it.”
As if called by the mention of his name, Davy came charging out the patio door, bare feet pounding on the wooden deck as he yelled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Did you find it? Did you?”
“Not yet, kiddo.” And then, to Mordi: “Hang on.”
Down he went, slipping under the dark surface, which smoothed over him, not even a few bubbles to show that he’d once been bobbing there. Frowning, Mordi leaned farther out, trying to find some sign of his brother. Nothing.
Well, hell.
While Jason did his fish-man thing, Mordi leaned against the railing, feeling the eight-year-old’s eyes boring down on him.
Mordi shifted uncomfortably. He liked Davy just fine, but they’d had a decidedly iffy relationship, what with Mordi having attacked and kidnapped him at various times over the last few years. He hadn’t seen the kid for a bit.
“Mommy says you’re a nice guy now.” Davy squinted at him. “Are you really?”
“What do you think?”
The kid shrugged. “Dunno.” The frown faded, replaced by a bright smile. “You wanna wear my truth detector?”
It was Mordi’s turn to frown. “Um.”
“ ‘Cause if you’re telling Momma the truth and you’re really good, the detector will know.”
“Right. Well. I mean, why don’t you just believe me without the toy, okay?”
Davy just stared at him. Under the circumstances, Mordi supposed that made sense.
Mordi twisted to look over the rail again. “Your father should be back up by now.”
That wasn’t true, of course. Jason was more than capable of staying under the water indefinitely; he could turn himself into a fish when he wanted. But that didn’t stop Mordi from hoping the man would surface immediately and save him from this interrogation.
“You’re a chicken,” Davy accused. “I’m going to tell Momma.”
“I’m
not
a chicken.”
The little boy crossed his arms over his chest, looking dubious. “Yu-huh.”
“Come on, Davy. I’m your uncle. You can trust me.” Faulty logic if ever there was any, but Mordi wasn’t about to let the kid hook him up to any machine.
He told himself it was only that the eight-year-old might have mucked the whole thing up—the machine might fry his brain instead of reading it—except Mordi knew better. Davy was Hieronymous’s grandchild, and the kid had inherited the Outcast’s superior inventive powers. Give him a battery, some wires, a few sticks of gum, and some string, and the kid could make just about anything.
So, no. Mordi wasn’t afraid that the kid’s machine would be off. Instead, he was afraid that
he
would be. He was afraid that the machine would see some deep truth that he’d kept hidden even from himself. That somehow, some way, he still wanted his dad to succeed.
He shuddered, blocking the thought.
No
.
“Chicken,” Davy said again, and this time Mordi privately agreed with the assessment.
He didn’t have to conjure a response, though, because a splashing sounded behind him, and then came Jason’s triumphant “Found it!”
Davy jumped, then raced to the railing to see his dad holding a red metal cylinder with plastic straws extending like spiders’ legs.
“What is it?” Mordi asked.
“My pet spider robot, Fred,” Davy said. “He makes my bed and puts my shoes away even though Mommy says that’s my job.”
“Oh. I should have known.”
Jason had climbed up the ladder, and now he stepped onto the boat, water rolling off him to pool on the polished wood decking. He handed the soggy spider-bot to Davy, who took it and raced back inside, apparently no longer concerned with Mordi’s motives.
“Okay,” Jason said, pulling a pair of sweatpants on over his bathing suit and then dropping into one of the deck chairs. “So the girl thinks Dad is legitimate. Do you think
she’s
legitimate?”
“What do you mean?” Mordi thought about it; shifting uncomfortably.
Jason tossed his head back and laughed. “Let me guess: She’s a looker.”
Mordi waved the words away.
As if called by the mention of his name, Davy came charging out the patio door, bare feet pounding on the wooden deck as he yelled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Did you find it? Did you?”
“Not yet, kiddo.” And then, to Mordi: “Hang on.”
Down he went, slipping under the dark surface, which smoothed over him, not even a few bubbles to show that he’d once been bobbing there. Frowning, Mordi leaned farther out, trying to find some sign of his brother. Nothing.
Well, hell.
While Jason did his fish-man thing, Mordi leaned against the railing, feeling the eight-year-old’s eyes boring down on him.
Mordi shifted uncomfortably. He liked Davy just fine, but they’d had a decidedly iffy relationship, what with Mordi having attacked and kidnapped him at various times over the last few years. He hadn’t seen the kid for a bit.
“Mommy says you’re a nice guy now.” Davy squinted at him. “Are you really?”
“What do you think?”
The kid shrugged. “Dunno.” The frown faded, replaced by a bright smile. “You wanna wear my truth detector?”
It was Mordi’s turn to frown. “Um.”
“ ‘Cause if you’re telling Momma the truth and you’re really good, the detector will know.”
“Right. Well. I mean, why don’t you just believe me without the toy, okay?”
Davy just stared at him. Under the circumstances, Mordi supposed that made sense.
Mordi twisted to look over the rail again. “Your father should be back up by now.”
That wasn’t true, of course. Jason was more than capable of staying under the water indefinitely; he could turn himself into a fish when he wanted. But that didn’t stop Mordi from hoping the man would surface immediately and save him from this interrogation.
“You’re a chicken,” Davy accused. “I’m going to tell Momma.”
“I’m
not
a chicken.”
The little boy crossed his arms over his chest, looking dubious. “Yu-huh.”
“Come on, Davy. I’m your uncle. You can trust me.” Faulty logic if ever there was any, but Mordi wasn’t about to let the kid hook him up to any machine.
He told himself it was only that the eight-year-old might have mucked the whole thing up—the machine might fry his brain instead of reading it—except Mordi knew better. Davy was Hieronymous’s grandchild, and the kid had inherited the Outcast’s superior inventive powers. Give him a battery, some wires, a few sticks of gum, and some string, and the kid could make just about anything.
So, no. Mordi wasn’t afraid that the kid’s machine would be off. Instead, he was afraid that
he
would be. He was afraid that the machine would see some deep truth that he’d kept hidden even from himself. That somehow, some way, he still wanted his dad to succeed.
He shuddered, blocking the thought.
No
.
“Chicken,” Davy said again, and this time Mordi privately agreed with the assessment.
He didn’t have to conjure a response, though, because a splashing sounded behind him, and then came Jason’s triumphant “Found it!”
Davy jumped, then raced to the railing to see his dad holding a red metal cylinder with plastic straws extending like spiders’ legs.
“What is it?” Mordi asked.
“My pet spider robot, Fred,” Davy said. “He makes my bed and puts my shoes away even though Mommy says that’s my job.”
“Oh. I should have known.”
Jason had climbed up the ladder, and now he stepped onto the boat, water rolling off him to pool on the polished wood decking. He handed the soggy spider-bot to Davy, who took it and raced back inside, apparently no longer concerned with Mordi’s motives.
“Okay,” Jason said, pulling a pair of sweatpants on over his bathing suit and then dropping into one of the deck chairs. “So the girl thinks Dad is legitimate. Do you think
she’s
legitimate?”
“What do you mean?” Mordi thought about it; shifting uncomfortably.
Jason tossed his head back and laughed. “Let me guess: She’s a looker.”
Mordi waved the words away.
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