Simply Irresistible Part 7

"You won't have enough strength to hide the transportation, and then another building or two," Lachesis said.

"Why don't we just call this guy?" Vivian said. "Give me the phone book."

"Wait," Atropos said. "Doesn't this phone device send information through the air?"

If these women were actresses, they were dang good. Aunt Eugenia at least knew how phones worked. And all sorts of other technology. Why would the Fates not know? Had they been kept in a bubble?

"I mean," Clotho said, even though Atropos had spoken originally, "can't other people overhear what's being said?"

"Sometimes," Vivian said, "when you're on a portable or a cell, and someone's determined to listen in."

"Or if you're bugged," Lachesis said.

"I'm not bugged," Vivian said, "but I do have a portable phone."

"No," Atropos said.

"Yes, I do," Vivian said.

"What I mean"--Clotho was speaking for someone else again, a habit that was driving Vivian nuts--"is that you can't use the phone."

"Why not?"

"Because someone will listen in," Lachesis said.

"Who?" Vivian asked.

"It's so complicated," Atropos said.

"Well, not really," Clotho said.

"You see," Lachesis said, "it could be anyone. There are so many who are angry with us, and--"

"Oh, never mind," Vivian said. She needed an escape from these women anyway. If they robbed her blind, then she could say they broke in while she was gone, and she wasn't certain if she left her apartment unlocked or not, Officer.

She shook her head. "I'm going to this store. What do you want me to do if they've heard of this Henri guy?"

"Henri Barou," Atropos said.

"Tell him what's happening," Clotho said.

"He'll believe me?" Vivian asked, wondering if this Henri person might have her committed instead.

"He'll know how to help us," Lachesis said.

"What if he's never heard of you?" Vivian asked.

"He's heard of us," Atropos said.

"He doesn't like us much, but he has heard of us," Clotho said, over explaining again.

"He doesn't like you either," Vivian said. "Then how do you know you can trust him?"

"Because," Lachesis said, "if you can't trust Henri Barou--"

"--you can't trust anyone," Atropos and Clotho finished, then laughed.

"I don't see why that's funny," Vivian said. "I thought you were in trouble."

Lachesis put her hand on Vivian's. "We are in trouble, my dear."

"And," Atropos said, also putting her hand on Vivian's, "we're trusting you--"

"--to get us out of it," said Clotho, placing her hand on top of the pile.

Vivian looked down at their hand pile, hers buried beneath theirs. That was how she felt, her mind buried beneath the weight of the thing she had sent out, the thing that felt like a sneeze.

She had no idea what she was doing, but even without her sixth sense, she knew that she'd better do it quickly.

Time was running out.

*Chapter Five*

Dexter Grant brought his laptop to the store, along with the nursing mother and her kittens. The mother cat wasn't too thrilled with him. So far, he'd taken her and her brood to the vet, to his home, and now back to the store.

She'd actually tried to bite him when he picked up their basket this morning. He was keeping a close eye on her, knowing the ways of mothering cats. She'd had enough interference with her litter in the past twenty-four hours--and she probably remembered searching for them in the woods, that awful sense of panic when she couldn't find them. If he so much as looked at the kittens wrong, he knew she'd hide them somewhere inside the store.

The last thing he wanted to do was spend the day searching for a cat hiding place.

Dex rubbed his eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep. Between caring for the kittens and having nightmares about kittens, he felt as if he were taking care of a whole brood instead of only a handful.

Because he'd arrived early, he had opened the store, turning on the outdoor lights, and feeding the fish--a task that had almost gotten the mother cat's full attention. The only thing that kept her near her basket was the can of tuna-flavored cat food he'd given her. He could almost see her thought processes. She couldn't tell if he was a good or a bad guy, but she was willing to reserve judgment so long as he fed her well.

He was seated behind the counter, the basket at his feet. The computerized cash register hummed behind him, and his laptop was open on the other counter. The radio was playing a syndicated blues program that came out of Texas and whose DJ clearly knew what he was talking about.

Dex rarely missed the show, and it was keeping him company now. It certainly suited his mood. Even though the only lost loves he'd ever had had been beloved pets who'd died, he understood the blues. Maybe it was the loneliness that was a part of the music. In all his years, he'd never had anyone who had been able to help him, who had known him well enough to take some of the burdens of his life off him.

Like this burden. He was searching his database for customers who had bought cat food in the past five years, people who had multiple animals. He was running out of potential cat parents. He'd already asked all his friends to take previous kittens left at the store. He didn't believe in taking perfectly healthy cats to the shelter--dumping his problems on someone else--and he didn't have enough money to put a special ad in the paper.

The vet suggested that he look through his old client records to see who might be amenable to adopting a kitten, but the farther he got into this project, the more Dex realized he couldn't do it.

Maybe he should just do a bulk mailing--50 percent off cat food and cat supplies for the next three months if someone took a kitten off his hands. Of course, that didn't solve his real dilemma.

He didn't trust people he didn't know to take care of their animals. He gave his customers the third degree--and the fourth, and the fifth--and sometimes he used his magic illegally to spy on them. He'd even been known to take an animal back if he thought someone was abusing it.

Dex looked down at the basket. The kittens were nursing, except for one adventurous black-and-white who was crawling across the tile floor and mewing. Dex picked him up by the scruff of his fuzzy little neck.

"I know you want to explore," Dex said, "but this store isn't the best place for that."

The kitten mewled and pin wheeled its little back legs with their sharp kitten claws. Its eyes were still milky but filled with life.

Dex found himself grinning at the tiny thing. His real problem was that he wanted to make sure everyone in the world--from kitten to adult human--was safe and loved. If he could, he would adopt every stray cat that crossed his path. But he already had a houseful of pets. He didn't dare bring home any more or Nurse Ratched would find a way to eviscerate him in his sleep.

He put the kitten back in the basket and was helping it toward its mother's stomach just as the bell jingled above his door.

He sighed. It was his own fault. Even though it wasn't much past 8 A.M., a customer had found him. Probably some cranky customer with a stray Doberman she wanted him to buy.

"Excuse me?" A woman spoke from the door. She had a husky voice, warm and attractive. It sent a thrill down his spine.

He sat up slowly and peered over the counter.

The woman was small and bookish. She had curly brown hair that tumbled around her face, obscuring her features. Her oversized gla.s.ses magnified her brown eyes. And she had her arms wrapped around her waist like the teenage girls in his one-room school used to do ninety years ago, when they were asking the boys to the Sadie Hawkins Day dance.

Still he felt something--a curiosity, an interest-- he had never felt before.

"What can I do for you?" Dex made the question friendlier than he normally would have because she looked so uncomfortable.

She came deeper into the store, and the light from the aquariums caught her face. Her skin was the color of the perfect tan, even though he had a hunch this woman never went outdoors. And she had bow-shaped lips, a pert nose, and cheekbones that were so high that they gave definition to her entire face.

In fact, if she brushed the hair away from her forehead, got gla.s.ses that suited her, and stood up straight, she would be a beautiful woman.

Or, more accurately, it would be apparent to the entire world that she was a beautiful woman. But somehow he was glad that the entire world had to work to see her that way. That way, he wouldn't have to share her.

Then he flushed. He never had thoughts like that. Never.

One of the kittens mewled. The woman came closer. She smelled of rosewater, a scent he hadn't smelled in fifty years. A scent he loved.

"Kittens?" she asked, peering over the counter.

Dex looked down. The black-and-white had escaped again. Apparently the little brat hadn't been hungry and had decided to continue on his search of the great tiled frontier.

"Some lady left them yesterday," Dex said. "I usually don't handle cats."

"I thought you were a pet store," the woman said.

He shook his head, wis.h.i.+ng she hadn't said that. He found her so attractive, and she had uttered the most irritating phrase in his life. He wasn't the pet store. He was the pet store- "I'm sorry," she said. "I meant, I thought this was a pet store. Jeez, I'm not at my best today."

Dex looked up at her, feeling stunned. It was almost as if she had heard what he was thinking. But she couldn't, could she? She would be a mage someday--the power fairly sparked off her--but she was too young to have come into it already.

"It's all right," he said. "I sell pet supplies. And fish. Lots offish."

She nodded. "I would think getting rid of kittens would be hard, anyway. I mean, you never know who's buying them."

"Exactly," he said. "Why don't more people understand that?"

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I have trouble parting with collectibles. I can't imagine what it would be like dealing with living creatures."

Someone who understood. No one had ever given him perfect understanding before. They always thought of their own pets but never of all the others. Obviously this woman did.

Dex smiled at her and extended his hand. "I'm Dexter Grant."

She bit her lower lip. He got the sense, fleeting but powerful, that she had been looking for someone else.

Then she smiled. It lit up her entire face and brought out that hidden beauty. He felt slightly dizzy. Then he realized he had forgotten to breathe.

She took his hand, and her fingers were soft and dry. "Vivian Kineally."

Dex resisted the urge to take that slight hand and bring it to his lips.

Vivian Kineally stared at him as if she were daring him to do so. Then she slipped her fingers from his and pressed her hand against her right temple. "Things are never easy when you want them to be."

"Easy? So I take it you didn't come to adopt a kitten."

Her smile faded. Her fingers continued rubbing, as if she were trying to ma.s.sage away a headache. "I wish. Actually, I came looking for someone."

"Oh?" He tensed in spite of himself. His sense had been right. She had been looking for someone else and she was disappointed to find him.

He didn't want her to be disappointed.

He also didn't want her to be with anyone else.

She nodded. "I'm not even sure this is the right place. I mean, it meets the description my friends--well, they're not really my friends, they're more like . . . intruders, but they're the ones who sent me, and--"

"Who're you looking for?"

"Jeez," she said again, and he found that he liked the old-fas.h.i.+oned slang term when he heard it from her. "I'm even talking like them."

"Who?"

She waved her left hand dismissively. "It's a long story."

Her skin had paled noticeably. She seemed to be going gray, as if the pain she felt was getting worse. He wanted to touch her temples and magic the pain away, but he didn't. He knew better. Sudden magic startled people.

"You can tell me," he said.

She shook her head, then put her left hand on the counter, as if catching her balance. "No. I'd like to appear at least slightly sane."

The kitten mewled again, and then Dex felt needle-sharp claws digging into his calf. The d.a.m.n thing had jumped onto his leg.

"One second," he said, and reached down. He scooped up the kitten, holding it gently, and raised it to his face. "I'm going to start calling you Marco Polo if you're not careful, little one."

The kitten mewled again, and his mother looked up from her basket. Dex put the kitten back into it, but Marco Polo marched toward the edge before Dex had a chance to sit up.