Simply Irresistible (11 page)

He gave her an uncertain smile. Her own smile faded.

“Well,” she said. “What are we waiting for? Help me find those pieces—
now
.”

The Fates settled around the glass-topped table as if they were going to recite Homer’s
Odyssey
in the original Greek. Vivian, who was looking better, decided to make herself some tea, and offered Dex some. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but he knew he’d better fortify himself. He had a hunch the story the Fates were going to tell might take the rest of the day.

As the Fates spoke, he watched Vivian work around her apartment—her delicate hands gathering the remains of the chocolate box, the sway of her hips as she walked into the kitchen. He had to force himself to concentrate on the Fates’ words, because he really wanted to think about Vivian.

Apparently, the Fates said when they finally had Dex’s attention, the Powers That Be were dissatisfied with the Fates’ performance since—well, they weren’t sure. They argued about the date until Vivian came into the dining room, bearing tea on a tray and more cookies than Dex had seen since he’d helped some Girl Scouts save a dog in the 1970s.

Anyway, doing the math, and subtracting a little for the vagaries with which the Fates seemed to regard mortal time, Dex figured the Fates’s trouble started either in 1700 or 1960. He wasn’t going to narrow it down any farther. The Fates were notified recently (which Dex guessed to be about two years ago mortal time) that they would be forced to step out of their positions due to newly imposed term limits.

(“They laid you off, then,” Vivian said as she sat down at the table, and everyone glared at her except Dex, who had to bend his head to hide a smile.)

The Fates were told that there were new requirements for their job and that they didn’t meet any of those requirements. The Powers That Be (the Fates paused for genuflection) would contact the legal-minded mages, encourage some to apply, and then open the process to application. The application process wouldn’t start for some time.

“How much time?” Dex asked.

“Just shush and listen,” Clotho said.

“It’s important, isn’t it?” he asked. “What if they’ve already started the application process.”

“They haven’t,” Lachesis said.

“I doubt anyone has even noticed we’re gone yet,” Atropos said.

“I noticed,” Dex said glumly.

Beneath the table, Vivian put her hand on his. The brush of her soft skin sent a tingle through him. He turned his hand upward so that he could hold hands properly. Their fingers meshed, and he rubbed his thumb along her forefinger. Touching her felt good, and eased the sense of frustration he was getting from this conversation with the Fates.

“Maybe you’ll get it if we explain the application process,” Clotho said, and before he got to weigh in on that idea, they did:

According to the Fates, the Powers That Be (genuflect) promised to examine each applicant, pick a few good candidates (maybe fifteen, five for each position) and interview, interview, interview.

So the Fates decided that they would reapply, but first, they would gain experience in the areas they lacked. Those new areas sounded simple enough: They needed to understand other cultures; they needed to learn diplomacy; and they needed to experience powerlessness.

“The problem,” Lachesis said, “is that the makeup of the governing council of the Powers That Be—” Here the women genuflected again. Vivian looked at Dex as if she wondered if she should too, but he shook his head. “—has changed in the last two thousand years. They argue a great deal about cultural heritage. We have Egyptians,
the
Norse, of course, Japanese, Native Americans—”

“Frankly, I put much of this change on that Coyote person. He seems to enjoy stirring things up, which is not what we’re about. How he got on the governing council I’ll never know.” Atropos squeezed her teacup so hard that her knuckles turned white.

“I told you,” Clotho said. “He can be reasonable when it’s in his own best interest.”

“I have a hunch this isn’t the kind of cultural understanding they all want,” Dex said. He kept moving his thumb on Vivian’s hand, enjoying the feel of her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lachesis said, “at least not yet.”

“Well, it does,” Atropos said, “if we’re going to understand all of this. After all, the Powers That Be”—another genuflection—“believe that we’re too Greek, even though the country didn’t exist yet when we were born.”

“They meant our heritage is too Mediterranean,” Clotho said.

“And too old,” Lachesis said. “I got a real sense of ageism from them.”

Dex shook his head slightly. Discrimination within his ruling government. What a shock.

” I don’ t understand.” With her free hand, Vivian picked up the teapot, shook it, and seemed satisfied with its slosh. “How did that lead you all to me?”

“We decided to go after all of this backward,” Atropos said.

“We figure we can learn cultural diversity and diplomacy,” Clotho said. “After all, how hard can it be? A few books here and there, maybe a few movies, and we’re covered.”

This time, Dex did roll his eyes. Vivian squeezed his fingers, as if she agreed with his disbelief.

“But powerlessness,” Lachesis said. “That’s the real trick. We’ve never been powerless, and we’re not sure we understand it.”

“Although I think we’re getting evidence,” Atropos said.

“What?” Vivian asked.

“A clue,” Dex whispered to her. “They’re getting a clue.”

Clotho didn’t seem to hear. “We arrived in Porttown this morning—”

“
Portland
, “Dex and Vivian corrected in unison.

“—and it’s been nonstop crisis ever since. First we get zapped with some sort of fire ray.”

“Then we run, screaming, and nearly get hit by an unsympathetic car,” Lachesis said.

“Unsympathetic?” Dex asked.

“We were in crisis,” Atropos snapped. “The driver should have known and been more careful.”

“Then this creature appears in front of us, grabbing for us,” Clotho said.

“Only he got hit by a more sympathetic car,” Lachesis said.

“It took us a while to figure out that we needed help,” Atropos said.

“So you came here?” Dex asked.

“Actually, we’d arrived outside Quixotic, but the doors were locked,” Clotho said.

“We’re going to have words with Aethelstan about that,” Lachesis said.

“The restaurant hadn’t opened yet,” Vivian whispered.

“I got that,” Dex said.

“That creature attacked us again,” Atropos said, “and I stabbed him with my shears.”

“Breaking them,” Clotho said. “I’m not sure what the Powers will think of that.”

The women pondered that for a moment, apparently forgetting to make obeisance to the Powers That Be with that mention. Or maybe it wasn’t necessary when the name was shortened.

Lachesis sighed and the others followed, as if her response awoke them all from their reverie. “Then Clotho remembered Eugenia, only we couldn’t remember where she lived.”

“But we knew where Vivian was because we had just gotten her change of address,” Atropos said.

“Right before we left,” Clotho said. “I believe it was on the very last day.”

“And lo and behold, the address was right here in Porttown,” Lachesis said.

“
Portland
, “Dex corrected, but he was alone this time. Vivian looked startled. She let go of his hand.

He felt the loss. It was almost as if she had, in her surprise, closed herself off from him.

“Change of address?” she asked. “What change of address? I haven’t sent out any forms yet, and I wouldn’t have sent any to you anyway, because I didn’t know any of you before this morning.”

She sounded almost angry. Not that he blamed her. He remembered when he found out he was going to have magical powers. He had gotten angry too, wondering why no one had told him sooner, why they hadn’t made the transition easier, why nothing in his life could be simple.

And of course it had gotten even more complex.

“Oh, you don’t send them, my dear,” Atropos said. “We just sort of know.”

“Or we used to,” Clotho said. They all sighed again.

“And when we came up here and tried to explain what was going on,” Lachesis said, “we realized that Vivian knew nothing—”

“—and the attacks continued,” Atropos said. “Which is why we sought you.”

Dex rubbed his forehead with his hand. He was the one getting a headache now. Or maybe he just wished he was so that he could conveniently pass out on the couch—next to Vivian. Alone.

“What kind of creature was attacking you?” Dex asked.

“Well, it wasn’t a creature, exactly,” Clotho said.

“It was a person,” Lachesis said.

“Although he was dressed like a creature,” Atropos said.

“Not to mention he hadn’t bathed in—oh— weeks, maybe,” Clotho said.

Vivian wrinkled her nose. It was a cute reaction. Dex looked at her fondly. She raised her eyebrows at him, as if she expected him to ask another question.

It took him a moment to remember what the group had been discussing. “Was this so-called creature a man or a mage?”

“A mage,” Lachesis said.

“Definitely,” Atropos said.

“And a familiar one,” Clotho said.

“Sort of,” Lachesis said. “He was dressed differently.”

“Lots of metal,” Atropos said.

“And he’d lost all his hair,” Clotho said.

“If you recognized him, tell me who he is and I’ll stop him.” Dex tensed as he spoke. There were many mages, especially dark mages, who were more powerful than he was, but he had fought powerful dark mages before. And won.

Vivian looked at him sideways, as if she had heard that thought and it surprised her. He extended his hand under the table. She took it.

“We said he looked familiar,” Lachesis said.

“But that doesn’t mean we recognize him,” Atropos said.

“That power seems to have disappeared with our magic,” Clotho said.

“And we need it,” Lachesis said.

“Who knew we weren’t very observant?” Atropos asked.

Dex knew, but he said nothing. Vivian watched them avidly, her hand warm in his. He loved this instant connection between them. She had a familiarity. It wasn’t as if he’d known her all his life. It was as if he’d expected her all his life.

“And you don’t even have a guess as to who this could be?” Dex asked.

“It could be anyone,” Clotho said. “We seem to anger people.”

“Maybe that’s why you need to learn diplomacy,” Vivian said, with an admirable lack of tact.

The women ignored her.

“How long are you going to be without your magic?” Dex asked.

“Until we decide to return to Olympus,” Lachesis said.

“Why don’t you decide to return now?” Dex asked.

“Because we’ve just gotten started,” Atropos said.

“This is simply a—how do you say it?— a hitch,” Clotho said.

“A glitch,” Vivian corrected.

“That too,” Lachesis said.

The phone rang, startling all of them. Dex nearly knocked over his teacup. Vivian stared at the phone as if she had forgotten it existed.

It rang again.

Vivian’s hand slipped out of Dex’s. She got up like a woman sleepwalking and crossed the floor. Dex held his breath. He didn’t know if the mage or mages who were searching for the Fates would think to call this apartment. Or even if they knew who to call.

Vivian picked up the phone as if she expected it to be too hot to touch. Apparently she was leery too.

“Hello?” she said, sounding so timid that Dex found himself wondering if she was the same woman who had called him a liar.

The Fates stared at her. They appeared to be holding their breath as well. They did seem diminished somehow, or maybe he was just reading that into them. He only thought they were less without their magic.

But then, he’d only had his for eighty-some years, and he would feel lost without his magic too. Theirs was more powerful, and they hadn’t been without it for millennia. In fact, they hadn’t even left their compound during all that time until this morning.

Considering they’d been under attack from the start, they’d done remarkably well. He hadn’t really figured that out until now.

“Yes,” Vivian said. “That is my address.”

She had carried the phone toward the large television set that she had beneath a wall covered in comic book art. With all the turmoil, Dex hadn’t noticed the TV or the art before.

He stopped watching Vivian and got up from the table. He walked toward the art, a shiver running through him.

He found himself staring at the yellow cover of Superman #1, with its chesty superhero in his blue tights and red cape flying over a building.

The complete story of the Daring Exploits of the one and only SUPERMAN lined
the bottom. He didn’t have to see the date to know when that was published. 1938: the beginning of the end.

“That’s just not possible.” Vivian turned on the television with her remote. The Fates got up and crowded around her. They looked fascinated with the TV, even though Dex knew they’d seen one before. They’d watched a lot of television since Stalin had given them one to stay on their good side.

Not that Stalin’s ploy had worked, of course. He was rotting away in some kind of Fate-induced hell.

The screen image winked on and Vivian thumbed up the channels until she found CNN. News crews were huddled on a city street as a building winked on and off like a giant firefly.

Dex recognized the street. It was in Portland.

“It’s got to be some kind of special effect,” she said into the phone.

And then Dex knew what was happening. “That’s no effect, Viv,” he said. “We’re doing that.”

“Well, I’m not,” she said, then she frowned as whoever had called spoke. “Look, I’m sorry, Travers, but I have to go. Yes, I’ll call you when I know what’s happening. On your cell. I remember that you’re driving.”

She hung up and set the receiver on a nearby table. “I can’t be doing that,” she said to Dex.

“You’re not doing it alone,” he said. “We’re doing it together.”

“So stop,” she said.

“If I stop, then whoever is trying to get the Fates will be able to get into this building.”