Part 14 (1/2)
The restaurant had been packed that day. It was empty now, and colder than it had been. The air was still fragrant, though. Some of the scents lingered from the night before--or had probably always been there--a hint of garlic, a bit of vanilla, some exotic spices she couldn't identify. But over all of it was the rich, warm smell of baking bread, a smell that made her feel at home.
The group had arrived in the front of the restaurant, near a long bar that brushed up against floor-to-ceiling windows. Everyone was standing in the same positions they had been in: Vivian near Dex, and Atropos near the empty hostess station. Clotho and Lachesis had the worst of it. They had both been sitting on the couch, and when they arrived, they toppled to the hard tiled floor.
They didn't look upset, though. Instead, they both cast glances at the darkened windows, which had an excellent view of the street.
”I'm not sure this was a good idea,” Clotho said.
”Let's get away from here,” Lachesis said.
They stood, brus.h.i.+ng themselves off, and headed into the restaurant. The tables, made of wood, had runners going across them, with rose centerpieces. The dishes, already in place, were stoneware, and the silverware beside them had a distinctly knotted pattern.
Apparently lunch here was a lot more casual than dinner.
Vivian glanced at the street before following the group. She could still see police vans, news trucks, and a crowd of people, most of whom had surrounded her building and were touching its brick sides. She wondered if CNN was still broadcasting the strange news, wondered if she should call Trav-ers back, and then decided to do it later.
Atropos had stopped in the middle of the restaurant. She was touching one of the floral centerpieces, her hand lingering on the rose's petals. Clotho and Lachesis moved forward, apparently not realizing that they were alone.
Dex stood near the hostess station, watching Vivian.
”This is a bit much for you, isn't it?” he said.
She gave him a small smile. Superman. Wow. But his kindness seemed more personal than the Man of Steel's had ever been. Vivian often got the sense that Superman never really got involved emotionally with anything--not even Lois Lane.
It was clear that Dexter Grant didn't have that problem. Vivian already felt involved with him, and she had only known him a few hours. He was clearly wrapped up in her as well.
”I feel like I'm in a different world,” she said.
”You are.” He extended his hand. ”Come on. Let's see if we can resolve this so you can go home safely.”
She froze. She hadn't thought about that. Her apartment wasn't safe because whoever was looking for these women had known they were there.
”Do you think I'm in danger?” she asked.
He studied her for a moment. She got a sense he was going to lie to her--tell her everything was all right, when it really wasn't. And then, clearly, he changed his mind.
”I'll know more when I know who we're dealing with,” he said. He kept his hand out, and she took it His fingers were warm and dry. They wrapped around hers, and she felt a jolt.
Dex glanced at her. He seemed to feel it too. It was odd that she couldn't tell if he actually felt it or not. For a moment, he seemed closed to her.
Did he have the ability to shut her out? She'd never met anyone who could do that before. Either they didn't let her in at all, like the Fates, or they were completely open to her if she wanted them to be.
Of course, she wasn't usually this hooked up, either, where she could hear actual thoughts.
Dex led her toward the back. Clotho and Lachesis went through a double door, and she could hear voices rise. Atropos picked up the rose and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Then she held the rose away, staring at it with a frown.
”It's a hothouse rose,” Dex said as he and Vivian reached Atropos's side. ”It has no scent.”
”Then what's the point of having a rose?” Atropos put it back into the vase.
Vivian had never seen her away from the other two. Atropos seemed smaller than she had before, as if she weren't really a full person, even though Vivian couldn't really say what was different.
”Come on,” Dex said.
They headed toward the back. At that moment, the double doors opened again. Clotho beckoned Atropos forward. Atropos sighed and hurried ahead.
”I've never seen them apart,” Dex said. ”I didn't think they could be separated.”
His words echoed Vivian's thoughts from a moment before, except that he sounded worried. ”Is that a problem?” she asked.
”I don't know,” he said, but he sounded confused. His hand gripped hers tightly, his pressure gentle.
”I still don't understand all this talk about interims and governing bodies and powers,” Vivian said. ”If there were powers in charge, why would they let someone attack these women?”
”I'm not sure the Powers That Be know what the Fates are doing.” Dex had slowed down. He wasn't walking as fast as he had a moment before. It was almost as if he didn't want to go into the back, didn't want to get involved with the other mages.
”When do you think we can leave?” Vivian asked.
He smiled down at her. ”You really do read minds.”
”No,” she said. ”Usually I just get a sense impression. You and I seem particularly in tune.”
Then she blushed. She hadn't meant that the way it sounded. Or maybe she had. She wasn't really certain. She just knew that this man attracted her and made her feel safe all at the same time.
Then the double doors banged open. A tall, black-haired man wearing blue jeans, a crisp white s.h.i.+rt, and silver-toed boots walked into the room. He had odd silver eyes, and a narrow, cla.s.sically handsome face, so perfect that Vivian would have thought he was airbrushed if she'd seen his photograph in a magazine.
”So you're the infamous Henri Barou,” the man said in a deep voice that had a hint of a British accent.
Dex sighed. ”Let's go with Dexter Grant, shall we?”
The man's eyebrows went up in amus.e.m.e.nt. ”All right If we're going to do that, I'm Alex Black-stone.”
”Aethelstan.” Clotho came to the double doors. Her tone made the name sound like a reprimand.
”He insists that we don't use real names. I think he's right,” Blackstone said. ”We have no idea who's listening.”
”I say we make sure no one is.” A broad-shouldered man with the whip-thin athleticism of a long distance runner stopped beside Clotho. He had blond curls and eyes so blue they reminded Vivian of sapphires.
The blond man was beautiful. Vivian almost felt as if she'd seen him before--and then she realized she had. At the Getty Museum, she'd seen a touring exhibit of Greek sculpture. He looked like one of the young athletes caught mid-run.
”To keep things level,” the blond man said, ”my real name is Darius, but you will call me Andrew Vari.”
Vivian wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. Both men had strong personalities, and she got a sense of them, clearer than anyone except Dex. With Dex she felt a connection. With them, she had a sense she could be overpowered at any moment.
”I think we should meet here in the dining room,” Blackstone said, ”since we seem to have quite a crowd.”
His silver gaze pa.s.sed over her, and if she hadn't had a sense of him, she would have thought he hadn't seen her. But she knew he had, and she also knew that he saw her magical power just like Dex had.
”Besides,” Blackstone said, going to a large table, ”if we talk out here, we don't have to worry about my kitchen staff overhearing anything unusual.”
He reached into the pocket of his s.h.i.+rt and removed a box of matches. Then he lit a fat candle in the middle of that table's large centerpiece.