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Authors: Julie Kenner
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surprise, Jason started laughing. “Hopping Hera, Mordi—you are so damn touchy.”
Mordi started to argue, but then stopped himself. He
was
too damn touchy. Instead, he took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
Jason looked him up and down for a moment, then stepped back to lean against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “So I guess congratulations are in order.”
Mordi squinted. “Are they?”
“I skim the website,” Jason said. “You’ve brought in thirteen traitors in as many months. Not a bad record.”
“I’m proud of it,” Mordi said.
“I’ll bet.”
Mordi frowned, not certain if the sarcasm he heard in Jason’s voice was real or imagined. “What do you mean by that?”
Jason shrugged. “I just wonder if you’re not trying too hard.”
A chill ran down Mordi’s spine. He ignored it. “I’m a Protector,” Mordi said. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Really.”
“Yes,” Mordi said. “
Really
.”
“So you’re not out to prove that you don’t care what Daddy Dearest thinks of you? You’re really past all of that.”
“Of course I am,” Mordi said. “
I
don’t care what he thinks about me at all.” But that was a lie. He did care. He cared one hell of a lot. He’d simply pushed caring aside.
He sighed. He knew he’d made the right choice, taken the right path.
Why, then, was it always so damn hard?
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
Mordi started to argue, but then stopped himself. He
was
too damn touchy. Instead, he took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
Jason looked him up and down for a moment, then stepped back to lean against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “So I guess congratulations are in order.”
Mordi squinted. “Are they?”
“I skim the website,” Jason said. “You’ve brought in thirteen traitors in as many months. Not a bad record.”
“I’m proud of it,” Mordi said.
“I’ll bet.”
Mordi frowned, not certain if the sarcasm he heard in Jason’s voice was real or imagined. “What do you mean by that?”
Jason shrugged. “I just wonder if you’re not trying too hard.”
A chill ran down Mordi’s spine. He ignored it. “I’m a Protector,” Mordi said. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Really.”
“Yes,” Mordi said. “
Really
.”
“So you’re not out to prove that you don’t care what Daddy Dearest thinks of you? You’re really past all of that.”
“Of course I am,” Mordi said. “
I
don’t care what he thinks about me at all.” But that was a lie. He did care. He cared one hell of a lot. He’d simply pushed caring aside.
He sighed. He knew he’d made the right choice, taken the right path.
Why, then, was it always so damn hard?
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
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