"Surely she invited you up here," Clotho said.
"She wanted me to spend some time with her, yes," Vivian said. "But I had a business to run, and she wouldn"t come to L.A."
"A business?" Lachesis said. "You mean that psychic hotline?"
"You thought that was more important than your training?" Atropos asked.
Vivian felt her cheeks flush. If she had known Eugenia was going to die so soon, she would have made a point of coming here. But she hadn"t known. That wasn"t how her gifts manifested themselves.
"I think I did some good with that hotline." Vivian"s voice sounded small.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time--a psychic hotline with real psychics, not people who traced your phone number or used your credit reports (gleaned from your credit card number) to give them their "special" knowledge.
And it had worked. Her hotline got to be known as the hotline to call. But she had to shut it down.
There weren"t that many real psychics walking around Los Angeles, and most of the real ones didn"t want anything to do with her little idea.
Eventually, there were too many calls for her to handle. Even though she was minting money, she had to close the doors--and then she slept for what seemed like two months straight.
That was just before Eugenia died.
"Some good?" Clotho said.
"You would have done more good if you had had training," Lachesis said.
"Training in what?" Vivian asked again.
"Magic," Atropos said.
"But Aunt Eugenia wasn"t a magician," Vivian said.
"No," Clotho said. "She was a mage, just like you will be someday."
"A mage," Vivian said, trying to wrap her mind around the difference between "mage" and "magician", besides the spelling and the number of syllables.
Another car alarm went off, and then another. The three women clutched each other"s hands.
"He"s getting close," Lachesis said.
"This was a stupid idea," Atropos said.
"We agreed on it," Clotho said.
"We were forced into it," Lachesis said.
"It"s too late," Atropos said. "We made the choice."
Vivian glanced out the window. Three cars in front of the building across the street were blaring, their headlights blinking on and off. She had no idea what could have set them off.
"All right." Clotho"s delicate mouth was covered in chocolate. She didn"t seem to notice. "We"ll do our best to explain, but since your mentor failed on the job, you probably won"t believe this."
Lachesis handed Clotho a napkin, then said, "Before we do this, perhaps we should ask her about Blackstone."
"Blackstone? The magician?" Vivian asked.
"Yes!" they said in pleased unison.
"Do you know him?" Atropos asked.
"I know of him," Vivian said, wondering how she could know a man who had been dead for a very long time.
"Good." Clotho looked relieved. "Then you go to his restaurant."
"What?" Vivian asked. That spinning feeling had returned.
"What"s it called?" Lachesis looked at her companions. "Quixote?"
"Quixotic?" Vivian asked. "It"s next door."
The women smiled at her as if she"d won a prize.
"I"ve been there. What does it have to do with Blackstone?"
"He owns it," Atropos said. "Or he did. It wasn"t open this morning. Do you know why?"
Vivian shrugged. "It doesn"t serve breakfast. I"m sure it won"t open until eleven or so."
A dog started barking nearby, big deep, scary barks. The car alarms were still going, and Vivian thought she heard another one flare up.
"Eleven"s too late," Clotho said. "We"ll have to explain."
"All right." Lachesis took a deep breath, and the others followed suit. They leaned toward Vivian in one swift movement.
Another bang sounded below, and all three women jumped.
"There are mortals, and then there are the magical," Atropos said, looking toward the door.
"You are one of the magical," Clotho said.
"Yeah, right," Vivian said.
"No, really," Lachesis said. Then she frowned. "That is the correct modern response, isn"t it?"
"What?" Vivian asked.
"Never mind," Atropos said. "We"ll update our slang later."
"If there is a later," Clotho said, and she too looked toward the door.
Vivian heard more banging, and then the sound of firecrackers.
"Oh, no," Lachesis said.
"He"s found us," Atropos said.
"Quick," Clotho said. "We must wrap this place in tinfoil."
"What?" Vivian said.
"Tinfoil," Lachesis said. "Have you got tinfoil?"
Somehow that question seemed logical--at least coming from these women.
"I have some," Vivian said, "but not enough to wrap the apartment in, and besides, that would take all day."
The banging stopped, but the sound of firecrackers continued. It faded and blended into the sound of sparklers. Then smoke came in under Vivian"s door.
"Oh, no," Atropos said.
The smoke filtered across the floor in tendrils, white and thick. The movement was orderly, and the smoke was odorless.
Vivian got up and ran for the phone. She had to call the fire department.
The three women climbed on their chairs.
"Your conventional friends can"t help, Vivian," Clotho said.
"We need you to do something," Lachesis said.
Vivian picked up the phone. "I can"t stop fire."
"There is no fire." Atropos peered at the floor. The tendrils of smoke were feeling their way over the couch, around the end tables. Once, it seemed like the tendrils stopped and sniffed the air.
"You must imagine this building encased in gla.s.s," Clotho said, her voice breathless.
Vivian started to dial 911.
"You must, Vivian," Lachesis said. "That"s the only way to help us."
"Imagine it and project it outward, as if you were pushing the image out of you," Atropos said.
"Look," Vivian said, still clutching the phone. She hadn"t quite finished dialing. "If you guys believe in magic, you do it."
"This isn"t magic, per se," Clotho said. "It"s a psychic"s trick. But you have to do it."
Her voice went up as the tendrils got closer. Vivian"s floor was lost in a sea of white. Throughout the sea, white telescope like things poked out of the smoke and sniffed. Fingers felt the surfaces. This didn"t look like any smoke Vivian had ever seen before.
"Please, Vivian," Lachesis said as she moved her feet away from a poking smoke finger. "Just try it."
"If it doesn"t work, then dial your friends," Atropos said.
The other three glared at her as if she had just given bad advice.
The smoke curled around Vivian"s legs. It was cool, not hot, and she thought she felt tiny pinp.r.i.c.ks against her skin.
"Imagine a gla.s.s case?" she asked.
"Around the entire building," Clotho said.
"Then push it away from you," Atropos added.
Vivian closed her eyes. It took her a moment to envision the building--she"d never really looked at all of it, just the interior--and then she imagined slamming a gla.s.s box over it. She pushed the image away from her mind, and actually felt something leave her with the force of a sneeze.
She staggered, caught herself on the telephone table, then opened her eyes.
The smoke was gone.
"You did it!" Clotho shouted.
"I wasn"t sure it would be possible," Lachesis said, sinking down into her chair.
"We"re saved," Atropos said, reaching for a truffle.
"For the moment," Clotho said.
"I don"t understand." Vivian set the phone down. She was shaking, and she felt a little weak. "What"s going on here?"
"That"s what we want to explain, dear," Lachesis said. "Now that you"ve bought us a little time."
*Chapter Four*
"What do you mean, they cut them off?" Eris leaned in the galley of the corporate jet, fingering the tiny half-made pastries the chef had been working on when she kicked him out Her cell phone was pressed against her ear, but still she worried about the talent in the cabin overhearing her conversation.
"They did!" Stri"s voice whined at her, so loud that it hurt. She slid deeper into the galley and pulled the privacy curtain closed. "I was using smoke feelers. They were in the building when this thing landed on them, cutting them off."
"Smoke feelers?" Eris took the tiny bottles of alcohol, arranged in alphabetical order, and began to move them around. "You were using smoke feelers?"
"Well, I had to make sure the Fates were in the building--"
"I told you to mark them and then leave them alone." In the very back, where it was hard to reach, she knocked down a few of the bottles.
The jet"s engines droned and then cut back. It was climbing, trying to reach the right alt.i.tude for the flight to New York.