"I'm not," she said.

He held her until she was steady and then he reached for the crutch. She wanted to ask him to join her in Hemingway' s bed, but somehow that no longer felt appropriate.

The mood had changed, and she wasn't sure why.

He handed her the crutch, keeping a distance between them.

"Good night, Ariel," he said.

She nodded once. Perhaps it wasn't as incredible for him as it had been for her. She had never felt a kiss like that. But he was a handsome man, practiced, desirable. Maybe the kiss was nothing special to him.

She gave him what she hoped was a cheerful smile. "See you in the morning, Dar."

He didn't answer her. But she felt him watch her as she made her slow and painful way down the hall toward Hemingway's large--and empty--bed.

As soon as he was sure she had made it safely to her room, Darius picked up the wine bottle and took it outside.

What was wrong with him? He knew better than to mess with someone else's soul mate. He'd learned that lesson in King Arthur's Court, when he thought no one would care about a blond stranger's fling with Guinevere. Well, Arthur had cared, and he'd mistakenly blamed his good friend Lancelot. And nothing Darius could do when he reverted to his short form and his then-ident.i.ty as Merlin could change Arthur's belief.

So much for Camelot. History hadn't remembered the blond stranger, taking Arthur's version as truth, but Darius did.

He never made that mistake--at least not in that same way--again.

Darius sat down on the porch steps, extending his long legs to the pine-covered path. The air was cool and still smelled of warm pitch. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the river, and not too far away, an owl hooted.

Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. Some of the cabernet dripped down his chin, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

He had been honest with her and he had no idea why. He told her his real name--something the magical never did, something not even his best friend Aethelstan (who'd met him 1500 years into the sentence) even knew. Darius had told her that he spent time alone here to think about things, and he'd told her about Hemingway.

In fact, he'd had to cover for himself because he kept blurting so many different things. He'd almost told her about that last, stupid argument he'd had with Lenny Bruce.

She had to leave first thing or he wouldn't be able to lie to her any longer. And he had to lie to her, or at least mislead her, if he was going to act as her matchmaker when he returned to his short form.

His attraction to Ariel was wrong, and he probably had Cupid to thank for it. Cupid, who might have done something to Darius while Darius had his back turned. Cupid probably wanted to humiliate Dar, as if his sentence wasn't punishment enough.

Or maybe Cupid wanted to make sure that the sentence continued, that Darius never successfully united the hundredth couple.

That was probably it. Darius had a.s.sumed that Cupid had changed in the past 3000 years, just like Darius had. The old Cupid would have wanted Dar's humiliation to continue. Cupid had even mentioned it, sounding disappointed that he didn't find Darius looking short, squat, and ugly.

Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. It was still half full, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

If Ariel was supposed to be part of his hundredth couple, he'd find her soul mate. He'd even make sure she lived happily ever after, even though that wasn't part of what his task as matchmaker was.

This deep attraction he had to her wasn't real. It was a spell, designed to divert him. He knew better than anyone how real spells could feel.

And how much they could hurt.

*Six*

Ariel awoke to the sound of someone clearing his throat, and not in the polite way that folks had when they were trying to get a person's attention, but in that obnoxious way they had when they were trying to clear phlegm.

She opened her eyes, saw the log beams run across the ceiling, and smelled the crisp air of the mountains. She hadn't dreamed the day before. She was here, injured, in Darius's house.

And he had kissed her.

The throat-clearer--and it couldn't be Darius, because this didn't sound like him--continued for another moment, then stopped abruptly. There was a faint curse--and this time, she could have sworn that was Darius--followed by whistling.

The tune was familiar, and almost as annoying as the throat-clearing. It was "Whistle While You Work."

After one verse, the whistling ended, and more throat-clearing followed. Then a nasal male voice said, "Testing, one, two, three." She heard a deep sigh followed by a faint "Dammit," and the whine of a radio.

The voice started to recite call letters.

She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. If anything, she was even more sore than she had been the day before. That made sense. Muscle aches got worse the second day, peaked on the third, and then started to recede.

She should have been used to aches by now--although these were excessive.

"Variance to Emerald Aviation," the nasal voice said. "Come in, Emerald."

Outside, the birds chirruped. Rose-tinted sunlight fell across the antique desk. Ariel glanced at the clock beside the bed. It wasn't even 7 A.M. yet.

A crackle of static with a voice buried in it made its way to her. She frowned. What was this? Who was this? It certainly wasn't Darius.

"Have an injured hiker at Variance," the voice said. "Need a plane today."

She felt her heart sink. She wanted to stay longer. Although Darius had been worried about getting her out quickly. He was afraid that she might have internal injuries--at least, that was the impression she got.

He'd been somewhat worried. Ariel put her fingers to her lips. A man didn't kiss a woman like that when he was completely worried.

"If I were a doctor, then that'd be a different matter." The nasal voice sounded belligerent. "But I'm not."

Static.

"What do you expect, me to grow wings and fly her out of here?"

Ariel smiled. Maybe she wouldn't fly out of here today after all. Maybe she would be able to stay a little longer.

More static followed. She could barely make out another voice raised in agitation. She wondered where the radio was and why she could hear it so clearly.

"No, buddy. I think you're the one who misunderstands. Once I've notified you, she becomes your responsibility, not mine ..."

Ariel eased her legs over the side of the bed. She wondered why Darius wasn't making the radio call. Maybe it wasn't his radio. Maybe that was a friend he'd contacted, which was why the radio sounded so close.

"... she's clearly an experienced hiker. Which means she knows about search and rescue. Well, you don't have to do the search, but the rescue is important..."

She grabbed her crutches and tucked them under her arms, easing herself off the bed. Her injured ankle felt like a large, puffy, painful basketball. She was grateful for the splint, which made the effort of holding her leg off the floor easier.

"... don't really care about your schedule. The sooner you get here the better ..."

Ariel made it to the bathroom. She couldn't take a shower--not with the splint--but she wanted to dress her sc.r.a.pes and to clean up as best she could. Even though she had cleaned up some yesterday, she still probably smelled like she'd spent the last few days in the wilderness which, of course, she had.

And she wanted Darius to get close to her again.

In the bathroom, she couldn't hear the strange voice. The more she woke up, the odder the voice seemed to her. The throat clearing, the whistling, and then the radio seemed strange.

Somehow she hadn't expected to find other people so close by, but it made sense. Even when people sought isolation, they achieved it. Human beings cl.u.s.tered. Besides, the regulations governing this part of the primitive area might have been different from other parts. Neighbors might have been closer than she realized.

But she didn't realize people could travel with their radios. Showed how much she knew these days.

By the time she had gotten out of the bathroom and changed into clean clothes (and they seemed even cleaner than they had when she was hiking--as if they'd been freshly laundered and replaced in her pack), the voice had stopped speaking.

The birds were even louder, suggesting that the man had moved away from them. The house smelled of coffee and fresh baked bread. Ariel's stomach rumbled.

Apparently being injured did wonders for her appet.i.te. Either that or she'd really have to rethink this dehydrated food the next time she decided to take a hike.

She made her way down the hall, her heart beating in antic.i.p.ation. She'd dreamed of Darius all night, of the feel of his body against hers, the way his lips had brushed hers so gently. Her cheeks grew warm.

When she stepped out of the hallway, she was surprised to find the living area empty. The kitchen was still hot from that immense stove, and the front door stood open, the screen keeping the bugs at bay.

The table, made from varnished pine, had a single place setting. The chair was pulled back slightly, revealing a footstool covered with pillows just beneath the table. There were plates of food near the single chair: m.u.f.fins, a loaf of bread, and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. A pitcher of orange juice sat next to a pot of coffee. A single red rose sat in a clear vase near the juice gla.s.s.

Ariel made her way to the table. As she got closer, she realized what she had taken for a paper napkin was actually a folded piece of paper with her name written on it in flowing script.

She picked up the paper, jabbing herself in the ribs with the crutches as she did so. Using her thumb and forefinger, she opened the note with one hand and read.

'Dearest Ariel,'

'I'm afraid I was called away this morning on some personal business and I won't be able to see you off. I've contacted a plane for you. It'll arrive before nine. The pilot will help you board. I told him to come into the house so that you wouldn't have to wait near the runway.'

'In the meantime, enjoy breakfast.'

'I'm sorry that we missed each other but I'm glad we met.'

'I shall never forget you' - 'Dar'

Ariel stared at the letter for a long time, her breath caught in her throat.

He was gone. He had left her here, alone. Someone else had called for the plane. Someone else would help her board. Someone else would make sure her ankle got tended.

She would never see Darius again.

'I shall never forget you' was a dismissal. He really and truly was gone.

Ariel sank into the chair and propped up her injured foot. She set the crutches aside and stared at the table before her. This was not a meal a man made when he was trying to get rid of someone. This meal took a lot of time and energy. It was a meal meant to impress.

And where did he get the single rose? She had seen no bushes about. Besides, roses didn't do well at this elevation, at least not in the dryness of an Idaho summer.

If only she had gotten up earlier. She would have come out here and talked to him while he was cooking.

She would have found out what the personal business was.

How did he even find out about it? Just the night before, he had said he didn't have a phone.

Maybe Nasal Voice had been using Darius's radio. Maybe Darius had sent the friend here to help him out.

She grabbed her crutches. Hungry as she was, she wasn't going to leave here without seeing Darius one last time. Or at least finding out where he had gone.

She did a cursory search of the main level of the house. She found another room beside hers, set up with reading lamps and big comfortable chairs. Books were piled everywhere, along with CDs, record alb.u.ms, and forty-fives. A tiny shelf system with a five-disk changer sat on top of a console stereo from the 1950s. Beside that was an ancient hand-crank record player that looked as if it were still being used.

The room had no obvious plug-ins, yet all this equipment seemed to be here for someone's enjoyment. She thought that odd.

A door beside this room led up a flight of stairs. The house was old enough, then, to have doors that cut off entire sections to preserve heat. Or maybe that remained a convention in this part of Idaho since there was no power up here. No sense heating an entire house when one section would do.

At first, she had no idea how to get up the stairs. Then she realized she could do it. She would just have to be careful. First, she'd try it with her crutches, and if that didn't work, she would sit on the steps and pull herself up with her arms.

She smiled. That would certainly impress Darius.

As if she expected him to be upstairs. If he was up there, he was hiding from her--and after finding that note, she knew he wasn't. He was somewhere else. But she might be able to tell where he'd gone from something he'd left upstairs.

At least, that was what she told herself. Truth be told, she wanted to see where he slept, to know more about him.

She made her way up the stairs carefully. It was harder than she thought, mostly because the crutches got in her way. When she reached the landing, she tossed them up the remaining stairs, and then, holding the banister, hopped to the second floor.

The second floor was smaller than the first. In fact, the ceiling slanted on the north and south sides, obviously following the roof lines.

There was a large room directly across from the stairs, and another large room at the end of a short hallway. Two smaller doors led to under-the-eaves storage, filled with more junk than she had ever seen.

Darius wasn't up here at all.

She couldn't even tell which room was his. Both had beds in them, and both beds were made. There were no suitcases or anything out of place. Everything was hung in closets. The bedside tables all had books with bookmarks in them.

The second story smelled faintly of mothb.a.l.l.s mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread. She went to the windows and looked out.

The runway was visible from here. It was long and flat, a scar on the land. Behind it was a huge garage with cars inside that looked as old as the hand-crank record player.

Otherwise the entire house was surrounded by trees.

She saw no sign of Darius. None at all.

For a long time, she stood at the window, staring at the runway. She couldn't go outside looking for him. She had no idea where he'd gone or how he'd gotten there. She could negotiate stairs with a broken ankle, but not the uneven trail or the cliffside.

Maybe he'd change his mind. Maybe the circ.u.mstances would change and he'd be able to come back.