Wicked Circle c-5

Home > Other > Wicked Circle c-5 > Page 24
Wicked Circle c-5 Page 24

by Linda Robertson


  Goliath bowed his head respectfully.

  Mero approached Giovanni. Quietly he said, “Your personal grudge against Menessos is a veil before your eyes. I will not be able to judge your motives kindly if you are not carefully impartial in how you progress from here, Quarterlord.”

  Giovanni backed away, making sounds like a vicious dog. “I want the shabbubitum sisters sequestered in an interrogation room. I want to question them immediately.”

  “I know just the place to conduct that,” Goliath offered and headed toward the door.

  “Ladies, please follow Goliath. Your compliance is expected.” Mero patted his chest as if to remind them the necklace was under his shirt. They followed Goliath out.

  Giovanni hesitated long enough to glare, then trailed the group. Mark, who was still on duty at the outer door, shut it after Giovanni. “Mark,” Mero called before it had completely closed. When the man responded, Mero added, “I believe your former master would like a few words with you.”

  When Menessos saw Mark, he motioned him close. “Get a search party assembled. Every Beholder and Offerling we can spare needs to be on the streets. I want to know in what direction Persephone flew off. I want them to find witnesses, to report in what they learn from them, then to follow up all leads.”

  “What about the harpy? Won’t she bring her in?”

  “No. We cannot rely on her. Our people should not confront her; she must be treated with caution. Appoint someone here to coordinate via phone. That way we can combine the efforts if needed and call it off when Persephone’s found.”

  “Is the court witch a traitor, Boss?”

  “No.”

  “It won’t be easy to convince the Beholders and Offerlings of that just now.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just tell them Persephone must be brought in unharmed. Tell them Goliath has been appointed Haven Master and that the order comes from him.”

  Mark bowed before leaving.

  Mero resumed his bedside seat. “Their continued loyalty is a tribute to you.”

  “As is yours. Thank you for trumping Giovanni.”

  “It felt good,” Mero said as the door opened.

  Goliath rolled a cart bearing a television into the rear chamber. He powered the system on and left.

  In a conference room, Giovanni paced. The sisters were seated at a large cherry table. The décor was all dark browns, leather and wood and a few items of deep green. From the aim of the shot, the lens of the camera had to be hidden in the upper corner.

  “We saw many things,” Ailo was saying.

  “Tell me all of it.”

  “What we see is . . . voluminous. We could discuss it for weeks,” Talto explained. “The images convey so much meaning, books’ worth of words into a snippet of memory. And it darkens with time.”

  “If you have a specific area to focus your curiosity, ask questions,” Ailo suggested.

  “Both the sound and picture are good,” Mero observed.

  “Yes,” Menessos said. “The microphone is encased within the scrollwork of the torchiere floor lamp.”

  “What of the witch?” Giovanni demanded. “Is she the Lustrata?”

  “She is the bearer of the Lustrata’s mantle. Her powers are not yet complete, but she is getting close.”

  “Did Menessos willingly accept her hexes?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She bore his mark, and then that mark was flipped.”

  “Flipped?”

  “It was overturned and the connection that was once his binding upon her, metamorphosed into her binding upon him.”

  “How did she accomplish this?”

  “She did not. A goddess did.”

  At that, Mero faced Menessos with the question plain in his expression.

  “The Lustrata has Hecate’s favor.”

  Mero wanted to know more, but the interrogation continued.

  “A goddess.” Giovanni crossed his arms. “A goddess.”

  “No mortal can sever such a mark. Only divine intervention could have achieved this.” Talto’s tone was utterly serious.

  “You do not have to believe or enjoy what we claim to have seen, but you would be a fool to discount our words,” Ailo said. The warning in her tone was not hidden.

  “The second hex?” Giovanni prompted.

  “He was nearly dead,” Talto said.

  Ailo clarified. “She had staked him.”

  Again, Mero faced Menessos in disbelief. He whispered, “You covet a mortal woman who drove a stake into your heart and forced a hex upon you?” This intimate revelation declared the complexity of the vampire that had Made him. “Why?”

  Menessos remained intent on the screen and made no attempt to answer.

  Giovanni, too, was astonished by this. “She staked him in order to hex him,” he repeated. “How did he survive?”

  “The stake was extracted.”

  “Is Menessos aware of her political intentions?”

  “From what was in his mind, she appears to have no aspirations of power and authority.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” the advisor snapped. “The attempted murder of a Quarterlord to secure dominion over him is an act of war in and of itself.” Giovanni began pacing again. “She has used her sway over him to blind him from the truth.”

  “That is not true,” Menessos said to Mero. “I placed a small binding upon her, disguised as a bond between her and her lover. It enabled me to see past any personal barriers. There was no trace of what Giovanni suggests.”

  “Was,” Mero said to emphasize that was past tense. “When was that and what about now?”

  “That small binding has been removed, but you would be wise to not doubt me when it comes to her merits.”

  On-screen, Giovanni said, “The Domn Lup cannot be subjected to her magic, as wærewolves cannot abide those energies . . . and that explains why she is his lover. The seduction subdues and sways him.” He paced continually as he considered this news. The sisters sat in silence.

  To Mero’s disappointment, Menessos was keeping his face carefully blank. But Mero knew his friend’s thoughts were racing. An enemy was tying together the threads that would enable him to make a case for the elimination of the court witch who had clearly won so much more than Menessos’s admiration.

  “Do you want to know what we saw of you in his mind?” Ailo asked conspiratorially.

  Shoulders squaring and jaw flexing, Giovanni snapped, “What did you see of me?”

  Talto clasped Ailo’s hand. Ailo said, “You were a charismatic captain of men . . . and seven hundred professional soldiers followed you to Constantinople—a mission you undertook only after Menessos recommended it based on the glory you could attain there.” Her voice was enthralling, all dulcet tones and hypnotic inflections.

  “She’s using the ley,” Menessos said.

  “Bespelling him?” Mero stood. They were about to take action—

  Menessos motioned him back into his seat. “I have seen them play this game with non-magic-using vampires before. They do not like him or his questions, so they toy with him.”

  “You were defending the wall when a debilitating injury forced you to leave your post,” Ailo said. “Because of your departure, many gave up hope and fled. The enemy observed the panic that beset the guards in your absence. His redoubled efforts conquered the Byzantines. The Queen of Cities fell.”

  Color drained from Giovanni until he was pale even for a vampire. He backed up until his spine was against the wall, as if memories were playing out before him—he stared in horror at nothing.

  “But your injury was not a mortal wound,” Talto said. Ailo whispered a chant as Talto continued. “A single crossbow bolt and shrapnel from the Ottoman cannon . . . but not as life threatening as initially believed. And yet it was too late. Panic had swarmed the troops and the men had fled. Days later, finding the weakness you had displayed inexcusable when paired with the devastating
cost, Menessos took your throat.”

  Giovanni’s fingers skimmed over his neck. Talto rose from her seat and, with a gentle touch, caressed his cheek. She took up the whispered chant and let Ailo speak: “It was another vampire, Konstance, who saw in you a mighty captain worth saving. As Menessos protested her actions, she fed you her strong blood and worked the change upon you. Though your death was not averted, she welcomed you into undeath.”

  Giovanni blinked and seemed to recover himself from far away. Seeing Talto, who was chanting still, he balled his fist and struck her. She was flung across the room. “Never touch me! Never!”

  She screamed and leapt to her feet, crossing half the distance. “For this you hate Menessos?” Talto asked. “You hated yourself for the failure wrought in your absence. You wanted death. He gave it to you. Konstance is the one who brought you back.”

  “She loved me!” Giovanni shouted. “And Menessos poisoned her mind against me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Why does Deric keep him as Advisor?”

  Mero shrugged at Menessos’s question. “He plays the devil’s advocate very well. It is better to keep someone who is that bitter and conniving nearby rather than monitor them from afar.” A long moment later, Mero asked, “Now that your people are searching, will you help me rebind the sisters so they pose no threat?”

  “I’ll help you,” Menessos said, “but only if we bind them to me—not you.”

  “Bound to you?” Mero was so surprised that he was out of his seat before he realized it. He paced away, then back. “Your haven is lost, the power of your people will be transferred to Goliath and you will not have the means to contain these sisters,” Mero argued.

  “Liyliy outwitted you, Mero.”

  “It was not as bloody as what she did to you, and still you insult me.”

  “It is not my intent to insult you, my friend.”

  “But you do, and after I have done all I can to minimize the tragedy here.”

  “I am grateful for that,” Menessos said, “but I have spoken truly. She stole the necklace from you. I will bind her sisters more thoroughly. . . .” He sighed. “It is no less than I deserve.”

  “Deserve? As a penance?”

  Menessos said nothing.

  “You can’t mean to make them your own? It would make them stronger!”

  “Through the connection forged in the blood exchange, a deeper binding could be placed upon them. One that would ensure their loyalty.”

  Mero was incredulous. “Their story is sad and you feature in it more than most know, but this . . . error . . . is not your doing. It is mine. If either of us must suffer that solution, it should be me.” A deep breath could not counter the fearful tightening of his chest that the mere idea inspired. “They would have to accept it, and as they loathe you already they would surely not accept such a binding. Their former master tried as much. You know how that ended.” They had read their former master into madness and death. “I stand a better chance of gaining their acceptance.”

  “You cannot risk this, Mero. Your son needs you. If you succeeded, Ailo and Talto would require too much of your time, and I apparently will have plenty . . . without the duties of a Quarterlord to perform. Besides, with Liyliy absent, they cannot conduct the kind of reading that the three of them can do together. And . . .”

  “And what?” he demanded. He knew Menessos’s expression indicated fast thinking and serious risks. “What are you thinking?”

  “When Giovanni is through with them, they will be tired. If you bring them here, one at a time, I can seduce them into the blood exchange. Then . . . the rest is just binding their flesh.” He paused and lowered his voice. “They need not agree.”

  Mero sank onto the edge of the bed. “A black binding? Are you mad? Performing it would corrode your soul—”

  “Some souls aren’t affected by the black arts.”

  “You’ve made mistakes, but you’re no demon.”

  The corner of Menessos’s lips curled. “This will work best if done while the sun is risen.”

  Connecting the clues, Mero whispered, “A black binding with the sun up means you and the sisters would be dead flesh, making this black necromancy . . . are you saying you have a demon?”

  “I do.”

  All magic had an element of danger to it. All bindings were to some extent evil. But this . . . magic used on the unwilling was vile and twisted. Moreover, Menessos was shackling them to him forever. As endless as vampires were, committing centuries to each other was not uncommon. Even millennia could be achieved when the bonds of friendship were strong—Seven and Mark were evidence of that. But Ailo and Talto were wicked, and they hated Menessos.

  Mero couldn’t allow him to do this. “This is too dangerous.”

  Menessos crossed his arms. “Then suggest something better. Something sure to work.”

  Mero had nothing better. He stood and paced away.

  On paper from the bedside table, Menessos wrote up a list. He then sent for the Offerling who had tended his wounds, and upon her arrival he gave her the paper. “Bring these items as soon as you can. Then we’ll discuss what I want you to do with them.”

  Mero watched her leave and marveled that he had not identified her before—the red irises should have been a giveaway, but demons were rare and red contacts were not.

  “She is half-human,” Menessos explained. “Her mother did some very bad things. Her father was one of them.”

  Flashing a smile at his Maker’s wit, Mero said, “Risqué has the better half on her exterior. She’s beautiful. No tail.”

  “She has a tail, a short one. The ruffles disguise it.”

  “Do you truly trust her?”

  “Yes. Her mother gave her up at birth. I saw to her upbringing, so I trust her implicitly,” Menessos added.

  “You taught her magic?”

  “Of course. Demon father, witch mother. It was necessary for everyone’s safety.”

  “And she is powerful enough to do what you suggest?”

  “If I was not certain, I would not allow her to work magic on my corpse.”

  Mero was growing weary with the impending dawn before Giovanni released the sisters from his interrogation. There was no time to discuss what Giovanni might have asked them. Mero asked Menessos, “Where might the two shabbubitum secure their rest?”

  “Take my bed for the coming day,” Menessos said to Ailo and Talto. He had risen from his bed an hour prior and slipped into silk sleep pants. Although his movements were stiff and slow, his injury was clearly mending. He gestured to the rear chamber. “Here you will have privacy.”

  “We are honored by your gesture,” Ailo said and directed her next words at Mero, “but our sister has not returned.”

  “She will,” Mero assured them, patting his chest. He gestured her nearer.

  “What if she does not appear by first light?” Ailo asked, verging on tears. Behind her, Menessos led Talto into the back chamber.

  Work fast, Menessos. Still touching his chest, Mero closed his eyes, as if he were contacting Liyliy in some manner. He maintained it for as long as he dared, murmuring, “Her chase of the Erus Veneficus carried her far away.” He dragged out his act for another minute, then ended it. “She has found a safe haven for the day already. She will rejoin us come nightfall.”

  His performance satisfied Ailo, who wandered toward Menessos’s private chamber. “Ah good,” Menessos said as he opened the door. “I was just coming to get you. Your sister said you would want to hear the history of these antiques. . . .”

  Mero inched closer. He heard Ailo’s stifled scream as Menessos attacked. He watched as his Maker drank from her. Ailo struggled. She tried to beat at him with her fists, but Menessos restrained her. She tried to transform, but Menessos tapped the ley line and prohibited her. He drank until she was weak enough to comply. Then he Marked her and put her to bed beside her sister.

  Minutes later, Menessos created a magic seal on the shut door and,
licking his lips, said to Mero, “It is done.” He sauntered toward the seating in the round. “Mark!”

  The door opened. “Yes, Boss?”

  “Bring two beds to this outer chamber for the Advisor and myself.”

  “I’m on it, Boss.”

  “And Mark?”

  “Yes, Boss?”

  “You’ll have to quit calling me Boss.”

  Mark stalled. “Yes.”

  Menessos opened the door again within minutes for two burly Offerlings. Mero was glad Menessos did not cling to the coffins many vampires preferred. Instead, the men brought in two modern versions of old-fashioned closed beds, the type with bifolding doors to allow access and provide privacy. Narrow enough to fit through the wide doorway, they were each sized for a single occupant to lie comfortably.

  As he climbed into the bed, Menessos said, “If you leave your clothes on the floor, you will find them cleaned and pressed upon waking.”

  “Wonderful.” Mero undressed. “Are you not nervous?”

  “I die easily, Mero. It is the return that I find difficult.”

  “Not for the dawn. I meant, aren’t you nervous about the black binding that will be placed upon your body while you are elsewhere?”

  Menessos considered it. “No. I trust Risqué. The only unease I feel stems from not knowing where my Erus Veneficus is.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Johnny was dreaming. He was racing across white sand toward a giant clock. As he neared, he could tell the brass disk at the bottom of the pendulum was taller than he was. He gauged the swing of it. The ticktock beat was much too fast, cluing him in that time was running out as more and more sand gushed from the base of the clock, raising it higher, farther away. He had to get through!

  Only a few feet from the pendulum, he felt the rush of wind in its wake. He planted his foot and it sank in the sand more than he expected. He had to lift his other leg high and fast to step up onto the clock’s base. The ticks and tocks were so loud here.

 

‹ Prev