“We believe,” Atropos said.
“Were designed to keep us out forever,” Clotho finished.
“Our last millennium wasn’t our best,” Lachesis whispered, and the other two glared at her.
“It was not our fault,” Atropos said.
“I don’t care about your history. I’m not even sure I believe everything you’re telling me.” Vivian looked out the window. The view had gone from clear to opaque since she thought of the building as encased in glass. She couldn’t even see the street below, and the noise had ended almost immediately. “I certainly don’t know how you think I can help you.”
“Well,” Clotho said. “You were the closest thing we could find to a mage at the moment.”
“Besides, we really didn’t know about Eugenia,” Lachesis said. “Do you think that was another mistake on our part?”
Then the building shook. Vivian pitched forward, nearly hitting her head on the table. She caught herself with her right hand. “What was that?”
“A test,” Clotho said, her face so pale that Vivian could almost see through it.
“You have great power,” Lachesis said. “That’s why you’re psychic. Unfortunately…”
“You won’t come into the magical part for another three decades or so,” Atropos said.
“And we simply can’t wait that long,” Clotho said.
They looked at each other. Vivian frowned. The beginning of a headache was building behind her eyes. “The restaurant won’t open for another two hours, but I could try to call your friends.”
“Aethelstan,” Lachesis said.
“Darius,” Atropos said.
Clotho shook her head. “They’re good men, but they may not have forgiven us. We were harsh with them.”
“Necessarily harsh,” Lachesis said.
The building shook again. A pain shot down Vivian’s nose. “I don’t feel so well,” she said, and sat back down, letting the tray bang against the table.
“Oh, dear,” Atropos said.
“I knew we should have used the tinfoil,” Clotho said.
“We’re going to need assistance a lot sooner,” Lachesis said.
“Vivian,” Atropos said, and Vivian started. That was the first time they had used her name since they arrived.
“What?” Vivian continued to rub her nose. It ached.
“Do you know a way out of here that doesn’t require stepping onto the street from the front entrance?” Clotho asked.
“The parking garage,” Vivian said.
“Well, then, that’s it,” Lachesis said.
“What’s it?” Vivian asked at the same time Atropos did.
Then all three women looked alarmed.
“We didn’t have the same thought,” Atropos said.
“Do you think everything is breaking down?” Clotho asked.
“I thought that we’d simply be without magic when we volunteered to go without magic. I didn’t think that we’d lose ourselves,” Lachesis said.
“Maybe it was a glitch,” Atropos said. “Now I know what you thought.”
“Well, I don’t,” Vivian said with irritation. Her headache was getting worse.
“Henri Barou,” Clotho said.
“Yes,” Lachesis said. “You must get Henri Barou.”
Atropos shook her head. “He won’t help us. Not after what we told him.”
“We’ll untell him,” Clotho said.
“I don’t know any Henri Barou,” Vivian said.
“He lives here in Porttown,” Lachesis said.
“Portland,” Vivian corrected her absently as she got up. She picked up her new phonebook, and started to thumb through it.
“Now is not the time to read, girl,” Atropos said.
“Haven’t you ever heard of a phonebook?” Vivian asked, finally finding the “b”s.
“Oh, dear,” Clotho said. “There are so many details to learn.”
“And I thought we were prepared,” Lachesis said.
“We should have paid more attention to the films we watched,” Atropos said.
“Or not gotten so involved in the stories—”
“Excuse me,” Vivian snapped. “How do you spell his last name?”
Her headache was getting worse. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve these women, this morning, this life here in Porttown, as they were calling it. Maybe she had stepped into her Aunt Eugenia’s life without realizing it.
The women spelled the name, and Vivian looked for it. She looked in Portland, in Lake Oswego, in Beaverton, Tigard, and Tualatin. She looked at every “b” and every possible spelling of Barou.
She found nothing.
“I guess you’re out of luck there,” she said. “If he’s here, he’s not listed.”
“Oh, he probably didn’t use that name,” Lachesis said.
Vivian rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, stifling the angry comment that she had been about to make.
“What name would he have used?” she asked.
“How should we know?” Atropos said.
“These mages make up new names willy-nilly,” Clotho said.
“Sometimes they’re variations on the real name,” Lachesis said, “but every now and then, they pick something completely different.”
“We would have plucked the name from the air,” Atropos said, “but, alas, we have lost that talent.”
“Then we can’t find him,” Vivian said, “because I can’t pull names from the air.”
“Yet,” Clotho said.
Vivian ignored that.
“There are no other mages here,” Lachesis said.
“At least, ones that know how to use their powers,” Atropos said.
“Or have come into them,” Clotho said.
Vivian wiped a tear of pain from her left eye. She stumbled toward the bathroom and pushed the door open. It banged against the built-in linen closet, which made her headache worse.
She stepped inside, nearly slipping on the rug in front of the shower, and opened the medicine cabinet. Even though she knew she had Excedrin Migraine, it took her a moment to find it. It was behind some cough medicine she should have thrown out in Los Angeles.
Vivian opened the Excedrin bottle, poured out two pills, and swallowed them dry. Maybe she would have to call the police. She was getting ill, and there was no way she could continue to guard these women, even if she were well.
She wasn’t even sure what she was guarding them against.
She peered into the mirror. There were deep shadows under her eyes, and her skin, which was usually the color of milky coffee, seemed to have more milk than coffee.
“Vivian!” one of the women called from the front room.
If only she had some friends here. If only Travers hadn’t left. Or Kyle. Kyle would have some ideas.
“Vivian!”
“Just a minute,” she said, and splashed cold water on her skin. It didn’t help. Nothing seemed to.
The building shook, and she felt as if she were the one under assault.
“Vivian!”
They weren’t going to leave her alone. She would have to get help, that was all there was to it. Maybe when Quixotic opened—
“Vivian.” This time her name wasn’t shouted. All three women were peering into the bathroom.
“It’s rather small, isn’t it?” Clotho said.
“I thought they were always larger than this,” Lachesis said.
Atropos nodded. “In Pretty Woman, the tub was the size of—”
“It’s customary to give someone privacy in the bathroom,” Vivian said, without the force she would have used half an hour ago.
“You’re not well.” Clotho came to her side and touched her forehead with a cool hand.
“He’s trying a defeat spell,” Lachesis said.
“Only he doesn’t know where to aim it yet,” Atropos said.
“We have even less time than we thought.” Clotho put her arm around Vivian’s back an
d led her into the living room. Clotho’s support felt good. She was a surprisingly solid woman, considering how delicate she looked.
“Who is this he?” Vivian asked.
“We’re not sure it is a he,” Lachesis said.
“We’re only basing it on Clotho’s sighting,” Atropos said.
“We were all looking at him,” Clotho said. “He had a shaved head, and tattoos—”
“Just like everyone else in that park,” Lachesis said.
“I didn’t see anyone at all,” Atropos said, and the Fates looked at each other in panic.
Clotho eased Vivian onto the couch. All the conversation did was make her headache worse.
“We remembered how to find Henri,” Lachesis said.
“He has a shop,” Atropos said.
“Oh, good,” Vivian mumbled. “There aren’t many of those in Portland.”
“We believe it specializes in creatures,” Clotho said.
“Like eye of newt and wing of bat?” Vivian closed her eyes. That only made her focus on the headache, so she opened them again. She didn’t like the opaque light. She also didn’t like the three worried faces surrounding hers.
“Like cats and dogs,” Lachesis said.
“And fish,” Atropos said. “He seemed to prefer fish, last time he spoke to us.”
“Oh, yes!” Clotho said. “I remember. That’s where we put Munin.”
“Munin?” Vivian was following even less than she had earlier. “What’s a Munin?”
“A familiar,” Lachesis said. “It was for Darius.”
“Where was that?” Atropos picked up the phone book. “Is there a way to make this thing answer questions?”
“Not verbally,” Vivian said. The Excedrin Migraine was beginning to work. Now it felt as if her eyes had shrunken and her thought processes were slowed, but the pain was receding.
“It seems to me that the store was in Beaverville,” Clotho said.
“Beaverton,” Vivian mumbled.
“In a strip joint,” Lachesis said.
“A strip mall?” Vivian asked.
“Near Kinky’s,” Atropos said.
“I hope that’s Kinko’s,” Vivian said.
“And George Washington Square,” Clotho said.
“Washington Square Mall,” Vivian murmured, then sat up. “I know where that is. I’ve even seen the store.”
“You know?” Lachesis said.
“Yes, but a pet store won’t be open at this time of day.”
“It just might,” Atropos said. “Henri always worked early, even in the days when he was—”
“Shush,” Clotho said.
Atropos closed her mouth and looked humble.
Vivian stood. “Let’s go. I think I feel well enough to drive.”
All she knew was that she wasn’t going to let any of these women—whoever they really were—behind the wheel of her precious VW Bug.
“We can’t leave, dear,” Lachesis said.
“What?” Vivian asked.
“You’ll have to go alone,” Atropos said.
“And leave you in my apartment?” Vivian didn’t have a lot to steal, but she still had a few precious things. She had no idea what these women would do if she left them alone with her stuff.
“The effort of keeping this place hidden is already paining you,” Clotho said.
“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, overexplaining 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.
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 s
eated 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 of 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,” he said, “but this store isn’t the best place for that.”
The kitten mewled and pinwheeled 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.
Simply Irresistible Page 5
