here. To her apartment. And he would surely arrive any minute.
Here her friends and Jason were, standing around doing nothing.
“Move,” she snapped. She shoved the handle of her vacuum into Jason’s hands. “Clean.” She wiped the palms of her hands on her shorts, her gaze taking in everything of her tiny apartment. This was not the lap of luxury, but it would do. “Okay. I’m going to go make cookies or something.” She had slice-and-bake. Nine minutes for soft and chewy. No problem.
In truth, as much as she wanted to see the Ops Center, she was secretly grateful that Zephron was coming here. And focusing on cleaning for her friends’ head honcho’s arrival meant she didn’t have to think about Jason, his recent revelation, or the rather surprising update to Davy’s family tree.
Jason’s hand closed over her wrist, and she started, looking up at him with surprise. “Uh, Lane,” he said. “Zephron’s not coming here. Just his hologram.” He glanced around the room. “Trust me. He won’t be able to see a thing. Or have any cookies.”
“Oh.” She blinked, reaching out to clutch the vacuum, then hung on to it like a life vest. “Well. Hmmm.”
“We should talk.” His low voice, meant only for her ears, was caressing. She shivered, despite herself.
“Zephron,” she said. “There’s no time. He’ll hologramize or something here any minute.”
“Lane ...” Jason’s voice held a hint of reproach, and she scowled.
“I’m not the one keeping secrets,” she snapped. “You’ve had your entire life to get used to the idea of who your father is. At the very least, you owe me twenty minutes to get my thoughts together.”
She never heard his response, because Zoë‘s pager beeped, signaling Zephron’s call. Zoë placed the device on the floor, and it emitted a swirl of light that ultimately solidified, forming a shape. The soft edges of that light faded, leaving only Zephron, glowing like some ethereal creature right in the middle of Lane’s still-unvacuumed seventies-style shag carpeting.
Lane had always thought the Internet was cool, but this hologram was downright amazing.
“I understand Hieronymous has been up to his old tricks,” the High Elder said without preamble. Zephron looked just as Lane had imagined: a kindly grandfather with a hint of Merlin mixed in.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Jason piped up.
Zephron’s eyes softened. “I would never believe that you did.”
Zoë sighed. “I’m sorry about calling you here, but Prigg... and Jason’s father .. . and, well, everything—”
Zephron interrupted. “Would you have the Council judge you by the fact that you’re a halfling? That your uncle is an Outcast? That you are married to a mortal?”
Zoë shook her head, silent.
“And well you should not.” The High Elder straightened, seeming to tower over everyone in the room despite taking up a mere eight inches of space from the floor to the top of his projection. “There are those in the Inner Circle who question Jason’s loyalty. I, myself, do not. Character will prevail.”
Jason sighed. “So, why are you here? Can’t you set Prigg and the Inner Circle straight?”
“The boy,” Zephron said. His hologram turned to Jason. “You are a man and capable of taking care of yourself, of making your own decisions. But the boy needs our protection. Under the circumstances, Hieronymous will surely double his efforts to reacquire the child.”
“Circumstances?” Lane asked, barely able to force the word past the dryness in her throat. She stumbled forward, intent on heading for Davy’s room, just to take a peek, just to make sure he was all right.
Deena’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Stay,” the woman whispered. “I’ll go.”
Lane nodded, grateful to have friends who knew her so well.
“Why?” Jason asked. “What does he want with Davy?”
“His mind,” Zephron explained.
Lane blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The child is brilliant. And he will become more so—perhaps one of the smartest of our kind.”
“It’s true,” Jason said. “Dorothy told me he made a tracking device. That’s how Elmer could help tell me where I could find him.”
Lane shook her head, shocked. None of that made any sense. “Davy made it?” She shook her head, amazed that she’d completely misunderstood what Jason had told her about the Lite-Brite map. “I thought his inventions were just toys,” she said. “I never even suspected—”
“Nor would most mortals,” Zephron said. “But I assure you it is true. And soon his mental prowess will reach the first moment of... adjustment.”
“What’s that?”
“A halfling’s seventh birthday,” Zephron explained.
“I remember that,” Zoë said. “My powers went nuts then.”
“Indeed,” Zephron agreed, smiling at her like a prize pupil. “And so will Davy’s. Unlimited potential. Shifting in his mind. Sorting through the corridors of his brain. Loose energy looking for an anchor.”
“This makes no sense at all,” Lane muttered, harsher than she intended. But, damn them all, this was her son they were talking about. She didn’t need riddles. She needed answers.
As if reading her mind, Zephron aimed his calming smile her way. “Hieronymous seeks to usurp the boy’s power. At midnight on his seventh birthday, that power is, in fact, in flux. With the right equipment, Hieronymous could, shall we say, bottle Davy’s intellect.”
Lane swallowed. “And what happens to my son?” Her voice came out only a whisper, and she reached for Jason’s hands, reassured by his fingers, which closed tight around hers.
Zephron shrugged. “The child would live, but he would lose that part of himself forever.”
A tear trickled down Lane’s face, and she brushed it away, hating herself for being emotional. Still, nothing would happen to Davy. Nothing. Hieronymous wouldn’t get past her.
“But it has to be on his seventh birthday,” Zoë spoke up, all business. “On the midnight leading into his birthday. So ... between Thursday and Friday?”
Zephron nodded. “Correct.” His image shifted, and he turned, taking in each one of them. “Remember: midnight. Protect the boy until then, and the boy will be safe forever.” He smiled. “Safe, that is, from this danger at least.”
The High Elder’s image sputtered and sparked, and then it disappeared, leaving them all alone in the living room. Lane hugged herself, feeling both hopeful and terrified. She leaned against Jason, drawing strength from the arm he wrapped around her.
“We’ll just keep him inside until then,” Taylor suggested. “It’s that simple. Me and Zoë and Boreas, too. We’ll all stay here.”
“What about me and Deena?” Hoop asked. “I’m tracking a deadbeat dad, but I can put that on hold if you need me.”
Jason shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ve got it covered.”
“He’s right,” Taylor said. “Go earn a paycheck.”
“Besides,” Jason added, “the houseboat’s pretty small. One bedroom, and not too many places to sleep in the rest of the place.”
“The houseboat?” Taylor asked.
“Absolutely,” Jason said. “I know the boat better, it’s already secure, and I feel safer on the water.”
Taylor and Zoë exchanged glances.
“Lane and I have already talked about it,” Jason added.
Lane nodded. He was right; she’d agreed. But now . . . She licked her lips, unsure. Being in such close quarters with Jason—she wasn’t certain it would be smart. But if his houseboat was the best place to keep Davy safe, she really didn’t have a choice. “I agreed we’d stay until Davy’s safe,” she said, needing to make sure the boundaries were clear.
Jason nodded. “Then we’re settled.” He grinned. “Looks like Hotel Jason is open for business.”

* * *
Dinner at Hotel Jason would never earn a four-star ranking, but Davy had a great time, which counted big in Lane’s book.
“You’re sure he liked it?” Jason asked from behind her. The houseboat had two stories, and Jason’s bedroom was on top. A balcony opened off that room, separated by a sliding glass door. Lane stood on the balcony, her arms wrapped around her to fight the chill of the ocean breeze.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Mac and cheese and hot dogs? That’s a six-year-old’s idea of heaven.”
“Taylor looked pretty grossed out,” Jason said.
“True,” Lane admitted. She took his hand, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t worry about it, though. They’re here to help, not to critique your cooking.”
“I...” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“They’re your family. Your friends. I’m already starting at a disadvantage. I’m the guy who walked away.”
She didn’t know what to say. The truth was, he was right. For years she’d complained about the jerk who’d left her. Here he was.
Rather than tackle the topic head-on, she sidestepped it. “So ... Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sat down on a wrought-iron settee, pulling her down next to him. “I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t know how many times I started to.” He squeezed her hand. “About being a Protector, I mean. The other— Hieronymous being my dad—that, I didn’t find out myself until. . . well, the timing wasn’t good.”
She cocked her head, not understanding. “You didn’t know who your father was?” Of course, she’d never known her father either. Her mother was a shadowy, irresponsible figure; her father was a complete mystery.
“My mother figured it was best I didn’t know. She didn’t tell Hieronymous either. He had no idea he had a son. I found out later from the Inner Circle. Apparently some of the elders did a bit of genealogical research—they were convinced I had bad blood.” He snorted. “Hell, when they first told me, I thought the same thing.”
Lane was silent a moment, then asked, “What did you mean by bad timing?”
Jason took a deep breath, then kissed her fingertips. The simple gesture sent shock waves through her body, and Lane struggled to maintain her composure. She and Jason were just talking. Talking. Nothing more.
“One of the elders told me about my father the same day you told me you were pregnant.”
“Oh, my,” Lane whispered.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “So off I went to capture my big, bad dad.”
“Except he captured you.”
Jason smiled, the expression slightly sick. “Got it in one,” he said. “And Hieronymous kept me locked up for years. I lost track of time—that happens when I’m transformed—but at some point Hieronymous figured out who I was. He offered me money, power, whatever I wanted. All I had to do was join him.”
“But you said no.”
“And he didn’t take that particularly well.”
“What happened?”
Jason squeezed her fingers. “I finally escaped. A good thing, too. I’m not certain Hieronymous would have let me live. He’s not the type to take rejection lightly.”
“Then it should be over,” she said. “The elders must know you’re on the Council’s side, and—”
He pressed a finger to her lips.
“No?” she murmured.
“No.” He drew in a deep breath, his face taking on an intensity she’d never seen before. “But they’ll know soon enough. Hieronymous stole my life from me. He stole years, he stole you, he stole my son. And he stole my honor. Soon enough, I’ll have my revenge. And once and for all the elders will know just where my loyalty lies.”
The icy fury in his voice scared Lane, and she pulled her hand away. The ocean’s chill once again touched her, and she felt anger of her own. “You’ll do what you have to do,” she said. “I know that better than anyone.” She turned back, faced him. “But don’t do anything until Davy’s safe. I don’t care about your ‘honor,’ I don’t care about your ‘stolen years.’ I don’t care about revenge. I want my son safe.”
He took her hand. “I know.”
“Do you? Let me be perfectly clear. You ran off once before when I needed you. I need you again now, and so does Davy. Dammit, you better come through. I don’t care what you do on Friday, but until then, you stick to your son like glue. After that, you can go off and do whatever you like.”
He took her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She felt the tears trickling down her face, and she tilted her head back, blinking. He caught her mouth, and she returned his kiss hungrily, angry at herself for wanting him so much.
“I promised you,” he said, breaking away. “Nothing else will happen to Davy.”
She nodded, then lifted her head for another kiss. She wanted to lose herself in his lips before she lost him entirely. She’d seen the intensity in his eyes. Once Davy was safe, Jason would be gone. He had a debt he wanted paid, and she saw now he put that debt above her. Above his son.
She told herself she wasn’t hurt. But she was. She didn’t want him to leave. Jason had come back into her life such a short time ago, but there was no question it still felt right.
She pulled away, breaking their kiss. She’d already screwed up once this time around; she didn’t intend to make the same mistake twice. She’d had her life under control before Jason had come back into it. Best she stayed centered on the path she’d plotted.
“Lane?”
“I’m okay,” she said with a watery smile. And it was even sort of true.
Because, with or without Jason, Lane would make sure she and Davy were fine. And that would be true no matter what.

APHRODITE'SSECRET-JULIEKENNER

Chapter Twelve

Automatically, Lane took two deep breaths and reminded herself what she’d just suffered with Davy: a horrible, terrible, awful day. This—her current boyfriend staring at the man she’d just slept with, who happened to be the father of her child—was nothing compared to that.
Really.
Aaron, trial lawyer that he was, recovered quickly. He held out his hand for Jason to shake. “I’m Aaron,” he said, his polite countenance covering his initial expression of confusion and hurt. “And you are... ?”
“Very pleased to meet you,” Jason answered. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’d say the same,” Aaron suggested, “except I don’t know who you are.”
“Ah,” Lane spoke up, leaning forward to interrupt. “About that. Um. ..” She squinted at Jason. “Go check on Davy, okay?”
“But—”
“Go,” she insisted, pointing toward their son’s room.
Thank goodness he went, though he didn’t look happy. She wasn’t in much of a position to argue; certainly she wasn’t going to drag him bodily to the other room.
Aaron watched Jason go, his jaw firmly set.
“Can you step back outside for a second?” Lane asked.
“Lane ...” His voice held a hint of warning.
“Please?” She needed a moment to get the room, and her head, in order.
“Maybe I should just shut the door behind me and leave,” he said, his curt words like a slap.
She shook her head, blinking back tears and a wave of guilt-induced nausea. “No, please. We need to talk. But I need a moment.” She met his eyes, sure hers were as full of guilt as his were of ice. “Aaron, please.”
His shoulders sagged just slightly and he nodded. Stepping onto the walkway outside, he pulled the door shut.
Lane moved quickly, tossing the bedsheets into the middle of the couch. She grabbed the sofa bed and shoved it back together, then replaced its cushions.
Stepping back, she gave the living room an appraising glance. Jason’s T-shirt hung over a chair, and she grabbed it, ran to Davy’s room, opened the door, and tossed it in.
Inside, she caught a glimpse of Jason, with Elmer on his lap and Davy on the floor.
She held up a finger in response to his open mouth. “Not yet,” she said. “Just stay.” She blew Davy a quick kiss, then scurried backward, pulling the door closed.
She headed for the door, a little mantra—I don’t need this; I really, really don’t need this—echoing in her head.
Pausing at the threshold, she clutched the front door’s knob and took three deep breaths. Finally feeling ready to confront the reality that was her life, she tugged open the door.
Taylor.
No Aaron? Instead, her brother—George Bailey Taylor—filled the doorway. Lane blinked, wondering when she’d stepped out of the real world and into Bizarroland.
He grabbed and tugged her into a bear hug. He gave her one long squeeze, then another—and then one more for good measure before he finally stopped and held her by her shoulders, looking her over.
His face was lined with fear and exhaustion. The exhaustion probably had something to do with the time change. The fear she attributed to the escapades of herself and her son.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “And where’s Davy?”
“Davy’s fine,” she said. Squinting, she peered over his shoulder, but she couldn’t find any sign of Aaron. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not She owed the man an explanation, that much was certain. But his timing wasn’t exactly great, so maybe she should just thank Fate or whoever that he’d decided to skip out on her. She could, after all, track him down later.
“Lane?” Taylor prompted. “Where’s my nephew?”
“Uncle Taylor!” Davy’s door flew open, and then the boy himself raced from the room. “Uncle Taylor! I got kidnapped, but I got away, and I’m fine now, and the tennis shoes you bought me helped.”
Taylor caught the boy on the fly and swung him around. “Hey there, sport. I heard you had an adventure. Pretty impressive for a little squirt.” His eye caught Lane’s, and she knew he still didn’t have— but desperately wanted—the whole story.
Jason headed into the room, looking slightly frazzled. Lane stifled a smile. Less than ten minutes in a room with Davy and the boy’s father was already experiencing overload. “I’m sorry, Lane. He heard George’s voice and boom.” He nodded toward Taylor. “It’s good to see you again, George.”
“I’m going by Taylor these days,” her brother said, his face impassive.
The knot in Lane’s stomach tightened.
Taylor deposited Davy back onto the floor. “Can you go back in your room for a sec, Squirt? I want to talk to Jason and your mother,” he said. “When I’m done in here, I’ll join you and you can show me those shoes.”
Davy nodded, then scampered off. The very second the boy’s door clicked into place, Taylor’s formerly blank face erupted with anger. His shoulder shifted, and then—before Lane could even yelp— his fist shot out and connected with Jason’s jaw.
Jason was knocked back, but he didn’t go down.
Taylor, on the other hand, grabbed his hand and howled. “What the hell? Do you have some special superhero jaw?”
“You know about that?” Lane asked, surprised.
Taylor rubbed his hand. “Zoë told me,” he said.
“She told you to hit me?” Jason asked, incredulous.
“Even after he got Davy off that island?” Lane added.
Taylor shook his head. “No.” He looked Jason in the eye. “You get a thank-you for rescuing Davy,” he said. “The punch was an old debt.”
Lane stepped forward, positioning herself between the men, just in case Jason decided to respond in kind.
“It’s okay,” he said, reading her movement. “Taylor’s got his reasons.”
She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. You didn’t mean to stay away. And hitting doesn’t solve anything,” she added, aiming a glare at her brother.
“Made me feel better,” Taylor said. “That punch has been almost seven years coming.”
“I’m okay with it,” Jason added sheepishly. “Like you said, I may not have meant to stay away, but I did leave in the first place.”
Lane blinked, still firmly grounded in the land of the bizarre, and looked from one to the other. “Are you guys serious?”
Taylor shrugged. “Hell, yes.” He stepped past her and clapped Jason on the shoulder. “And I was serious about the thank-you, too. I was worried sick when Zoë first called me. I’m glad you got Davy away.”
“You and me both,” Jason agreed. “But Davy is the one to applaud. A real trooper. You should go in and let him tell you about it. He’ll make you proud.”
Lane just stood there, staring from one man to the other. Less than a minute ago, her brother had punched Jason in the face; now they were deep into the guy-talk thing. Men. She’d never understand them. Not in a million years.
“Lane?” Taylor asked, taking a step toward the door.
“Go ahead.” She waved toward Davy’s room. “He’ll be thrilled to tell you.”
Taylor didn’t quite make it, though. The clatter of footsteps came from the front porch; then Zoë and Deena, both breathless, burst through the door. They were followed in short order by Boreas, who hadn’t even worked up a sweat.
“Taylor!” Zoë cried, flinging herself into her husband’s arms.
He gave her a quick kiss, then pushed her gently away, his intense gaze looking her up and down. “You look winded,” he said, surprise lacing his voice. “Are you okay?” He pressed a hand against her forehead, but she just ducked away.
“A little breathless,” she admitted, “but only because I’m excited to see you.”
“Zo—”
She put a finger to his lips to quiet him. “I’m fine.” She turned to Lane, and real fear flashed across her face. “Is Davy okay?”
Lane’s heart picked up tempo. “Of course. He’s in his room. What’s wrong?” She held up a finger, cutting off Zoë‘s answer. “Wait,” she said. And even though she knew it was silly, she raced to Davy’s room and poked her head in. Her son looked up, a ripped tennis shoe on the floor before him.
“I’m, uh, playing neurosurgeon,” he said.
“Right,” she said, ducking her head back out and closing the door. She trotted back to Zoë. “He’s fine. What’s wrong?”
“Hopefully nothing,” Zoë admitted. “But Prigg swears that he’s a bad guy.” She aimed an accusing finger at Jason.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “We’ve already been through this. I... did . .. not... kidnap ... Davy. I’m the one who saved him.”
“Look,” Zoë explained. “I want to go with you on this one. I really do. But give me more to work with.”
“More than rescuing my son?”
Zoë half-shrugged. “Prigg’s convinced it’s all part of an act, that you’re just trying to get in good with us. That everything that’s happened is somehow part of your father’s plan.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Jason,” she said. “But you did neglect to mention that little bit about your parentage. It doesn’t look good.”
“Wait,” Lane said. “Back up.” She turned to Jason. “Father?” she asked, a sick feeling rising in the pit of her stomach.
“Tell her,” Zoë said to Jason. “Tell her who your father is.”
Jason frowned as Lane and Taylor exchanged a glance. Apparently, Taylor was as out of the loop as she.
“For Hera’s sake, Jason,” Zoë said, exasperation lacing her voice. “You owe us an explanation.”
“Please!” Lane said, holding up her hand. “Somebody tell me what’s going on.”
“Hieronymous,” Zoë explained, the single word quieting the room. “Jason’s father is Hieronymous.”
Lane balked, certain she must have heard wrong. She was about to ask, but she never got the chance.
“Hierony-who?” Aaron said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Zoë spun around. “Oh. Aaron. Hi. I, uh, didn’t see you there.”
The lawyer paused in the threshold, five pairs of eyes glued on him. His throat moved as he swallowed, and he gestured toward the door. “It was slightly open,” he said. His eyes met Lane’s. “And you said to give you a minute. If you really want to talk, then I’ll listen.”
“Talk,” she repeated dizzily, fighting the cotton that was taking over her brain. “Yeah. Suddenly, I’ve got lots to talk about.” A doozy of a headache had begun, and she moved to sit on the couch. What had started out as a pretty good morning was fast disintegrating into the second worst day of her life.
“I planned on just leaving,” Aaron explained. “I even got to my car. But you mean too much to me to do that. You said you wanted to talk to me. If you still do, I want to listen.” He looked around at the others self-consciously.
Lane held up a finger, her head spinning. “Yes. Okay. Good. Hold that thought.” She turned to Jason. “Is she right?” She pointed at Zoë.
He stepped forward, his hand held out, imploring. “I was going to tell you. I just—”
“So it is true.” She took a deep breath. “Hieronymous is your father.”
“Who the hell is Hieronymous?” Behind her, Aaron had whispered the question, aiming it Zoë‘s direction.
“So what?” Jason explained. “That doesn’t mean I’m like him. I don’t even know him. He didn’t raise me. He didn’t even know I existed for most of my life.”
“Yes, but...” Lane trailed off. Even if everything he said was true, it didn’t make the situation any better. They were talking about Hieronymous, after all. Hieronymous. Head evil bad guy. And now to find out he was Davy’s grandfather? She stifled a shiver, anger and fear and general loathing overwhelming her.
But Jason was right. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. After all, Hieronymous was Zoë‘s uncle, and that didn’t make her evil and weird. So, why should Jason be persecuted for it?
He shouldn’t. Jason was who Jason was. He wasn’t his father any more than Lane was the mother she’d never met, the woman who’d abandoned her at a day-care center and never looked back.
But somehow that didn’t make her feel better.
Her gaze shifted from Jason to Aaron, and she nibbled on her lower lip, her insides all twisted up.
“Lane,” Jason said, “listen to me. Hieronymous is the one who kept me away. Hell, he’s the one who blocked every path in my life, even before I knew he was my father.” He met her eyes, and his gaze was cold. “And I will get retribution. You can’t hold who he is against me.”
Lane licked her lips, tears pooling in her eyes. Jason had promised to keep no more secrets, and he’d made that promise knowing he still hadn’t shared the biggest one of all. Who his father was didn’t matter. That he had kept it from her? Frankly, that mattered a lot.
Worse, any illusion she might have been clutching that she and Davy would be first on Jason’s priority list slipped through her fingers and smashed into a million pieces on the floor. She could see it in his eyes—they weren’t his priority. They never would be.
Jason’s priority was revenge.

Part of Jason wanted to scream, part of him wanted to hold Lane close until she trusted him again, and part of him just wanted to head back to Sea World and spend a day or two eating raw fish and frolicking with his true friends.
A big part of him, too, wanted to slug Boreas.
The door pushed open farther and Hoop walked in. Jason groaned. He liked the guy just fine, but he was getting further and further away from his fantasy of having Lane alone in a room where she would listen to him.
“Damn,” Hoop said. He pulled a package of Twinkies from a plastic sack and started to tear apart the cellophane wrapper. “I leave for five minutes to go to the corner store and you guys decide to throw a party.” He held out the confection. “Twinkie, anyone?”
Only Deena answered, moving forward and closing her hand around his wrist. “It’s not exactly a party,” she said. “You see, it turns out that Jason is Hieronymous’s son.”
“No kidding?” Hoop gestured toward Aaron. “So whose son is this? Zephron’s?”
“No. He’s here because I need to talk to him,” Lane spoke up. “But I really don’t think now is a good time.”
“Who’s Zephron?” Aaron asked.
“Zephron is who we all need to talk to,” Jason said, turning his back on Aaron and getting to the point. “I’m not working for Hieronymous,” he added, aiming his words at Zoë. “So quit looking at me like I’m the spawn of Satan.”
“Who is Hieronymous?” Aaron asked again, stressing each word, though speaking to no one in particular.
Zoë got right in Jason’s face. He sighed. Apparently she felt the need to overcompensate for her wonky powers. “Then why didn’t you tell us Hieronymous is your father? Come on, Jason. Even if you’re innocent, you must know where we’re coming from. It looks like you were covering for him. And Prigg thinks you’re working with him.”
“With him? Are you nuts? I would have killed him if I had the chance. Instead, he almost killed me.”
“That’s what I said,” Boring piped up. “Prigg doesn’t believe it.”
“Whoa.” Jason turned to scowl at the young Protector. “You talked to Prigg? You told him what happened on the island?”
Boreas backed up, looking as sheepish as Aaron looked confused. “I had to turn in a report. It’s required. Regulation nine-three-four-C, subpart J.”
Jason ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of everything. “But if you reported what happened, why does Prigg think I let Hieronymous go?”
“He thinks you staged it,” Zoë said.
“And you believe him?”
Zoë nibbled on her lower lip, then leaned against Taylor. “Honestly? I don’t know what to believe. I want to believe you. I really do. But...”
“So, why hasn’t anyone called Zephron?” Taylor asked. “I know the man’s busy, but I think he might be able to get some of this straight.”
“I’ve tried,” Zoë said. “I haven’t been able to catch him. His assistant mentioned another Outcast uprising. I guess he’s got more than just Hieronymous keeping him busy.” She went for the pager at her belt. “I’ll try again.”
“Wait!” Hoop said, galloping across the room to grab the pager. “This guy’s not—”
“What?” Aaron said.
“Interested in Zoë‘s personal calls?” Hoop finished. He shrugged and mouthed to the others, “Sorry. The best I could do.”
“A relative,” Deena explained, jumping in. “Jason’s, uh, relatives are planning a party for Davy for his seventh birthday. And, uh, they’re only inviting family.”
Jason winced, certain he’d never heard a more ridiculous story.
“Uh-huh,” Aaron said, probably thinking the same thing.
Lane blinked but didn’t say a word, looking more than a little clueless.
“It’s been this whole big argument,” Deena continued. “Because, uh, Davy wants me and Hoop to come. But we’re not related. And, um, Lane wanted you to come, too, Aaron. But you’re not related either.”
“You did?” the man asked, smiling at Lane. Jason stifled the urge to slug him.
“Absolutely,” Lane agreed, nodding a bit more energetically than the situation called for.
“Oh,” Aaron said.
“Make sense?” Hoop asked.
“I’m not s—”
“Good,” Lane said. She swung an arm around his shoulder. “Maybe we can talk about it later?”
They were at the door. “I’d like that,” Aaron said. “Breakfast tomorrow?”
Lane pulled open the door even as Jason opened his mouth to say no. “Sure, that would be great,” she said. She urged the man out over the threshold.
Before she could close the door, though, he managed to take her hand and kiss her fingertips. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said, “but we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Lane agreed.
The door closed, and she pressed her back against it, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Let’s call Zephron,” she said.
Jason agreed, even though at the moment Jason couldn’t care less about the High Elder. All he wanted to do was run after Aaron and inform the man, in no uncertain terms, that Lane was his and she wouldn’t be going out on dates with anyone else.
Except she was. She was having breakfast with Aaron.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Lane had heard all about the secret Ops Center deep below the Washington Monument. Every time Zoë and Hale had an encounter with Zephron, that’s where they met him, and since the first time she’d heard about it, Lane had wanted to someday see the installation.
Today, unfortunately, wasn’t going to be that day.
“He’s going to think I’m a slob,” she said, pushing past Hoop to get into the closet next to the door. She shoved aside an ankle-length, black wool coat that was wholly unnecessary in Los Angeles and grabbed the handle of her Hoover vacuum. “This place is a mess.”
With a yank, she managed to free the vacuum, then dragged the cord to the nearest socket. From her half-upside-down position plugging it in, she shot glares at the others in the room. Deena and Hoop, Zoë, Taylor, and Jason all stared back at her, their faces either blank or confused.
“Well?” she prompted.
Deena’s tongue traced the edge of her mouth, cleaning up a tiny bit of filling from the Twinkie she’d snagged from Hoop. “Well, what?”
“Don’t just stand there,” Lane said. “Start picking up some of this clutter.” She swept her arm to indicate the room and all the textbooks, study outlines, and Harry Potter books that covered its every horizontal surface.
Zoë had managed to get through to Zephron, and instead of the High Elder ordering them all to Washington, the grandfatherly old man was coming here. To her apartment. And he would surely arrive any minute.
Here her friends and Jason were, standing around doing nothing.
“Move,” she snapped. She shoved the handle of her vacuum into Jason’s hands. “Clean.” She wiped the palms of her hands on her shorts, her gaze taking in everything of her tiny apartment. This was not the lap of luxury, but it would do. “Okay. I’m going to go make cookies or something.” She had slice-and-bake. Nine minutes for soft and chewy. No problem.
In truth, as much as she wanted to see the Ops Center, she was secretly grateful that Zephron was coming here. And focusing on cleaning for her friends’ head honcho’s arrival meant she didn’t have to think about Jason, his recent revelation, or the rather surprising update to Davy’s family tree.
Jason’s hand closed over her wrist, and she started, looking up at him with surprise. “Uh, Lane,” he said. “Zephron’s not coming here. Just his hologram.” He glanced around the room. “Trust me. He won’t be able to see a thing. Or have any cookies.”
“Oh.” She blinked, reaching out to clutch the vacuum, then hung on to it like a life vest. “Well. Hmmm.”
“We should talk.” His low voice, meant only for her ears, was caressing. She shivered, despite herself.
“Zephron,” she said. “There’s no time. He’ll hologramize or something here any minute.”
“Lane ...” Jason’s voice held a hint of reproach, and she scowled.
“I’m not the one keeping secrets,” she snapped. “You’ve had your entire life to get used to the idea of who your father is. At the very least, you owe me twenty minutes to get my thoughts together.”
She never heard his response, because Zoë‘s pager beeped, signaling Zephron’s call. Zoë placed the device on the floor, and it emitted a swirl of light that ultimately solidified, forming a shape. The soft edges of that light faded, leaving only Zephron, glowing like some ethereal creature right in the middle of Lane’s still-unvacuumed seventies-style shag carpeting.
Lane had always thought the Internet was cool, but this hologram was downright amazing.
“I understand Hieronymous has been up to his old tricks,” the High Elder said without preamble. Zephron looked just as Lane had imagined: a kindly grandfather with a hint of Merlin mixed in.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Jason piped up.
Zephron’s eyes softened. “I would never believe that you did.”
Zoë sighed. “I’m sorry about calling you here, but Prigg... and Jason’s father .. . and, well, everything—”
Zephron interrupted. “Would you have the Council judge you by the fact that you’re a halfling? That your uncle is an Outcast? That you are married to a mortal?”
Zoë shook her head, silent.
“And well you should not.” The High Elder straightened, seeming to tower over everyone in the room despite taking up a mere eight inches of space from the floor to the top of his projection. “There are those in the Inner Circle who question Jason’s loyalty. I, myself, do not. Character will prevail.”
Jason sighed. “So, why are you here? Can’t you set Prigg and the Inner Circle straight?”
“The boy,” Zephron said. His hologram turned to Jason. “You are a man and capable of taking care of yourself, of making your own decisions. But the boy needs our protection. Under the circumstances, Hieronymous will surely double his efforts to reacquire the child.”
“Circumstances?” Lane asked, barely able to force the word past the dryness in her throat. She stumbled forward, intent on heading for Davy’s room, just to take a peek, just to make sure he was all right.
Deena’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Stay,” the woman whispered. “I’ll go.”
Lane nodded, grateful to have friends who knew her so well.
“Why?” Jason asked. “What does he want with Davy?”
“His mind,” Zephron explained.
Lane blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The child is brilliant. And he will become more so—perhaps one of the smartest of our kind.”
“It’s true,” Jason said. “Dorothy told me he made a tracking device. That’s how Elmer could help tell me where I could find him.”
Lane shook her head, shocked. None of that made any sense. “Davy made it?” She shook her head, amazed that she’d completely misunderstood what Jason had told her about the Lite-Brite map. “I thought his inventions were just toys,” she said. “I never even suspected—”
“Nor would most mortals,” Zephron said. “But I assure you it is true. And soon his mental prowess will reach the first moment of... adjustment.”
“What’s that?”
“A halfling’s seventh birthday,” Zephron explained.
“I remember that,” Zoë said. “My powers went nuts then.”
“Indeed,” Zephron agreed, smiling at her like a prize pupil. “And so will Davy’s. Unlimited potential. Shifting in his mind. Sorting through the corridors of his brain. Loose energy looking for an anchor.”
“This makes no sense at all,” Lane muttered, harsher than she intended. But, damn them all, this was her son they were talking about. She didn’t need riddles. She needed answers.
As if reading her mind, Zephron aimed his calming smile her way. “Hieronymous seeks to usurp the boy’s power. At midnight on his seventh birthday, that power is, in fact, in flux. With the right equipment, Hieronymous could, shall we say, bottle Davy’s intellect.”
Lane swallowed. “And what happens to my son?” Her voice came out only a whisper, and she reached for Jason’s hands, reassured by his fingers, which closed tight around hers.
Zephron shrugged. “The child would live, but he would lose that part of himself forever.”
A tear trickled down Lane’s face, and she brushed it away, hating herself for being emotional. Still, nothing would happen to Davy. Nothing. Hieronymous wouldn’t get past her.
“But it has to be on his seventh birthday,” Zoë spoke up, all business. “On the midnight leading into his birthday. So ... between Thursday and Friday?”
Zephron nodded. “Correct.” His image shifted, and he turned, taking in each one of them. “Remember: midnight. Protect the boy until then, and the boy will be safe forever.” He smiled. “Safe, that is, from this danger at least.”
The High Elder’s image sputtered and sparked, and then it disappeared, leaving them all alone in the living room. Lane hugged herself, feeling both hopeful and terrified. She leaned against Jason, drawing strength from the arm he wrapped around her.
“We’ll just keep him inside until then,” Taylor suggested. “It’s that simple. Me and Zoë and Boreas, too. We’ll all stay here.”
“What about me and Deena?” Hoop asked. “I’m tracking a deadbeat dad, but I can put that on hold if you need me.”
Jason shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ve got it covered.”
“He’s right,” Taylor said. “Go earn a paycheck.”
“Besides,” Jason added, “the houseboat’s pretty small. One bedroom, and not too many places to sleep in the rest of the place.”
“The houseboat?” Taylor asked.
“Absolutely,” Jason said. “I know the boat better, it’s already secure, and I feel safer on the water.”
Taylor and Zoë exchanged glances.
“Lane and I have already talked about it,” Jason added.
Lane nodded. He was right; she’d agreed. But now . . . She licked her lips, unsure. Being in such close quarters with Jason—she wasn’t certain it would be smart. But if his houseboat was the best place to keep Davy safe, she really didn’t have a choice. “I agreed we’d stay until Davy’s safe,” she said, needing to make sure the boundaries were clear.
Jason nodded. “Then we’re settled.” He grinned. “Looks like Hotel Jason is open for business.”