Simply Irresistible Part 8

"Cute," Vivian said.

"They all are at that age. But I have a hunch that little guy is going to be a handful."

She had both hands on the counter now. He was wondering if she was dizzy.

"Do you need to sit down?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I just need to find someone. Do you know an Henri Barou?"

He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. His real name was Henri Barou, but no one knew that. He'd left that name behind eighty years ago because he'd hated it so much. Since then, he'd stolen his names from movie characters he admired. This one came from C. K. Dexter-Haven, Cary Grant's character in 'The Philadelphia Story', a man who was decidedly wittier and smarter than Dex could ever hope to be.

"No," he said, but the answer was a beat too late.

Despite her obvious pain, she gave him a penetrating look. "Why are you lying to me?"

He wasn't sure how to answer. He hadn't covered well. Should he tell her that Henri Barou sold the store to him, or that- "You're Henri Barou," she said. "Why did you tell me you're Dexter Grant?"

"I 'am' Dexter Grant," he snapped.

"And Henri Barou." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "They mentioned you might use a different name."

Dex frowned. Who knew his real name? Not many people. No one alive; at least no one he could think of. If people knew a mage's real name, they could have power over him.

He needed to know who gave this woman his name, and who pointed her in the right direction. Apparently he had enemies out there he wasn't even aware of.

"Who mentioned that my name might be different?"

She blinked, and he got the sense of real pain wafting off her. Normally he would have insisted that she sit down, but he was unnerved by the changes.

"Well, this is where it gets strange," she said. "This morning, three women appeared at my apartment, claiming they were in trouble. They say their names are Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, and they call themselves the Fates. It gets weirder than that. Are you sure you want to hear about it?"

He wasn't sure. But he remembered that dream, and the feeling of foreboding it had given him. Were the Fates warning him? That would make more sense than anything this Vivian was telling him.

He couldn't believe the Fates had come to her place. They never left their judicial court and quarters. Often they changed the look of the quarters. In fact, whenever he'd been there, it had never looked the same.

"What's really going on?" Dex asked.

Vivian shrugged. "I don't entirely understand it. They say they're in trouble and they need your help."

A surge of anger ran through him. They did this to test him. If they pleaded trouble, then they could see if he would rush to their rescue. Of course, they were involving a mortal. Well, technically, she wasn't a mortal, but she hadn't come into her magic yet. Which made it all the more likely that this was a Fate trick. They didn't like people who interfered with mortal lives.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've never heard of these women and I don't know why they think I can help them."

"Why do you lie?" Vivian asked.

His gaze met hers. The pain in her eyes seemed unbearable. Before he even thought it through, he hurried around the counter and put his arms around her. She was soft, and tinier than he had expected. She leaned against him, almost as if she was having trouble standing up. He helped her to his chair, which was the only one in the front of the store.

"Should I call a doctor?" he asked.

She was vibrating with pain. The muscles in her shoulders were taut.

"No," she said. "No, really. I'm all right. This'll pa.s.s."

Then he realized what was going on. He should have realized it when he saw all that power sparking off her. "You're psychic."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

He hadn't expected that response. "Sorry? Why?"

"I didn't mean to cause trouble or to call you a liar. It's just that these women seem so desperate, and they told me to come here. You know who they are, right?"

No sense lying any longer. She would see through it all. "Yes."

"So they are magical?"

"Yes."

"And so are you." It wasn't a question. She was getting a sense of him. "You also believe that they're lying so that they can hurt you."

"Yes," he said, feeling inadequate.

"Why would they want to hurt you?"

He shrugged.

"Because they're bored?" She opened her eyes. "Are people in your world that cruel? No. They're crueler."

He was answering her questions without even speaking. He hadn't ever been around anyone with this much psychic ability. Or perhaps he was broadcasting his thoughts. He was upset, and that could cause broadcasting. And he found her so incredibly attractive that he could be forcing a connection where there wasn't one.

He hoped she hadn't caught that last thought. "Can I get you something for your headache?"

"No," she said. "I already took something. It'll get better. They always do. Why would they hurt you?"

It took him a moment to deal with the transition. 'They' no longer meant headache. 'They' meant the Fates.

"I'll deal with them," he said. "I'll be right back."

He went to the front door of the shop and locked it, turning the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Then he scooped up Marco Polo, who had followed him, placed the kitten on Vivian's lap, and walked to the backroom.

He needed a little privacy for this spell, and he didn't want to think about what he was going to do until he got back there, since he seemed to be shouting every thought.

The backroom was crowded with unloaded boxes of Science Diet and lams cat food, books on all the various fish, and some aquariums ordered by a new restaurant but not yet picked up. He hadn't put an office back here, preferring to work out front, but there was an area for animals that he didn't want to sell, an area that dated from the time when he really took pets.

Directly in front of him was the outside door. He double-checked the deadbolt and pushed on the steel just to make certain it was closed tightly. Then he closed the door to the tiny bathroom as well.

Precautions, precautions. He hadn't used magic this powerful in the store in years.

Then he clenched his fists, trying to hold in all the anger he was feeling. He would save that until he saw those harpies face-to-face.

"To the Fates," he said, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

*Chapter Six*

The headache was getting worse. It felt like someone was pounding on the inside of Vivian's mind. Or maybe on the outside of her mind, and it was echoing inside. Or maybe the entire percussion staff of every marching band in the country had decided to rehea.r.s.e in her head.

Vivian plucked little Marco Polo off her lap and set him on the floor. The movement made her dizzy. She put a hand to her head and waited for the room to stop spinning.

Just her luck to meet the handsomest man she had ever seen when she had the worst headache of her life. She wasn't even certain she had been speaking English--and then when he seemed not to know about the Fates, she was afraid he was going to consider her crazy.

He just sat behind the counter, watching her with those amazing blue eyes. He had rich black hair and a square jaw. He even had a dimple in his chin. When she had seen that, she wished Kyle were with her so that she could point out how charming a dimple was.

But of course Kyle, being eleven years old and male, probably wouldn't have thought the dimple as charming as Vivian did.

The headache seemed to grow, as if it were alive. She had to do something about it--find out what had happened to Henri--or Dexter, which he seemed to prefer--and see if he had some aspirin or something, anything to make this pounding go away.

Vivian stood, careful not to step on the adventuresome kitten. She was glad that Dexter had locked the front door. The little one, Marco Polo, seemed to have inspired all the others into exploring. Mom didn't care; she slept after a particularly draining feeding session.

The store had strange lighting. The fish tanks provided most of it. Somewhere nearby a man with a Southern accent talked about bluesman Robert Johnson.

The radio. It was only the radio.

The scratchy sound of an old recording filled the store, clas.h.i.+ng with the hum of the cash register. One of the kittens meowed, and it sounded like someone screamed--at least to Vivian's sensitive ears.

She needed to lie down. She'd got a sense that there was someplace for her to do it in the back. She'd had migraines before, often after a lot of concentration, particularly psychic concentration. The migraines usually pa.s.sed after a short nap.

She used the counter, and then some displays, to help herself toward the back. The fish, moving in their tanks, seemed to follow her, as if they were concerned. She was imagining everything.

A short nap, and she could drive out of here, out of poor Henri/Dexter's life. The man had just been trying to live like a normal person, even though he clearly was not. Just the mention of those women had put him into a panic.

They had some kind of history--the women had even referred to it--and it wasn't something he wanted to revisit.

Vivian would return to them and make them go to that restaurant, Quixotic, instead. Or she'd go there herself, bring someone up to her apartment and get help.

After her nap.

She made it to the door leading into the back. The pounding on her skull grew harder, almost as if someone were trying to get into her mind. She pulled the door open and found herself faced with boxes, empty aquariums, and a lot of pet food.

In fact, the entire back had the meaty odor of dry dog food, and it made her instantly queasy.

She didn't see Henri/Dexter anywhere. The back door was locked, and the bathroom door was closed.

She called his name, but he didn't answer. Which was odd, because she hadn't seen him leave.

There was no place to lie down back here. She put a hand on the pile of boxes and leaned on them, feeling like an old woman.

Then she used the last of her strength to cast about with her mind for him. But she couldn't sense Henri/Dexter. She was alone here except for the kittens and the mother cat.

A s.h.i.+ver ran up her spine. Alone, and the headache was growing worse, worse than it had ever been in her life.

She wasn't going to be able to drive. She wasn't even sure she could walk any farther.

She was going to need some help, and she was going to need it fast.

Dexter appeared in a giant library. It smelled musty and the lights were dim. The floor was made of marble and there were long tables between the stacks. Ladders on wheels ran up the walls as far as the eye could see.

He looked up. The books seemed to run on forever. He wondered if every book ever written was in here and then supposed it was.

Behind him, gum snapped.

"Ew, gross," a young girl said.

"Don't do that. You almost got it in my hair," said another.

"Did not." The last voice was petulant.

He turned around. Three teenage girls sat on top of one of the tables, legs crossed. Stacks of books surrounded them, and they all had books open on their laps.

The girls wore crop tops, low-slung jeans, and too much makeup. Their feet were bare, but their toes were painted with glitter polish and decorated with fake tattooed b.u.t.terflies.

"Excuse me," Dex said, keeping his voice down even though they hadn't. "I'm looking for the Fates."

The girl closest to him--a long-haired blonde with sky blue eyes--smiled at him. "That's us!"

"No," he said. "The real Fates."

The girl in the middle flipped her beaded corn-rows out of her face with one beringed hand. "We are the real Fates," she said with a trace of annoyance.

He was the one who was getting annoyed. All he had wanted to do today was find a home for five kittens. He hadn't planned on spending his morning searching for three women he didn't even like.

"I meant," he said, enunciating carefully, "I'm looking for Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos."

"Oh, them," said the last girl, who had trimmed her red hair so short it looked like a crew cut. "They're not the Fates anymore."

"What?" Dexter took a step forward.

"Yeah," said the first girl. "We are."

He felt his stomach twist. "What do you mean, they're not the Fates anymore?"

"Hey, bud, don't you pay attention in cla.s.s?" the second girl asked. "They're done. We're the Fates now."