Absolutely Captivated

by Grayson, Kristine

  “It’s not stupid,” Travers said. “It’s common sense. I don’t want you to make attachments and lose them.”

  “This sounds like something Aunt Meg told you to do,” Kyle said.

  Travers shook his head. He wasn’t going to blame Megan for anything, especially since she was arriving soon. He didn’t want her involved with Zoe or the Fates. He would have to explain that to Kyle before she got here.

  “I made up my mind about this long before your Aunt Meg finished her degree,” Travers said. “I just figured it was best for you.”

  “Or was it best for you?” Kyle crossed his arms. He looked very adult, and it unnerved Travers. Sometimes Kyle was perceptive, but he was rarely savvy—he was still a boy about some things.

  Although that boyhood might not last much longer.

  “Come on,” Travers said, “let’s sit down.”

  He didn’t want his son to keep standing. He knew that Kyle still wasn’t a hundred percent, even if Kyle didn’t know that.

  They both sat on the couch. Travers folded his hands together and leaned forward. He wasn’t comfortable talking about this with his son.

  “It’s true that I was pretty shaken when your mom left,” Travers said. “But I didn’t swear off women because of her.”

  “You don’t date,” Kyle said.

  “I don’t believe I have time for casual relationships. When you get older—”

  “I am older.” Kyle was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the couch. Bartholomew Fang had given up his quest for dinner and had come toward them, his tail no longer wagging. He jumped on the couch and lay down so his muzzle touched Kyle and his tail touched Travers.

  “You may think you’re older,” Travers said, “but eleven years isn’t that long in the scheme of things. I can still remember when you were just a baby.”

  “So?” Kyle said. “I’m not anymore. I know how things work. And if you want to date Miss Sinclair, I think that’s cool, and I promise I won’t break down if you can’t work it out.”

  “You can’t make promises like that,” Travers said.

  “Sure I can.” Kyle leaned his head back. He was still looking just a bit peaked. The skin around his eyes was hollow and white. “I watch TV and I know what happens to my friends’ parents. They all date and those relationships don’t last.”

  Great role models there, Travers thought, and then hoped he hadn’t broadcast that thought. However, Kyle didn’t show any evidence of having heard it, so maybe Travers was off the hook.

  “I thought your friends’ parents were married,” Travers said.

  “Some of them,” Kyle said. “Most are divorced and remarried. I can remember when a lot of them were dating. Mike Kimbrough’s dad saw a different woman every night.”

  “And that’s precisely the kind of father I don’t want to be,” Travers said.

  Kyle grinned. “You never will be, Dad. You already screwed that up. I mean, you haven’t seen anyone. You’re just thinking of Miss Sinclair, and she’s the first woman I ever knew you were interested in. I can’t imagine you seeing a different woman every night.”

  Travers wasn’t sure if he was pleased that his son knew him so well or upset that his son didn’t see him as a man who could attract a different woman for every day of the week.

  “I think you’re just afraid that she’s gonna walk out on you like Mom did,” Kyle said.

  Travers didn’t move. He wasn’t even breathing. No one seemed to believe that Cheryl’s departure didn’t bother him. Not even his son.

  But he hadn’t even been interested in another woman until now.

  Maybe he didn’t want just any woman.

  Zoe Sinclair certainly wasn’t just any woman.

  “I like her, Dad,” Kyle said. “And it’s okay if she doesn’t stay. I mean, it’s not okay, but it’s okay, if you know what I mean.”

  Oddly enough, Travers did know what Kyle meant. He meant that they’d be sad if things didn’t work out with Zoe, but they’d be sadder if they didn’t try.

  “And it doesn’t bother you that she’s, like, older than Grandma, right?” Kyle asked.

  Travers looked at him, stunned. Travers hadn’t thought of it that way. Zoe was older than Kyle’s grandmother, Travers’ grandmother, and his great-grandmother.

  “Right?” Kyle asked, looking worried now.

  What was the difference, anyway? How they looked? Travers didn’t want to go there, either. Maybe the difference was that he just couldn’t think of Zoe as old.

  Experienced, maybe, but not old.

  “Dad?” Kyle sounded worried. He leaned forward. “Right?”

  “Right,” Travers said. He thought about it for a moment more, then nodded. “Her age doesn’t bother me the least little bit.”

  Travers leaned over and pulled his son into a hug. There was one thing he learned that awful week when Cheryl walked out on him, leaving him with an infant who couldn’t care for himself.

  The best things in life were never easy.

  Like Kyle.

  Like Zoe.

  Like magic.

  Thirty-four

  Zoe sat in her favorite booth at O’Hasie’s, tapping her foot. Herschel and Gaylord were late. She had called them as she left the hotel, and asked them to meet her. They had promised they’d be at O’Hasie’s, in their booth, with beer on the table.

  She was the one in their booth, and she was the one who had bought the beer, as usual. She had gotten stares from the handful of regulars who filled the bar. The poker players were long gone, and O’Hasie’s had gone back to its local bar status, with empty tables, a slow-moving bartender, and no cocktail waitress.

  Zoe no longer remembered what she liked about this place. It felt seedy to her suddenly.

  Or maybe she was seeing it with Travers’ eyes.

  Travers. He hadn’t called to her, but then he had no reason to. She had set herself up as a teacher to him, as someone much older, not just in years, but in experience. And even though they’d kissed (how had a man with only a few decades of life learned how to kiss like that?), the attraction seemed stronger on her part than on his.

  She hadn’t realized how very lonely she had been in these last few years. When this thing with the Fates was over, she would have to change how she was living.

  It wasn’t good to spend so much time alone.

  The dark red upholstered door swung open, and Gaylord entered. He wasn’t wearing his usual studded leather jacket—probably in deference to the heat—but he was wearing a black t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. His thin arms were layered in muscle, and the ripped shirt, along with his tight jeans, looked good on him.

  When he saw Zoe, he grinned, and crossed the room.

  “You got beer already,” he said as he slid into the booth.

  “I didn’t get straws, though,” she said, making herself smile at Gaylord. “We’ve got some serious discussion ahead of us. Where’s Herschel?”

  “He’s parking,” Gaylord said, picking up one of the steins.

  “Parking?” Zoe hadn’t expected them to drive. She figured the last time these two drove was about the last time they bought beer.

  “Yeah,” Gaylord said. “We got a motorcycle—repossessed from a couple of guys who thought they could sell it on the Internet.”

  Zoe frowned. “Sell motorcycles on the Internet?”

  “To us, you know, our kind,” Gaylord said.

  “What interest would Faeries have in motorcycles?” she asked.

  Gaylord made a motion with his hand, meaning that she had spoken too loudly. “You know, we’re not all magic and games.”

  “I know,” she said. “I also know that you rarely drive. What’s this about?”

  “Word was the motorcycle belonged to Evel Knievel,” Gaylord said, “so everybody thought it would have lots of superstitious value.”

  “After all,” Zoe said. “it couldn’t have been skill that let him jump so far on a simple motorbike.”

&nb
sp; “Exactly!” Gaylord said, not catching her sarcasm. “Which was what caught everyone by surprise.”

  “What caught everyone?” Zoe asked, realizing, maybe for the first time, that Gaylord and Herschel had the same circular way of making conversation as the Fates.

  “That the bike had no magical power whatsoever. It wasn’t totemic. Yet there was proof positive that it’d belonged to Knieval.”

  “Weird,” Zoe said, not thinking it was weird at all.

  “Yeah, that was the word,” Gaylord said. “Although me and Herschel, we thought it was kinda lucky. We got it for cheap.”

  “How much?” Zoe asked. Then it was her turn to wave her hand. “Never mind. You probably used Faerie money.”

  Gaylord grinned. “We’d never do that to a pal.”

  “So you bought from someone who wasn’t a pal,” she said.

  He sipped his beer and raised his already soaring eyebrows. “You are good.”

  “How long does it take to park a bike?” Zoe asked.

  “I dunno,” Gaylord said. “I decided to walk. It’s a nice night.”

  Zoe was saved from asking what Gaylord meant by “walk”—it certainly couldn’t have been going for a stroll—when Herschel pushed open the door. He was wearing the same ripped-sleeve t-shirt as Gaylord, but he carried a leather bomber jacket over his shoulder.

  His face was marked by red lines around his eyes, probably left by goggles, and he carried a helmet that looked like it belonged in a museum of 1940s football collectibles.

  Herschel walked over to the table, and slid in beside Zoe. He smelled of exhaust and grease and sweat—all unusual smells for him. Maybe he really had ridden over.

  “When did you get your motorcycle license?” Zoe asked.

  “You need a license?” Herschel said. “For what? I’m not going to doctor it up.”

  “To drive it,” Zoe said.

  “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous.” Herschel tossed his coat and helmet on the floor, then grabbed his beer and took a long, long sip. When he set the stein down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s so important that I couldn’t drive up to Idaho tonight?”

  Zoe looked at Gaylord. “He’s not going to the Snake River Canyon, is he?”

  “How did you know?” Gaylord asked.

  Zoe closed her eyes. “Promise me you’ll use magic if you attempt that.”

  “What, do you think we’re stupid?” Herschel sounded offended. Zoe opened her eyes. “Of course, we’ll use magic. Just like that trickster Knieval did.”

  “He’s not magic,” Zoe said. She knew that for a fact. She’d met him a few times, mostly when he came to Vegas between stunts.

  “He’s got to be,” Herschel said. “It’s the only explanation.”

  “For the lack of magic in the bike?” Zoe asked.

  Both Faeries nodded. She decided not to explain the mortal concept of skill to them.

  “So what’s going on?” Herschel asked again.

  Zoe glanced around the bar. No one was listening to them.

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “That’s news!” Herschel said brightly, and she realized she had never asked for their help before. They had asked for hers countless times but she had never reciprocated.

  “I figured you’d need help,” Gaylord said, putting a hand under his chin. The muscles rippled in his arm with each movement, and Zoe found herself wondering if those muscles were real or magically added to improve the t-shirt’s effect.

  “The magic has gathered around you,” Herschel said, using the condensation on the side of his beer stein to wipe some oil off his finger. “It was obvious from your phone call.”

  “How can magic be obvious from a phone call?” Zoe asked.

  “Sparks,” Herschel and Gaylord said in unison. Then Gaylord added, “You have to pay attention to auras and light, Zo.”

  “You can’t see auras over the phone,” she said.

  “Maybe you can’t,” Gaylord said.

  “It’s an electronic device,” she said. “You’re probably seeing some technological change.”

  “Maybe you are,” said Herschel.

  Zoe sighed. She wouldn’t convince them.

  Herschel elbowed her. “So, is he cute?”

  Zoe immediately thought of Travers. “Cute” wasn’t the word. “Amazingly good-looking” might cover it. “Really gorgeous” was better. But she said, “Who?”

  “The reason you want to see us,” Herschel said. “It’s a guy, right? The blond guy? The one we warned you about? You’re worried that he’s not faithful and you want us to track him down.”

  She shook her head. She had forgotten about their warning. But it really didn’t matter. Travers and Kyle would never hurt her, and it was clear, from Herschel’s last comment, that he and Gaylord weren’t psychic.

  “No,” she said, “this isn’t about a guy.”

  She reached under the table and pulled out the tube that Elmer had given her.

  “Wipe off the table,” she said, “and move your steins.”

  Gaylord used napkins to wipe off the tabletop. Herschel stood and pulled over another table, setting the steins on top of it. Then he tucked his long black hair behind his pointed ears.

  “A map?” Gaylord asked. “Where’d you get a map?”

  “It’s got some real power.” Herschel had greed in his voice. His canines were showing, looking like little, tiny fangs.

  Zoe pulled the map out of the tube and placed the tube beside her. Then she spread the map out on the table.

  The map glowed neon blue, red, and green in the bar’s dim light. A few of the regular customers looked over at the sudden brightness.

  “You want me to zap them?” Gaylord whispered.

  “No,” Zoe whispered back. “They’ll just think it’s some new technology they’re not familiar with.”

  Herschel was ignoring the entire conversation. He was staring at the map, his expression cold.

  “Where’d you get this?” he asked, and she’d never heard the tone before.

  “I have sources,” she said.

  “Your sources could get in a lot of trouble.” Herschel’s face reflected green in the light of the map. “You know that it’s against the law to have a map of Faerie.”

  “This is a map of Faerie?” Gaylord looked down, then covered his eyes. “We gotta get out of here.”

  “Too late,” Herschel said. “We’ve seen it. If we’re going to get in trouble, we’re going to get in trouble.”

  “It’s not against any mage laws,” Zoe said. “Just Faerie laws.”

  “Gee,” Herschel said with some force, “guess which laws we follow.”

  “You don’t have the map.” Zoe worked at keeping her voice calm. “I own the map. It’s my map, and you’re just looking at it. I will not give it to you. You don’t need it.”

  Unless they agree to her conditions. Then they might need the map. But she didn’t say that.

  The map was beautiful. Lots of swirls of light, all variously colored, with drawings that looked like Maxfield Parrish figures painted by Claude Monet.

  “Wow,” Gaylord said. “It keeps changing.”

  The figures did move. So did the shapes and the arrows and the writings—all in medieval Faerie, a language that Zoe wasn’t fluent in. She could read modern Faerie, and medieval wasn’t that different. But it was different enough to make her worry.

  “Of course they change,” Herschel hissed. “Faerie’s always changing. That’s why we’re not supposed to have a map.”

  “So that you get lost?” Zoe never did understand Faerie rules.

  “So that magic is your guide,” Herschel said.

  Zoe nodded, even though she wondered if her magic would ever be enough of a guide.

  “Look,” she said, “you know my prophecy. This is as close to Faerie as I want to go. But I was wondering if you would locate something for me.”

  “Something in Faerie?” G
aylord asked, his tone hushed.

  Zoe nodded.

  “Everything moves, just like Herschel said.” Gaylord had leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed. The muscles seemed to have faded away, so they were magical after all.

  “Yes, I know everything moves,” Zoe said. “But I have to know if something’s even in there.”

  “Why?” Herschel asked. She had never seen this side of him. He wasn’t drinking his beer. His expression was serious, and his tone of voice almost frightening.

  “For a client,” Zoe said.

  “We don’t let strangers in Faerie,” Herschel said.

  “My client’s not going to go into Faerie,” Zoe said.

  “You can’t, either.” Gaylord’s eyebrows met in the middle, forming a straight line across his brow—his version of a frown.

  “I’m not planning to. Just listen to me for a minute. No questions, okay?”

  “Okay.” Herschel leaned back and frowned, too, almost as if just looking at the map was bad for him.

  “The item I’m looking for was stolen,” Zoe said. “Before I venture into Faerie, I want to know that it’s even there.”

  “So you can steal it back?” Gaylord shook his head. “C’mon, Zo. That’s so dangerous as to be suicidal.”

  “I don’t steal,” Zoe said. “I’m just supposed to locate it. And you weren’t supposed to interrupt me.”

  “Sorry.” Gaylord didn’t sound sorry. “That doesn’t count as an interruption, does it? The sorry?”

  “Let her finish,” Herschel growled.

  Zoe gave him a sideways glance. “The item is a spinning wheel. The Faerie Kings stole it from the Fates—”

  “Thousands of years ago,” Herschel said. “You don’t want to get near it, Zo.”

  “So it’s there?” she asked. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Of course we haven’t seen it,” Herschel said. “But it’s part of legend. It’s why Faerie is so great, because we take magic from everyone, even other magical peoples.”

  Gaylord had a hand over his mouth. “That’s not all,” he whispered through his fingers.

  “What do you mean?” Zoe asked.

  “The Faerie Kings guard the wheel. They think it’s important, somehow. People say they used it to overthrow the Great Rulers.” Gaylord looked at Herschel. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation.”