by Zoe Chant
Jen said to Doris, “The truth is, I was clumsy as a teen. I grew so fast that I had trouble navigating through a room without banging my elbows into things. Mom wouldn’t let me near the stove, and when I got to college, they had the dorm cafeteria. So I never did get in the habit of cooking.”
Jen paused, struck with the vivid memory of Robert, year after year, standing at the kitchen counter with a book propped behind his plate and notebook at his right so he could take notes between bites. He’d never cared what he ate, only that it was easy to get and fast to go down. Preferably packed with vitamins and minerals to do double duty. All smothered in ketchup.
Jen blinked the memory away, aware of Nikos’s attention. She felt it. She said quickly, “I’m an expert guinea pig, though. I love good food. And Doris has spoiled me.”
The conversation promptly shifted to Doris, who talked about when she started cooking and her favorite recipes. Jen relaxed, relieved to be out of the limelight. That left her to savor the excellent meal as she cast quick looks at Nikos. The look turned into covert watching of his long, strong hands as finished off a rib. The glint of appreciation in his half-shut eyes. She had never before considered how attractive a man could be who enjoyed such simple pleasures—and she wondered how he would use those hands, and those lips, in other sensual ways . . .
FOUR
NIKOS
It was instinct, after a lifetime of being responsible for other people, to check on Jen as well as the two girls. Or so he could tell himself, but the truth was, every time he heard Jen’s voice or looked her way, he felt like he had too many hands, too many feet, and there were too many words he wanted to say, but the only one he should say was farewell.
That was logical. Responsible.
His unicorn responded to that thought with echoing silence.
He half-listened to the girls, who were soaking in the conversation about the sea life to be found along the Pacific coast. They wanted to stay. He could see and hear it in their joy at having spotted whales on their first, quick flight alone. He wasn’t worried about them being seen, as they were both mythic shifters—Cleo a hippogriff and Petra a Mongolian wind horse. As long as they were careful to shift out of sight of humans, they would be fine.
That is, as long as Cang and whoever was behind him were not lurking around.
He heard Jen’s voice again, splintering his thoughts. He caught himself straining to hear her, but all he caught were random words as she talked with her friends.
He wrenched his mind back on track.
Reasons to leave: first, the phone call from home, reminding him of the near crisis there. Second, he was far too distracted by Jen Carlsen.
Reasons to stay: first, his suspicion as to the nature of what was in that oracle stone. Second, Petra and Cleo were enthralled with the Pacific.
He could order the girls to leave today, and he knew they’d obey—especially if he told them about the phone call reporting that two spies of the gorgon who was threatening the island had been caught trying to infiltrate their stronghold. Except that in the same phone call, he’d been assured that his two leading hetairoi, Bryony and Mateo, were doing an excellent job of running things in his absence. His guards were doing everything right.
As for Jen Carlsen, he’d been distracted before, and he knew how to handle distractions: by keeping his focus on his responsibilities.
The foremost of those at this moment was arguably the oracle stone.
He had only caught what seemed to be a reflection of something he knew to be impossible: a Transfer Gate. There was only one Transfer Gate left in the world, in the possession of the celestial empress. Using it, she could send anyone anywhere, between one step and the next, as long as the destination was known. If there was any chance whatsoever that another such Gate existed, it must not fall into evil hands.
But he couldn’t trust that fleeting impression. He had to find a way to get closer. Make sure, before spreading what might be false news.
His attention splintered again when people began moving about. Doris cut slices of the cake, and Jen, Mikhail, and his wife carried dirty dishes to the kitchen, trailed by the white-haired little elder they called Godiva. He got up to help. Petra and Cleo also jumped up and looked around, and seeing nothing left to pick up, Cleo reached for the tray Godiva was carrying.
“We can take that,” Petra said.
“Thank you,” Godiva said.
Cleo only got only a few steps toward the door when Jen appeared. “Where do we take this?” Petra asked.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Jen said. “Thanks for helping. Why don’t you get some cake before it gets eaten up. It won’t last long!”
As the girls turned away, obviously glad for the invitation, Jen’s gaze lifted and met his. Then she looked away.
The mate bond is not complete when the woman obviously doesn’t want me, he said inwardly to the still-silent unicorn.
A thundering snort issued forth from the vault. Nothing is obvious except that she’s as skittish as a yearling. But the bond is THERE. And the lofty voice managed to hint that its lack of completion was his fault, before withdrawing with an actual inner boom.
Nikos sighed, watching as the girls joined Doris, who was handing around the pastry.
Then Mikhail beckoned to Nikos, who—relieved at the interruption from that still-echoing boom (and how did his blasted unicorn even manage that?)—joined him at the edge of the terrace overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Mikhail said in Persian, the language they both had been studying when they first met, “When we were at the cave, you changed from mind-speech to spoken. Did you perceive someone listening on the mythic plane?”
“No. I used actual speech because at least I could see who was listening, and while I can’t tell you for certain what that oracle stone contains, I’m convinced it’s rare. Powerful.”
Mikhail gazed out to sea, his expression thoughtful. “Some are adept at closing out all listeners but those they choose to speak to. Joey is one of these. I’m not as skilled.”
Nikos said, “Nor I. Mostly we don’t need to be. But this situation warrants extra caution, of that I’m convinced.”
Mikhail paused, and Nikos was distracted by Jen walking by to join those around the cake table. His gaze traveled down her length as he relished the quiet confidence in her walk, the easy swing of her hips. Stop that.
Boom.
Then Mikhail spoke, shattering the inner struggle: “Numbering among Joey’s many university friends are archaeologists, who have access to a variety of digging equipment. Tomorrow he’s going to see if he can borrow some tool that can bore down toward that trapped cavern, without raising inquiries. As it happens, the area is still under the jurisdiction of his university.”
Joey stepped up on Nikos’s other side. “It should only take a day, at most, if I can arrange for a suitable vehicle. That, and find the right way to frame the question.” He flashed his innocent grin. Though his face was round, his hair a mix of blonde and silver, he still reminded Nikos of a fox as he added, “Mentioning anything about ancient treasure is certain to bring out the lookie-loos who think along the lines of golden cups and King Tut’s tomb. But if I say we need to measure particulate matter in the surface dust and compare it to the composition of rock below, or perhaps something about fungi—nobody ever wants to stand around watching people dig for fungi—we should be able to work distraction-free.”
Nikos couldn’t prevent a grin. Joey was definitely a fox. “And of course you will turn in a report on rock composition and the rest of it.”
“Absolutely. There is always a geologist or two who gratefully receives such data,” Joey said with his bright, innocent smile that was the essence of fox. “You can leave that part to me. I’ve got several students, shifters all, whose studies conveniently overlap with our mission.” He turned to Mikhail. “If you can meet me at my place at seven tomorrow morning, and drive me to Jacob’s . . .”
Nikos moved away fr
om a conversation that no longer included him. He spotted Jen talking to Cleo and Petra as they ate cake, and backtracked, not wanting his presence to throttle what looked like a friendly conversation. From what little he could hear, it sounded like the girls were trying to wrangle an invitation to a more advanced martial arts class.
He left them to it, saw a stack of small plates with cake crumbs, and decided to take them to the kitchen. He had started to approach the kitchen door when he heard female voices coming from inside.
“ . . . think Jen is finally coming out of the funk, and I have to say, it’s about time.” That was Godiva’s rusty voice, reminding Nikos of a parrot.
“I still don’t understand how you could dislike Robert,” said Joey’s mate, Doris.
Robert—was that Jen’s husband? Nikos knew he should move away, since this conversation had nothing to do with him. But he could feel his unicorn all but planting his hooves. He paused, curious about what sort of man Jen had chosen to live her life with. That curiosity sharpened when Godiva squawked, “I didn’t dislike him. Not at all! I just never warmed up to him. Thanks for never telling Jen.”
“What good would that do?” Doris asked.
Bird’s high, sweet voice interjected, “They did everything together. He dedicated his life to good causes—all those awards they won. Interviewers always called him a saint.”
“Maybe. But saints belong in monasteries.” Godiva sighed like a hissing kettle.
Doris chuckled. “Here, hand me that dry dishcloth. This one is sopping. Godiva, you can’t hold those health food bars and dried apricots against him. That was years ago, back when we were still trading off bringing refreshments to the group. And he did mean well.”
Godiva snorted, a noise that reminded Nikos of a hippopotamus pulling a foot from mud. “And wasn’t he patronizing about it!”
Doris said, “Not patronizing. He was too earnest for that.”
“I guess I’m too old and rotten,” Godiva grumbled. “The minute he walked in carrying those bars that taste like dog food, and made that little speech about carbon footprints, I knew he was going to be the villain of my second book. Suitably altered, of course. And it’s still my best seller, you notice.”
Doris said mildly, “I remember those health food bars. After he died I discovered their cupboards were full of them—that and drawers full of ketchup packets. Maybe the poor man had food allergies. At any rate he meant well, that night.”
“I thought he was sweet,” Bird said. “And I love apricots.”
Godiva sighed. “Sweet. Meaning well. All true. And the apricots might even have been Jen’s idea, though that speech wasn’t. We don’t know without asking, and I’m not going to ask. But this I do know. In all the years we’ve been together at the writing group, she always brought their latest article about cleaning up after tsunamis, or investigating crime bosses in Bosnia, or helping plague victims. She took notes on what we said. But she didn’t write any fiction until this last three years. And nearly every one of those stories, she said she started when she was a kid, or outlined in college. All pre-Robert.”
“That doesn’t mean anything—”
“I think she lived his life. And I can see you’re about to say it was her choice, but all I’m saying is, we saw her wake up and smell the coffee when that piece of man-cake came flying outa nowhere and seduced her with karate.”
Nikos nearly choked. Inside him, his unicorn hummed appreciatively. Very observant elder, this Godiva.
I did NOT seduce her. When I seduce a woman, it’s because she clearly wishes to be seduced, and YOU get to nap in your vault. Which you ought to be doing right now—
Doris laughed. “I think it’s too early to start making wedding plans for Jen.”
“Wedding!” Godiva scoffed. “Who’s talking about weddings? She just got done with decades of that ball and chain. Here’s a stranger who won’t be here long. She can have a fling, then good-bye Charlie, he rides off into the sunset. She gets a little fun, and none of the baggage. It’s perfect!”
Nikos winced. And that, he said to his unicorn as he set the plates on a side table and backed soundlessly away from the kitchen door, is why I hate eavesdropping.
This Godiva appears to think little of human men, the unicorn observed.
And she’s not wrong, Nikos retorted.
WE shall treat our mate well, the unicorn responded with tranquil assurance.
That’s absolutely right. Which means not forcing a prospective mate to choose between her home and walking into a mess that’s getting worse by the day. And that’s why we’re taking the girls home as soon as Joey and Mikhail get their machinery down into that cavern pocket. Nikos stated it firmly to his unicorn.
And felt like a first-class hypocrite, because as he was mentally lecturing, his eyes were busy appreciating the shape of Jen’s face, the tiny laugh lines around her eyes. The set of her shoulders—the latent power there reminding him of a hunting cat. The swell of her breasts—
He shut his eyes and turned away as an echo of a gloat rose from deep within.
You. Back in the vault.
All right, the day was half over, and he’d spent a great deal of it thinking about Jen. If keeping his distance wasn’t going to force his mind onto the threats here and at home, then why not make a pest of himself and let her give him the boot? He had nothing to offer but problems. Nearly every subject had to be avoided. If she found him boring, so much the better. They’d each go their own way, and she’d stay safely ignorant and unhurt.
“Kyrios!” Petra called across the terrace.
“There you are,” Cleo exclaimed, hopping up and down on her toes. “Guess guess guess guess!”
“English,” he reminded her as he crossed the terrace to join the girls.
Cleo obediently switched to English. “There is an advanced class tomorrow, and Ms. Jen Carlsen said we could come as her guests, because you signed their papers!” She clasped her hands, her honey-brown eyes full of excitement. “They have weapons practice. Say you’ll come.”
“It sounds like the pair of you were invited,” he responded, laughing at her enthusiasm. “Not I.”
Jen turned his way. “Practice is open to all at the equivalent of brown belt and up. From what I saw of Petra and Cleo’s forms today, I would place them around that level.” She held up a plate. “Cake?”
“It’s delicious,” Cleo exclaimed, adding proudly, “I ate four pieces!”
Nikos accepted the plate, careful not to touch Jen’s fingers. He busied himself taking a bite, and paused to relish the blend of flavors so different from those at home.
“They call it hazelnut and custard,” Cleo said earnestly. “And it tastes like it was made of air!”
It really was delicious. Nikos looked up, to meet Jen’s warm gaze. “You’re welcome to join us,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said, giving up. “If I finish helping Joey with his project in time, I’d like that.”
And—regretfully, because this entire situation was impossible—he knew he would.
FIVE
JEN
Jen went home, grateful for the generous lunch that left her so full she wouldn’t be put to the trouble and expense of figuring out dinner once her evening classes were over. But that wasn’t going to last.
Maybe she ought to take Doris up on her cooking lessons. A pulse of the old mix of grief and guilt made her wince as she walked into the silent house. She looked toward her laptop out of habit—it was the only way to shut out the silent, Robertless environment that otherwise was still exactly the way Robert had wanted things: simple, practical, mindful of their carbon footprint. Nothing that they didn’t actually need in order to keep the body going, so that the mind was free to work on exposing the world’s ills.
She still had the taste of that cake in her mouth, which felt . . . irresponsible. That was silly, of course. It was just a cake. It would have been baked anyway, whether she ate some or not. And Robert would have b
een the first to say, “Go ahead and enjoy it if you like it.” Then his face would light up with some other thought and he’d dive back into work.
A restless sense stirred in her, and there in memory was Nikos, relishing what was after all one of life’s simplest and yet most fundamental pleasures: delicious food. Cake didn’t impart important vitamins and minerals. It existed for a single purpose, to please the taste buds. And he’d looked pleased as he ate it.
He certainly wasn’t merely devoted to pleasure, not with that body. She didn’t know what the story was with the two girls—if she had to guess, judging by the girls’ enthusiasm for martial arts, they had won some sort of contest or scholarship, and were traveling around the United States visiting various studios with their martial arts teacher. Maybe they were part of a larger tour group, and had stopped in Playa del Encanto because Nikos clearly knew Joey and Mikhail. All that suggested hard work and dedication.
But she’d seen the quiet pleasure in his expression at the food, the scenery, even the conversation. She wondered if he watched sunsets. Or listened to the rush of a stream. Or breathed the scents of pepper trees blooming, or ran his bare feet in the warmth caught in the sand long after the sun had gone down. All these little pleasures she’d stolen time to enjoy while trying to be diligent in working for the world’s greater good.
Well, she’d get to see the girls tomorrow. She adored kids of any age.
And she would get to see him.
The thought caused a surge of pleasure inside her—not just pleasure, but heat.
She didn’t know what to do with these feelings she hadn’t had since she was a freshman in college. It wasn’t the sort of guilt that came with betrayal. She had made a promise to stay loyal until “death do us part,” and had. It was that her reaction to this stranger was so intense. If anything, it felt stronger than it had when she was nineteen, and most of her idea of romance had been inside her own head. She had no idea what to do with that.
