Completely Smitten (24 page)

“I can’t believe that the Fates would sacrifice one innocent mortal life for some greater magical plan.”

“They always say they’re righteous, but I don’t know,” Cupid said. “They seem spiteful to me.”

Darius shook his head. “What can we do to help Ariel?”

“We already had the ‘we’ discussion,” Cupid said. “Ask me again. Use these words: ‘What can
I
do to help Ariel?”

Darius sighed. He knew Cupid well enough to know the little bastard wouldn’t answer the question until Darius asked it correctly. “All right. What can I do to help Ariel?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Cupid stretched out his short legs, revealing bright orange socks under those ugly polyester pants. “You give her a new obsession.”

“I thought that’s your job.”

“No, no. Obsession is just focus. As long as she focuses on you—Darius, as you so royally call yourself, as if you’re not here at all—she’ll obsess about you. But if you can get her to concentrate on, say, chocolate, or the novels of Dostoyevsky, then maybe she’ll switch the obsession to that.”

Darius straightened. “Can that happen?”

“Sure.” Cupid sat up on the back of his chair, his feet firmly planted on the seat so that the whole thing kept its balance. “So long as she loves the thing you want her to obsess about and she only lusts after you.”

“Meaning what?” Darius asked.

“If she loves you,” Cupid said, “she stays obsessed.”

“Then what do I do?” Darius asked.

“Wait until July and hope that the damage isn’t permanent.” Cupid’s phone rang again. He held out his hand. “It’s been over fifteen minutes. Can I talk to the kneecap breakers now before they go after my casino?”

“You’re in with the mob?” Darius asked.

“Where’ve you been?” Cupid asked. “The mob left Vegas in the Nineteen-seventies.”

“Then who?”

Cupid frowned at him. “Faeries.”

Darius raised his eyebrows. “Faeries? What did you do to them?”

“I made their queen fall in love with an ass.”

“I don’t think Oberon would want to be described that way,” Darius said.

“Oh, c’mon,” Cupid said. “You’re the one who knew Shakespeare. I always thought you fed him that story.”

“You mean about Bottom?”

“Who else?”

Darius pulled the phone out of his pocket and shook his head in wonder. “I always thought that was the only one he made up.”

*

Ariel couldn’t remember being this exhausted in a long time, at least not from physical work. From a race, yes. Only that kind of exhaustion felt different. Then she felt as if she had drained all the energy from her body and rest would replenish her. Her mind was always excited, and she looked forward to the next day.

Here, she felt as if everything was tired, not just her body, but her mind, and that no amount of sleep would cure it. Some of the feeling, she was sure, came from disappointment. The rest from the fact that she was back where she had started all those years ago: a hostess in a restaurant. A job that had little distinction and where she was completely replaceable.

Of course, Sofia did the job well enough that everyone would miss her. But she had put a lot of effort into it. Ariel couldn’t imagine feeling enthusiastic about days spent leading people to tables, handing them menus, and ringing up their bills.

She pushed open the door to the kitchen. It smelled heavily of garlic and burgundy wine, along with something bread-like and sweet. The ovens were running as well as the stoves. Someone was baking.

The chefs were busy with the handful of late-afternoon orders, and the salad prep workers were just finishing up. No Andrew Vari.

Ariel sighed. She had really destroyed that relationship. Who could blame him for avoiding her? She had treated him badly, and he hadn’t accepted her apology. She wasn’t sure if she would have either. She had probably made him feel very insignificant.

She had put as much effort into her pursuit of Darius as she put into anything she wanted. People in the tri-circuit thought she was extremely aggressive, in a sport that encouraged aggressiveness. She could only imagine how it felt to be on the receiving end of her drive when it had to do with another person.

Her cheeks flushed. She slid down the main hallway to the employee break room. The time clock was located there, probably to keep it out of view of all those snobby restaurant reviewers who seemed to line up to investigate Quixotic. Not that a time clock would have been embarrassing, but it wouldn’t have the right level of class.

The break room was empty, but it smelled of cigarettes. A large sign above one of the file cabinets read NO SMOKING, and she wondered who was going to get in trouble, or if she was the only person who noticed the smell.

Coats hung on a wire rack, and on top of it, beside the hats, someone had left a hardback copy of the latest John Grisham novel. A bookmark with a chewed tassel marked a spot halfway through.

Ariel went over to the time clock and grabbed her punch card. She slid the card into the machine, hit the button, and heard the machine click as her log-out time registered.

One official day done. Who knew how many more to go.

A light flared, nearly blinding her. For a moment, the time clock vanished and she was staring into a large room filled with slot machines and blue smoke. The stench of cigarettes, body odor, and sweet cleansers nearly overwhelmed her.

Then it vanished—all but the urge to sneeze, which she did. She put a hand to her forehead. No fever. Nothing. Then she braced herself against the wall. It was as solid as it had been before. The time clock was back and the minute hand hadn’t changed positions.

No wonder they said this place was haunted, if this was the experience everyone else had around here. Whatever it was seemed real enough. The stench of cigarette smoke, faintly present in the room before, was much, much stronger now.

She put her punch card back and turned around.

Andrew Vari was standing behind her, an expression of panic on his mashed face. His natty suit was too long for him, and as she watched, it seemed to shrink to fit his form.

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, he was still standing there, only he was tailored as he had been before. Sofia was right; the man’s clothing was almost too perfect.

His beautiful blue eyes met hers. Her heart was pounding, as if he’d found her doing something wrong.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, and she wondered if she was hallucinating him too.

“Did you see a bright light just a minute ago?” she asked.

He seemed startled. “Did you?”

So he was real. Or at least the hallucination was reacting to her properly.

“I saw a light this afternoon too,” she said. “I told Sofia about it and she nearly ran to the front of the restaurant.”

“Yeah,” Vari said. “I think we’re losing her because she believes this place is haunted.”

“She says she’s staying on the weekends.”

His smile was small. “That won’t last.”

Ariel’s heart was still pounding, as if she’d just come off a twenty-six-mile course. “Is there that much wrong here then?”

He shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong here, but people do see things. Tell me about the light.”

“It flashes, like sheet lightning, and then it’s gone. Only this time …” She didn’t want to finish that sentence. He thought she was crazy enough.

“Yes?”

“I thought I caught a glimpse of someplace else.”

He raised his eyebrows. That was when she realized his fedora was missing. His outfit looked incomplete without it, but he looked a little more human, as if he could make a mistake or two. She liked him better this way.

“What kind of place?”

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to go that far. “It was just a sense impression.”

He studied her for a moment. It seemed as if those blue eyes could see all the way through her.

“You punched out,” he said after a moment.

“Yes.” Her throat was suddenly dry. “Wasn’t I supposed to?”

“I promised you that we’d talk after you got off work.”

She had thought he had forgotten that. Was that why he was here? Had he followed her into the break room, snuck up on her so silently that she hadn’t even heard the door open and close?

She grabbed a chair and was pulling it out when he shook his head.

“There’s a deli across the street. Let’s go there.” He grabbed his raincoat from the coat hanger, reaching up as if it were the most natural thing in the world—which it probably was for him—and letting the hanger swing awkwardly.

She resisted the urge to catch it. Instead, she took her own coat off the hanger, grabbed her purse, and slung it over her shoulder.

“I’ll follow you,” she said.

He led her to the back exit. The main room of the restaurant was dark. The neon art on the walls flared softly. Someone had lit all the candles on the tables, giving the place a modern, elegant, and intimate air.

Up front, she could make out a man standing at the maitre d’s post. Sofia had told her that good maitre d’s were so hard to find that Blackstone had put theirs on salary.

Lucky man.

Vari pushed open the exit door, turned up his collar, and stepped out into the rain. He hadn’t put on his hat and didn’t seem to notice that it was missing.

She followed, the cool air caressing her face, startling away some of her exhaustion. Vari went to the light and crossed the street, not waiting for her. She had to struggle to keep up.

The deli was of a kind that only existed in the Northwest.

No ethnic foods, no unpronounceable dishes. The salads were all recognizable, from the standard iceberg lettuce fare to the potato and various pasta salads. There were a few dishes that could be heated, and a sandwich bar that had nothing more exotic than turkey and beef.

The coffee bar was more elaborate than the sandwich bar, offering more choices—and some of those were unpronounceable. There was also a wall of desserts, all of them too large and sumptuous.

She ordered a turkey sandwich and a brownie, along with an iced tea, and was surprised when Vari paid for it before she had a chance to whip out her wallet.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I can get it.”

“I know you can.” His voice was gruff, and seemed to grow gruffer whenever he did a kindness. She had noticed that in Emerald Aviation.

He ordered a large blueberry muffin and one of those unpronounceable coffees. By the time he’d paid for everything, their order was ready.

She bussed one of the plastic tables and wished for a rag to wipe it off but couldn’t find one. So she grabbed a handful of napkins and knocked someone else’s crumbs to the floor.

Vari set the tray down and they divided up their food. She took a bite of the sandwich. Her stomach growled as she did so, and she realized that part of her exhaustion had been hunger. She hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast—and that had been half an English muffin and an orange.

“I promised you we’d talk about Darius,” he said and took a deep breath, as if the topic made him nervous.

“I’m sorry that I was so pushy. I just want to thank him—”

Vari put up a small hand. It was callused and scarred, as if he had done a lot of hard labor. “Save it. We both know that if a thank-you was all you wanted, you’d’ve given up by now.”

His bluntness made her gasp. She felt heat rush to her cheeks all over again. “I’m not like that—”

“Not usually, I’m sure.” He took another deep breath. He was like a drowning man who couldn’t get enough air.

He glanced out the window at the dark, rainy twilight street. She followed his gaze. Cars went by, headlights flaring. Quixotic’s neon sign reflected on pools of water covering the sidewalk.

Finally, Vari let out a sigh, as if he had resigned himself to this conversation. He pushed away the untouched blueberry muffin and cradled his tall cup of fancy coffee.

“I’ve known Darius …” His gaze met hers, and she felt a shiver run through her. “… his whole life. I guess it’s fair to say that. You can say I told you so now.”

She sipped her iced tea, not trusting herself to say anything.

“He’s … prone to disappearing.”

She got the sense that Vari was choosing his words carefully.

“And he’s been involved in some … shady things.”

She gripped her own glass tightly. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me about him?”

“I wouldn’t tell you because no one is supposed to know he exists.” Vari grabbed a bit of muffin, picking the top layer off but not eating it.

“What do you mean? Is he some kind of criminal?”

Vari kept his head down, but he smiled. The smile was both sad and reflective. “Yes.”

She couldn’t believe it. The man she had met? The man who had rescued her? The man who had kissed her with such tenderness? How could he be some kind of criminal?

“What did he do?” she asked.

Vari closed his eyes, as if the subject pained him. “He ruined a lot of lives.”

“How?” she asked, unable to believe him.

Vari got that same sad smile again, shook his head, and opened his eyes. They looked past her, as if lost in memory. “It’s too complicated to explain. Let’s just say he’s very good at manipulating people’s emotions.”

She felt her breath catch.

Vari looked at her this time, and she got an odd sense that he was very vulnerable. She hadn’t thought of this brash man as vulnerable before.

“Including yours?” she asked.

He seemed startled by the question. “I suppose you could say I’ve been a victim of Dar’s actions for a very long time.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me that?”

He picked at the muffin again. “You thought he was some kind of hero. That’s rare. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“Giving me his address wouldn’t spoil it. I would just send him some kind of thank-you—”

“Would you?” Vari asked. “Really? Was that what you wanted? Because I think you wanted a lot more.”

The heat in her cheeks got worse. “I thought, maybe, there was a bit of interest, but I can live without that. I mean, I’m an adult.”

“See?” Vari looked away from her. “He manipulated you too.”

“How can you say that? You weren’t there.”