Fates 06 - Totally Spellbound Page 9

  “And he would have been right.”

  Megan jumped at the new voice. It belonged to Travers. He was standing at the door, a beautiful raven-haired woman at his side.

  Megan felt a surge of anger. It wasn’t Travers’ comment so much as the fact that he had abandoned his child for an entire night to three obviously incompetent women, not knowing for sure when Megan would arrive.

  And it was clear what he had been doing. Her tall, slender, handsome brother looked like he’d been kissed. Many times. His mouth was swollen, his eyes a bit glassy, his blond hair mussed.

  He looked…ruffled. She’d never seen him look ruffled, not even with Kyle’s mother, way back when Travers was a teenager.

  “I know about kids, Travers,” Megan snapped. “I specialize in kids.”

  “You specialize in kid theory. You should know better than to eat food that a dog has touched.”

  The raven-haired woman put a manicured hand on his arm. She looked well kissed, too, and Megan didn’t even know her. The woman was petite and stylish—black clothes that would’ve been too tight on anyone with an ounce of fat, a wedge cut hairdo that would have ruined any face except one with wonderful angles, and boots, high-heeled boots that looked like they had come off a movie set.

  Megan hated women like that.

  “Give her a chance,” Kyle whispered, which told Megan she’d been broadcasting again.

  She hated the broadcasting thing, too.

  “You should know better than to leave your son alone with three insane women,” she said

  “Oh,” Travers said, shutting the front door and coming into the suite. “You’ve met the Fates.”

  “You call them the Fates, too?”

  He nodded. He had lipstick on his chin. She hadn’t noticed that before. And some mud—at least she hoped it was mud—on the front of his shirt.

  She had never seen Travers look like this.

  “They are the Fates,” Travers said. “They deserve the name.”

  “What is this all about?” Megan said. “Is this an elaborate practical joke? Let’s see how thoroughly we can humiliate Megan? Is that what we’re doing?”

  “No.” The woman spoke. She had a faint accent—French?—and her voice was as sophisticated as the rest of her.

  She came all the way into the dining room and extended that manicured hand toward Megan.

  “I’m Zoe,” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  Megan felt a momentary sullenness. She didn’t want to take this woman’s hand. But that would be rude, and Megan was never (well, not never as she had recently learned, but rarely) rude.

  Megan took her hand. It was smooth and warm. “Megan.”

  “Travers says nice things about you,” Zoe said. “He’s a bit off balance right now.”

  “He’s been off balance for days,” Kyle said.

  “I have not,” Travers said.

  “Have too,” Kyle said.

  “Have not,” Travers said.

  “Have too.” Kyle crossed his arms.

  “Have not.”

  Megan stared at her brother. He always told her that adults who interacted childishly with their children hurt their children. She had never heard this kind of interchange between Travers and Kyle.

  “Have too,” Kyle said.

  Megan was feeling off balance as well.

  “This,” Zoe said loudly, obviously to stop the fight, “is not a practical joke. There are just things about the world that your family didn’t know. And now you’re learning them, which can be hard.”

  Hard. That was the understatement of the year. If magic existed and Zoe was a witch (magician?) and Kyle had psychic powers and the Fates had once been in charge of everyone’s lives, then hard was nearly impossible.

  Because it meant everything Megan had learned was wrong.

  Zoe was watching her sympathetically, as if she understood what Megan was going through.

  Megan felt a shiver of fear run through her, and it startled her. She had expected upset and discomfort, but not fear.

  “You can’t read my mind too, can you?” she asked Zoe. Suddenly the reason for her fear became clear.

  If magic existed, and everyone who had it was psychic, then Megan’s privacy had been invaded all of her life—it had been anyway, if Kyle was to be believed, first by her sister Vivian, and now by her nephew—but that didn’t feel as invasive as having some woman she just met, some woman who claimed to love her brother, be able to know everything about her with just a single thought.

  “No,” Zoe said gently, “I can’t read minds. Kyle is a special boy.”

  She gave him a fond look.

  Megan glanced at her brother, who was staring at this woman with something like love. Megan had seen a similar expression on her brother’s face before—that adoration had been in his eyes when he had looked at his newborn son—but this was something else, something passionate, something not Travers.

  Or not the Travers she had grown up with.

  Travers and passion weren’t two words she had ever put together before.

  “You know,” Kyle was saying to Zoe, “I hate being called special. It makes me sound like there’s something wrong with me.”

  “I meant it as a compliment,” she said.

  “I know that,” Kyle said, but he still looked grumpy.

  And that was when the knot in Megan’s stomach loosened ever so slightly. Because if Zoe had really been psychic, she would have known that Kyle hated being called special. He also hated “weird” and “unusual” and “interesting.”

  The dog climbed into Kyle’s lap and inspected the table, his nose twitching. Megan looked at the food. The eggs had congealed, the waffles looked soggy, and the coffee was cold.

  She sighed and reached for the orange juice. Then she stopped, hand out, and contemplated something.

  “If you’re really magic,” she said to Zoe, “prove it. Revive my breakfast.”

  “Aunt Meg!” Kyle put a hand in front of the dog’s snout, preventing him from eating a strip of cold bacon off the plate. “You said you’d give her a chance.”

  “I am giving her a chance,” Megan said.

  “Revive it?” Travers said. “What are you asking, Meg?”

  Megan blinked at him. Then her stomach rumbled. The smell of fresh bacon always did that to her, even if she wasn’t hungry. Fresh bacon and fresh coffee—

  She looked down. The scrambled eggs were fluffy, with steam rising from them. The bacon wasn’t just hot, it was also crisp, which was exactly how she liked it. A new plate held sausages, cooked until they were shriveled and perfect. And the waffles looked like they had just come out of the waffle iron, little puffs of steam rising from their checkerboard surfaces.

  Megan raised her eyes slowly from the food to Zoe.

  Zoe smiled. “That’s what she meant, Trav.”

  He came to the table, put his arm around Zoe, and then glared at Megan. “Magic has a cost, you know. You just made her waste some on something trivial.”

  “Da-ad.” Kyle was clutching the dog, who was straining to reach the new plate of sausages. “Stop being mean to Aunt Megan.”

  “I didn’t know magic had costs,” Megan said. “I didn’t even know it existed until a few hours ago.”

  She took a bite of the eggs. They were extremely delicious, light and soft and warm, just the way she liked them.

  “This is really good,” she said. “How much do I owe you for this magic?”

  “That’s not the kind of cost I mean,” Travers snapped just as Zoe said, “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “So what’s the cost?” Megan kept her gaze on Zoe, deciding to pretend that Travers didn’t exist. She used to do this when they were kids, and it always irritated him.

  “People who use too much magic age quicker than those who use it sparingly,” Zoe said. “I don’t even think you cost me an age spot. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Age quicker? I thought you liv
ed forever. Kyle said you were a hundred or more and that the Fates were thousands of years old.”

  “They are,” Zoe said, “and I don’t know if they age. But mages age. Just very, very slowly. Once we hit our magic, that is. Until then we age like mortals.”

  “Mortals.” The term sounded so derisive. “If you age—and presumably die—then how come you call us mortals?”

  “I didn’t call you a mortal,” Zoe said, and Travers gave her a sharp look. She ignored it. “It’s just a custom. I think mages used to believe they were immortal. But we’re not. Several thousand years is the longest I’ve heard of anyone making it. Most only go for about three or so, max. It’s tough to control your usage. I mean it’s really tempting to do things—”

  “Like fix breakfast.” Megan was beginning to understand. And it bothered her. She was also beginning to feel embarrassed about how rude she’d been. “How about having some?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Travers said.

  “I was asking Zoe,” Megan said. “Not you.”

  “Stop fighting,” Kyle said. “Please.”

  Megan looked at her nephew. His nose was red, which had always been the first sign of tears. He looked miserable.

  Now she remembered why she had given up sparring with her brother. It upset her nephew. It had upset him from the moment he was born.

  “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 s
ounded. 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.”

  Seven

  “Do you know how impossible it will be to find this woman?” John Little asked over lunch.

  Rob sat across from him, two plates loaded with meats and breads and salads spread before him. He had loved buffets since learning about them in Vegas in the 1940s. He’d been one of the first and best customers of Beldon Katleman’s Midnight Chuck Wagon Buffet at the original El Rancho Vegas Hotel. Now, of course, buffets cost more than a dollar, they were open for 24 hours instead of the few hours after the last entertainment show, and they had a wide variety of cuisines—not just steak and mashed potatoes and the occasional carrot.

  But the food made him nostalgic for the Vegas he had lost, a place of clear skies and such corruption that no one realized honest businessmen could thrive here, too.

  This buffet, in one of the downtown hotels, looked nothing like that old one. There were plants everywhere that blocked the patrons from each other. The only time you saw someone else was when you got up to stand in line.