Simply Irresistible

by Grayson, Kristine

  But Dex smiled. His lips didn’t move, but she heard him say thank you as clearly as if he had spoken the words aloud.

  “We need to get you out of here,” he said to the Fates, “now that everyone knows where you are. They’re going to try to trace any magical trail I make, and since we don’t know who’s after you or how powerful they are, I think it might be good if we have some help.”

  “Who, though?” Lachesis said.

  “Quixotic is just next door,” Dex said. “Seems to me there should be at least one mage inside.”

  “They’re closed,” Atropos said.

  “We already told you that,” Clotho said.

  “Just a few minutes ago as a matter of fact,” Lachesis said.

  “They have hours like other restaurants.” Vivian smiled at the Fates. “They should open at eleven.”

  The Fates looked up at her clock, just like she had done. The minute hand hadn’t moved much.

  Her gaze slipped from the Hulk to her framed comics: her prized Batman original, signed by Bob Kane; the line art for an early issue of Swamp Thing; and her most prized possession, a carefully framed copy of Action Comics. Once upon a time, that comic book had been worth more than everything else she owned put together.

  The value of the book hadn’t declined, but she had come into money since Aunt Eugenia had given her the book. (Aunt Eugenia again. Vivian felt her heart twist.)

  Then she frowned. That cover had given Dex quite a jolt when he had first seen it. He had studied it as if it were the enemy.

  She loved the cover. Superman over Metropolis, his marvelous body curled as he stopped in the air mid-flight to study the city below. His lantern jaw and solid profile gave him an all-American handsomeness that she so admired. The blue-black hair curled over his forehead. The only thing she couldn’t see was that beloved dimple in his chin.

  The dimple. In his chin.

  Vivian looked at Dex.

  Dex had Superman’s face. Or rather, Superman had Dex’s face. Dex flushed.

  “I can explain,” he said.

  “You’re—?”

  “No,” he said. “They were just a couple of teenagers who didn’t know what they saw was magic. They were—”

  “Henri!” Atropos said.

  “You’re not to talk of that,” Clotho said.

  “You are forgetting our warning,” Lachesis said.

  And even though the Fates had no power, Dex seemed unnerved enough to stop talking.

  “I think he can tell me,” Vivian said, a little unnerved herself. Dex looked like Superman. Whenever Vivian envisioned the perfect man, she envisioned Superman. Or, if the situation called for an intellectual, Clark Kent. Kent always looked good in a suit.

  Just like Dex would.

  “I think we should take Henri’s suggestion and leave this place,” Atropos said.

  “And that artwork,” Clotho said as if there were something wrong with it.

  The back of Vivian’s neck itched. She ran a hand over it, wondering if this was an aftereffect of the strange headache that glass jar had given her. She scratched at the base of her skull, and the itch went away.

  “You all right?” Dex asked.

  She wasn’t sure if he was asking about her reaction to the art and the news, or if he was concerned about her health. She didn’t have time to dwell on either. The Fates had to be the priority. “I think we should go.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Dex said, and waved his arm in a circle. Instantly, Vivian’s apartment vanished. For a moment, she appeared to be in a void with the Fates and Dex, and then she was inside Quixotic.

  She’d been to Quixotic before with Kyle and Travers, the day after she moved to Portland. She wanted to treat them after all the help they had given her.

  The meal had been special. Wonderful service that caught every detail, but no one hovered. Excellent food, rivaling anything she’d ever had in L.A., and a congenial atmosphere, which her hostess had called upscale Northwest, laughingly adding that it was upscale because the tablecloths were linen.

  The restaurant had been packed that day. It was empty now, and colder than it had been. The air was still fragrant, though. Some of the scents lingered from the night before—or had probably always been there—a hint of garlic, a bit of vanilla, some exotic spices she couldn’t identify. But over all of it was the rich, warm smell of baking bread, a smell that made her feel at home.

  The group had arrived in the front of the restaurant, near a long bar that brushed up against floor-to-ceiling windows. Everyone was standing in the same positions they had been in: Vivian near Dex, and Atropos near the empty hostess station. Clotho and Lachesis had the worst of it. They had both been sitting on the couch, and when they arrived, they toppled to the hard tiled floor.

  They didn’t look upset, though. Instead, they both cast glances at the darkened windows, which had an excellent view of the street.

  “I’m not sure this was a good idea,” Clotho said.

  “Let’s get away from here,” Lachesis said.

  They stood, brushing themselves off, and headed into the restaurant. The tables, made of wood, had runners going across them, with rose centerpieces. The dishes, already in place, were stoneware, and the silverware beside them had a distinctly knotted pattern.

  Apparently lunch here was a lot more casual than dinner.

  Vivian glanced at the street before following the group. She could still see police vans, news trucks, and a crowd of people, most of whom had surrounded her building and were touching its brick sides. She wondered if CNN was still broadcasting the strange news, wondered if she should call Travers back, and then decided to do it later.

  Atropos had stopped in the middle of the restaurant. She was touching one of the floral centerpieces, her hand lingering on the rose’s petals. Clotho and Lachesis moved forward, apparently not realizing that they were alone.

  Dex stood near the hostess station, watching Vivian.

  “This is a bit much for you, isn’t it?” he said.

  She gave him a small smile. Superman. Wow. But his kindness seemed more personal than the Man of Steel’s had ever been. Vivian often got the sense that Superman never really got involved emotionally with anything—not even Lois Lane.

  It was clear that Dexter Grant didn’t have that problem. Vivian already felt involved with him, and she had only known him a few hours. He was clearly wrapped up in her as well.

  “I feel like I’m in a different world,” she said.

  “You are.” He extended his hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can resolve this so you can go home safely.”

  She froze. She hadn’t thought about that. Her apartment wasn’t safe because whoever was looking for these women had known they were there.

  “Do you think I’m in danger?” she asked.

  He studied her for a moment. She got a sense he was going to lie to her—tell her everything was all right, when it really wasn’t. And then, clearly, he changed his mind.

  “I’ll know more when I know who we’re dealing with,” he said. He kept his hand out, and she took it. His fingers were warm and dry. They wrapped around hers, and she felt a jolt.

  Dex glanced at her. He seemed to feel it too. It was odd that she couldn’t tell if he actually felt it or not. For a moment, he seemed closed to her.

  Did he have the ability to shut her out? She’d never met anyone who could do that before. Either they didn’t let her in at all, like the Fates, or they were completely open to her if she wanted them to be.

  Of course, she wasn’t usually this hooked up, either, where she could hear actual thoughts.

  Dex led her toward the back. Clotho and Lachesis went through a double door, and she could hear voices rise. Atropos picked up the rose and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Then she held the rose away, staring at it with a frown.

  “It’s a hothouse rose,” Dex said as he and Vivian reached Atropos’s side. “It has no scent.”

  “The
n what’s the point of having a rose?” Atropos put it back into the vase.

  Vivian had never seen her away from the other two. Atropos seemed smaller than she had before, as if she weren’t really a full person, even though Vivian couldn’t really say what was different.

  “Come on,” Dex said.

  They headed toward the back. At that moment, the double doors opened again. Clotho beckoned Atropos forward. Atropos sighed and hurried ahead.

  “I’ve never seen them apart,” Dex said. “I didn’t think they could be separated.”

  His words echoed Vivian’s thoughts from a moment before, except that he sounded worried.

  “Is that a problem?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, but he sounded confused. His hand gripped hers tightly, his pressure gentle.

  “I still don’t understand all this talk about interims and governing bodies and powers,” Vivian said. “If there were powers in charge, why would they let someone attack these women?”

  “I’m not sure the Powers That Be know what the Fates are doing.” Dex had slowed down. He wasn’t walking as fast as he had a moment before. It was almost as if he didn’t want to go into the back, didn’t want to get involved with the other mages.

  “When do you think we can leave?” Vivian asked.

  He smiled down at her. “You really do read minds.”

  “No,” she said. “Usually I just get a sense impression. You and I seem particularly in tune.”

  Then she blushed. She hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. Or maybe she had. She wasn’t really certain. She just knew that this man attracted her and made her feel safe all at the same time.

  Then the double doors banged open. A tall, black-haired man wearing blue jeans, a crisp white shirt, and silver-toed boots walked into the room. He had odd silver eyes, and a narrow, classically handsome face, so perfect that Vivian would have thought he was airbrushed if she’d seen his photograph in a magazine.

  “So you’re the infamous Henri Barou,” the man said in a deep voice that had a hint of a British accent.

  Dex sighed. “Let’s go with Dexter Grant, shall we?”

  The man’s eyebrows went up in amusement. “All right. If we’re going to do that, I’m Alex Blackstone.”

  “Aethelstan.” Clotho came to the double doors. Her tone made the name sound like a reprimand.

  “He insists that we don’t use real names. I think he’s right,” Blackstone said. “We have no idea who’s listening.”

  “I say we make sure no one is.” A broad-shouldered man with the whip-thin athleticism of a long distance runner stopped beside Clotho. He had blond curls and eyes so blue they reminded Vivian of sapphires.

  The blond man was beautiful. Vivian almost felt as if she’d seen him before—and then she realized she had. At the Getty Museum, she’d seen a touring exhibit of Greek sculpture. He looked like one of the young athletes caught mid-run.

  “To keep things level,” the blond man said, “my real name is Darius, but you will call me Andrew Vari.”

  Vivian wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. Both men had strong personalities, and she got a sense of them, clearer than anyone except Dex. With Dex she felt a connection. With them, she had a sense she could be overpowered at any moment.

  “I think we should meet here in the dining room,” Blackstone said, “since we seem to have quite a crowd.”

  His silver gaze passed over her, and if she hadn’t had a sense of him, she would have thought he hadn’t seen her. But she knew he had, and she also knew that he saw her magical power, just like Dex had.

  “Besides,” Blackstone said, going to a large table, “if we talk out here, we don’t have to worry about my kitchen staff overhearing anything unusual.”

  He reached into the pocket of his shirt and removed a box of matches. Then he lit a fat candle in the middle of that table’s large centerpiece.

  “Alex.” another blond woman pushed her way past the group at the door. “You’re not thinking of opening today, are you?”

  The woman was tiny and had the cute, open face of a high school cheerleader. In fact, if she hadn’t spoken first, Vivian would have thought she was a high school student. But the woman’s voice had a strength that only came with age and experience.

  When Blackstone raised his head and looked at the woman, his expression softened, easing the angles and planes on his face. He suddenly looked approachable.

  “I think it would be more suspicious if we remained closed, don’t you, Nora?”

  Nora, the blonde, shook her head. “Not with all those cops and news organizations out there.”

  “Publicity,” said Andrew Vari. “It’s always good to be open when members of the press are around.”

  “Except when you have three Fates in your dining room,” Dex said drily.

  Vari shrugged one shoulder. “We could spell them so no one saw them but us.”

  Dex let go of Vivian’s hand. She felt the absence as if he had left her. “Before we go any farther, I need to know if this place is protected.”

  Blackstone’s eyes hooded, and Vivian couldn’t see their expression any longer. “Why?”

  “These women have been under assault all morning,” Dex said. “I need to know they’re safe.”

  “They’re safe for the moment,” Blackstone said. “We’ll have a problem when we open for business.”

  “So you do have a protection spell on this place?”

  Vari crossed his arms. “How we protect this place is none of your business.”

  The back of Vivian’s neck ached. She wondered if she had twisted it funny when she passed out. She rubbed it absently.

  “Right now, it is my business,” Dex said. “I didn’t bring everyone here to make matters worse. I suspect the Fates are up against some pretty big powers, and I am a rather young mage compared to you two. I thought I could use some help.”

  “This is the part where you say, ‘But I was wrong,’ and then stomp off, right?” Vari’s face, however beautiful, was not kind. Vivian had been right to compare him to a sculpture. He had all the warmth of stone. “You’d like to leave them here with us. You’ve had enough trouble with your heroic tendencies. Better to let bad boys who’ve already served their sentences mess with the Fates, just in case this is some kind of trick.”

  Dex’s expression didn’t change, but Vivian could feel his shock. No one had ever spoken to him about his magic like that except the Fates themselves.

  “The ladies came to you for help,” Vari said.

  “Actually,” Dex snapped, “they came to you first, but you two were unavailable.”

  “Actually,” Vivian said, putting her hand on Dex’s arm in an attempt to calm him down, “they came to me first. They didn’t know how to find Dex and they couldn’t find you two either. I did what I could. I’m not able to do any more. I don’t know if Dex can either. So maybe we should just leave this up to the rest of you.”

  No one had sat down around the large table. Everyone was standing near it, like houseguests who weren’t sure if the party had started yet.

  Blackstone stared at the Fates as if he could see through them.

  “I’m not real keen on helping them,” he said as if they weren’t there. “There’s a thousand years of my life spent carting a coffin around that I’d like to get back.”

  Vari’s arms tightened, showing the muscles in his biceps. He didn’t look at the Fates at all, but directed his remarks to Dex. “They’re not my favorite people either. They made me look like a garden gnome for nearly three thousand years.”

  Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos stood near the swinging doors, arms around each other. As they listened, the hope on their faces slowly faded.

  “Your punishments were justified,” Clotho said.

  “Particularly yours, Darius,” Lachesis said. “You nearly destroyed true love for everyone.”

  “I never had that power,” Andrew Vari said.

  “And as for
you, Aethelstan,” Atropos said, “you misunderstood our prophecy. That is not our fault.”

  Blackstone took a step toward the women, his face filled with menace. Vivian felt the repressed anger in him, now boiling very close to the surface.

  She took a step back even though she was nowhere near them. Dex put his hand against her spine, holding her in place. He didn’t want her to call attention to herself.

  Nora grabbed Blackstone’s arm. “It turned out all right, Alex. It turned out the way it was supposed to. You know that.”

  Blackstone glared at the three women for a moment, then bent down and kissed Nora on the top of her head. “Right as always, my beautiful wife.”

  Vari rolled his eyes and Nora glared at him. Even though Vivian got no sense of magical power from her, she suddenly had the feeling that Nora was the strongest person of the three.

  “Everything turned out all right for you too, Sancho,” Nora said, obviously using yet another nickname for Andrew Vari. “Better than all right. And you’re usually the first to admit it.”

  Vari grimaced, then shook his head. At that moment, yet another woman came through the double doors from the kitchen. She glanced at the Fates as if she didn’t recognize them, then walked around them, looking with surprise at the large group.

  She had a sweatband around her forehead and her red hair was tied back into a ponytail. She was wearing Lycra running shorts, a Lycra top, and expensive running shoes.

  She looked very familiar.

  “Is my husband causing trouble?” she asked, using a towel to wipe the sweat off her face.

  “I don’t cause trouble, Ari,” Vari said. “I prevent it.”

  She grinned. “In what world?”

  He grinned too, but Vivian didn’t like the expression. It hid scheming, which she could sense from him. She tilted her head sideways, still trying to ease the ache in her neck.

  “Ari,” Andrew Vari said. “I don’t think you’ve ever met the Fates.”

  He swept his arm toward the three women near the woman he was calling Ari. She whirled toward them, her green eyes flashing, her mood completely different.

  “You! You’re the ones who hurt my husband. Didn’t you know what a good, kind man he is? Don’t you know what you put him through, how unfair it all was? Do you know what you did to him, making him suffer like that? It’s not right and not fair, and I’ve been meaning to tell you all this for a long time now, but he wouldn’t let me. Now I can, and believe me, if I had magic, you women would pay for what you did. You’d—”