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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