Absolutely Captivated (16 page)

“Okay.” Zoe leaned forward, eyeing the
Fates. “You said that this case would take me somewhere I’ve never
been before.”

“Someplace you’re afraid of,” Lachesis
said.

“Someplace you’ve avoided your entire
life,” Atropos said.

“Cut the dramatics,” Zoe said. “If you
want my help, you’ll have to be clear and precise.”

“Faerie,” Clotho said. “You’ll have to
go to Faerie.”

Zoe felt cold, even though
the office was stifling. The air-conditioning was running so hard
she could hear the hum, but the cool draft wasn’t keeping up with
the stress, the body heat, and the outdoor temperatures beating
against the walls.

Besides, this rather small room was
filled with too many people and a giant pink elephant that was
grinning beneath its obscene pink trunk.

The Fates were staring at her
expectantly. They thought she was going to be angry about their
case—about Faerie—and she was. She was angry at the intrusions, she
was angry that she had a shoe soaked in dog pee, and she was angry
that she wasn’t home, reading a romance novel and trying to forget
the world.

But she would be soon. Because there
was no way, no matter what had happened, no matter who wanted her
help, that she would ever, ever, ever go into Faerie.

These Fates knew she wouldn’t go. It
was their fault, after all. It was because of the prophecy they had
given her, the prophecy that said she might get lost in
Faerie.

Forever.

“You’re testing me,” Zoe
said.

The Fates looked startled.

“This was all one big test to see how
far you could push me,” Zoe said.

Travers frowned at her. He didn’t know
what was going on.

Well, of course he didn’t
know what was going on. He didn’t even know that magic existed
until two hours ago. Now he was creating stuffed animals from thin
air.

She had to turn slightly so she
couldn’t see his face. She had never known a man’s face had that
much power to distract. Even when she wasn’t looking at it, she was
thinking about it.

She clenched her fists, and made sure
she was making eye contact with at least one Fate. This time, she
chose Atropos.

“You decided to give me
everything, right?” Zoe asked. “A cause—saving you from those
children—a heroic young boy, and the best-looking man you could
find. Then you send me into Faerie, thinking you can reform me,
make me into someone who follows all of your rules—”

“You don’t?” Lachesis
asked.

It apparently didn’t
matter anymore. These Fates weren’t in charge. They might never be
in charge again, if Zeus got his way. And if Clotho, Lachesis, and
Atropos did get back to positions of power, they’d have so much to
deal with, they wouldn’t even think of Zoe.

“Of course I don’t follow your rules!”
Zoe stood. “Your rules are petty and stupid and impractical in the
real world. Because of your silly rules, I can’t take three seconds
to magically clean a dog who badly needs it. I have to throw the
poor creature into a bathtub—”

At that moment, a long,
drawn-out howl echoed throughout the office. The Fates
cringed.

Zoe looked toward the bathroom. She
had heard splashing water, and had guessed that Kyle was giving
Bartholomew a bath, but she hadn’t really thought about it until
now.

“It’s okay, really!” Kyle yelled from
the back. “Just keep arguing.”

Zoe almost smiled. That kid was one in
a thousand.

“Our rules are sane,” Atropos
said.

“Really?” Zoe asked. “You brought up
Henri Barou. Let me point out how dumb your treatment of him
was.”

Travers had turned his
attention back to Zoe, who had obviously forgotten to keep him out
of her line of vision. Handsome, handsome man. Henri Barou was
supposed to be handsome in that traditional American way (he looked
like Christopher Reeve crossed with Tom Welling, plus one chin
dimple and the blue-black hair usually only found in comic strips)
but Zoe had never found him particularly striking.

Unlike Travers, whose blue eyes had a
clarity that—

“We did not treat him poorly,” Clotho
said, bringing Zoe back to herself.

For a moment, she thought
Clotho was referring to Travers, and then she remembered: they were
talking about Henri Barou.

“Yes, you did,” Zoe
said. “The poor guy has a bad mentor, and so he strikes out on his
own. He goes from town to town
helping
people, and you punish him
when two kids confuse what he does and write him up as a comic book
superhero.”

“Not just any superhero,” Lachesis
said.

“He became a legend,” Atropos
said.

“A cultural icon,” Clotho
said.

“Super Agent Man,” Lachesis
said.

“You mean Secret Agent Man?” Travers
asked. “As in, what? The Green Hornet or Maxwell Smart
or—”

“Superman,” Zoe said
between her teeth, not because Travers interrupted (truth be told,
she’d rather talk to him than all the Fates in the world—and there
seemed to be an abundance of those lately) but because the Fates
were nearly impossible to have a conversation with. All of the
Fates. All six of them. “He became the prototype for
Superman.”

“Oh, yes,” Atropos said. “We saw those
movies. With Margo Kidder. She’s quite the spunky girl.”

“Dumb as a post,” Clotho said. “Who
knew that mortals could be fooled by glasses?”

“Stop.” Zoe almost clapped her hands
together, and she caught herself just in time. The Fates, if they
ever got their power back, might forget that she had challenged
them, but they wouldn’t forget if she spelled them. “Just stop
talking for a moment.”

All three women looked at her with
identical expressions on their non-identical faces. Blue, green,
and brown eyes were open the exact same width, as were their
mouths. Even their chins were at the same angle.

Travers, fortunately, didn’t share the
expression. He was watching Zoe with a bemused smile.

“Henri Barou,” Zoe said, “was helping
people. You shut him down because of something out of his control.
You said he was leaking information to the mortals when he was not.
He was simply doing what mages have done from the beginning of
time. He was becoming a myth. And you stopped that.”

“Mortals no longer have myths,”
Lachesis said.

Zoe held up the index finger on her
right hand, like a school marm about to discipline unruly children.
“I said stop talking.”

Lachesis bit her lower lip. The other
Fates did the same.

Zoe said, “You forbade Henri from
interfering in mortal affairs because of his little infraction, so
he had to come to me when he saw some trouble that he didn’t know
how to deal with. In the meantime, you let people like
Ealhswith—”

“You know Ealhswith?” Atropos
asked.

“Oh, please,” Zoe said. “she tried to
hire me years ago to find Sleeping Beauty.”

“Sleeping Beauty?” Travers
asked.

“Long story,” Clotho said.

“And besides,” Lachesis whispered,
“we’re not supposed to talk.”

“Oh, yeah,” Atropos said, putting her
hands over her mouth. “Sorry.”

Zoe sighed. Even she had gotten
distracted by these women. How crazy was that?

“Anyway,” Zoe said, “you let people
like Ealhswith and Eris and Cupid—”

“Cupid?” Travers asked. “The God of
Love?”

“He was never the God of Love,” the
Fates said in unison.

“It’s a misnomer we’re not fond of,”
Clotho said.

“But we’ll discuss it later,” Lachesis
whispered to Travers, as if they were co-conspirators.

“You let all of them run free,” Zoe
said, “wreaking havoc on the mortals, and they caused a lot more
destruction than Henri Barou or any of the good mages ever
could.”

“May we speak now?” Atropos
said.

“Oh, why not?” Zoe sat down. She was
getting tired of arguing.

“All three of the people you mentioned
are imprisoned now. Ealhswith for life,” Clotho said.

“And Cupid for a goodly
long time,” Lachesis said, still speaking in a
near-whisper.

“We, of course, don’t know about
Eris,” Atropos said.

“I doubt those children punished her
at all,” Clotho said.

Zoe had heard that Eris got a long and
particularly ugly sentence for the things she had done in Oregon
last summer, but Zoe wasn’t about to admit that. She didn’t want to
think of the Interim Fates doing anything approaching a good
job.

“We punish violations when we can,”
Lachesis said, “but it’s hard to monitor everyone, which was what
we were supposed to do.”

“We realize now that it was more of
Zeus’ undermining. He gave us too much work, and not enough time to
do it. He wants us to go away, you know,” Atropos said.

“You mentioned that.” Travers spoke
up. He didn’t look at Zoe. In fact, he seemed to be deliberately
avoiding eye contact. “Why would a god like Zeus try to hurt the
three of you?”

“Good question,
Dad!” Kyle yelled from the next room. Then there was a splash,
another yip, and a
dang it!
followed by the sound of skin against porcelain,
and more splashes.

“Do you need help?” Travers
asked.

“Nope!” Kyle’s voice sounded
strangled. “I got it just fine.”

“Zeus is not a God,” the Fates said,
with as much vehemence as they had used about Cupid.

“I was raised that he was—a
mythological god, but a god nonetheless,” Travers said.

“See how they corrupt?” Clotho said to
Zoe. “See why we don’t like myths?”

“If he’s not a god, what is he?”
Travers asked.

“A Power That Is,” Lachesis said. “One
of the ruling body of the magical, so old that he has a lot more
magic than he should.”

“And too many privileges with which to
indulge that magic,” Atropos said.

“The others in Mount Olympus don’t
take this kind of advantage,” Clotho said.

“Strictly speaking,” Lachesis said,
“some of them do.”

“Ladies,” Zoe said. “I’m
tired of the digressions. I’ve made my point, and you’ve probably
already forgotten it. Heck, I’ve even forgotten it, and I was the
one making it. So let’s just call it a day. You can go back to
wherever it was that Mr. Kinneally found you and I can continue in
my nice, quiet little life in my not-so-nice, not-so-quiet
hometown. Okay?”

“No,” the Fates said.

For a group that no longer had magic,
they were doing an excellent job of speaking in unison. Were they
linked to each other’s thoughts? Zoe wasn’t sure she wanted to
know.

“Well, I say so, and it’s my office,
so you’re going to leave.” Zoe stood again and nodded toward
Travers. “It looks like you’ll need to find someone else to take
these ladies off your hands.”

“Nope.” He stood too. “I’m leaving
them here. C’mon, Kyle.”

“Just a minute, Dad.”

“Now,
Kyle.”

“Okay.”

There was a
squishing sound, followed by the
swoosh
of a drain. Kyle Kinneally
came back into the office, looking like he’d been swimming with his
clothes on. He carried Bartholomew under one arm. The dog didn’t
even look wet. But he didn’t smell as bad, either. His ears had
perked up and his tail was wagging.

Zoe had never seen him look so
happy.

“Can we keep the dog, Dad?” Kyle
asked.

Travers looked at his son, and his
shoulders sagged. “What would we do with a dog, Kyle?”

“He likes us,” Kyle said. “He told
me.”

“You talk to animals now,
too?” Travers asked.

Kyle ducked his head so that he
couldn’t make eye contact with his father. Obviously, he still
wasn’t comfortable talking about his powers with
Travers.

“Only some animals,” Kyle
said.

Bartholomew’s tail kept wagging.
Little drops of water were spraying all over the office.

Zoe could only hope that the water was
from the sink.

Travers had his hands on his hips. He
sighed heavily.

“So, Dad,” Kyle said, raising his
head. “Can we keep him?”

“Kyle—”

“He really likes you, and he says you
need help, and he’s willing to help in any way a familiar can.”
Kyle finally took a breath. Travers looked like he was about to say
something, when Kyle continued. “But you have to give him a new
name. He wants to be called Fang.”

Everyone in the room looked at the
obese dachshund in Kyle’s arms. The dog squirmed happily,
resembling nothing more than a happy sausage with a tail and a
head.