Part 14 (1/2)

Then the car turned onto the highway and zoomed away, too fast for her to follow.

She did get a look at the license plate, though. She didn't get the numbers, but she got the state.

Oregon. There couldn't be a lot of Andrew Varis in that small state.

She stared at the now empty highway, rain flowing down her face. She got the very real sense that Andrew Vari was running away from her.

Maybe she had gotten closer than she thought. Maybe her initial sense of him had been right. Maybe he was a kind man, and lying to her had been painful to him.

His words had belied that, but his actions hadn't. He paid for the plane flight, after all.

She leaned on her crutches. ”Andrew Vari from Oregon,” she said, ”I'm not done with you yet.”

*Nine*

Darius drove like a demon until he reached Smith's Ferry, which was little more than a general store and a dot on the map. At least, that was how it had been for decades. Now a small development was attracting crazy Boiseans who didn't mind the commute or wanted to escape what pa.s.sed for city life in a town that would barely qualify as a Los Angeles suburb.

He was a master at using the hand controls on the column to make the car function better than it would if he were using the accelerator and brake on the floor. His fingers were a lot more dexterous than his feet.

He parked the Mercedes in front of the general store-- at least that hadn't changed much--and got out. The store was long and made of unpainted wood, with a wooden sidewalk in front of it.

The interior had the peculiar sweet odor of old candy, fresh plastic, and spilled soda. Tourist gew-gaws like painted mugs and b.u.mper stickers filled the shelves nearest the window. Expensive groceries lined the remaining shelves, with cigarettes and magazines wrapped in brown paper on a shelf behind the counter.

A young girl, who had to be twenty-one because of the cigarettes and the sign warning in big bold letters that this store checked I.D!, leaned on the counter, reading the 'National Enquirer' and twisting her long brown hair around one finger. She didn't look up as he walked past. She probably hadn't even seen him.

As he drove, he had spelled his white suit, changing it into a pair of blue jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt, the sleeves rolled up over his powerful arms. He also put on boots. He wasn't willing to drive in a storm like this dressed for summer heat.

His clothes as Andrew Vari were always flamboyant, a deliberate rebellion against the appearance the Fates had given him. If people were going to notice him anyway, he wanted to give them something to comment about besides his height. Clothes always did that.

He went deeper into the store, looking for something to snack on. He wasn't really hungry, just restless. He had to get out of that car. Inside it, all he could see through the rain cascading down his winds.h.i.+eld was Ariel's surprised face as he backed toward her.

If she had gotten any closer to him, he would have talked with her and told her everything. So to prevent that, he shrank the steamer trunk, shoved it inside the car, and then hurried out of there faster than humanly possible.

He hoped no one noticed that part.

He had driven as far as he felt he needed to. There was no way she could catch him now, even if she had somehow flown to her car, which she couldn't do, not on those crutches. He had a few minutes now, anyway, and he meant to use them.

He needed them.

All that magic use had exhausted him. It had probably taken years from his long life. These past ten days, instead of being restful, had actually used more of his magic and his energy than the previous year had--and he had done quite a few parlor tricks to a.s.sist Emma and Michael in their budding romance.

And then there was the matter of the tiny mistakes he'd made. The broken ankle, the amount of time it took for the protect spell to kick in on the plane, the difficulty he had with the steamer trunk--none of that should have happened. All of those spells should have been easy, smooth.

After more than a thousand years, he found himself in need of a familiar. The last time had been disastrous. He didn't want to be burdened with an animal, but he would need one.

Maybe his search for it would take his mind off Ariel and his so-called vacation in the mountains.

And how very rude he had been to her. At least she didn't know that the Andrew Vari who had been so mean to her was really Darius. There was some small comfort in that.

”Hey, kid!” the girl said from the counter.

He sighed. He hated it when people made that mistake.

”Kid, come out where I can see you.”

He waved his fingers in front of his mouth, creating a half-smoked cigar. Then he stepped into the aisle.

”What?” he said, making his stupid nasal voice as deep as it would go.

The girl studied him for a minute. She was so completely taken aback that her mouth hung open. ”I-I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize ...”

She let the sentence hang between them. Good manners dictated that he speak next, accepting her apology and then allowing them to both move forward, he to buy what he wanted, she to blush in private.

He wasn't in the mood to be polite.

”I mean,” she said when he didn't fill the silence, ”all I saw was movement.”

”Short movement.”

She shrugged, her blush deepening.

”And you equate short with children.”

”Well, usually,” she said.

”I have news for you, Einstein,” he said, ”I haven't been a child in more than two thousand years.”

She bit her upper lip, then offered him a small smile. ”You don't look that old.”

He had no idea why he was being truthful lately. Maybe it was a continued reaction to his time with Ariel. Or maybe it was because he'd had a conversation with someone he'd known his entire life--as rare as that was.

”I feel that old today,” he said and walked back into the aisle. There he grabbed some beef jerky, Reese's Peanut b.u.t.ter Cups, and some Rolaids. Then he went to the cooler and removed two bottles of water. He had trouble carrying it all to the counter, and even more trouble placing it there.

The girl, completely uncertain about how to react to him now, moved her hands forward to help, then moved them back. She did this several times, before he said, ”I've got it.”

She nodded, keeping her gaze averted, and he instantly felt sorry for what he'd done. She was clearly a good kid. She'd apologized, she'd tried to help, and he had made her pay for his foul mood.

”Sorry,” he said around the cigar. It wasn't a very good one. Next time he conjured a half-smoked cigar, he'd have to make sure it was Cuban. ”I've had a bad day. I just dumped the woman of my dreams.”

”You dumped her?” The girl looked up from the register.

Little minds, he thought. Would he be so very hard to love? ”Yes,” he snapped. ”She was chasing my car when I drove off.”

”That's romantic.” The girl bagged his groceries.

”It wasn't supposed to be romantic,” he said, feeling the need to defend himself even though he knew the girl was being sarcastic. ”I was 'dumping' her.”