Fates 06 - Totally Spellbound Page 8

  “I’m sorry, Kyle,” Megan said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He nodded, grabbed a slice of bacon off his plate, and slipped it to the dog. Everyone saw the movement, and no one complained about it.

  “Have some breakfast, Trav,” Megan said. “After all, you’re paying for it.”

  “I have a hunch I’m going to pay for a lot of things today,” he said and slipped into a chair.

  But he didn’t look unhappy. He looked like a man with a plan.

  A plan that would probably make Megan unhappy.

  “Tell her, Dad,” Kyle said, still feeding bacon to the dog.

  “Huh?” Travers frowned at his son.

  “What you and Zoe just did.” Kyle still wasn’t looking at him.

  “I really don’t want to know that,” Megan said. Besides, she could guess, considering how well kissed each of them looked.

  “You mean in Faerie?” Travers asked.

  Whatever he wanted to call it, Megan thought but didn’t say.

  “No.” Kyle finally looked up, his frown matching his father’s.

  “He knows,” Zoe said to Travers.

  “Oh.” Travers’ eyes widened. “I’m never going to get used to the psychic thing. Sometimes I think it was better when I didn’t know.”

  Kyle’s cheeks reddened. He had clearly taken that badly. “I can’t shut it off.”

  “I know,” Travers said, and sighed.

  “We should really discuss that,” Megan said. “If Kyle has truly been able to read adult thoughts since he was pre-verbal, then he might have some issues—”

  “I don’t have issues,” Kyle said. He grabbed another piece of bacon, and this time, he ate it. Fang put his paws on Kyle’s lap, his nose pointing upward, his little tail pinwheeling. “Dad, just tell her what’s going on.”

  Travers glanced at Megan, then at Kyle. Then back at Megan. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to deal with it since I found out about it. It’s just been so crazy here.”

  “In a good way, I hope,” Zoe said with a smile.

  Megan frowned. What she had seen in the last few hours hadn’t been all that good.

  “I’m sure you can help him during the next few days,” Travers said.

  Megan stiffened. She had a hunch she wasn’t going to like what was coming next. “The next few days?”

  “Zoe and I are getting married, and then we’d like a few days to ourselves. Can you stay? We’d really like to get this over with—”

  “Such a romantic,” Zoe said with a smile.

  “You’re the one who said Elvis chapel and black roses,” Travers said.

  She shrugged. “And I meant it too.”

  “Mom and Dad won’t like that,” Megan said.

  “They didn’t like it when I got married the first time,” Travers said.

  “And they were right,” Megan said.

  “What I mean is that they had the big wedding with me and Cheryl, and look what good it got us.”

  Kyle’s cheeks got even redder.

  “I think it got you a lot of good,” Megan said, looking pointedly at Kyle.

  Travers reached over and put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I just meant me and your mom, Kyle. You know you’re the most important person in my life.”

  Kyle nodded, but his gaze didn’t meet his father’s. “I would much rather have Zoe for a mom anyway,” Kyle said bravely.

  Of course he would. Cheryl hadn’t been a mother at all. She had had dreams of home and family, but when the realities had hit her—the tiny apartment, the lack of money, the fussy baby—she had fled, leaving Travers to raise Kyle alone.

  Megan had disliked Cheryl even before Travers had married her. Cheryl had seemed shallow to her, almost emotionless. Megan had somehow known from the moment she had seen her how much Cheryl would hurt her brother.

  Megan looked at Zoe. She liked Zoe, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  And her brother was clearly head over heels in love with her.

  “Kyle,” Zoe said, “I’m not sure it’s right that we cut you out of the honeymoon. I mean, you’re going to be a big part of this relationship, and maybe—”

  “Go along on a trip where you’re supposed to just have sex and junk?” Kyle wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t mean that you’d be around for the private parts,” Zoe said, digging herself in deeper. “I just meant maybe we should rethink the honeymoon part, and take a family trip. It’d be fairer. After all, this is a surprise for you too.”

  “No, it’s not,” Kyle said.

  “We didn’t know until a few minutes ago,” Travers said.

  “You knew from the minute you met,” Kyle said. “You were just scared, that’s all.”

  He sounded contemptuous, and oh-so-much-older than he really was. He also sounded like a little boy who was trying to be strong for the adults around him.

  Megan’s heart went out to him. “Of course I’ll stay with Kyle while you two go off and have sex and junk.”

  Travers glared at her, but Zoe gave her a fond smile.

  “And I think I understand why you want to avoid the big wedding. But wouldn’t it be nice to wait a few days so that the whole family can come? I think Mom and Dad would like it, and I’m sure Zoe has family who would want to be here.”

  “No,” Zoe said softly, “I don’t. But there are a few friends that I wouldn’t mind asking.”

  Travers looked at her with surprise. “I’m sorry. I just assumed that we’d do this fast. You said Elvis chapel.”

  Zoe smiled at him, and the smile was still fond. Megan would have been ripping his eyes out. Of course, that could be because he was her brother and not the guy she wanted to spend happily ever after with.

  “I think fast is good,” Zoe said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to give family and friends a day or two to get here. Then maybe we could find someone to care for Kyle if Megan can’t. I mean, you didn’t really ask her. You sort of demanded, and she has a job, right, Megan?”

  “Actually.” Megan poured herself a cup of coffee. “Not exactly. Not anymore.”

  “You finally shut down the practice?” Travers asked.

  She nodded. She didn’t even feel sad about it, even though she should have. She just had a few loose ends to wrap up, and those wouldn’t take much effort.

  “Good,” he said. “Those rich kids weren’t your style anyway.”

  “Those rich kids need good old-fashioned discipline, and parents who are home most of the time,” Megan said. “They are overindulged and underloved.”

  Then she realized how harsh she sounded. Everyone stared at her with surprise. Except Travers, who was smiling at her. Fondly.

  Where was all this fondness coming from?

  “Guess you could say I’m burned out,” Megan said.

  “I’m a rich kid,” Kyle said, “and I’m not overindulged.”

  “Or underloved,” Travers said.

  “And you’re not taking Ritalin or Prozac or a host of other psychotropic medications for conditions that have nothing to do with medicine and everything to do with convenience,” Megan said. “You should have heard some parents when I suggested taking their kid off antidepressants, and figuring out what was really going on. It was like I’d suggested shooting them or something.”

  “Sounds like they need you,” Zoe said softly.

  Megan shook her head. “I didn’t make a difference. They’d just take the poor child elsewhere.”

  “That’s what you want?” Zoe asked. “To make a difference?”

  “Isn’t that what we all want?” Megan asked.

  “Not in the same way, Aunt Meg,” Kyle said. “You want to save the world.”

  “One child at a time,” Travers added. “Mind starting with mine? He’s gonna need company for a week, maybe more. How’s a week, Zoe?”

  She grinned at him. “I think it’ll do.”

  Six

  Someone stood
beside her. She could hear him breathing. And he smelled of waffles and scrambled eggs. Bacon, too. And coffee. Oh, how she wanted coffee.

  Megan opened her eyes. A man in uniform stared down at her. He had lovely blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes, a zit on his right cheek, and stubble beside it. His cap was a little too big, settling on the back of his head as if it were glued there.

  He held a tray in one hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as if he’d repeated it more than once. “But the kid has disappeared.”

  Kid? What was a man, wearing a uniform and holding a tray, doing in her bedroom? And what did he mean by kid?

  Megan blinked again, started to roll over, and realized she wasn’t in her room at all. She was in a hotel room, in a suite to be exact, a suite Travers had voluntarily and shockingly paid for to be even more exact, and she was sleeping on the couch.

  Her neck ached, her shirt had bunched up over her stomach (which the kid with the tray was trying hard not to look at), and the waistband of her jeans dug into her left side.

  Travers should have come back by now. He should have awakened her much earlier.

  And who was this man with the patience of Job?

  “Ma’am, I’m really sorry. But the tray? And I need you to sign for this.”

  Sign for. Tray. Bacon, eggs, waffles, coffee. Room service. Boy, her mind was working slowly.

  “Um.” Her mouth tasted like it was full of wet cotton. “On the table?”

  The man nodded, gave her a polite smile, and executed a military turn. He walked into the dining area and set the tray on the table. Then he took the dishes off as if he were a real waiter.

  Megan stood, pulled down her shirt, ran her fingers through her hair (not that it would do any good), and then stuck a thumb between her waistband and her side, trying to get the fabric out of her skin. It sort of worked, enough so that she was no longer in pain.

  The man finished removing the dishes, then he brought a computer slip to her, along with a pen.

  “How did you get in here, exactly?” Megan asked, feeling as if he had seen her naked.

  She never let anyone watch her sleep, and this guy could’ve been standing there for days.

  “The kid let me in,” he said.

  “Kyle?”

  “I dunno. He opened the door, pointed to the living room, and said you’d handle it.”

  Because he couldn’t sign for the food. Megan scrawled her name, checked to see if there was a tip, then added one anyway, and handed the paper back to the room service guy.

  “Thanks,” he said with a little too much sarcasm. How long had he been trying to wake her up?

  He grabbed his tray and left, slamming the door behind him.

  Apparently he had wanted out of the room badly.

  Megan sighed and scouted the area for Kyle. She didn’t see him, but she heard a shower running somewhere nearby. She headed toward his room.

  No boy, no dog.

  No kid in the shower.

  A shiver ran through her. How could she have lost Kyle?

  At that moment the front door opened.

  “Hey, you’re awake!” Kyle said. He had the dog on a leash. The dog lifted its long snout and sniffed the air, then pointed directly at the food.

  Megan had no idea that dachshunds were pointers.

  “They’re not,” Kyle said. “They just really like sausage.”

  She also had no idea she had spoken out loud.

  “You’re not,” Kyle said, “but you’re broadcasting.”

  This time, she did speak out loud. “Broadcasting?”

  “Thinking really loud. Some people do that when they just wake up. It only happens to people who wake up really slow.”

  Like she did. Staring at a man in uniform—every woman’s dream, Conchita would say. A good-looking (albeit much too young) man, bearing food.

  “Can you think about something else?” Kyle’s cheeks were red.

  Megan blushed. If he could hear that, what else had he heard over the years? Was that why he was so precocious? Because he knew about—

  “Aunt Megan, please. Stop.”

  Apparently he did.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “Kyle, why didn’t you tell me before last night?”

  “I did,” he said miserably. “I told you and Dad and Gramma and none of you believed me.”

  But he had never told Vivian, who had always claimed she had visions. Vivian would have at least understood. Or pretended she did.

  “I tried to tell Aunt Viv too. She just thought I was making stuff up.”

  Megan looked at her nephew with a combination of horror and sympathy. Sympathy because she hated being misunderstood, and horror because he had heard things no child should hear.

  “Kyle, baby, how long has this been going on?”

  He shrugged.

  “How long, really?”

  He shrugged again. The dog tugged on the leash so hard that it nearly pulled him forward. He crouched and released it. The dog made a beeline for the table, looking like a heat-seeking missile with a tail.

  “Crap,” Megan said, and launched herself after the heat-seeking missile, hoping she’d arrive before all the sausages were gone.

  She wrapped an arm around the dog’s stomach—which, despite its size, was surprisingly solid—and held the creature against her as she turned toward Kyle.

  “What do we do with it now?” she asked.

  He was watching with an expression of bemusement on his face. And then she realized that he had probably let the dog loose on purpose, just so that he could avoid her question.

  “Kyle,” she said as softly as she could. “How long have you been able to hear other people’s thoughts?”

  He shrugged for a third time.

  The dog kicked her in the back, its sharp claws digging through her shirt. Still, she hung on to the creature, not willing to sacrifice her breakfast to something that resembled a sausage itself.

  “Tell me what to do with the dog,” she said.

  “Put him down,” Kyle said. “He knows better.”

  She bent over, set the dog down, and the creature took off again, only this time it ran to Kyle. Kyle crouched, hands out, and let the dog lick his face.

  Kyle looked like he needed the comfort.

  Had the dog known that?

  Kyle nodded, just a little, and Megan wondered if he was answering her thoughts or if he was just enjoying the dog.

  “Kyle,” she said, not believing she was asking the question. “How do I stop broadcasting?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Stop concentrating, I guess. I dunno.”

  She took a deep breath, followed by another, focusing on her breathing. She had been trained to do this as a therapist. Calm your thoughts. Calm your mind. Relax.

  And her thoughts did quiet.

  Except for one, really tiny, niggly idea.

  Kyle had been hearing other people’s thoughts since he was born. That’s why he couldn’t tell her how long he’d been psychic. He always had been.

  Kyle had his face buried in the dog’s fur. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he looked really sad.

  Megan walked toward him and put a hand on his arm, helping him up. He stared at her—clearly expecting rejection, because she had done it so many times before (how could she believe in mind-reading? She’d been taught it didn’t exist. Even though it had been so damn obvious. He always knew what people were going to say a half second before they said it, and she always said he was the most intuitive kid [maybe the most intuitive person] she had ever known).

  “C’mere,” she said, and enveloped him in a hug.

  For a moment he didn’t respond, then he wrapped his arms around her as if she were a lifeline. She wrapped her arms around him, too. God, she loved this kid, and she hoped she was broadcasting that.

  “You were,” he whispered into her side.

  “I do love you, kiddo. You’re the most important person in my life.”

  �
��I know,” Kyle said. “I’m really lucky. I got you and Dad and Aunt Viv, and Gramma and Grandpa and Bartholomew Fang, and the Fates. And you all think I’m okay.”

  But he didn’t name any friends from school. No one outside his family, except the three strangest women Megan had ever met in her life.

  “They’re not strange,” Kyle said. “I mean, they are strange, but they’re not really strange if you know what they’ve been through. Like they gave up magic to learn what life is really like, and they’ve had magic since forever, and they even bossed the gods around, although that didn’t pay off for them, not really, and—”

  “We talked about some of this last night.” Megan’s stomach growled. “How about talking some more over breakfast, before it gets cold?”

  “Okay.” Kyle eased out of her hug. He looked toward the table and blanched. “Fang!”

  The dog was in the center of the table, munching at one of the plates as if it had been placed there for him.

  Megan looked at Kyle who looked back at her. It felt like a Laurel and Hardy moment—if either of them moved, something would go wrong: the dog would run into the other plates, or it would pull the tablecloth off the table, or it would throw up all over the waffles.

  “Dad would get mad and throw everything out,” Kyle said.

  “Your dad’s right,” Megan said, “but I’m hungry.”

  She led Kyle to the table. The dog kept eating, his stubby tail wagging. He had started with the sausages, and they were mostly gone now, but the bacon remained, along with the waffles and the eggs and some lovely looking pastries.

  Kyle picked up the dog just like Megan had, wrapping his arm around the dog’s stomach, and then grabbed the plate. He set dog and plate on the floor, and then sat at the table.

  Megan joined him and grinned.

  Kyle giggled.

  Megan giggled, too, and then they laughed as if this were the funniest thing that had ever happened to them. It wasn’t, but it certainly showed Megan how tense she had been during the last twenty-four hours.

  “Imagine if your Dad had walked in on that,” Megan said.

  “He’d’ve been really mad,” Kyle said.

  “He’d’ve made some comment about how non-parents don’t understand the needs of children—”