Behind Blackstone, the solitary man at the table stuck his legal pad into his briefcase, set the small leather folder with the bill inside closer to the bud vase centerpiece, and stood. He looked very disappointed.

"Then why are you here, Miss--?"

"Summers." She had to force herself to concentrate on Blackstone.

The other man had caught her attention. He picked up the leather folder as if he couldn't decide what to do with it.

"Miss Summers," Blackstone said, and there was an implied question in his words. The question he had asked earlier, the one she kept failing to answer.

"I, um, met your a.s.sistant, Andrew Vari, in July." Her voice didn't sound as confident as it usually did.

The man slapped the folder against his hand. Was he waiting for someone to pick it up? Was service generally this bad in this famous restaurant?

"And what did you think of him?"

"He, um ..." How to answer that question? These men were obviously friends. "He, um--"

"Is different," Blackstone said, as if he were trying to help her out.

"Yes," she said, "but that's not it, exactly."

The man walked toward the maitre d's desk. Blackstone turned, almost as if he had known the man was going to approach, even though he had moved silently.

"Mr. Tucker," Blackstone's voice had extra warmth in it, as if warmth were an ingredient that could be added, like oregano. "How was your lunch?"

The man, Tucker, raised his head and seemed to focus on Blackstone for the first time. "Probably the last one I'll have here, Alex."

Blackstone seemed surprised. Ariel moved away, so that she wouldn't be perceived as part of this conversation. "Wasn't the food to your satisfaction? You know I would have prepared another dish--"

"No," Tucker said. "Those two people were my business's last hope, and they weren't buying. So no more expense account. No more business. I just wanted you to know that when I disappeared it was nothing personal. I just can't afford this place anymore."

Blackstone studied him for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Tucker shrugged. "Things change. I'm sure I'll get used to it in time."

He handed Blackstone the leather folder.

Ariel wanted Blackstone to tell the man the food was on the house, but he didn't. He took the money and, as he did, his fingers brushed Tucker's hand.

For a brief moment, a tiny thread of light formed over Tucker's knuckles. It disappeared so quickly that Ariel would have thought she imagined it, except for the reverse image it flashed against her retina--the way a camera's bulb left images after the photograph was taken.

"Sometimes," Blackstone said, "people just have bad luck. Eventually their luck changes."

He opened the leather folder and removed an already signed credit slip.

"I'm going to void this," he said.

Tucker shook his head. "There's no need."

"I'm sure you have better uses for the money at the moment." Blackstone shrugged. "And the restaurant is doing well. I can afford to serve a meal on the house now and then."

Tucker gave Blackstone a sad glance, almost as if he wanted to protest again but was afraid to push too hard. "Thank you, Alex."

Blackstone nodded. "My pleasure. I want you to come back when you can, Mr. Tucker. There're always ways to accommodate our very best customers."

Tucker nodded, thanked Blackstone again, and made his way to the front door. He still looked defeated, but not quite as destroyed as he had a moment earlier.

Blackstone stared after the man. Ariel watched Blackstone. She hadn't expected kindness from him. Somehow it put her at ease.

"Mr. Blackstone," she said, while he was still staring at the door, "do you know a man named Darius?"

He turned toward her, a frown creasing his brow. "Darius? Darius what?"

She shook her head. "I never learned his last name. He's about as tall as you are, with blond curly hair. He has a runner's build, very blue eyes."

"Darius?" There was something in the way he said the name, an incredulity, as if she were dredging a long-forgotten name out of his past.

"Yes," she said. "He was staying at Mr. Vari's house in the Idaho wilderness area, even though Mr. Vari denies it. He saved my life."

"Mr. Vari?" This time the incredulity was real.

She shook her head. "Darius. I'd like to thank him. But Mr. Vari says he's never heard of him. I'd just like a way to contact him."

"So you came here to see Mr. Vari."

She looked down at her hands. They were still threaded together. "I came for the job. I moved to Portland earlier this year and then my position got eliminated. When I saw the ad, I thought I'd apply.

The fact that Mr. Vari's here is icing on the cake."

"Yet you brought that up first."

"Actually, you did."

His smile was gentle. "Have you worked in a restaurant before?"

She was a little startled by the change of subject. "Yes. I waited tables throughout high school and college."

Blackstone left the maitre d's station, placed the leather folder with the soon-to-be voided credit slip near the cash register, and reached beneath the bar.

Ariel glanced over her shoulder. The people at the remaining table were enjoying their entrees. She hadn't seen anyone serve them the food, a fact which she thought odd, since she had been staring right at them.

"Ms. Summers?"

She turned toward Blackstone.

He had set a slip of paper on the counter and held a pen. "Here's an application, if you're interested."

"Yes," she said. "I am."

"Mr. Vari handles the staff. I'll get him."

Blackstone seemed so professional, yet she had the sense that he was amused by her. He gave her the pen, then headed down the aisle between the tables, stopping to charm the people eating their entrees. They all seemed to perk up when he spoke to them, and as he moved on, they talked about him in an excited whisper.

She had forgotten how famous this place was. In the age of the celebrity chef, Blackstone had become an important person.

And she had spoken to him as if he were just anyone. He had made her feel at ease, as if everything were about her, not him.

Perhaps that was part of his charm.

She bent over the application. She had a resume folded in her purse, but people usually didn't use resumes for simple restaurant jobs. Apparently not even for jobs at high-end restaurants. Still, she reached inside and pulled the resume out, partly so that it would help her remember everything she needed to know.

Ariel glanced at the gla.s.s door.

This was her last chance to leave.

Darius had backed away from the swinging door. He was heading down the hallway to the employee break room, where he had hung his coat, when Blackstone entered the kitchen.

"Thanks for the echo," he said.

That made Darius stop. "Huh?"

"The echo," Blackstone said. "That spell you did so that you could hear our conversation created a lovely reverb that even now is making me slightly dizzy. Can you undo it, please?"

He was often polite when he was angry. Darius snapped his fingers and slipped inside the break room, grabbing his coat off the back of a chair.

Blackstone followed him. "You can't leave now. You have to go see her."

"Why? She's bothering me."

"That's clear." Blackstone crossed his arms and blocked Darius's way out of the break room. "Is Darius who I think he is?"

Darius's heart beat harder than usual. He made his expression as impa.s.sive as he could. "I don't know. Who do you think he is?"

"The guy who can't seem to find a hundred people who were meant to be together?" Blackstone's voice held a soft contempt. He had no idea who he was talking to. None at all.

Darius couldn't answer him. "I would like to leave."

"There's a woman waiting to see you."

"I don't want to see her."

"I think you should."

"Who are you? My boss?"

Blackstone's eyebrows went up. "In this restaurant, yes, I am."

"Fine," Darius said, shrugging the coat over his shoulders. "I quit."

"You can't quit."

"I just did."

"Because you're afraid of a woman."

"I'm not afraid of anyone."

"Oh," Blackstone said softly, "I think you are."

Darius felt a blush rise on his cheeks. Some of his emotions were apparently obvious and others were so hidden, not even his best friend knew about them. Not that it was Blackstone's fault. Darius hadn't told him about anything in his life that happened before the birth of Christ. He didn't think it was any of Blackstone's business.

At that moment, Nora opened the door and peeked her head inside. "Sorry," she said, "but there's a problem out front."

Ariel. Darius raised his head. Something had happened to her.

"What kind of problem?" Blackstone was asking.

"One of the diners has collapsed."

Blackstone hurried out the door. Darius followed, silently cursing himself. He should have used that moment to hurry out of the building, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

The kitchen door was already swinging by the time he reached it. Blackstone's longer legs had gotten him to the table in half the time it took Darius.

Darius shoved his way through the swinging doors and stopped. Ariel was kneeling beside a man who was p.r.o.ne on the floor. She was doing CPR with the skill of an expert. Blackstone knelt beside her and touched the man's chest.

At that moment, the man coughed and seemed to come around. Darius clenched his own hands tightly together. He hoped Blackstone was careful in healing the guy. Ariel was too smart; she might figure a few things out that she shouldn't.

The man started to sit up, but she kept him down, holding his hand and talking to him. The other patrons were fluttering around him, looking useless. Nora was on the phone in the kitchen, apparently having called 911.

Darius wasn't needed here. Ariel was all right, the situation was under control, and he would only make matters worse. He slipped out the side door and stood under the eaves for a moment, feeling shaky.

She had described his other body with such precision: a runner's build, very blue eyes, curly blond hair. And as tall as Blackstone. She had said that part with awe, as if she preferred tall men.

She had been attracted to him. He should have felt flattered by this, but all he could feel was appalled.

He was not the man she thought he was. And the way things were going, he probably would only be that man for two weeks during every year of her lifetime.

He was as big a failure as Blackstone thought he was. He couldn't even do simple spells anymore.

And now the Fates were tempting him.

He didn't think he had enough strength to hold out.

*Eleven*