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 sweatshirt, 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 windshield 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."

She handed him his groceries but kept her fingers on the bag. "So you're such a popular guy that you can treat the woman of your dreams like that."

"You don't understand."

"Sure I do," she said. "You have women crawling out of the woodwork to see you. That would be the only reason to treat someone like that. Because you know you can replace her."

He tugged on the bag. "You really don't understand."

"You're right, I don't. Everybody I know has trouble getting a date but you. You're so popular that you can act like a jerk. I mean, that's gotta be the only explanation. You look weird 'and' you're mean. Is that what women really want? I don't think so." She leaned forward. "Tell me you were nice to her once in your relationship."

He yanked the bag away from her, ripping one corner. "The best thing I ever did was let her go."

"Does she think so?"

He didn't answer that. Instead he stalked to the door and let himself out.

What gave that girl the right to lecture him? What gave anyone the right? How could she know what his life was like?

The rain had let up momentarily. He tossed the bag on the front seat of his car and slipped inside. The girl was still watching him through the windows.

What was it about her that rubbed him the wrong way? Her att.i.tude? Her a.s.sumptions?

Or the fact that she was right?

Over all the years he'd been doing this work, the one thing he had learned was that few people were lucky enough to meet the person of their dreams, let alone talk to that person.

And he had kissed her.

Darius shook his head, trying to shake Ariel from his mind. He could do a spell to stop himself from thinking about her, but the way his magic had been going lately, he might make himself forget everything but her.

He reached into the bag, pulled out the bottled water, opened it, and took a sip. Warm. He sighed, put the water in the cup holder, and grabbed some beef jerky.

Blackstone would have his head for eating junk like this, but Darius didn't care. Thwarted lovers were supposed to eat terrible food and drink too much and mope for weeks.

Of course, he couldn't tell anyone about what happened. Not that he expected the people in his life to notice anyway. He had a reputation for being difficult that looked like it was just going to get stronger.

He sighed and put the car in reverse, spraying gravel as he drove too fast. The girl was still watching, still judging. Not that he blamed her. He had behaved badly.

At the last moment, he stopped the car and sent a small spell her way. He created it, a tiny weave of lace, barely visible to the naked eye, and blew it toward her. It went through the window and brushed her face before disappearing.

Then he smiled, feeling better.

That spell was small enough and familiar enough that he couldn't screw it up. And he knew it was something she wanted.

A pretty girl in a dump like that could always use a bit of good luck.

Ariel sat in the Download Cafe, a latte to her left, staring at the screen before her. She sat at a counter that faced the wall, her laptop plugged into the access port beside her. The timer on the port clicked away, the minutes--and the cash they represented--disappearing quickly.

A handful of people sat at the tables in the cafe, and there was a line for service. But she was the only person sitting at this particular counter, and she hoped it would stay that way.

Her crutches lay on the floor beside her like a barrier. She'd learned, once she returned to Boise, that men seemed to think crutches provided an opening pickup line.

'What happened to you'? was the least offensive of them. They went down from there. 'How could such a terrible thing happen to such a pretty little thing'? Or the most common, most sensitive one, 'Didja trip?'

'No', she always wanted to answer, 'but if you're not careful, you will.'

Friends had told her that she should be thankful that men were so interested in her, and they were probably right. But most men who approached her with lines like that were single for a reason. They were obnoxious and difficult-- rather like Andrew Vari had been.

They were probably fine underneath. He had proven to be kind--reluctantly kind, but kind nonetheless--and she knew that she was judging them only on a very small part of their personalities. But they were doing the same with her. She was female, pa.s.sably pretty, at least to them, and that was all they knew about her. How could anyone have a relationship based on that?

She scrolled down the screen, reading the responses the search engine had found her. She was on her fifth directory-- the kind that searched phone records and found people's addresses all over the country--and she had yet to find a listing for a Darius Vari. There weren't a lot of Dariuses either, although there were more than she expected, too many to go through.

She found herself wishing that these directories came complete with high school graduation photos or mug shots. Then at least she would know if she had found the right man.

Even when she limited her search to men named Darius in the Pacific Northwest, there were too many to play guessing games with. None of them were named Vari or any variation (no pun intended) of that name. And she had no idea what else Darius's last name could be.

She sipped her latte and worried about how much time she was spending searching for this man. Never mind the expense--downloading on someone else's service was pricey, but she had no choice, given that she had no apartment--the time this was taking spoke of an obsession. And usually the only thing she was obsessed about was her training.

Ariel closed her eyes. Training. Of course. Something had to fill the void left by her inability to exercise. She was doing physical therapy--sort of, not really enough to count, given the fact that she still had on her cast--but nothing was taking the place of all those hours spent swimming, running, and biking.

Finding Darius had become her hobby.

Not that she knew what to do once she found him. She was hoping for an address or a phone number so that she could contact him and thank him. That way, he would have her address and phone number and maybe contact her in return. She needed something to hope for.

Right now she didn't have a lot.

Part of that was her fault. The injury was going to prevent any kind of training at all. The doctors felt that she'd be able to run again, but that it would take time. They told her that she needed to be patient.

She also needed to figure out what she was going to do to make money. She had money in the bank, thanks to last year's endors.e.m.e.nt deals (most of this year's canceled when they learned that she wouldn't be able to swim again), but it wasn't very much. Triathletes weren't that well known, and female triathletes were even less well known. The endors.e.m.e.nt deals she'd gotten were small, and she'd had to repay some of the money sponsors had sent her to keep her training for the Hawaii Ironman. That, the unexpected time in the hotel, and all the changes had bitten deeply into her savings.

She was going to have to find some kind of job--and soon.

Ariel set her latte down and hit the link for advanced search. This time, she filled in the fields so that the search might have Darius, might have Vari, might have Oregon, Washington, or Idaho. At the last minute, she added a might-have Andrew too.

If she was going to spend a bundle on computer time, she might as well get her money's worth.

The search gave her a lot of junk, but as she threaded through it, she found something interesting.

There was only one Andrew Vari in Oregon, and he lived in Portland. She found no listing for an Andrew Vari in Idaho, which made sense, considering these directories were based on phone company records and the house in the mountains had no phone.

Vari was her only link to Darius, and he had a car with Oregon plates.

She had found him.

But she wanted to make sure. She went back to the initial search engine and expanded her search to include newspaper articles and websites. She used the same parameters as before. By hitting "might" instead of "had to" she was getting a lot more information, some of it seeming to be relevant.