Completely Smitten (30 page)

She climbed in beside him, closed the door, made sure the windows were up, and stuck the key in the ignition. The roar of an engine coming to life would scare him—she was certain of that. But she started the car, and the puppy’s tail thudded against the seat. He looked at her as if he was ready for the adventure of his life.

She wasn’t. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she began to regret her decision—not buying the puppy, but her decision to give the dog to Vari.

He would never know if she didn’t show him the dog. But she had the oddest feeling that the puppy had been waiting for him and she was merely the delivery service.

She would stop at Quixotic and see if Vari agreed.

*Sixteen*

Darius sat on his stool in the kitchen, watching Blackstone create his latest dish. He was struggling to recreate some kind of vegetable pie he’d had during the Depression, and had made one of his assistants go to the store for lard not half an hour earlier.

Blackstone was leaning over the steel table, muttering, trying to remember which items were rationed and which ones weren’t, which ones were cut so that the ingredients went farther, and which ones remained the same.

Darius supposed he could help—he had vivid memories of the Depression—but he didn’t feel like helping. The kitchen was hot because the pastry chef had just finished her morning baking (she had stayed longer because Blackstone expected a rush on pies for reasons Darius couldn’t fathom) and smelled of fresh bread.

Usually being in Quixotic calmed him, but not this morning. This morning, he wished he had taken up Ariel’s offer and gone with her to brunch, even though she had only done it to make him feel better.

He was beginning to think he’d take her company no matter how grudgingly she offered it, and that attitude was dangerous. The jealousy he’d felt at the race this morning was improper. He had to do his job as impartially as possible—and impartiality meant a lack of involvement.

“You listening?” Blackstone asked.

“Obviously not,” Darius said, “or I would have been rudely ignoring you.”

“As if that’s far-fetched,” Blackstone said. “I was wondering if they could have used near-beer. Was it still being made in Thirty-three?”

“Are you sure you ate this in Thirty-three?” Darius asked. “Because Prohibition was still going on in Thirty-one, so there would have been near-beer then.”

Blackstone frowned as if he were trying to remember. As he did, the back door opened. Ariel leaned in.

She looked hesitant. Maybe she was in some kind of trouble. Darius slipped off his stool and instantly lost sight of her.

He suppressed a curse.

She stepped inside, and her face brightened when she saw him. Then that look vanished and the uncertainty returned.

“Hi,” she said, completely ignoring Blackstone.

“Hi,” Darius said, stepping out from behind the table’s shadow. “Is everything all right?”

She bit her lower lip. “I may have made a mistake.”

That got Blackstone’s attention. “What happened?”

She smiled at him, the look so radiant that Darius felt another curse rise inside him. He held it back. “Something I need Mr. Vari’s help with, actually.”

Blackstone bent toward Darius, raised his eyebrows, and grinned. Darius ignored him. “What do you need me for?”

“It’s in my car,” she said and walked toward the door. “Hurry.”

He hurried as best he could on his stubby legs, his stomach twisting. What kind of trouble had she gotten into and why had she come to him for help? Was she beginning to see him as the kind, neighborly man whom everyone befriended and no one noticed was really lonely?

She was out the door long before he reached it. As he stepped into the bright sunlight, he blinked. He had been inside longer than he thought.

Her car was parked near the Dumpster. Something was standing on the driver’s side looking out.

Not something.

Someone.

His breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he had dual images—a young boy, barely old enough to stand, and a puppy, its paws on the armrest, its head looking out the window.

She reached the side of the car and opened the door. The dual image vanished. She bent down and picked up the puppy, cradling it against her.

Darius could feel the dog’s magic crackling from his spot near the restaurant.

The puppy licked Ariel’s face and squirmed, clearly wanting to get down. Ariel held it tightly and watched Darius.

He wanted to squirm too, but he held himself motionless. Did she know what she had? He said, “I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

The puppy was wriggling even harder now. Ariel wrapped a leash around her wrist, an obvious precaution in case the puppy got away.

“When I saw him, I thought of you,” she said softly.

He stared at her. No one had ever done this for him. She didn’t even know that he needed a familiar, and yet she had brought him one.

How had she known? She had no magic; that was obvious. She was as mortal as Emma’s husband, Michael.

Yet she had recognized a dog with a bit of magic.

“I know you’re not supposed to give pets as gifts,” she said into his silence, “but if you don’t want him, I’ll keep him. Only it feels like he belongs to you. He seems like the perfect dog for you.”

The puppy swiveled his head at that moment, as if he had understood her words. He was a basset hound, a particularly mournful-looking version, with ears so long that they hung past his feet.

“I can’t take him from you,” Darius said, trying not to sound ungrateful and trying to hide how unnerved he was. “I mean, you’re the one who found him.”

“And bought him on impulse.” She shrugged. “The guy at the store warned me not to do that. But you said you were looking for a pet.”

“You heard that?” This time, he couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Well, you were having a rather loud conversation about it the other day with Mr. Blackstone.” She shrugged. “I thought maybe this puppy would work for you. But if he doesn’t, I’ll keep him.”

Darius took a step closer. The puppy was wriggling so hard, Darius was amazed Ariel didn’t drop him. Darius stopped in front of the dog. Ariel bent so that the dog could see him better.

The puppy licked Darius’s face. The pup’s breath was amazingly sweet—probably because it was still young.

The dog scrambled onto his shoulder. Ariel braced the dog until Darius took its solid belly between his own small hands. The dog weighed more than he thought it would. It was all muscle and sinewy—and verged on being too thin.

“Didn’t they take care of this creature?” he asked, sounding more belligerent than he intended.

“He was rescued from a puppy mill. I guess he was abused. He may be a bit high-strung because of that.” She hovered close, still holding the leash “You don’t have to take him just because I gave him to you. I know it was inappropriate—”

“Stop apologizing.” Darius nuzzled the dog. It did feel right. This was the familiar he’d been waiting for. Small, stubby, slightly broken but with an irrepressible spirit. “I like him. I like him a lot.”

“They say he’s housebroken, but they’re not sure it’s a hundred percent. And I have some dog food in the car—”

“All right.” Darius extended a hand for the leash. She handed it to him. He set the puppy down. It immediately leaped up to try to kiss him again, but it jumped no better than Andrew Vari did.

Ariel laughed fondly. “He’s a good dog.”

“I can see that.” Darius crouched and patted the puppy. He’d always thought dogs were too simple for familiars. Loyal, trusting, somewhat dumb. But this dog had learned not to be trusting, and he certainly wasn’t dumb.

Darius had a hunch the puppy would be loyal, too. Ariel was right; he felt a bond to the pup almost immediately.

“What’s his name?” Darius asked.

“I haven’t given him one,” Ariel said. “Names are important. I figured you’d want to name him yourself.”

He glanced at her again. How had she known that magic tenet? “What makes you say that?”

She grinned. “People always name their dogs, silly.”

“No, I mean about names being important.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. If I named him Sparky and you thought that was a dumb name, you’d think about that every time you called him. His name wouldn’t be Sparky. It would be Sparky Whatadumbnameforadog.”

She said that last all as one word. He laughed.

“You weren’t thinking of naming him Sparky, were you?” he said with a little more alarm than he intended.

It was a dumb name for this dog. “I mean, he’s a basset hound. Somehow Sparky doesn’t seem lugubrious enough.”

“Oh, you’re not going to give him some slow wimpy name, are you?”

“Slow, wimpy?”

“You know, like Homer.”

“Homer. For a dog.” Darius grinned. He doubted the legendary Greek poet had any idea that dogs were now named after him.

Ariel smiled. “You know.”

“So what do you think he should be called?”

She looked at the dog. Darius followed her gaze. The puppy was sniffing the asphalt, making snuffling noises so loud that it sounded like he was going to inhale the entire parking lot.

“Nosy?” she said.

“Where’s the dignity in that?”

“Who said a dog needed dignity?”

“I do.” Darius patted the puppy’s neck. Ariel did seem pretty involved with all this. He didn’t want to give up the dog—she was right, the pup was perfect for him—but he didn’t want to upset her either. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep him?”

The pup looked up at him. If a dog could look startled, this one did.

“You don’t like him, do you?” Ariel’s smile faded. “Well, that’s okay. I mean, he and I—”

“I like him,” Darius said. “I just don’t want to take him away from you.”

“I’d like to visit,” she said. “Can I have that? I won’t be his mommy. I’ll be like—his aunt. Or his godmother.”

“Do dogs have godmothers?”

She laughed. It was a sound Darius didn’t hear often enough. “He does. So what are you going to name him?”

“Well,” he said, “I think Lugubrious is too long.”

Ariel pushed at him with her hand. “You wouldn’t call him that.”

“As I said, it’s too long. Maybe I’ll call him Mournful.”

“That’s terrible,” she said.

He smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“Come on,” she said. “You can do better.”

The pup had wrapped himself around Darius’s leg. Darius moved the leash to untangle it. The pup watched him as if he were studying what Darius was doing.

“Munin,” Darius said.

The pup barked, then wagged his tail. The dog clearly approved.

“What?” Ariel said.

“Munin,” Darius said again. “It’s from Norse mythology.”

Like Andvari, which had become the corrupted Andrew Vari.

“I don’t know much about the Norse,” she said.

“It means memory,” Darius said. It was more than that. His dour old friend Odin kept two ravens in those days. He had jokingly named one Hugin, or Thought, and the other Munin, or Memory. Odin let them free during the day and used their bird eyes to spy on his enemies.

That practice became mythologized —as so many practices had—in an entirely different manner. According to the Norse myths, the ravens would perch on Odin’s shoulders. During the day, the birds would fly all over the world and bring back the news of all that human beings did.

The birds never did that. Hugin had been plain nasty. He loved mind games and often toyed with Odin’s sensibilities. But Munin had been a gentle bird for a raven, and remembered everything, which seemed to inform his perspective.

Darius hoped for that from this puppy. He also hoped it wasn’t too much to ask.

“Why memory?” Ariel asked.

“Because I never want to forget that look of joy you had on your face this morning,” he said, and then drew in a breath. He hadn’t expected that to come out of his mouth. No matter how hard he tried not to tell her things, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

She blushed. Her blushes accented her pale skin and auburn hair. If anything, the expression made her even more beautiful.

She sat down and reached for the dog, as if he were both her lifeline and her excuse to stop towering over Dar.

“You’re such a kind man,” she said, her gaze meeting his. “Why do you hide it?”

He started. “I’m not kind.”

“Yes, you are. And you pretend to be so gruff and mean. Why?”

He shrugged with one shoulder and concentrated on the dog. Maybe Munin wasn’t her lifeline; maybe the dog was his. “People see what they want to see.”

Ariel scratched between Munin’s ears. The puppy was in doggy ecstasy, receiving attention from two different humans. “You think people want to see a grumpy man?”

“A man who looks like a leprechaun either has to be grumpy or very gregarious.” Darius shook his head. “I have never been gregarious.”

“You cater to it?”

“It’s easier.”

Her fingers brushed his and sent a jolt through him. Her flush grew deeper, but she didn’t move away. “It must make life very lonely.”

Was she coming on to him? Whyever would she do that? No well-adjusted woman had ever come on to him. Ever. Although a number had used him, particularly when he served in various courts.

“Actually,” he said, trying to sound lighter than he felt, “it’s a good weeding-out process. The people who can stand me grumpy are going to be truer friends than the ones who stay beside me because I’m easy to get along with.”

Ariel nodded, and he realized that he wasn’t the only lonely person here. He had never seen her with friends. No one had come to her meet except for him. The people she had seen there had been acquaintances and nothing more.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why do you keep yourself distant?”

Her fingers moved on Munin’s loose doggy skin. The puppy kept looking back and forth between them, seemingly unable to handle this embarrassment of riches.

“I guess I’m not good with people,” she said.

“I’ve watched you in the restaurant,” he said. “You’re great with people.”

“Superficially, maybe. But no one hangs around for long.”

“Because you don’t let them in.”

She smiled down at her hands. Munin laid down, as if his joy had collapsed his tiny legs. Darius kept one hand on the dog, thankful that Munin didn’t have that high-strung energy some of the larger breeds did.