Utterly Charming (15 page)

“What would you do?” Nora asked. “Send her back to her own time?”

He shook his head.

“Give her a thousand years of false memories?”

He closed his eyes.

“Put her back to sleep?”

“No,” he said, standing. “No.”

“What can you do?” Nora asked again.

“Make her forget,” he said. “That’s the best I can do.”

“What would she forget?”

“Everything,” he whispered.

“Everything?” Nora asked.

He shrugged. “Or everything since she awoke. She could remember her childhood, her past.”

“Then she’d still be confused by this world,” Nora said. “All you would do was make certain she had forgotten her anger at you. You’re better off having her forget her name, her background, her world.”

He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and bowed his head. “That’s not a solution either, is it?”

“Not if what she tells me is true,” Nora said. “If she will come into her own magic someday. And then, of course, there’s Ealhswith to deal with.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I don’t think magic can solve this,” Nora said.

He frowned, as if he had never encountered anything like that before. “Still,” he said, “she needs help, and I don’t think you can give it.”

“You can’t,” Nora said. “She’s afraid of you.”

“Afraid?” He turned, startled. All the power she had felt from him, all the charming warmth that had been so much a part of him, was gone. This was Blackstone, the man behind the games. She longed to reach out to him, but she didn’t dare.

“Yes,” Nora said gently. “Think of what you’ve done to her, you and Ealhswith.”

He sank back into the chair.

“You took everything from her. Her past, her future. Everything she was familiar with, and you’ve replaced it with nothing. You’re not even someone she recognizes.”

“But she ran to me,” he said.

“She says you look older. Angrier. She says you’re someone else.” Nora rubbed her thumbs together, then stopped when she realized she was making her own nervousness visible. “You are, you know. Ten years changes a person. I can’t think what a thousand would do.”

He rubbed his hands along his thighs, then grabbed his knees and leaned forward like a supplicant who wasn’t sure if he should humble himself too much. “She was supposed to be my soul mate. She is my destiny. That’s what they said.”

“They?” Nora asked.

He shook his head, then bent it forward so that she couldn’t see his face at all. A few stray strands of silver along his crown caught the light. Emma was right. He didn’t look like a boy. He looked like a man full grown.

He took a deep breath, slapped his thigh, and then stood. “I take it she’s Sancho’s responsibility now?” The mask was back. His face was smooth, as if nothing could touch it, or him. As if he didn’t have a heart at all.

“Actually, no,” Nora said. “He was responsible for the microbus. It’s still in its garage. I did my part.”

“She can’t be on her own.” Blackstone came forward and leaned on the desk. The scent of him swirled around her, leather and exotic and enticing.

“She isn’t,” Nora said, holding her ground, even though his face was just inches from hers. “She’s already taking action.”

“Action?”

“She hired me to act as her representative.”

“You can’t.”

Nora raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because—you work for Sancho.”

“I don’t see why warehousing a microbus conflicts with becoming the attorney for a woman who needs to establish herself in a strange new world.”

“You claimed, in your apartment, that you were protecting Emma on the behest of Sancho. Now you’re saying you represent her. That’s a conflict.”

“That’s called thinking on your feet. I had to do something to convince you and Ealhswith that I had some authority.”

“Speaking of Ealhswith, how are you going to protect Emma from her?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll come up with something.”

“Let me see Emma. Let me talk to her. This is just foolishness.”

“No,” Nora said.

He leaned back, as if her word had been a physical blow. “No?”

“When we first met, ten years ago, I told you that you had no rights to this girl, remember?”

“She was in a coma then. She—”

“You still don’t, Blackstone.” It was hard for Nora to keep her voice level. He was still too close to her. And she wanted to give in to him, to keep him around. But she didn’t dare, not if she was going to protect Emma. “She makes her own choices, and she is not ready to see you.”

“I can simply appear in your apartment.”

“Do that,” Nora said, “and I’ll have the police after you so fast, your head will spin.”

“So I really am uninvited.”

It was her turn to lean back. Obviously “uninvited” was an important concept to him. He had used that word with Ealhswith when she had been in the loft, and she had left almost immediately. “Yes,” Nora said. “You are uninvited.”

He sighed, slapped his hands on the desk, and stood up. “You are making this impossible.”

“I am doing what I think best.”

“Treating me as you would treat one of your divorce cases, the domestic cases, where the husband is persona non grata?”

“You are not a husband, you are not married to Emma, and you are exhibiting behavior that I could easily convince the police is stalking. I don’t like it, and neither does Emma.”

He headed toward the door, then stopped. “I don’t suppose I could hire you?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “To help me with Emma perhaps?”

“No,” Nora said.

“Why not?”

“Because that,” she said, “is a conflict of interest.”

He let out a hissing breath. “You are a difficult woman.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

He ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it this time, as if he were trying to tame its mess. He didn’t look at her for a moment, and she wondered if he were trying to figure out another way around her, a way to charm her, seduce her, to make her think the way he wanted her to think.

“It’s hard for me to let go,” he said, his back to Nora. “I’ve been protecting her for a thousand years.”

“For a thousand years,” Nora said, “she couldn’t move. She can now.”

“I know.” He shook his head slightly. “I know.”

He was silent for a moment. Nora had learned long ago to wait, to let the other person break a silence. That way, she discovered so much more.

He turned so that she could see one side of his face. She couldn’t quite read it, not at that unusual angle. “I never meant to harm her,” he said.

“You should tell her that.”

“You won’t let me.”

She smiled. “Touché.”

“She’ll need help. I know it. Please, tell her she can come to me. I won’t—do anything to upset her. I promise.”

At least he didn’t say he loved her. Nora didn’t know why that mattered, but it did. It felt as if they were getting closer to the truth somehow, with that little sentence removed from the conversation.

“I’ll tell her,” Nora said.

He nodded, looked away. “And I want you to call me too, if you have trouble with Ealhswith, the Fates, or the magic. Sometimes…” He didn’t finish the thought.

“Sometimes?”

“These things snowball,” he said. He grabbed the doorknob and turned. This time, she could see him, and he looked just like the man she had met—minus the snake. She would have to ask him about that sometime.

“Snowball?” she asked.

“I hope you don’t find out.” His smile was slight, and it didn’t go to his eyes. “I guess Sancho was right about you.”

“In what way?”

“He said you could handle whatever came up.” Blackstone shrugged. “Perhaps he foresaw this.”

“It wasn’t hard to see.”

“For you, maybe,” Blackstone said. “It blindsided me.” He let himself out the door, closing it softly behind him. She stared at it for a moment, then stood.

She was shaking. She hadn’t realized it until she was alone. She was shaking from the morning’s events and the conversation with Blackstone. Hell, just being alone with the man made her nervous. She had to use all of her mental powers to concentrate. She had never found a man so attractive. Not even Max.

Especially not Max.

She grimaced and went to her minibar, where she kept mostly colas, some yogurt and fruit in case she didn’t get lunch, and some ice cream for emergencies. She opened the door, stared inside the refrigerator, and decided she was only going to eat because she was nervous.

And upset.

And terrified.

Maybe that little man Sancho thought she could handle anything, but she didn’t. She had talked a good game about defending herself and Emma against Ealhswith and helping Emma make the transition, but she wasn’t sure she could do it.

And she knew she couldn’t do it alone.

She grabbed a can of Diet Coke, opened it, and put it on a coaster on her desk. Then she dictated her file notes for Ruthie. Before Nora gave them to Ruthie, she would have to swear her to confidentiality, maybe even have Ruthie review her agreement with the firm. This one shouldn’t get out, not to the secretaries, not to anyone. They would all think Nora was crazy.

A knock on her door startled her. “Come,” she said.

Randolph, another of the junior partners, came inside. He was slender and small, trim in an efficient way. His suits were always meticulous, his hair styled neater than any woman’s in the office, and his hands manicured the way that only Ruthie had been able to match.

“Sorry,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I know I should wait for the partners’ meeting tomorrow, but is that your newest client?”

“What?” Nora asked, feeling as if she had entered into a conversation in the middle.

“Alex Blackstone.”

“Alex?” She blinked. Of course he wouldn’t use Aethelstan. Not in this day and age. But Stan seemed the logical shortening of the name. Not Alex.

“Yeah,” Randolph said. “It was your office he was leaving, right?”

“Yes,” Nora said, gathering herself so that she didn’t say anything she shouldn’t. “But he’s not a client. He’s connected to a case that I can’t talk about.”

“Damn,” Randolph said. “That’s one big fish.”

“You know him?”

“You don’t?”

The feeling of being in someone else’s conversation continued. “Should I?”

“Don’t you read the papers?”

“Yes, I read the papers.”

“Then you should know.”

“What?”

“Who Alex Blackstone is.”

“Maybe I just don’t read the papers as closely as you,” she snapped.

“Obviously not,” Randolph said.

She waited. So did he. That was when she realized this was one of those petty lawyer games, and she didn’t have time to play. “So,” she said. “Who is he?”

“The hottest restaurateur in Portland. Kind of our answer to Wolfgang Puck. Only he blends cuisines from all over the world into his own. And he does theme nights. You know, War of the Roses Night, a Moveable Feast night—”

“Moveable Feast?”

“You know, Paris in the twenties.”

“No, I didn’t know,” she said, annoyed. “So he’s famous locally.”

“On the verge of becoming famous nationally, I think. And his restaurant has been open less than a year.”

“What’s it called?”

“What?”

“The restaurant,” she snapped, not wanting to play anymore games.

“Quixotic.”

“Figures,” she muttered.

“What?” Randolph asked.

“‘Quixotic’ is an adjective,” she said. “I thought restaurant names were supposed to be nouns.”

He looked at her as if she had gone crazy.

“Never mind,” she said. “Look, I’ve got a lot on my plate, so unless you came here to do more than gossip—”

“I just wanted to find out if we had gotten his legal business. It’s become quite a coup among the firms in town. A lot of them are chasing him—”

“We’re not.”

“Well, since he’s been here, do you mind if I—?”

“Yes.”

Randolph frowned. “That’s not like you. What kind of case is he connected with?”

“A messy one,” Nora said. Then she frowned. “Say, do you know any good general history professors, or maybe English professors with a specialty in medieval lit? I’d even settle for a comp lit prof or a specialist in arcane languages.”

“Is this for the case?”

“Randolph,” she said. “Just answer the question.”

“I can have my clerk dig some up. He’s fresh out of the U of O.”

“I’d prefer someone from Portland.”

“Whatever,” Randolph said. “If I find this out for you, can I help on the case?”

She put her micro voice recorder down. “What is your interest in Blackstone?”

“He’s going to be worth a lot of money, Nora. Especially once he goes national. This is the age of the famous chef. They license a thousand things, from special recipes to franchises to television shows. Think of the income to the firm.”

“You think of it,” Nora said. “I’ve got to get through this first.”

“Mind if I call him?”

“Yes,” she said. “It would be a conflict of interest.”

“Don’t tell me,” Randolph said. “He beats his wife.”

“He doesn’t have a wife,” she said. “I don’t know why everyone assumes he does.”

“What everyone?” Randolph said. “I was guessing.”

Nora frowned at him. She was distracted and tired and not up for a conversation like this. “Do me a favor and don’t talk about this.”

“You still want the names of the professors?”

“Please,” she said.

“All right, but someday you’ll have to tell me what this is all about.”

“I will,” she said, “when it’s all over.”

If it ever ends, she thought, and felt a surge of fear. The magnitude of what she had gotten into had finally hit her. She only hoped she was strong enough to hold her own until Emma got on her feet.

If Emma ever got on her feet.

Nora closed her eyes. Sometimes it didn’t pay to have legal training. It always taught you to see the worst. And the worst in this case was not something she really wanted to consider.

Only she didn’t know how to stop herself.

When she opened her eyes, Randolph was still there, staring at her. “Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?” he asked.