Completely Smitten

by Kristine Grayson

  “Who?” Darius asked.

  “The greatest chef in Europe in the mid-Fourteenth—oh, never mind,” Blackstone said. “What have you done with him?”

  “Chauncey Blodgett?”

  “No. Andvari.”

  “Nothing,” Darius said. “I am him.”

  Blackstone took a step forward, face dark, eyes narrowed. He looked very menacing—or he would have looked very menacing if he could have towered over Dar. But he didn’t. Darius looked him directly in the eye.

  “Andvari,” Blackstone said with great precision, “has been my best friend for a thousand years. If he looked like you, don’t you think I’d know that?”

  “It would be logical.” Darius was amazed at how calm he sounded.

  Blackstone raised his eyebrows, his mocking look. Darius had always found these movements threatening, but they weren’t, not really. Not when he could look at Blackstone directly, maybe even a little down on him.

  Blackstone wasn’t as large a man as Darius thought he was.

  “So why are you lying to me?” Blackstone asked.

  Darius sighed. This was going to be hard. No wonder the Fates were in trouble. Hadn’t they thought about the effect his change would have on his world?

  Of course they hadn’t. They were only thinking in terms of crime and punishment. When they thought in other terms, they seemed to get themselves in trouble.

  “Sit down, Aethelstan,” Darius said.

  “I’ll stand, thank you.”

  “No, really,” Darius said. “I’ll make some more pasta, and we can sit down and discuss this like real people over a meal.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Blackstone actually sounded petulant. “I want to know what you’ve done with Andvari.”

  “Nothing,” Darius said again. “I am Andvari.”

  Blackstone’s lower lip jutted out slightly. “All right. In 1491, who convinced Isabella that Columbus’s hair-brained schemes weren’t so crazy?”

  “You did.” Dar’s stomach was rumbling. He was going to eat, even if Blackstone wasn’t. “I guarded the door while you met with her and I even managed to convince Ferdinand that she was in the garden by making a ghost-spell for the space of that afternoon. Every time he looked out, he saw her down there, but when he went down, she was gone. He was really annoyed. We almost blew it that time. If he’d caught you with her, you might have been arrested.”

  “As if that were a problem,” Blackstone said.

  “The Chief Inquisitor was one of us.”

  “Andvari used to say that.” Blackstone had his arms crossed. “Obviously he’s told you this story.”

  “Obviously,” Darius said sarcastically, “since I couldn’t have lived through it and remembered it.”

  He put more water on the stove, then cursed. He didn’t want to wait to eat. Instead he conjured up a plate of pasta and then he ladled sauce onto it.

  “Andvari never wastes his magic,” Blackstone said.

  “Andvari has had a rough day,” Darius said, “and it’s about to get rougher. You sure you don’t want some?”

  Blackstone shook his head as Munin walked into the room. The puppy’s tail started to wag when he saw Darius. By the time Munin had crossed the room, it looked as if his tail were a propeller forcing him forward.

  “Hey, boy,” Darius said, crouching toward him. Munin licked his face, then shoved his snout toward the plateful of food. Darius moved the food away.

  Blackstone watched it all carefully. Familiars didn’t get that familiar with other magical types. They were friendly, but not that friendly.

  “So he’s your puppy,” Blackstone said. “Now this is all making sense.”

  “It’s not like you to make things up,” Darius said. “Nothing is making sense to you. You need my explanation.”

  Blackstone continued to stare at him. Darius sighed and set the plate on the table. Munin stretched himself to his full length, doing a dance on his short stubby hind legs as he tried to reach the table. He wasn’t even close.

  “Please sit, Aethelstan,” Darius said.

  Blackstone still didn’t move.

  Darius sat down, reached for his fork, and then pushed his plate away. “I can go through story after story after story. Let’s try 1912 when Emma’s coffin fell overboard as they were trying to load it onto the Titanic. You had to do a spell in front of huge crowds to prevent water from seeping inside, and then you had to make them forget we even existed, so we couldn’t take the ship after all, which you always regretted, saying you could have repaired that iceberg damage.”

  “Everyone knows that story,” Blackstone said.

  “Except the Emma part,” Darius said. “Or how about 1066? William is Conquering and I said we’d be better off in China. You’d never even heard of China, so I popped us to Beijing, which wasn’t Beijing at the time, and into a restaurant—which you’d never even heard of before, because the Chinese were the people who invented restaurants—and you had rice for the very first time. I did that because I knew that the way to convince you of anything was to have you eat first and think later, which I’ve been trying to have you do ever since I popped back here—”

  “Back from where?” Blackstone asked. His arms were still crossed, but he snuck a glance at the stove.

  The sauce did smell good. Darius pulled his plate closer. “The damn Fates, who aren’t helping me at all right now!”

  He said that last part loudly, in case they heard him. It would be easier if they heard him. They could explain everything to Blackstone. And to Ariel.

  Oh, no. How was he going to explain any of this to Ariel?

  “Why would the Fates help you?” Blackstone asked.

  “Do you remember what you said when I told you I knew Darius?”

  Blackstone’s eyes narrowed. “Are you Darius?”

  “I’m Andvari,” Darius said. “And I’m—”

  “You look like Ariel’s description of Darius.”

  “Whom you don’t respect,” Darius said. “You’ve told me a thousand times that you think it’s silly for someone to take three thousand years to fulfill a sentence as easy as that one. You’ve said there must be something wrong with a man who couldn’t put together people who were meant to be together.”

  Blackstone sank into a chair. His cheeks were turning red.

  “We weren’t that close in the beginning,” Darius said. “You thought I was a short, obnoxious guy, just like everyone else did. You didn’t find out until 1333 that I was Andvari, and that was only because that elderly Scandinavian woman pointed at me and screamed that I was a dead ringer for him. So I told you that story, and you assumed that’s where I started. It wasn’t, Aethelstan.”

  Blackstone’s flush had grown darker. His mouth worked, but no words emerged.

  “Somewhere in there—I can’t remember the exact year—I started to tell you about my past. Only I opened with, ‘Have you ever heard of Darius?’ and you launched into that speech of yours which has remained unchanged for over six hundred years, and I decided not to tell you. But didn’t you wonder, Aethelstan, why I disappeared for ten days out of every year and never, ever let you come with me? You were surprised when you found out I had a home in Idaho. Didn’t you think it odd that I knew someone you’ve never met, considering how long we’ve known each other?”

  Blackstone was just staring at him. For the first time since Darius had known the man, he couldn’t tell what Blackstone was thinking.

  “Or do you just need proof?” Darius snapped his fingers and made himself look like the body he’d worn for years. It felt more comfortable to be small, but it also felt weird. This body wasn’t the same. It felt like a construct—a suit of clothes. An ill-fitting one at that.

  “See?” Darius said in his gruff, nasal Andrew Vari voice. “Now you recognize me.”

  Blackstone continued to stare at him. Then he looked at Munin, who was sitting on the floor, staring at the table, tail wagging. The dog looked completely unconcerned, jus
t like a good familiar would. A good familiar would recognize his owner no matter what form the owner wore.

  “Which is your normal form?” Blackstone asked.

  Darius changed back. “This one.”

  Blackstone nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “You’d better tell me everything, then.”

  So Darius did. He told Blackstone about the problems, the first meeting with the Fates, the part of the sentence no one knew. He told Blackstone how difficult it had been to be two different people at the same time, and how being small had changed him almost more than being a matchmaker had.

  Then he told Blackstone about his most recent meeting with the Fates and how they had determined that his sentence was fulfilled.

  Blackstone listened silently, occasionally nodding. At one point, he conjured a plate of spaghetti for himself and put sauce on it, pausing to give some tomato-covered meat to Munin, who ate it too fast to be grateful.

  “And then I came back to find you here,” Darius said, then he frowned. “Why are you here?”

  Blackstone shrugged. “I came to find out why Ariel quit.”

  “She quit?”

  He nodded. “Said she couldn’t stay, not after she embarrassed herself like that. Said it was one too many times with you.”

  “Oh, jeez,” Darius said, pushing away from the table. The tiny chair he’d been sitting on nearly tumbled over backwards. He had to bend to keep it from falling. “I have to see her.”

  “Not yet,” Blackstone said. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

  Darius held the chair, staring at his old friend. He knew what was coming—he’d been dreading it for centuries—but he always figured he’d have time to prepare for it, maybe even time to tell Blackstone the story before the change.

  But time had just run out.

  “I understand why you didn’t tell me when we first met,” Blackstone said. “But surely, there should have been one moment in the past thousand years where you felt it was right to tell me the truth.”

  Darius shook his head. “I knew how you felt about me.”

  “You knew how I felt about you?” Blackstone’s voice had grown softer, which Darius somehow found ominous.

  “Yes.”

  “You knew how I felt about Andvari or about Darius?”

  “Both,” Darius said.

  “If you knew how I felt about Andvari, you shouldn’t have worried about my reaction to Darius.”

  “No?” Darius asked. “Your good opinion is very important to me, and you don’t have a good opinion of Darius.”

  “I didn’t know Darius,” Blackstone said. “I knew you. And you—in one thousand years—never trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

  “I told you the truth about everything else,” Darius said.

  “Just not the most important thing,” Blackstone said. “Who you really were.”

  “You didn’t like who I really was.”

  “I didn’t know who you really were,” Blackstone said. Then he tilted his head. “I guess I still don’t.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Really?” Blackstone leaned back. The small chair creaked beneath his weight. He had always looked out of place in this tiny kitchen, but the new position made things even worse. “I’m being unfair? Just like I’m the one at fault for the fact that you never told me the truth.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Darius said.

  “Yes, you did.” Blackstone brought the chair forward with a clunk. “You said you couldn’t tell me because you already knew my reaction. You thought I wouldn’t respect you. Well, I did respect you. I respected you until I found out you lied to me for generations.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “Oh? Then why would you refer to Darius in the third person?”

  “I’ve been doing that since long before you were born.” Darius stood. “I wore this body for two weeks out of every year. It didn’t feel like me.”

  “Good excuse,” Blackstone said.

  “It’s not an excuse.” Darius knew he sounded defensive, but he wasn’t sure how to stop. “It didn’t feel like me any more. It still doesn’t. My whole world has changed.”

  “Yes.” Blackstone stood. “It has.”

  “Where are you going?” Darius asked.

  “Back to the restaurant. From there, I’m calling Ariel to tell her that you’ve been fired. She can come back any time she wants.”

  “F-Fired?” Darius frowned. “You can’t fire me. You never officially hired me. I don’t even get a salary.”

  “I can fire you. Volunteers get fired all the time.” Blackstone tilted his head slightly. He was actually looking up at Dar. “And you deserve to be fired. You’d fire an employee for consistently lying to you.”

  “I didn’t consistently lie.”

  Blackstone stared at him for a long moment. “Maybe you didn’t learn as much from your time in that self-made prison as you thought. Maybe you’ll relapse, just like your friend Cupid did.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Darius said.

  “Neither, apparently, am I.” And with that, Blackstone turned and stalked out of the kitchen.

  Darius stood immobile. Munin whined. After a moment, Darius heard Blackstone’s car start and then drive away.

  Darius was alone, just like he had been the first time his body had changed. Only this time, he had some apologies to make. This time, he wouldn’t hide.

  He’d been hiding for too long.

  EIGHTEEN

  ARIEL HUNG UP the phone and stared at it as if she had never seen it before. The kitchen counter cut into her back and her legs were sore from the extra effort she had put out during the race that day. She was tired, and thirsty, and now very confused.

  She went to the refrigerator and pulled the door open, staring inside. Orange juice, milk, some oranges, and a grapefruit. It was pretty clear that she only ate breakfast at home.

  With her left hand, she took out the orange juice, poured herself a glass, and then closed her eyes.

  Blackstone had fired Vari. She still couldn’t believe it. Blackstone hadn’t sounded like himself on the phone.

  It’s okay to come back now, he said. Andrew Vari won’t bother you again.

  When she’d asked for clarification, Blackstone had told her that he’d fired Vari.

  Not over me, she had said, panicked.

  No, Blackstone said. I found out he had lied to me since the moment we met. He never was the man I thought he was.

  She had tried to find out what Blackstone meant, but he had said no more. Then he had told her to report at her usual time on Monday and hung up.

  Hung up, leaving her with the sound of his normally warm voice still ringing in her ear, a voice gone cold with anger and hurt. What had happened between the two men? And why today? She had a hunch her quitting had triggered something; she just wasn’t sure what.

  And she wasn’t sure what she should do. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be at Quixotic without Vari there. The job wasn’t one she loved—it wasn’t even how she planned to spend the rest of her life. But she needed something to support the running, and a hostess job was perfect for that. It required no thought on her part, just some of her time.

  Time she now had in abundance.

  She walked to the couch where the classified sections from all of the week’s newspapers were spread open. She had been going through the sections line by line, job by job, to see what she was qualified for. Not a heck of a lot, as it turned out. Her job skills were simply not at the proper corporate level.

  And her concentration skills were gone. She couldn’t even look at the news type before her. She wanted to call Blackstone back and find out what happened.

  She wanted to call Vari to see if he was all right.

  Instead she sipped her orange juice and wished this day had never happened.

  A knock on the door echoed throughout tiny cottage. She was so startled that her hand jerked upward and she spilled orange juice all
over herself. No one had knocked on that door, not in the six months she’d lived there.

  “Just a minute,” she called, dabbing at the orange juice. It was a lost cause. The stain ran down the front of her shirt, soaking into the top of her jeans. She had a choice between cleaning up and answering the door.

  She went for the door.

  There was no peephole—this place hadn’t initially been designed as a rental—and so she couldn’t see who was there before the door opened. She hadn’t even realized that was a problem until now.

  She pulled the door back and gasped. Darius stood before her.

  His golden curls caught the sun. His blue eyes were the color of the sky. He looked trim and fit and beautiful, more beautiful than she remembered. She had kept a snapshot of him in her mind, but it hadn’t done him justice. If anything, he was more vibrant, more stunning, than he had been in her imagination.

  Her heart was pounding.

  “Mind if I come in?” he asked.

  She shook her head, momentarily unable to speak. Instead, she stepped back and let him inside the cottage, closing the door behind him.

  He surveyed the interior as if he were searching for something.

  “H-How did you find me?” she asked, her voice coming out small and weak. Her hands were clammy and she wiped them against her jeans. The orange juice on her shirt stuck to her skin. She felt frumpier than she ever had in her life.

  He turned, his blue eyes sad. For a moment, he reminded her of Andrew Vari—Vari was the only person she had ever seen who looked that sad—and then the expression passed.

  “Do you have a thing about dogs?” he asked.

  “What?” She didn’t follow what he meant.

  “Inside. Would you mind if a dog came inside?”

  Her brain wasn’t working. For a moment, she thought he was referring to himself and his behavior. And then she realized that he meant a real live dog.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t mind.”

  He nodded, opened the door, and whistled. A basset hound puppy came bounding in, all wriggles and excitement.

  It was Munin.

  “This is Andrew Vari’s dog,” she said, not understanding.