Simply Irresistible

by Grayson, Kristine

  That had been the beginning of the end for him—except when those mages’ friends had tried to get revenge. A number of them had died in mysterious circumstances, circumstances Grant never got into trouble for.

  The Fates, apparently, didn’t punish attacks on mages they considered evil. The Fates only punished people who attacked mages considered good. Yet another thing to hold against those three women.

  Eris drove down Portland’s network of freeways, following the map she had pasted to the inside of the driver’s side window. The car bucked and lurched every now and then, and it had died at two separate stoplights before she remembered to use the clutch when applying the brake.

  But it didn’t take her too long to get to Grant’s neighborhood, considering all the driving she’d had to do. He was in one of the suburbs—Tualatin, King City, Tigard—she couldn’t tell the difference. The west suburbs seemed to be exactly the same: modern houses (much too big at 3000 square feet for any normal family) usually painted whites, scattered on the hillsides, near shopping malls and shopping malls and, in case there weren’t enough, more shopping malls.

  Oh, and traffic lights to match the malls.

  She had to turn at one of those traffic lights (and, fortunately, the light had been green, so she hadn’t had to stop), and head down a windy road, past brown office complexes that all looked the same. For a moment she thought she had doubled back somehow, and then she realized that this set of brown buildings that disappeared into the young trees was a slightly darker brown than the ones she had seen earlier. Later construction, because the doors were wider, proclaiming their politically correct handicapped access.

  The first thing she would do when she ruled the world was make anyone who uttered a politically correct phrase bathe in boiling lava for a week. In Los Angeles the week before, one man had had the audacity to tell her that the problem she was having with one of her male CEOs was because she was gender-challenged.

  It took her a moment to realize that he meant it was because she was a woman.

  She had him on her list. When she had a free moment she’d turn him into a rat—a gender-challenged rat who was involved in some university’s breeding experiments.

  The brown buildings became country stores, which then became large lots—acres, actually, with older trees. The houses on these lots looked like farmhouses or modified ranches, with big backyards and garages twice the size of the houses.

  The neighborhood seemed very old—for the West Coast, anyway—and somewhat rundown. She wouldn’t have expected Dexter Grant’s home to be here.

  But it was, if the address she had was correct. His house was at the end of a long gravel driveway that ran between two large oak trees, the roots sticking up into the road itself. She could barely see the house. It appeared to be another ranch—and one not kept up since it was built.

  The old green door’s paint was peeling and the garage door was missing a few slats. But the fence around the backyard looked new, and Eris thought she saw, in the fading light, evidence of a well-tended garden.

  So young Mr. Grant understood the importance of appearances as well. That shouldn’t have surprised her.

  Eris parked the car in a neighbor’s driveway, several yards down. No one appeared to be home at that house—and hadn’t been for some time, if the knee-high grass and empty windows were any indication.

  She doubted anyone would notice her here.

  She walked down the street as if she had done so every day of her life, looking at the large oaks on several of the properties, and the for-sale signs on many of them as well. All of the houses had acreage. She supposed Grant’s did too.

  If it did, it probably hid his real home, perhaps disguised as that masterful garden in the back and defined by the fence. And if Dexter Grant went to that kind of trouble to hide a house, he probably figured he could keep the Fates there safely as well.

  Eris stopped on the edge of the gravel road. Even though it was nearly sundown and shadows had fallen across the grass, she knew that Grant would be able to see her if she wasn’t careful.

  First, she had to scope this place out, and then she would make her move. She wanted to surprise Grant and his pretty little girlfriend as much as possible. Grant wasn’t as powerful as Eris—not by a long way—but he seemed to use his magic creatively, and sometimes that gave the mage an extra few seconds of surprise.

  Kinneally herself wasn’t much of a worry. Now that Eris knew Kinneally had psychic abilities, Eris knew what to expect from her.

  In fact, all Eris wanted from Kinneally was her ability to scream.

  It was clear that Dexter Grant was already infatuated with the woman—why else would he help the Fates who had forced him away from his life goal? Not to mention the fact that he looked at her like he wanted to take her right then and there.

  Grant was notoriously softhearted. He saved people he didn’t know. He would do anything for the woman he had fallen in love with.

  He would even give up the Fates to save her life.

  ***

  The remains of the pizza were scattered around them. Dex was on his third Sprite. Vivian had switched to coffee an hour earlier, even though her stomach wasn’t happy about it. Or maybe her stomach was responding to what she was reading.

  A stack of notebooks sat before her. The mythology books were off to the side. Dex had looked through them and decided they weren’t useful—at least not at the moment.

  All of the legal pads were filled with letters, written to Vivian, from Eugenia. One stack, which Dex had put back in one of the boxes, explained the magic system that Vivian had learned about earlier that day. Eugenia had started writing the letters when Vivian was a little girl, apparently planning to use them to explain the system to her once her training began.

  But the training had never happened. In the later notebooks, Eugenia was quite apologetic about that. She had a sense that time was running out. She had conveyed that sense in her e-mails to Vivian and in several phone calls, but Vivian had pooh-poohed them, apparently thinking Aunt Eugenia would live forever.

  At the top of one of the boxes, Dex found a sheet of fax paper, with an airline reservation on it. Aunt Eugenia had planned to spend this very week in Los Angeles. With Vivian.

  Apparently, Eugenia had felt that since she couldn’t bring the mage-in-training to the Pacific Northwest, she would bring a bit of the Northwest to the mage-in-training. Or something like that.

  As Vivian delved into her aunt’s things, her good mood disappeared. Dex didn’t say anything about her mood change, but one of the cats—a white and gold calico—had crawled on her lap about fifteen minutes ago.

  “Cat therapy,” Dex had said with a smile. “Cats believe if you pet them, you’ll feel better.”

  “The added benefit being that they’ll feel better too,” Vivian said, not looking up.

  “Exactly.”

  She did pet the cat and she did feel better, but the mood didn’t last. Because the documents she and Dex were going through now bothered her the most.

  They were about Eris who was, in fact, Erika O’Connell. Eris had had a number of names over the years. One of them had been Esme Pompedeau, a piano teacher who had lived in the same women’s boarding house as Eugenia at the turn of the century. They had become good friends—not because Eugenia had sought Eris out, but because Eris had sought her.

  Eugenia thought they had a shared secret and friendship based on dedication to the same principles. It wasn’t until Eugenia caught Eris going through her things that she realized something was wrong.

  “I think I found it,” Dex said.

  Vivian looked up from the notebook she’d been reading. Her eyes were muzzy. She’d been looking at blue ink on yellow paper for hours. “Found what?”

  “The reason Eris killed your aunt.”

  Vivian’s breath caught. She put her hand on the calico’s back, and the cat started to purr. It didn’t bring Vivian the advertised comfort. “What?”

&nbs
p; “Eris thought that your aunt was the Fates’ defender.”

  Defender of the Fates. Vivian frowned. Where had she heard that before? Then the hair on the back of her neck rose. That had been the title of Kyle’s comic book. And the superhero in it, the man, had looked just like Dex.

  That had to be more than coincidence. Obviously, Kyle had the family curse. He had powers too. She had just thought he had a lot of good hunches. But that comic book had been eerily accurate.

  Dex set the notebook down. “Eris thought that if anyone wanted to take out the Fates, they had to go through Eugenia first.”

  “Why would she think Eugenia was the defender of the Fates?” Vivian asked. She couldn’t think about Kyle, not now. She would worry about him later. Right now she had to focus on herself, Dex, and the Fates.

  “Because of the prophesies.” Dex folded his hands over the notebook. “Has anyone told you about the prophesies?”

  Vivian shook her head. “Not really. They were mentioned, but no one really explained them.”

  He brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He really was a handsome man. She wished—

  “Focus, Viv,” he said with a grin. “Prophesies.”

  She had been broadcasting. She flushed. His grin widened. “Prophesies,” she repeated.

  “One of the duties of the Fates—of our Fates—is to give each mage a prophesy. These prophesies are always about love.”

  “What does love have to do with Eris?” Vivian couldn’t think of two more disparate concepts.

  “Nothing,” Dex said. “It’s what your family has to do with the Fates.”

  “My family?” Vivian reached for the notebook. Dex didn’t move his hands. He wasn’t allowing her to take it. Apparently, he wanted to give her the information.

  “Your Aunt Eugenia shared your prophesy, and hers, with you. She knew others as well, but she didn’t write them down. She says the whole family is tied into the Fates.”

  “But I’m the only one with powers,” Vivian said, and then she bit her lower lip. That obviously wasn’t true. Kyle had them.

  Dex shrugged. “You and your aunt, and maybe someone else. She didn’t say.”

  He slid the notebook to Vivian. “Hers is first.”

  Vivian studied her aunt’s flowing handwriting. The prophesies were the only things on the page. Her aunt’s was:

  Your defense of the Fates will lead to a great love.

  And Vivian’s was:

  You shall have a great love should you survive Fate’s darkest day.”

  “She had it wrong,” Vivian said, then she looked up at Dex. “It’s not Fate’s darkest day. It’s Fates’—as in all three Fates—darkest day.”

  Dex nodded. “I think Eris had the same understanding that she did. I think everyone thought Eugenia would be the Fates’ defender. I think your aunt thought she was your defender too. If your prophesy is misread, like you say, then your future would be bright if Eugenia managed to save the Fates.”

  Vivian stared at the words, shaking her head and feeling very sad.

  “That’s why the Fates were so shocked that she was dead,” Dex said. “And Eris thought she had a victory when she killed Eugenia.”

  “How did Eris know the prophesies?”

  “They’re written down,” Dex said. “Anyone can find them if they look hard enough.”

  Vivian sighed. “So the prophesies are wrong sometimes?”

  “Never.” Dex sounded shocked.

  “But Aunt Eugenia’s was.” Vivian frowned. “She never had a great love.”

  Dex reached out and took Vivian’s hand. “Interpreting prophesies is very difficult. Even the Fates get the interpretations wrong sometimes.”

  “I thought they came up with the prophesies.”

  “They do,” Dex said, “but the prophesies come from some source outside themselves. Some people say the force is the Powers That Be, but others don’t agree.”

  “Don’t the Fates know?”

  “No one knows for sure,” Dex said.

  “I guess it really doesn’t matter,” Vivian said. “Aunt Eugenia’s prophesy was still wrong.”

  “Read it again, Viv,” Dex said softly.

  “It says, ‘Your defense of the Fates will lead to a great love.’” Vivian shrugged. “So?”

  “It didn’t say her great love.” Dex’s hand tightened on hers. “Now read yours.”

  Vivian did. You shall have a great love should you survive Fate’s darkest day.

  She felt cold. “You think Aunt Eugenia’s prophesy refers to us?”

  “Yes,” Dex said.

  Vivian tightened her hold on his hand. A great love. It felt like a great love. And he believed the prophesy pointed to it.

  She looked at him, feeling warm and loved and upset all at the same time. His gaze met hers, and it was full of compassion.

  “That’s so sad,” she said. “It means her whole life was pointing toward mine.”

  “I doubt she looked at it that way,” Dex said. “Maybe she spent all that time waiting for her great love.”

  Until the end. Vivian got his thought as clearly as if he had spoken. She knew in the end.

  “Because she sent me all the materials,” Vivian said.

  Dex started. He must have thought she hadn’t heard that last thought. “Yes.”

  “That makes sense,” she said. “But if the Fates knew they were going to face trouble, why did they come here? Why did they let their magic go?”

  There’s no figuring those women,” Dex said.

  “You don’t even have an idea?”

  He gave her a wry grin. “They do believe in fate.”

  Vivian rolled her eyes. “I still don’t get it. Even if the Fates are determined to believe in the prophesy, why would anyone else? I mean, if the Fates are the all-powerful judges, jury and executioners, where would Eris get enough magic to fight them?”

  “I don’t know,” Dex said. “And why wouldn’t Eris have taken Eugenia out when they first met?”

  Vivian shivered. Her life would have been so different if she hadn’t had her Aunt Eugenia to rely on. So different that she really didn’t want to think about it.

  The hair rose on the back of Vivian’s neck. “Is there a draft in here?”

  Dex shook his head, obviously not expecting the question. “From where? We’re really deep underground.”

  “Maybe the heating system?”

  “I can get you another sweater, Viv,” he said.

  She wrapped her arms around the one she was wearing. It was too big and smelled of Dex. “This one’s fine. It just felt like a goose had walked on my grave.”

  Dex’s expression turned sharp. “Are you sensing something?”

  Vivian wasn’t sure. She concentrated for a moment, tried to judge the sensation she had just had. Had it come from all her reading—which was disturbing her? Or the conversation? Or the fact that she had been cold since she arrived in this hideaway?

  Or was it something more?

  “Did it feel like that spell Vari took out of you?” Dex asked.

  Vivian shook her head. “That was a lot more powerful. This was just—a draft.”

  She didn’t want to tell him that sometimes she couldn’t tell a premonition from a sneeze, particularly if the response was mild. She had been concentrating on her reading, not on her various psychic abilities.

  “I thought you said a spell can’t get us down here,” she said.

  “I said we’re defended against all types of magic I know about.”

  “There are types you don’t know?” Vivian asked.

  “By our people’s standards, Viv, I’m a baby. I’m always astonished by how much I don’t know.”

  That didn’t reassure her. Of course, it wasn’t meant to. But she had been feeling safe until that moment. She thought of the other part of the prophesy.

  “The Fates’ darkest day,” she said to him. “Is this the Fates’ darkest day?”

  He shrugged. “I’
d like to hope so, because we saved them this morning. But I doubt it. I think their darkest day is ahead.”

  “So we have this…” She paused, not sure she wanted to say it before he did.

  “This great love,” he said.

  “And we might lose it?”

  “Might,” he said. “Only might. We might get to enjoy it as well.”

  Vivian bit her lower lip. “But there are no guarantees.”

  “No.”

  Then she frowned. “What’s your prophesy?”

  He blushed and blocked his thoughts.

  “Dex, please.”

  He shook his head, but the block lifted. Still, Vivian couldn’t read much more than embarrassment.

  “My prophesy,” he said, “is, ‘Only through foolish heroics will you find a great love.”

  “Foolish heroics,” Vivian repeated.

  He nodded.

  “Like rescuing animals?”

  “Or people, when it’s not approved.”

  “Or the Fates, when they might punish you for it.”

  He nodded.

  “Foolish heroics,” Vivian smiled. “I like that.”

  “I never have,” Dex said.

  “But you’ve lived up to it.”

  “I guess.”

  Vivian took a deep breath. “So there’s no comfort in your prophesy either. You’ve found the love.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And mine says we might lose it.”

  “That’s one interpretation,” Dex said.

  “It seemed to be Aunt Eugenia’s,” Vivian said. And then Dex opened to her as all of his blocks left him. He was worried, and beneath that worry was a subtle fear. “And yours.”

  He took her hand. “Vivian, you’ll be all right.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said.”

  “My foolish heroics only lead me to love,” he said.

  The implication was that she might not survive, and he would. He must have heard the thought.

  “I’ll do everything in my power to keep any harm from coming to you,” he said.

  She knew that. She trusted him beyond all measure, beyond all logic. But she also knew that his resources were limited, just like hers were.