“We learned many things while we were there,” Clotho said. “How to cook—”
“How to make a fire with our bare hands,” Lachesis said.
“And how to bake.” Atropos smiled. “Which is my favorite.”
“Sit! Sit,” Clotho said. “Let us do all the work.”
Kyle wandered into the kitchen, to be near the food and probably to discuss Henri Barou’s cave. Bartholomew followed Clotho around, licking tomato sauce off the tiled floor, his tail wagging furiously.
Lachesis set wine goblets on the table, even in Kyle’s place, then went back to the kitchen for more utensils. Atropos also went into the kitchen, probably to check on whatever creation she was making.
Zoe slipped away from the group and walked to the wall of windows. Her reflection—and that of the room—was superimposed over the lights of the city. She crossed her arms, and leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
At night, Las Vegas was beautiful. During the day, when the smog and haze hid the mountains, and the snakes of traffic lined the city’s arteries, Vegas seemed like too much sprawl. But at night, the city lived.
“Penny for them,” Travers said behind her. Then, before she could turn, he added, “Damn!”
His reflection towered over hers, but his head was down, looking at something between his fingers.
“Don’t tell me,” she said without turning. “A penny.”
“Right between my thumb and index finger, like I’m some sort of cheesy kid’s magician.” He sounded annoyed.
Zoe turned, and found herself inches from him. She had had no idea he was standing so close—the reflection in the window hadn’t given her a sense of distance.
Travers’ hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look as young as Kyle. Zoe resisted the urge to push the hair back. Instead, she looked at the penny.
“May I?” she asked, holding out her hand.
He handed it to her, his fingers shaking. They brushed her palm, and a heat ran through her. She struggled to keep her breathing even.
The penny was shiny and new. She rubbed her fingers over it, feeling the pressed metal, the perfection of the coin. It didn’t have that slight sense of fragility that Faerie money had—the sense that if you squeezed too hard, the money might vanish.
“It seems real,” she said.
“You mean it might not be?” he asked.
She smiled. “Magic is mysterious and it follows its own circular rules.”
“I thought it followed the Fates’ rules.”
“What they do is more like build dams in streams. They try to control the magic and don’t always succeed.”
Travers was very close to her but she didn’t want him to move away.
“You’ve been quiet since we left the hotel room,” he said.
“There’s a lot I don’t want to tell you,” she said, and then her breath caught. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“Really?” he said.
Zoe shrugged, planning to brush the comment off. Instead, she said, “Really.”
He stared at her. She stared at him, noting the fine blond lashes over his sky-blue eyes. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, something she was about to tell him when—
“Crap!” she said and thrust the penny back at him. “You keep this. Get it away from me.”
“What?” he said.
“Take it!” she said. “Take it quickly.”
“Why? What does it do?”
“Think,” she said, struggling not to say more. “What did you say to me before you conjured up the penny?”
“I said ‘A penny for your thoughts.’”
“Precisely.” She stuck the penny in the pocket of his polo shirt. “Keep it. I don’t want it. And you can’t have my thoughts.”
“Not even the ones you’re hiding from me?” he asked with a smile.
This time, she didn’t even feel the urge to answer him. The moment had passed. Returning the penny negated the magic.
“You don’t understand, Travers,” Zoe said. “You really wanted to know what I was thinking.”
A slight frown marred his forehead. “Yes, I did. I thought that was clear.”
“I mean, you weren’t just making conversation.”
“I know,” he said.
“So,” she said, “when you created the penny, you created a spell that got you what you wanted. And I bought into it.”
“Interesting choice of words,” he said.
“Maybe a little too accurate,” she said.
“Actually, no,” he said. “I’m the one who supposedly purchased your thoughts.”
“And apparently you got your penny’s worth,” Lachesis said as she brought the silverware into the dining room. “Giving the penny back probably wouldn’t make the spell continue. Apparently, a penny’s worth of thought is only a sentence or two.”
Thank heavens, Zoe thought, but didn’t say.
Travers gave her a sideways smile. “Why’re you so relieved?”
Zoe shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve always been a private person.”
“Doesn’t my son make you nervous, then?” Travers asked.
“I know how to prevent a broadcast thought,” Zoe said.
“Most of the time,” Kyle said from the kitchen.
Zoe’s heart jumped, and then she realized that Kyle was, after all, eleven. He might have been simply saying that to make her uncomfortable.
Or he might have been telling the truth.
Lachesis finished setting the table as if they were going to have a five-course formal dinner.
“Wine for everyone?” Atropos asked as she came in from the kitchen, carrying an open bottle of Chianti.
“Not for Kyle.” Travers stepped away from Zoe as he spoke, and she felt his loss, as if he were actually touching her. She hadn’t realized that the air-conditioning was on so high in this part of the room. Travers had been blocking the breeze.
“The boy would like some.” As Clotho spoke, something banged in the kitchen.
“The boy,” Travers said, “will not get any.”
Lachesis took the bottle from Atropos and poured each glass a little too full, as far as Zoe was concerned. Atropos went back into the kitchen. Travers watched the pouring as if it were the most important event in his life—and then his shoulders visibly relaxed when Lachesis skipped one of the wine glasses.
“That looks good!” Kyle said from the kitchen.
Atropos emerged, carrying a large salad.
“When did you have time to shop?” Zoe asked. She hadn’t been gone that long, negotiating with the hotel manager. Nor had she spoken to Travers longer than a half an hour. The Fates still had to have time to make the meal and cook it.
“You have such lovely conveniences,” Lachesis said.
“Almost as good as magic,” Atropos said.
“We called a local grocery store and had the food delivered.” Clotho carried a large pan in each hand.
“And you paid for it how?” Travers asked.
“Paid?” Lachesis asked. “They didn’t ask for money.”
“What did they say?” Travers’ voice had an edge to it.
“That the hotel would take the charge,” Atropos said.
“That’s not what they really said, is it?” Travers’ eyes had narrowed.
Clotho paused before she set the food down. “They said the charge would go to the room.”
“Violà! The hotel pays for it.” Lachesis grinned. “I’m amazed that you don’t even know your own customs.”
Travers’ gaze met Zoe’s. “See what I’ve had to contend with?”
“I’m beginning to understand why you don’t want them left alone,” she said, trying not to laugh.
“What did we do?” Atropos asked as she took the platters from Clotho.
“Charging to the room means that it gets billed to the person who is paying for the room,” Kyle said, as he came in from the kitchen, Bartholomew at his heels. “Jeez
, even I know that.”
“Oh,” Clotho said. “And here we thought they were all being so courteous.”
“We had feared that someone had recognized us, and was paying us tribute,” Lachesis said.
“We truly couldn’t believe our good fortune,” Atropos said.
“That should be a sign for you,” Travers said.
“A sign of what?” Clotho asked.
“Whenever something seems too good to be true, it probably is,” Travers said.
Somehow the cliché didn’t sound as—well—clichéd when he said it. Zoe frowned at him. She had had two major relationships in her past, relationships in which she thought she had been in love, and she had never felt this kind of attraction on the first day.
It had taken her years of friendship before sliding into the relationship with Ramon, back when she had just come into her magic. Three turbulent years later, years in which he had left her four times and had two affairs, she realized that however she felt about him, he didn’t feel the same way about her.
And now, more than a hundred years later, she couldn’t even remember what he looked like. But she could remember how she felt around him. Comfortable, easy—at least in the beginning. And constantly annoyed the rest of the time.
She hadn’t yet felt comfortable or easy with Travers. She felt a rapport, and she felt an attraction so fine that it felt as if they were joined by an invisible string. Part of her—the sensitive, magical part—believed that this man was an opportunity, an opportunity that she didn’t dare miss.
Perhaps she had been reading too many Nora Roberts novels.
Atropos set the platters down, revealing the pizzas. Kyle had been right; they looked fantastic. Pepperoni, sausage, and a variety of vegetables thickly covered the delicately golden mozzarella cheese. The tomato sauce bubbled through, still steaming, and the crust looked perfect—thick and golden brown and baked to perfection.
Zoe’s stomach growled. She couldn’t believe how hungry she was.
“Well,” Lachesis said. “I think your saying is foolish.”
Zoe frowned. What saying? And then she remembered that Travers had spouted a cliché at the Fates. Perhaps she should warn him about talking to the Fates at all, particularly since he didn’t really seem to understand his magic.
“You’re in our world now.” Travers shook his head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“But you did, Dad.” Kyle came out of the kitchen, carrying one more platter. Three large pizzas for all of them, plus a salad. It seemed like too much food. “Maybe you’re changing.”
“Yeah.” Travers didn’t sound happy about it.
“Actually,” Atropos said, pulling back her chair, “you are coming into yourself.”
The Fates sat. Then Clotho looked pointedly at Zoe, Travers, and Kyle. “You are joining us, aren’t you?”
Kyle climbed into the chair closest to the empty wine glass. Travers sat beside him. Zoe sat on the other side of the table.
Lachesis cut all of the pizzas with a carving knife. Apparently the Fates hadn’t learned everything there was to know about cooking, or maybe serving utensils didn’t exactly count.
Still, the pieces she cut were evenly proportioned, as if she had always had such skill with a knife. Zoe didn’t even want to think about that.
Atropos passed the salad to Travers, who helped himself. Kyle took the first piece of pizza.
Zoe sipped her wine and wished that she were at home. Her stomach, which had growled a few moments before, was now churning.
She really didn’t want to tell the Fates that she wouldn’t work with them. But they had left her no choice.
“You look serious, child,” Lachesis said to her, opening the door.
Travers’ gaze met Zoe’s. She got the sense that he didn’t want her to say anything, that he was hoping she had changed her mind.
Or maybe she was simply reading him wrong. She didn’t have the psychic talents that Kyle did, and for all of her imagined connection to Travers, it hadn’t been tested yet.
“I am,” Zoe said, taking one of the platters of pizza as it came by. She took three slices, even though her stomach kept flip-flopping.
“We’re having a feast,” Atropos said. “No need for seriousness.”
“Oh, but there is,” Zoe said, handing the platter to Clotho. “I’m afraid I can’t take your job.”
“Even after meeting those children?” Clotho asked, nearly dropping the platter.
“I am not sure how they relate to your task,” Zoe said, “but—”
“Because you never allowed us to finish our explanation,” Lachesis said as she helped herself to salad.
Zoe didn’t point out that the Fates had made finishing any topic nearly impossible. She took the salad bowl from Lachesis, and placed a pile of greens on her plate near the pizza slices. Even though the food looked good, at the moment the wine looked even better.
Zoe didn’t touch it.
“Your explanation doesn’t really matter,” Zoe said. “The key is Faerie. You say I have to go in there, and I’m not ready.”
All three Fates turned toward Travers. Their movement was so obvious that he blushed.
“What?” he asked.
The Fates smiled at each other and then Atropos said to Zoe, “You’re ready now.”
“Oh,” Zoe said, finally understanding them. They believed Travers was her soulmate. Or they were manipulating her into believing it so that she would work with them. “You are all so—”
“So what?” Travers asked.
“So…so…” Zoe wished he weren’t in the room. She didn’t want to say anything about true love or soulmates or manipulation. “I’m just not going to endanger my own life, that’s all.”
“Child,” Clotho said, “what’s the point of living if you don’t have some danger now and then?”
“Said a woman who spent that past four thousand years in the same place, protected by the Powers That Be,” Zoe snapped.
The Fates froze in position. Kyle looked from one to the other as if he expected a fight. Travers frowned.
Zoe couldn’t believe she had said that. If the Fates ever did regain their powers, she might pay for that sentence more than for refusing them.
“Point taken,” Lachesis said. “We have endangered ourselves now.”
“So much so,” Atropos said, “that we have had to go into hiding for much of our sojourn here.”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “The fortress. Was it cool?”
“Kyle!” Travers whispered, obviously trying to keep his son quiet.
“It doesn’t matter,” Zoe said to the Fates. “I’m not going to help you with whatever this is. I don’t steal, and I don’t go into Faerie. So no matter how hard you push, I’m not going to change my mind.”
The Fates looked at each other.
“Then we are—what is that word?” Clotho asked.
“Screwed,” Lachesis said with the perfect dry tone.
“Not to mention the rest of the world,” Atropos said.
Clotho leaned toward Zoe. “You do realize that you could be murdering true love.”
“I doubt it,” Zoe said. “It has to exist before it gets murdered.”
All three Fates hissed in a breath. They looked as shocked as Zoe expected them to.
She pretended she didn’t notice, and bit into one of the slices of pizza. The crust was crunchy on the bottom, thick and rich in the middle, and the tomato sauce had a bit of a bite to it. The pepperoni was the best she had tasted outside of New York City.
“Zanthia,” Lachesis said in the most dire tone Zoe had heard from the Fates since they arrived in Las Vegas. “You do realize that what you’re saying is heresy.”
Zoe held the pizza slice in front of her mouth, poised to take another bite. “I don’t think there is such a thing any longer, not so long as Zeus’s daughters hold power.”
She took another bite, savoring the mix of flavors.
“You’d si
de with them?” Atropos asked.
“I’d just like to live my life,” Zoe said after she swallowed.
“Without love?”
That last question came from Travers. He had receded into himself again, and Zoe got no real sense of him.
Kyle’s face was pale, though, and he picked at his salad.
“I’ll live without it no matter who’s in power,” Zoe said. “I’ve already resigned myself to that.”
Fourteen
Travers set down his piece of pizza so that no one would see his hand tremble. Zoe’s words upset him more than he wanted to admit.
He had been enjoying the attraction between them and part of him had been nursing a hope that the attraction would become something more, something finer, something longer lasting.
Something like love.
But how could that happen if she didn’t believe in love?
Kyle pushed a slice of cucumber off his plate and hid it in his napkin. Travers pretended not to notice.
Bartholomew Fang sat on his hind legs between Kyle and Travers, occasionally whining and pushing at them with his front paws. Travers reached down and absently petted the dog’s head.
He would wager if someone asked Bartholomew Fang whether or not love existed, the dog would say that it did. Of course, his definition might vary—he might say that love was little more than a warm bed and a good meal—but with the right person, that would be enough.
After Zoe had made her pronouncement, her gaze connected with Travers’ and then slid away. Now she was looking from Fate to Fate to Fate, probably resigning herself to some other kind of fate.
The Fates seemed shocked to their core. Travers had never thought of them as fundamentally serious women—perhaps because he had not taken them seriously at first—but now they looked like their world had come to an end.
Then the table rattled.
The glasses slid toward the windows, and so did the plates, the silverware, and the serving platters. Travers grabbed his dishes, then realized that he was rattling, too. He bit the tip of his tongue and winced with pain. Blood mixed with the taste of tomato sauce in the back of his throat.
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