Completely Smitten

by Kristine Grayson

  His attraction to Ariel was wrong, and he probably had Cupid to thank for it. Cupid, who might have done something to Darius while Darius had his back turned. Cupid probably wanted to humiliate Dar, as if his sentence wasn’t punishment enough.

  Or maybe Cupid wanted to make sure that the sentence continued, that Darius never successfully united the hundredth couple.

  That was probably it. Darius had assumed that Cupid had changed in the past 3000 years, just like Darius had. The old Cupid would have wanted Dar’s humiliation to continue. Cupid had even mentioned it, sounding disappointed that he didn’t find Darius looking short, squat, and ugly.

  Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. It was still half full, but it wouldn’t be for much longer.

  If Ariel was supposed to be part of his hundredth couple, he’d find her soul mate. He’d even make sure she lived happily ever after, even though that wasn’t part of what his task as matchmaker was.

  This deep attraction he had to her wasn’t real. It was a spell, designed to divert him. He knew better than anyone how real spells could feel.

  And how much they could hurt.

  SIX

  ARIEL AWOKE TO the sound of someone clearing his throat, and not in the polite way that folks had when they were trying to get a person’s attention, but in that obnoxious way they had when they were trying to clear phlegm.

  She opened her eyes, saw the log beams run across the ceiling, and smelled the crisp air of the mountains. She hadn’t dreamed the day before. She was here, injured, in Darius’s house.

  And he had kissed her.

  The throat-clearer—and it couldn’t be Darius, because this didn’t sound like him—continued for another moment, then stopped abruptly. There was a faint curse—and this time, she could have sworn that was Darius—followed by whistling.

  The tune was familiar, and almost as annoying as the throat-clearing. It was “Whistle While You Work.”

  After one verse the whistling ended, and more throat-clearing followed. Then a nasal male voice said, “Testing, one, two, three.” She heard a deep sigh followed by a faint “Dammit,” and the whine of a radio.

  The voice started to recite call letters.

  She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. If anything, she was even more sore than she had been the day before. That made sense. Muscle aches got worse the second day, peaked on the third, and then started to recede.

  She should have been used to aches by now—although these were excessive.

  “Variance to Emerald Aviation,” the nasal voice said. “Come in, Emerald.”

  Outside, the birds chirruped. Rose-tinted sunlight fell across the antique desk. Ariel glanced at the clock beside the bed. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. yet.

  A crackle of static with a voice buried in it made its way to her. She frowned. What was this? Who was this? It certainly wasn’t Darius.

  “Have an injured hiker at Variance,” the voice said. “Need a plane today.”

  She felt her heart sink. She wanted to stay longer. Although Darius had been worried about getting her out quickly. He was afraid that she might have internal injuries—at least, that was the impression she got.

  He’d been somewhat worried. Ariel put her fingers to her lips. A man didn’t kiss a woman like that when he was completely worried.

  “If I were a doctor, then that’d be a different matter.” The nasal voice sounded belligerent. “But I’m not.”

  Static.

  “What do you expect, me to grow wings and fly her out of here?”

  Ariel smiled. Maybe she wouldn’t fly out of here today after all. Maybe she would be able to stay a little longer.

  More static followed. She could barely make out another voice raised in agitation. She wondered where the radio was and why she could hear it so clearly.

  “No, buddy. I think you’re the one who misunderstands. Once I’ve notified you, she becomes your responsibility, not mine…”

  Ariel eased her legs over the side of the bed. She wondered why Darius wasn’t making the radio call. Maybe it wasn’t his radio. Maybe that was a friend he’d contacted, which was why the radio sounded so close.

  “…she’s clearly an experienced hiker. Which means she knows about search and rescue. Well, you don’t have to do the search, but the rescue is important…”

  She grabbed her crutches and tucked them under her arms, easing herself off the bed. Her injured ankle felt like a large, puffy, painful basketball. She was grateful for the splint, which made the effort of holding her leg off the floor easier.

  “…don’t really care about your schedule. The sooner you get here the better…”

  Ariel made it to the bathroom. She couldn’t take a shower—not with the splint—but she wanted to dress her scrapes and to clean up as best she could. Even though she had cleaned up some yesterday, she still probably smelled like she’d spent the last few days in the wilderness which, of course, she had.

  And she wanted Darius to get close to her again.

  In the bathroom, she couldn’t hear the strange voice. The more she woke up, the odder the voice seemed to her. The throat-clearing, the whistling, and then the radio seemed strange.

  Somehow she hadn’t expected to find other people so close by, but it made sense. Even when people sought isolation, they didn’t achieve it. Human beings clustered. Besides, the regulations governing this part of the primitive area might have been different from other parts. Neighbors might have been closer than she realized.

  But she didn’t realize people could travel with their radios. Showed how much she knew these days.

  By the time she had gotten out of the bathroom and changed into clean clothes (and they seemed even cleaner than they had when she was hiking—as if they’d been freshly laundered and replaced in her pack), the voice had stopped speaking.

  The birds were even louder, suggesting that the man had moved away from them. The house smelled of coffee and fresh baked bread. Ariel’s stomach rumbled.

  Apparently being injured did wonders for her appetite. Either that or she’d really have to rethink this dehydrated food the next time she decided to take a hike.

  She made her way down the hall, her heart beating in anticipation. She’d dreamed of Darius all night, of the feel of his body against hers, the way his lips had brushed hers so gently. Her cheeks grew warm.

  When she stepped out of the hallway, she was surprised to find the living area empty. The kitchen was still hot from that immense stove, and the front door stood open, the screen keeping the bugs at bay.

  The table, made from varnished pine, had a single place setting. The chair was pulled back slightly, revealing a footstool covered with pillows just beneath the table. There were plates of food near the single chair: muffins, a loaf of bread, and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. A pitcher of orange juice sat next to a pot of coffee. A single red rose sat in a clear vase near the juice glass.

  Ariel made her way to the table. As she got closer, she realized what she had taken for a paper napkin was actually a folded piece of paper with her name written on it in flowing script.

  She picked up the paper, jabbing herself in the ribs with the crutches as she did so. Using her thumb and forefinger, she opened the note with one hand and read.

  Dearest Ariel:

  I’m afraid I was called away this morning on some personal business and I won’t be able to see you off. I’ve contacted a plane for you. It’ll arrive before nine. The pilot will help you board. I told him to come into the house so that you wouldn’t have to wait near the runway.

  In the meantime, enjoy breakfast.

  I’m sorry that we missed each other, but I’m glad we met.

  I shall never forget you—

  Dar

  Ariel stared at the letter for a long time, her breath caught in her throat.

  He was gone. He had left her here, alone. Someone else had called for the plane. Someone else would help her board. Someone else would make sure her ankle got ten
ded.

  She would never see Darius again.

  I shall never forget you was a dismissal. He really and truly was gone.

  Ariel sank into the chair and propped up her injured foot. She set the crutches aside and stared at the table before her. This was not a meal a man made when he was trying to get rid of someone. This meal took a lot of time and energy. It was a meal meant to impress.

  And where did he get the single rose? She had seen no bushes about. Besides, roses didn’t do well at this elevation, at least not in the dryness of an Idaho summer.

  If only she had gotten up earlier. She would have come out here and talked to him while he was cooking.

  She would have found out what the personal business was.

  How did he even find out about it? Just the night before, he had said he didn’t have a phone.

  Maybe Nasal Voice had been using Darius’s radio. Maybe Darius had sent the friend here to help him out.

  She grabbed her crutches. Hungry as she was, she wasn’t going to leave here without seeing Darius one last time. Or at least finding out where he had gone.

  She did a cursory search of the main level of the house. She found another room beside hers, set up with reading lamps and big comfortable chairs. Books were piled everywhere, along with CDs, record albums, and forty-fives. A tiny shelf system with a five-disk changer sat on top of a console stereo from the 1950s. Beside that was an ancient hand-crank record player that looked as if it were still being used.

  The room had no obvious plug-ins, yet all this equipment seemed to be here for someone’s enjoyment. She thought that odd.

  A door beside this room led up a flight of stairs. The house was old enough, then, to have doors that cut off entire sections to preserve heat. Or maybe that remained a convention in this part of Idaho since there was no power up here. No sense heating an entire house when one section would do.

  At first, she had no idea how to get up the stairs. Then she realized she could do it. She would just have to be careful. First, she’d try it with her crutches, and if that didn’t work, she would sit on the steps and pull herself up with her arms.

  She smiled. That would certainly impress Darius.

  As if she expected him to be upstairs. If he was up there, then he was hiding from her—and after finding that note, she knew he wasn’t. He was somewhere else. But she might be able to tell where he’d gone from something he’d left upstairs.

  At least, that was what she told herself. Truth be told, she wanted to see where he slept, to know more about him.

  She made her way up the stairs carefully. It was harder than she thought, mostly because the crutches got in her way. When she reached the landing, she tossed them up the remaining stairs, and then, holding the banister, hopped to the second floor.

  The second floor was smaller than the first. In fact, the ceiling slanted on the north and south sides, obviously following the roof lines.

  There was a large room directly across from the stairs, and another large room at the end of a short hallway. Two smaller doors led to under-the-eaves storage, filled with more junk than she had ever seen.

  Darius wasn’t up here at all.

  She couldn’t even tell which room was his. Both had beds in them, and both beds were made. There were no suitcases or anything out of place. Everything was hung in closets. The bedside tables all had books with bookmarks in them.

  The second story smelled faintly of mothballs mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread. She went to the windows and looked out.

  The runway was visible from here. It was long and flat, a scar on the land. Behind it was a huge garage with cars inside that looked as old as the hand-crank record player.

  Otherwise, the entire house was surrounded by trees.

  She saw no sign of Darius. None at all.

  For a long time, she stood at the window, staring at the runway. She couldn’t go outside looking for him. She had no idea where he’d gone or how he’d gotten there. She could negotiate stairs with a broken ankle, but not the uneven trail or the cliffside.

  Maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe the circumstances would change and he’d be able to come back.

  Maybe the pilot wouldn’t be able to pick her up.

  Her stomach growled.

  Ariel sighed and made her careful way down the stairs. When she reached the living area, she stopped.

  The eggs were still steaming.

  How in the world had he managed that?

  * * *

  Darius sat on the hillside where he had been when he first saw Ariel. He probably should have popped himself to Boise or New Delhi, somewhere very far away, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to see her again.

  But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to be far in case something else went wrong.

  He’d been awake all night thinking about her, about the soft auburn of her hair, the way her cheeks dimpled when she laughed.

  About the evidence of a soul mate he’d seen in her lovely green eyes.

  He wished he were younger, a mage who hadn’t learned his lessons yet, or one who had no scruples. He would have taken her for himself then, the Fates be damned.

  But he knew the price of such an action. The world would be a different place if Camelot hadn’t shattered under the strains of his actions.

  Love, he’d learned slowly and painfully, was something to be respected at all times.

  He wrapped his arms around his legs, hugging his knees to his chest. The plane had to come soon.

  If it didn’t, he’d go back to her and never leave.

  No matter what the cost.

  * * *

  The eggs were hot, but the stove had cooled down considerably. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no evidence of anyone else’s presence in the house at all.

  The hair had risen on the back of Ariel’s neck. She was really and truly unnerved now. The egg platter sat on the tabletop, with nothing beneath it to keep the eggs warm.

  Maybe she was still asleep and dreaming. Maybe this entire house was a dream—and she was lying on that ledge, delirious.

  She grabbed a muffin and stared at the eggs as if they were her enemy. There were too many mysteries here this morning: the man with the nasal voice, Darius’s disappearance, and now the eggs. Not to mention that in her thorough search of the house, she’d found no evidence of a radio.

  She took a bite of the muffin. It was blueberry, light and fluffy, not too sweet, yet somehow perfect. The best muffin she’d ever tasted.

  Ariel frowned at it. Muffins weren’t supposed to be this good. Just like eggs weren’t supposed to stay warm for an hour, and handsome men weren’t supposed to disappear.

  She finished the muffin and helped herself to another, avoiding the scary, steaming eggs. Then she heard the buzz of a plane’s engine, growing closer.

  Her ride was here.

  She set down the second muffin and went to the porch. The air still held the night’s coolness. Dew dampened the furniture. A brick path wound its way down into the trees. It must have been very hard for Darius to carry her up here. The extra weight, the unevenness of the bricks, must have made him lose his footing more than once.

  Yet he’d managed it, and he hadn’t seemed the worse for the wear.

  The plane’s buzz grew louder. She only had a few minutes left.

  “Dar!” she shouted. “Dar!”

  If he were nearby and heard the plane, then heard her yell, he might come back, just long enough to say good-bye. That was all she wanted, really. A chance to thank him.

  A chance to see him one last time.

  Her voice echoed down the mountainside, making her feel alone for the first time on this trip. The buzz had become a roar, and she could see the plane overhead.

  One final chance.

  “Dar! I’m going to have to leave! Please come up and say good-bye!”

  A single-engine plane, battered and old, circled overhead as if searching for the runway. That didn’t give her much c
onfidence.

  She held her breath, looking all around, at the morning shadows under the trees, the path, the runway to her left. No Darius.

  But she’d give him a minute. Maybe he was running toward her even now.

  * * *

  Good-bye wouldn’t hurt. One word. Simple, eloquent.

  Darius hugged his legs to his chest even harder, making sure his fingers were laced so that they couldn’t create a spell.

  He’d magic the entire problem away—the ankle, the pain—hell, he’d even magic her memory of the entire event away, later, when they were all done. Who would know?

  Besides him.

  He let out a loud sigh. He wasn’t that kind of man any more. He hadn’t been for centuries.

  If he did that, he’d loathe himself forever.

  Dar!

  She wanted to see him. He wanted to see her. So simple. Except for the pilot, who had only met Darius’s alter ego, Andrew Vari, and who would wonder where Vari was—especially since Vari had radioed in for the plane.

  That had been hard. Darius had to fake the voice that came with the other body—his short, squat, punishment body—and that had been more difficult than he’d imagined. He almost had to spell himself for that too.

  The plane’s engine was so loud now, he wouldn’t be able to hear Ariel even if she were still shouting for him.

  What if she were in trouble? What if she needed help? Maybe he should go to her, to make sure she was all right this one last time.

  The plane’s engine shut off.

  If there were any problems, the pilot could handle them now. Ariel was no longer Darius’s responsibility. And, if he managed to avoid her in the future, helping her find her soul mate wouldn’t be his responsibility either.

  In just a few moments, he would have his life back. He would be able to spend the rest of his time alone, just like he had planned.

  Just like he wanted.

  Like he always wanted.

  Even now, when he thought he wanted something else.