looks at me. "See, I'm fine."
My heart downshifts as I wrap my arms around his waist and lean my head on his chest.
"Did you get anything?" asks Sebastien.
Ryan nods as he puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer, then kisses the top of my head. "Not much. It's him, but he's like an innocent five year old who has no idea what's going on around him. And I didn't see any of those dark images he sent into my head before. I didn't pick up anything that might be taken as evil."
"Good," says Mom.
"But…" says Ryan.
Sebastien's eyes widen. "Yes?"
"Someone's been in his mind."
My best friend Roxanne furrows her brow as she pulls another slice of pizza from the pan that sits on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. "Someone powerful contacted your father?"
I swallow a bite of the steaming double supreme and wash it down with a sip of my super-sized-anti-Mayor-Bloomberg Dr. Pepper. It's funny, even though the guy's out of office people still associate him with declaring DEFCON ONE on soda, and the pizza parlor actually named its extra large drink the Bloomberg Special when the law got tossed by the courts. It's the New York carbonated middle finger at the guy. The restaurant is crowded for a Sunday night, the Mom-and-Pop eatery filled with loud conversation, the smell of baking pies and the sounds of Sinatra. "That's what Sebastien said. It has to be someone strong to get through their security."
"No way to identify the person?"
I shake my head. "Nope. Not yet, anyway. All Ryan got from my father was that he'd had a visitor."
"So what was this person of power looking for?"
"The theory is that it's one of my father's minions who wanted to determine if his powers are totally fried. Or maybe try to bring him back to full strength. Which scares the hell out of me."
"Aren't you glad you didn't heal him."
"Yeah, no kidding." My heartbeat is picking up a bit and I realize we need to get off the subject. After saving a life on Friday and spending all day at The Summit yesterday, I need something mindless. "So did you and Jake have a good time last night?"
Roxanne surprises me as she shrugs. "Not really. We went to dinner and after that I wanted to go home."
"What happened? I thought he was taking you dancing at that new club?"
"I wasn't in the mood after hearing about his hot Political Science teacher for an hour."
"Hot teacher?"
She rolls her eyes and pushes her shoulder length black hair behind her ears with her hands. "Oooooh, Ms. Cruise. She's soooo interesting and she makes her lectures come alive with her incredibly expressive face and all the boys have a thing for her and it's amazing that she's forty and never married…I mean, I know college boys have it bad for women who are a little older, but geez, it was like he was talking to another guy. Then he goes on and on about a meeting he had with her after class and how she really takes a personal interest in her students and seems to think he's got a future in politics. Finally I'd had enough so I told him I didn't feel well and he took me home."
"Rox, I wouldn't worry about it. Freshmen boys are like kids in a candy store when they see college women after four years of high school girls. Even Ryan's got his head on a swivel."
"Yeah, but we're college women now."
"Yeah, but we're eighteen and a forty year old has been around the block already. It's the experience factor, and, as you know, we don't have any." I reach across the table and pat her hand. "Look, you've got nothing to worry about. Besides, if by some strange turn of events things didn't work out with you and Jake there'd be a line of hot guys waiting for a shot at a six foot babe with legs up to her neck. It's not a bad lookin' crop on that campus."
"I suppose. Still, I've got it bad for the little guy and it kinda hurt me a little, ya know?"
"Aren't you the one who always said men take longer to grow up?"
"Stop hitting me with my own logic, short stuff."
"Maybe you need a little of your own logic. Remember when you first started dating him you went out with someone else to keep him in line?"
"I'm not playing those games anymore."
"I'm not saying you should actually do it. But just talk about a male teacher and give him a taste of his own medicine."
"The only male teacher we've got is that eighty year old English professor who died and didn't get the memo."
"Okay, not my best idea. Tell you what, I'll send my alter ego into that classroom and see what the hell is going on with that teacher."
After four years of challenging my stomach to a daily culinary smackdown in a high school cafeteria that served dishes which looked suspiciously like lab experiments, there was no way I was gonna eat college food. Roxanne and I had already done reconnaissance during our spring campus visit and were treated to a mystery meat dish she referred to as "cold shoulder" since a: it was cold, and b: she found a bone in it that looked like a shoulder blade she'd seen in her cousin's butcher shop. Besides, with the campus in Manhattan I could throw a stone and hit any number of terrific and reasonably priced places to eat. However, the school does have a subsidized coffee bar, which offers terrific flavored joes at a dollar a cup, so I'm enjoying a mug of almond amaretto while I attempt to navigate through the 1800s literary version of the health care law, Moby Dick. Get this: the book is required reading for my Modern Literature course. Which begs the question, would you have to be living during the Abe Lincoln administration to consider this book modern? Anyway, after thirty pages on the care and feeding of whales I'm ready to impale myself on a harpoon and making a point to hit the college bookstore on the way home to pick up the Cliff Notes. Hey, I can spend fifty hours reading this dated monstrosity or getting the thirty minute recap and spending my time doing noble deeds. Seems like a no-brainer to me. I could even do a testimonial for the Cliff Notes people that they could put on the back cover:
"The condensed version of Moby Dick gave me the time I needed to save the planet."
-Jillian Spectre, superheroine
Anyway, the java bar is packed and I'm sitting alone at a corner table for two when a tight pair of jeans moves into my field of vision. I look up and see a Greek god standing before me with a cup of coffee.
"Mind if I join you? All the other seats are taken."
A quick glance around the room tells me this is true. Not that I care with a guy like this, since one does not often encounter mythological figures who look like fashion models, so I gesture toward the chair opposite me. "Sure."
"Thanks." He places his books and coffee on the table as he sits down and slides his chair closer to the table, then extends his hand. "Trip Logan."
My hand looks tiny and disappears into his as we shake. "Jillian Spectre."
His handshake is gentle despite his size. He cocks his head toward my novel. "You're not actually reading that mind-numbing thing, are you?"
I close the book and slide it off to the side. "I
