Absolutely Captivated (19 page)

Travers swallowed. He felt suddenly
quite nervous. “And Faerie is near here?”

“Don’t worry,” Zoe said. “They won’t
mess with you or Kyle. Not while I’m here.”

He hadn’t even thought of himself. He
had only been thinking of Kyle.

“How can you know that?” Travers
asked.

Zoe smiled at him. “I know where all
the entrances to Faerie are in Vegas, and you two won’t get near
them.”

“Can’t they just—spell—us there?”
Travers asked, wondering if he used the right words.

“They haven’t done anything like that
in centuries,” Zoe said. “They haven’t had to. Small talents like
yours don’t interest them and they would rather wait until Kyle has
come into his full power.”

“But you’re different,” Travers said,
beginning to understand.

“According to the prophecy,” Zoe said,
obviously choosing her words carefully, “I’ll lose myself there.
All I am is my magic. Without it, there’s no Zoe
Sinclair.”

Travers doubted that, but he didn’t
know enough to reassure her. “Then you’ll have to say no to the
Fates.”

She nodded. “I’ve come to
that conclusion, too.”

“Is there someone you can recommend to
them?” he asked.

“I don’t know exactly what they want
me to do,” she said.

“They mentioned stealing something.”
He had felt very uncomfortable about that.

“I don’t steal,” she said. “I find.
That’s different.”

“And yet,” Travers said, “we have a
dog here.”

“He’s not stolen.” Her lips thinned.
“He wanted to come. He makes his own choices.”

“Maybe what they want you
to find does, too.”

She sighed. “If it’s in Faerie, I’m
not going.”

Travers nodded. He hadn’t
even wanted to come to Las Vegas, and there was no real
life-or-death risk for him here. He could certainly understand her
position.

He stood, because if
he didn’t, he would touch her, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not
even a light, casual touch on the shoulder. He was still
confused—about the Fates, about himself, about
everything
, and he needed time to
think.

He also needed food.

“Let’s order in,” he said. “Make a
quiet evening of it, and talk to the Fates in the
morning.”

The idea of ordering in was daring
enough for him. He would not have suggested it if she hadn’t looked
so comfortable on his couch.

She stretched, then ran a hand through
her hair. It fell back into place perfectly—just like his sister
Vivian accused his hair of doing. He smiled. Something else he and
Zoe had in common.

“If I don’t confront the Fates
tonight, I won’t sleep,” Zoe said. “Let’s just get this over
with.”

Travers hid his disappointment behind
a genial smile. “All right, then. Dinner out. Somewhere big and
loud and filled with obnoxious tourists so that the Fates won’t
embarrass us.”

Zoe pushed herself off the couch.
“That’s just about anywhere in this part of Vegas, although we’ll
need a little quiet so the Fates can hear me when I say
no.”

Travers nodded. He slipped his hands
in his pockets so that he wouldn’t extend one to her. He wasn’t
ready to reveal his attraction—not yet.

“You know this town better than we
ever could,” he said. “You chose.”

“Great,” Zoe muttered, reaching for
the purse she had dropped beside the couch. “My choice of tourist
traps. This day just keeps getting better and better.”

Zoe followed Travers and Kyle into the
hallway, wishing she had not decided to wear heels that morning.
Her feet ached, her calves ached, and this endless day promised to
go on forever.

Even planning dinner was proving
difficult.

First, Kyle wouldn’t leave the hotel
room without Bartholomew. No amount of argument from Travers seemed
to help. Kyle was worried that Bartholomew wouldn’t be able to
handle even an evening alone in the hotel suite, and Zoe had the
sense that Kyle was right. Good old Morton the Magnificent might
try to take Bartholomew back (since who knew how the Interim Fates
had left him in the familiar department) or Bartholomew, who was
pretty high strung even for a dachshund, simply might use his
meager powers to escape, perhaps claiming he was searching for food
or his companions.

After a bit of an argument, Travers
let the dog come along.

That limited their choice of eating
establishments. Now Zoe would have to contend with tourist
restaurants that allowed dogs inside. She doubted there would be
any convincing anyone that Bartholomew was a seeing-eye dog. Worst
case, she would have to use her magic to make him invisible,
something she really didn’t want to do around the Fates.

The hallway between the suites was
long and wide, and it looked like every other hotel hallway in
every other large Vegas hotel. Zoe couldn’t imagine coming to
places like this to spend her vacation. She actually missed the old
hotels and all their history—the Sands, with the blue-gray
cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and the ghost of Sinatra in
every room. She’d seen the infamous Rat Pack performances in
Vegas—and she still felt privileged.

Zoe glanced at Travers,
who was walking with his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. Bartholomew
didn’t mind being on his leash. He led the group, sniffing every
corner, every doorway, as they made their way to the end of the
hall.

Travers was looking straight ahead,
his expression unreadable. He got a distant look at times, and she
wasn’t sure what caused it. She would feel close to him for a
moment, and then that closeness would fade as if it never were,
almost as if his entire personality had withdrawn from the room
without his body going with it.

She had no idea how he did
that.

But it made her nervous, and a little
more comfortable with her decision not to tell him the entire truth
about her prophecy. She didn’t want him to know that she was
supposed to discover her true love near Faerie.

They stopped in front of the door to
1435, the Fates’ suite. The hallway smelled faintly of garlic, a
scent Zoe hadn’t really noticed until they stopped in front of the
door. Travers knocked, and all four of them stood in front of the
spyhole as if they were the perfect Norman Rockwell family, coming
to the aunts’ house for a visit.

Zoe let a single shudder run through
her. How deceiving appearances could be. A man, a woman, a boy who
looked like the man, and an obese dog. What else could they be in
this hotel in this part of Vegas except a family? A family of
tourists.

She would have thought so, looking at
a surveillance tape. She was sure the security guard who was
supposed to monitor the corridors through the cameras mounted on
the wall thought the same thing.

Finally the door swung open and
Atropos appeared. Only she didn’t look like Atropos—or at least,
not the Atropos of Greek myth, the one who carried the abhorréd
shears and cut the thread of life to create death.

This Atropos grinned at them. She had
a streak of flour on one cheek, and more in her hair. Around her
waist, an apron had absorbed even more flour, and there were flour
tracks on the living room carpet.

“Welcome! Welcome,” she said. “We’ve
been expecting you.”

The garlic scent was even stronger
now, accented by the smells of oregano and basil, along with the
smell of bread dough. Travers looked at Zoe in surprise, as if she
could explain the turn of events. She shrugged.

Bartholomew yipped, and Kyle shushed
him.

“Come on in,” Clotho said from
somewhere inside the suite.

“We just came to get you for dinner,”
Travers said slowly.

“We’re having dinner here.” Lachesis’
voice sounded a little closer than Clotho’s, but not
much.

“We cooked,” Atropos said, pulling the
door open as wide as it went.

“Without magic?” Zoe asked, feeling
apprehensive. After all, why would the Fates know how to cook? They
had lived for centuries with everything provided for them, and few
restrictions on their magic.

“Of course without magic.” Clotho
stood in the door to the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon as if it
were a club. The spoon was dripping tomato paste onto the
blue-and-white kitchen tile.

“Come in!” Lachesis said again. She
was setting the table in the dining area. The curtains were open,
revealing a view of Las Vegas that Zoe only saw in brochures—the
city spread before her like a sea of multi-colored Christmas
lights.

Bartholomew tugged Kyle inside, and
Travers followed, moving hesitantly. He looked over his shoulder at
Zoe, and she read his expression as if she had known him all her
life.

Is this what you
want
? he was asking her. He was going to
give her a chance to escape if she needed it.

But this was probably the best. If the
Fates were angry at her for not taking their case, and they decided
that she had failed the test; if they had lied about no longer
having magic; if they had some kind of retribution planned, better
to be inside a private room than in the Hard Rock Café, trying to
shout over the music.

Zoe nodded just a little at Travers,
enough so that he noticed, not enough for anyone else too, and then
she stepped inside. The smells were overpowering here, and she
could no longer separate out individual odors.

“What’re we having?” Kyle
asked.

“Everyone’s favorite,” Atropos said.
“Pizza!”

“You ordered pizza?” Travers asked,
and there was relief in his voice.

“Of course not.” Clotho sounded
offended. She let the spoon drop, and more sauce dripped
off.

“We learned how to cook in the last
few months,” Lachesis said.

“It was quite intimidating at first,”
Atropos said.

“Henri Barou made us learn,” Clotho
said.

“He let us use his cave fortress,”
Lachesis said, “but he wouldn’t supply fresh meals every
day.”

“Cave fortress?” Travers
asked.

But as he did, Kyle
stepped forward, his eyes bright. “Henri Barou? That’s my Uncle
Dex, right?”

“Of course, child,” Atropos
said.

“He has a fortress of solitude? Just
like in the comics?” Kyle sounded thrilled.

Zoe’s breath caught. The Fates hated
all mention of the comic books. Henri had told her that years
ago.

“It is quite the place,” Clotho said.
“We had to stay there until we were safe.”

“Safe from what?” Travers
asked.

“Eris was trying to destroy us,”
Lachesis said.

“We suspect that will be a common
problem as people discover we’ve given up our magic,” Atropos said
with a grin. It didn’t seem to bother her. She wiped her hands on
her flour-covered apron, getting more flour on herself and on the
floor.

“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.