"Aphrodite's_Flame_027" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_04]_-_Aphrodite's_Flame_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file html))

Chapter Twenty-four

“Excellent work! Just great!” Izzy clapped, jumping up and down as Hieronymous stumbled under the weight of the child. Beside her, Mordi also offered some praise, but his tone was begrudging, not the least bit enthusiastic.
This morning she’d awakened on the couch, but Mordi hadn’t been beside her. He’d left her a charming note saying he had things to take care of and would see her on the job. They’d done nothing the night before but sit on the sofa, watch movies, and talk. Even so, the air between them seemed to sizzle with electricity. And every time she spoke to Mordi, he seemed to go out of his way to think (and think loudly) the most mundane thoughts imaginable. He was baffling her empathy.
She should be frustrated. Instead, she wanted him more than ever.
Not that she had any time to worry about her love life or lack thereof. At the moment, she was cheering Hieronymous on at his latest foray into good.
They’d been patrolling a stretch of Bleecker Street, looking for mortals in peril, kittens to rescue, taxis that might be careening out of control. Mordi had been surly and closed-mouthed, and even Hieronymous, who’d started the afternoon with unabashed enthusiasm, had sunk into a silence that could only be described as bitter.
Izzy supposed she couldn’t blame him. Until he performed the required number of good deeds, he couldn’t be re-assimilated. And if no good-deed opportunities were presenting themselves ... well, she was frustrated, too.
They’d been ready to head back, to give up and try again another day, when the cry had rung out: a little girl’s voice, shrill and desperate. They’d raced toward the sound, Mordi in the lead, but Hieronymous soon passed him—and Izzy’s heart soared as Hieronymous made a beeline for the little girl hanging precariously from the edge of the fire escape, an older girl trying frantically to hoist the child back up.
“Please! Please help!” the girl on the metal grating cried.
The younger girl was about three, and Izzy assumed she’d crawled out onto the fire escape when an adult wasn’t looking. There certainly didn’t seem to be an adult around now.
The little girl had probably wandered to the edge where the ladder should be, but since there was no ladder, she’d been stuck. Perhaps she’d lost her balance. Izzy didn’t know; all she knew was that when they arrived, the terrified child was dangling, and her equally terrified sibling was screaming, trying to clutch the little girl’s arms and hoist her back onto the platform.
The little girl, though, was too scared, and her kicking and flailing weren’t helping the older girl’s efforts. The weight of a three-year-old was probably too much for a seven- or eight-year-old even on a good day. With the three-year-old writhing like a worm on a hook, it really was too much.
“Tammy, no!” the older girl cried. And that’s when it had happened—the toddler let go and plummeted toward the ground.
Izzy and crew were still half a block away, and they raced with super speed toward the fire escape.
The timing had been close. The kid was falling fast and—
And then she wasn’t falling fast.
Thank Hera!
The little girl’s descent had slowed, even as Hieronymous’s pace had increased. He’d slid to a halt under the child, just as gravity seemed to catch up with her. She landed with a plunk in his arms, then started wailing, her cries punctuated by loud, wet hiccups.
Izzy exhaled. From the time they’d first heard the scream, maybe four seconds had passed. It felt more like four years.
“Well done,” she said again.
Hieronymous put the child on the ground and patted her on the head. “Nonsense, my dear. Anyone could have helped. It was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time.”
And having the right skills, Izzy thought. Had she herself been here alone, that girl would have crashed to the ground.
She looked away, not wanting either Mordi or Hieronymous to see it reflected on her face. No matter how bad he might have been in the past, at that particular moment, Hieronymous had more claim to being a Protector than she ever did. He, at least, had all of a Protector’s powers. Izzy had nothing but a freezy finger and an uncle who pushed through paperwork.
Above them, the older girl was gone, and now they heard the alley door slam open and the kid’s footsteps as she raced toward them.
The two girls embraced, and Hieronymous smiled. The expression seemed forced, but Izzy supposed that wasn’t too unusual. He was out of practice, after all. And it wasn’t as if he was displeased by the rescue. She could smell the waves of pleasure, pride, and relief that flowed from his being.
Oh, yes. Hieronymous was undoubtedly happy that he’d rescued the little girl.
Izzy made a mental note. As soon as she returned to the office, she’d update his file. At the moment, though, she had no doubt that Hieronymous would pass all the re-assimilation tests with flying colors.
“Bravo,” Mordi said, his voice flat. “A few years ago, you would have just let the kid go splat on the pavement.”
Izzy knelt beside the two girls, still locked together in a bear hug, and looked up at him. “Mordi!”
He had the good grace to look abashed. “Sorry,” he said, in the direction of her and the girls. Then he turned back to Hieronymous. “But it’s true.” His voice was lower, his tone harsh.
Anger. Betrayal. The emotions clung to him like smoke, tainting the air around him. And more, too. There was a desperate need, one so intense it made her heart ache for him.
“Where’s Mommy?” the little girl said.
“Hush, sweetie. Your mommy will be here soon.”
As if conjured, the sound of high heels clattering on the pavement echoed behind them. “Tammy? Lisa?” The woman’s voice rose with concern, and the footsteps increased in tempo. “Oh, babies, babies! What happened? Where’s Amelia?”
The woman was at Izzy’s side now, and she moved away to let the girls cling to their mother. Izzy listened, amused, as the older girl told her mom the story, between sobs and great heaving gulps of air, of how their babysitter had gone out and how Tammy had ended up on the fire escape.
“I couldn’t hold on, Mommy,” Lisa said, fresh tears streaming down her cheek. She twisted in her mom’s embrace, just enough to point to Hieronymous. “But he caught her, Mommy. He saved Tammy. He’s a hero.” The little girl’s eyes were wide as she spoke these last words, and Izzy had no doubt that, if asked, she would say that Hieronymous had hung the moon.
Mordi stood off to one side, and Izzy didn’t need to examine his scent to tell that he didn’t share the little girl’s sentiment. His expression said it for him. Fortunately, though, he kept his mouth shut. And Izzy said a silent thank-you that, if nothing else, Mordichai Black had at least an inkling of the meaning of the word “discretion.”
Managing somehow to keep both kids physically connected to her, the mother rose—a little wobbly in her high heels—and made her way to Hieronymous.
“Thank you.”
He took her hand, his expression reflecting nothing but humble sincerity. “Madam, your thanks is not necessary. I’m no hero. I was simply in the right place at the right time.”
“Then thank you for that.”
Izzy thought she heard a noise come from Mordi’s vicinity, but it could have been her imagination.
Somewhat shyly, the mother said her good-byes, then ushered the girls toward the apartment. “If there’s anything I can do to repay—”
“The look on your face is repayment enough, madam,” Hieronymous said, then bent to kiss her fingers.
This time, Izzy was sure she heard it: Mordi was gagging in the background.

Chapter Twenty-four

“Excellent work! Just great!” Izzy clapped, jumping up and down as Hieronymous stumbled under the weight of the child. Beside her, Mordi also offered some praise, but his tone was begrudging, not the least bit enthusiastic.
This morning she’d awakened on the couch, but Mordi hadn’t been beside her. He’d left her a charming note saying he had things to take care of and would see her on the job. They’d done nothing the night before but sit on the sofa, watch movies, and talk. Even so, the air between them seemed to sizzle with electricity. And every time she spoke to Mordi, he seemed to go out of his way to think (and think loudly) the most mundane thoughts imaginable. He was baffling her empathy.
She should be frustrated. Instead, she wanted him more than ever.
Not that she had any time to worry about her love life or lack thereof. At the moment, she was cheering Hieronymous on at his latest foray into good.
They’d been patrolling a stretch of Bleecker Street, looking for mortals in peril, kittens to rescue, taxis that might be careening out of control. Mordi had been surly and closed-mouthed, and even Hieronymous, who’d started the afternoon with unabashed enthusiasm, had sunk into a silence that could only be described as bitter.
Izzy supposed she couldn’t blame him. Until he performed the required number of good deeds, he couldn’t be re-assimilated. And if no good-deed opportunities were presenting themselves ... well, she was frustrated, too.
They’d been ready to head back, to give up and try again another day, when the cry had rung out: a little girl’s voice, shrill and desperate. They’d raced toward the sound, Mordi in the lead, but Hieronymous soon passed him—and Izzy’s heart soared as Hieronymous made a beeline for the little girl hanging precariously from the edge of the fire escape, an older girl trying frantically to hoist the child back up.
“Please! Please help!” the girl on the metal grating cried.
The younger girl was about three, and Izzy assumed she’d crawled out onto the fire escape when an adult wasn’t looking. There certainly didn’t seem to be an adult around now.
The little girl had probably wandered to the edge where the ladder should be, but since there was no ladder, she’d been stuck. Perhaps she’d lost her balance. Izzy didn’t know; all she knew was that when they arrived, the terrified child was dangling, and her equally terrified sibling was screaming, trying to clutch the little girl’s arms and hoist her back onto the platform.
The little girl, though, was too scared, and her kicking and flailing weren’t helping the older girl’s efforts. The weight of a three-year-old was probably too much for a seven- or eight-year-old even on a good day. With the three-year-old writhing like a worm on a hook, it really was too much.
“Tammy, no!” the older girl cried. And that’s when it had happened—the toddler let go and plummeted toward the ground.
Izzy and crew were still half a block away, and they raced with super speed toward the fire escape.
The timing had been close. The kid was falling fast and—
And then she wasn’t falling fast.
Thank Hera!
The little girl’s descent had slowed, even as Hieronymous’s pace had increased. He’d slid to a halt under the child, just as gravity seemed to catch up with her. She landed with a plunk in his arms, then started wailing, her cries punctuated by loud, wet hiccups.
Izzy exhaled. From the time they’d first heard the scream, maybe four seconds had passed. It felt more like four years.
“Well done,” she said again.
Hieronymous put the child on the ground and patted her on the head. “Nonsense, my dear. Anyone could have helped. It was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time.”
And having the right skills, Izzy thought. Had she herself been here alone, that girl would have crashed to the ground.
She looked away, not wanting either Mordi or Hieronymous to see it reflected on her face. No matter how bad he might have been in the past, at that particular moment, Hieronymous had more claim to being a Protector than she ever did. He, at least, had all of a Protector’s powers. Izzy had nothing but a freezy finger and an uncle who pushed through paperwork.
Above them, the older girl was gone, and now they heard the alley door slam open and the kid’s footsteps as she raced toward them.
The two girls embraced, and Hieronymous smiled. The expression seemed forced, but Izzy supposed that wasn’t too unusual. He was out of practice, after all. And it wasn’t as if he was displeased by the rescue. She could smell the waves of pleasure, pride, and relief that flowed from his being.
Oh, yes. Hieronymous was undoubtedly happy that he’d rescued the little girl.
Izzy made a mental note. As soon as she returned to the office, she’d update his file. At the moment, though, she had no doubt that Hieronymous would pass all the re-assimilation tests with flying colors.
“Bravo,” Mordi said, his voice flat. “A few years ago, you would have just let the kid go splat on the pavement.”
Izzy knelt beside the two girls, still locked together in a bear hug, and looked up at him. “Mordi!”
He had the good grace to look abashed. “Sorry,” he said, in the direction of her and the girls. Then he turned back to Hieronymous. “But it’s true.” His voice was lower, his tone harsh.
Anger. Betrayal. The emotions clung to him like smoke, tainting the air around him. And more, too. There was a desperate need, one so intense it made her heart ache for him.
“Where’s Mommy?” the little girl said.
“Hush, sweetie. Your mommy will be here soon.”
As if conjured, the sound of high heels clattering on the pavement echoed behind them. “Tammy? Lisa?” The woman’s voice rose with concern, and the footsteps increased in tempo. “Oh, babies, babies! What happened? Where’s Amelia?”
The woman was at Izzy’s side now, and she moved away to let the girls cling to their mother. Izzy listened, amused, as the older girl told her mom the story, between sobs and great heaving gulps of air, of how their babysitter had gone out and how Tammy had ended up on the fire escape.
“I couldn’t hold on, Mommy,” Lisa said, fresh tears streaming down her cheek. She twisted in her mom’s embrace, just enough to point to Hieronymous. “But he caught her, Mommy. He saved Tammy. He’s a hero.” The little girl’s eyes were wide as she spoke these last words, and Izzy had no doubt that, if asked, she would say that Hieronymous had hung the moon.
Mordi stood off to one side, and Izzy didn’t need to examine his scent to tell that he didn’t share the little girl’s sentiment. His expression said it for him. Fortunately, though, he kept his mouth shut. And Izzy said a silent thank-you that, if nothing else, Mordichai Black had at least an inkling of the meaning of the word “discretion.”
Managing somehow to keep both kids physically connected to her, the mother rose—a little wobbly in her high heels—and made her way to Hieronymous.
“Thank you.”
He took her hand, his expression reflecting nothing but humble sincerity. “Madam, your thanks is not necessary. I’m no hero. I was simply in the right place at the right time.”
“Then thank you for that.”
Izzy thought she heard a noise come from Mordi’s vicinity, but it could have been her imagination.
Somewhat shyly, the mother said her good-byes, then ushered the girls toward the apartment. “If there’s anything I can do to repay—”
“The look on your face is repayment enough, madam,” Hieronymous said, then bent to kiss her fingers.
This time, Izzy was sure she heard it: Mordi was gagging in the background.