Simply Irresistible Part 13

"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.

"h.e.l.lo?" 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 h.e.l.l.

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, Trav-ers, 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."

"Huh?" She blinked at him.

"The winking effect only happens when a mage's spell collides with a psychic's creation, usually designed for the same purpose. I put a protect around the building, but you already covered this place in gla.s.s. Now it's time to take the gla.s.s away."

She frowned, clearly not understanding. "How do I do that?"

"Imagine it gone," Atropos said.

"Hurry," Clotho said.

Dex wondered how they felt, being the cause of such a huge revelation of magic in the middle of a weekday morning.

Vivian closed her eyes. Then she staggered backward, clutching the end table for balance. When she opened her eyes, she looked surprised.

On the television screen, the building reappeared, solid and dark. No winking. He could hear a gasp from the crowd--both on the screen and ever so faintly outside.

"At least that's over," Vivian said.

"Actually, it isn't." Dex took the remote out of her hand. The entire world had seen that building flash like a malfunctioning Christmas tree. "Now whoever's been searching for the Fates knows exactly where they are."

"They knew that before," Vivian said, "if the pounding in my head was any indication."

"Maybe," he said. "But they also know what kind of spell I cast around the building."

"It's hard to counteract a protect," Lachesis said.

"But it can be done," Dex said, "given enough time."

"You've got magic, though," Vivian said, putting her hand on his arm. "You can stop anything."

He shook his head." I wish I were that powerful."

"We were," Atropos said.

"Just yesterday," Clotho said.

"But we're not anymore," Lachesis said.

"What an ignominious end," Atropos said, sinking into a chair, hands over her face.

"We really should think things through," Clotho said, sinking down beside her.

Dex stared at them, not liking this admission from a group once a.s.signed to administer justice.

"Don't panic yet," he said, trying to sound rea.s.suring. "I have a plan."

They all looked at him, their expressions filled with hope. He let out a small sigh. He had no idea what had just possessed him.

He had no plan.

Now, he supposed, he would just have to make one up.

*Chapter Nine*

Dex's panicked gaze met Vivian's and she knew, as clearly as if he had spoken, that he had no plan at all. She glanced at the clock she'd hung above her comic book art: the Incredible Hulk's arms pointed to ten and twelve.

Only an hour until Quixotic opened for lunch. Maybe someone would be in the restaurant.

She actually sent the thought to Dex, hoping he could receive it. This trick rarely worked with other people. Only her baby sister Megan seemed able to understand Vivian's thoughts when she sent them like that.

But Dex smiled. She could feel the warmth in his gaze. His lips didn't move, but she heard him say 'thank you' as clearly as if he had spoken the words aloud.

"We need to get you out of here," he said to the Fates, "now that everyone knows where you are. They're going to try to trace any magical trail I make, and since we don't know who's after you or how powerful they are, I think it might be good if we have some help."

"Who, though?" Lachesis said.

"Quixotic is just next door," Dex said. "Seems to me there should be at least one mage inside."

"They're closed," Atropos said.

"We already told you that," Clotho said.

"Just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact," Lachesis said.

"They have hours like other restaurants." Vivian smiled at the Fates. "They should open at eleven."

The Fates looked up at her clock, just like she had done. The minute hand hadn't moved much.

Her gaze slipped from the Hulk to her framed comics: her prized Batman original, signed by Bob Kane; the line art for an early issue of Swamp Thing; and her most prized possession, a carefully framed copy of Superman #1. Once upon a time, that comic book had been worth more than everything else she owned put together.

The value of the comic book hadn't declined, but she had come into money since Aunt Eugenia had given her the book. (Aunt Eugenia again. Vivian felt her heart twist.) Then she frowned. That cover had given Dex quite a jolt when he had first seen it. He had studied it as if it were the enemy.

She loved the cover. Superman over Metropolis, his marvelous body curled as he stopped in the air mid-flight to study the city below. His lantern jaw and solid profile gave him an all-American handsomeness that she so admired. The blue-black hair curled over his forehead. The only thing she couldn't see was that beloved dimple in his chin.

The dimple. In his chin.

Vivian looked at Dex.

Dex had Superman's face. Or rather, Superman had Dex's face. Dex flushed.

"I can explain," he said.

"You're--?"

"No," he said. "They were just a couple of teenagers who didn't know what they saw was magic. They were--"

"Henri!" Atropos said.

"You're not to talk of that," Clotho said.

"You are forgetting our warning," Lachesis said.

And even though the Fates had no power, Dex seemed unnerved enough to stop talking.

"I think he can tell me," Vivian said, a little unnerved herself. Dex looked like Superman. Whenever Vivian envisioned the perfect man, she envisioned Superman. Or, if the situation called for an intellectual, Clark Kent. Kent always looked good in a suit.

Just like Dex would.

"I think we should take Henri's suggestion and leave this place," Atropos said.

"And that artwork," Clotho said, as if there were something wrong with it.

The back of Vivian's neck itched. She ran a hand over it, wondering if this was an aftereffect of the strange headache that gla.s.s jar had given her. She scratched at the base of her skull, and the itch went away.

"You all right?" Dex asked.

She wasn't sure if he was asking about her reaction to the art and the news, or if he was concerned about her health. She didn't have time to dwell on either. The Fates had to be the priority. "I think we should go."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Dex said, and waved his arm in a circle. Instantly, Vivian's apartment vanished. For a moment, she appeared to be in a void with the Fates and Dex, and then she was inside Quixotic.

She'd been to Quixotic before with Kyle and Travers, the day after she moved to Portland. She wanted to treat them after all the help they had given her.

The meal had been special. Wonderful service that caught every detail, but no one hovered. Excellent food, rivaling anything she'd ever had in L.A., and a congenial atmosphere, which her hostess had called upscale Northwest, laughingly adding that it was upscale because the tablecloths were linen.