Shattered Circle c-6

by Linda Robertson

  —and then it felt good.

  It wasn’t hot, merely warm. It wasn’t warmth like summer, though, not something a thermometer would show. This was warmth of another kind. The kind only a heart could feel. She felt so . . .

  Loved.

  A shimmer flashed across the surface of the board.

  She whispered, “Mommy?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Liyliy, a vampire-harpy, had tried to kill me a few hours ago, and the struggle left me exhausted and sore. That was the reason I was still abed at nearly two in the afternoon. When my satellite phone blared the opening riffs of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon,” it startled me, instantly reminding me about all the sore muscles I had.

  Mid-reach, I stopped. That was Johnny’s ringtone.

  He had tried to kill me, too.

  My hand shook as my finger jabbed the Answer button. “Hello?”

  “Red . . . I’m so sorry.” Johnny’s voice was barely audible.

  I sat up and deliberated whether to play deaf and repeat my “hello” as if I hadn’t heard him. I considered being a jerk and hanging up. I even contemplated ripping him a new one.

  Instead, I remained silent.

  Two days before, minutes after I’d performed the forced-change spell on him and his loyal pack mates, Johnny had attacked me. He’d always retained his man-mind while transformed, but that last time he didn’t—he’d been pure animal. The only reason I was still among the living was because I’d pumped ley line energy into him like a human Taser.

  “Red?”

  He’d frightened me to my core. The unshakeable faith I’d had in him had been shattered by an emotional earthquake. Damage was done. My fear felt like betrayal.

  But . . .

  Could going through the forced-change spell repeatedly have an undesired effect?

  No. I was sure the whole terrible incident could be pinned on the fact that my mother, Eris, had revoked the tattooed bindings she’d placed upon Johnny eight years ago. He suddenly had access to all the power and potential she’d locked away from him. That was surely a disorienting, difficult situation.

  I’d helped him dig up the clues, helped him achieve that goal. Hell, I’d even been a part of the reversal spell. So some responsibility for the consequences was mine to bear.

  “Persephone?”

  He rarely used my full given name; he usually called me Red, as in Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf. Or Seph like nearly everyone else. I had to respond.

  “I’m here.”

  “Then say something.”

  Pushing back the covers, I stood and began to pace. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He paused. “Can you forgive me?”

  I wasn’t sure.

  Part of me said I couldn’t allow his attack to be a personal issue because of the fateful trio that Johnny, Menessos, and I forged by binding ourselves magically. The other part argued that no matter the circumstances, attempted murder was very damn personal.

  It all happened because Johnny had surrendered to his destiny. His unique ability to transform at will made him the Domn Lup—king of the wærewolves. It was a position with power, prestige, and perks such as a Maserati Quattroporte. Johnny knew his royal place was unavoidable, but he’d fought it and hid from it a long time. He’d finally pushed forward because it was beneficial to our triple union, but kinghood was costing him his dream of being a rock star.

  It had been my fear that he’d lose who he was in the course of this alliance of ours. More than ever, it seemed this fear was being borne out.

  On the other corner of our triangle was Menessos. He now bore two witches’ marks—mine, of course. That made him my servant. When Heldridge, his former right-hand man, learned of my authority over Menessos, he tattled to the highest vampire authority, the Excelsior. To protect us against the personal grudge of the truth-seeing vampire-harpies sent by VEIN to make formal inquiry, Menessos had allied himself at great personal expense with someone dangerous—a “nameless” guy I had aptly dubbed Creepy.

  The secrets he’d wanted to hide from VEIN—secrets even I didn’t know—were apparently safe, but our little who-marked-whom secret was out. Menessos lost his haven and his status as Northeastern Quarterlord.

  Johnny had accepted great power and lost a lifelong dream. Menessos had lost great power and accepted serious personal risk. It didn’t seem fair.

  And what about me?

  In the last several weeks I’d learned that I was the long-prophesied Lustrata, the Witches’ Messiah, She Who Walks Between Worlds, She Who Will Bring Balance, blah blah blah. As this news spread throughout the non-human communities, some scoffed and some believed. I was fine with the scoffers; it was the believers who were dangerous. They wanted to know if I truly possessed the power that accompanied those titles. Yeah, I was a magnet for nasties who either a) wanted me dead to be sure I didn’t have that power, or b) wanted to try to force me to wield power for their gain.

  I guess I’d accepted the endless complications of my status and was well on my way to losing all scraps of naïveté.

  At that thought, I stopped pacing. As I stared into the nothingness of a darkened corner, it felt like my innocence had slipped from my grasp and I was watching it skitter across the floor, waiting for it to come to a stop so I could reclaim it.

  I wasn’t sure it was worth the effort to look for it. Or perhaps it would be impossible to find if I made the effort. Maybe it had rolled into some crack, never to be seen again.

  I heard Johnny breathing through the phone.

  It wasn’t Johnny who had rescued me last night. When I defeated Liyliy, Menessos had been there to bring me to the haven. Sure, Menessos had a hand in creating the monster she now was. And it was he who had imprisoned her, creating her need for revenge. But it was me and my marks upon him that had brought her to Cleveland.

  When she pursued me from the haven—according to the Offerling I’d spoken to—Menessos had sent everyone out to search for me.

  Had Johnny even known I was missing?

  It was shitty of me to compare the two men in my life, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Though Menessos had drunk my blood numerous times, he hadn’t tried to kill me.

  Yes he did! He nearly killed you not long after you first met.

  We were strangers then, I argued with myself. Now, we know each other well.

  Better, perhaps, than you should. . . .

  Defiantly, I ignored my conscience’s scolding. I will not regret what I did last night. During the predawn hours, reeling from my encounter, I’d kissed Menessos.

  Fine, but clearly you were able to forgive him.

  That was true. Considering this, I felt hope.

  I sighed heavily into the phone. My whispered answer was, “In time.”

  “There’s so much I need to tell you.” Johnny’s voice was raw, and the rev of an engine punctuated his words.

  I wondered where he was going. And I wondered if I should tell him about kissing the vampire.

  It hadn’t been a peck.

  When our lips had touched, I felt the promise and power of a more intimate union. He’d definitely felt it. It wasn’t only the power of the marks between us that had been kindled.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” Johnny said.

  His voice drew me out from my memory of a passionate moment with another man. Guilt swelled around my heart . . . but not remorse. What am I going to do?

  “I’ll have that figured out by the time I get back to Cleveland,” he said.

  That’s why he didn’t come for me! He wasn’t even here. “Where have you been?”

  “There’s so much to explain, I don’t want to do it over the phone, Red. Say you’ll see me. I’ll come to you. Anywhere. We have to talk. Face-to-face.”

  “What time is good for you tomorrow?”

  “No. It’s gotta be today.”

  My gut twisted. This wasn’t a conversation to be rushed. “I can’t.”

/>   “This is important.”

  He didn’t know what had happened to me or he wouldn’t push like this. But if I didn’t harbor this fear of him now, I wouldn’t mind being pushed. “Johnny.”

  “Let’s have an early dinner. Anywhere you want. Someplace fancy like Mallorca, or even a burger joint like Wendy’s. I don’t care. . . . I just have to talk to you.”

  It was past two in the afternoon. I’d have some time to prepare. “Okay.”

  “Let’s say four o’clock. Where do you want to meet?”

  I decided to stack the deck in my favor. I picked a certain coffee shop near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The place employed a few witches I knew. I hoped at least one of them was working today.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Late November in Northeast Ohio can be cool or outright cold. So, after shoving my feet into a pair of comfy boots, I grabbed a blazer and a hoodie from the closet. Adding layers over the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt was the best option.

  Then, though ready to leave, I stood at my heavy haven door procrastinating.

  I was deep within the building. Between me and the world outside were the backstage area, the main stage, a greatly modified theater house, a long hallway, then three stories’ worth of stairs, followed by a hundred-yard trek to the entrance.

  It wasn’t the distance that bothered me. What made me hesitate was the fact that there could be a hundred or more Beholders and Offerlings between me and the doors to the world beyond the haven. Liyliy had made sure to announce to them all that I had twice-marked Menessos—to whom they had pledged their loyalty. Mastering their master was a roundabout way to make them all my servants, and to many it smacked of deviousness and ill intent.

  My name was surely not to be found on the favorite-persons list of anyone in the haven.

  But if I was to be successful as the Lustrata, I couldn’t cower from Offerlings and Beholders. Regardless of their overwhelming numbers, they were, essentially, mine. Therefore, they wouldn’t dare raise a hand to me.

  Right?

  I closed my eyes and affirmed to myself that the mantle of the Lustrata rested upon my shoulders. With a turn of the knob, I stepped out.

  The door to my room was so heavy, it could have served as the entry to a bank vault in a former life, so, with a push on its significant weight, I shut it and descended the steps. My gaze trailed back. The Offerling on duty was playing Angry Birds on his phone and he glanced at me, expressionless, then returned to his game. My focus skipped past him to the door directly beneath mine . . . the entry to Menessos’s chambers. The vampire was beyond that door, not so far away.

  Winding my way through the backstage maze, I found the former theater house was lit only by the sconces on the outer walls. It was enough illumination for me to traverse the room without bumping into tables. The place was, thankfully, empty of people. As I walked, the darkness and silence allowed my mind to revisit my last exit from the haven, fleeing upon my broom.

  Near the entrance to the theater I paused to look back, imagining what it must have looked like, me flying out of here, a giant harpy in swift pursuit.

  “Going somewhere?” Her heavy Russian accent made the word sound like suhm-vair.

  I spun around.

  In the doorway stood a tall woman with short, spiky black hair. Muscular shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath, her bulging arms crossed. Her familiar oval face was frowning.

  Ivanka.

  She’d served as my sentinel until she’d tried to shoot Creepy in the head. He’d broken her forearm like it was a bendy straw.

  It didn’t surprise me that her cast was covered in a green wrap that had been marked up to resemble camouflage, or that she wore a black tank top and military fatigues. Her combat boots were untied, with the strings tucked down inside. I was glad her handgun was still holstered on her left hip and not in her hand.

  “Yes. I have a meeting in”—I checked my watch—“about twenty minutes.”

  “You must stay.”

  “Why?”

  “It is order of Haven Master. Erus Veneficus is not to leave premises.”

  “Menessos said I couldn’t leave?”

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed angrily. “Because of you, Menessos is our master no more.”

  Right. Suspicious, I asked, “And who is?”

  “Goliath.”

  A sudden fear gripped me. If he had made claim to the people of the haven, then maybe they weren’t “essentially” mine at all. I thought it through. Goliath belonged to Menessos, so unless they had done some kind of separation, he was mine as well. By default, things should still be kind of the same as I had expected.

  I moved to step around her.

  She blocked me.

  “I have to go, Ivanka. I’ll come straight back afterward.”

  “Return to your quarters.”

  Setting my stance and unlocking my knees, I said, “Make me, if you dare.” I lifted one hand and wiggled my fingers. “But be warned: I set the Domn Lup of the wærewolves on his ass with my hands. I defeated Liyliy with my hands. You”—I looked her up and down—“don’t stand a chance. Not even with a gun.”

  Her mouth opened, then shut.

  “Move aside.”

  She retreated one step, out of reach, but angled into my path. “I wish to not lose rank.”

  “You won’t.” I brushed past her. She wisely didn’t try to stop me. As I climbed the steps and headed for the entrance, however, she was right behind me.

  “I go with you, to ensure your return.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I go anyway.”

  I stopped and spun. “No. This is private.”

  “Menessos would not want you outside of haven unprotected.”

  I wiggled my fingers at her again. “I’ll be okay.”

  Being assertive like this was a double checkmark in the plus column. One, because it made me feel good about myself. Two, because affirming my power to someone else reinforced it to me.

  As I rounded the turn near the old ticket booth across the lobby from the entrance, an older man with a cane rammed through the plywood-covered door.

  Beau. His eyes locked on me and he barreled right toward me. This Bindspoken witch was the owner of Wolfsbane and Absinthe, the local pagan supply shop. He wore his trademark plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up to expose the white thermal underwear beneath. The cigar perched at the corner of his mouth was also typical of him. However, his hurried, irritated gait and the lowered position of his bushy white eyebrows weren’t.

  He pointed at me. “It’s all your fault!”

  The anger in his accusation hit me like a slap. “What’s my fault?”

  He stomped faster in my direction, but was still slow because of his prosthetic leg.

  Even so, I had to fight the instinct to back up. “What’s wrong?”

  He shouted, “William is catatonic!”

  William was his son, and also a wærewolf. Somehow, he’d gotten too close to a witch doing magic and it caused him to go into a partial shift. He’d been stuck that way for a long time, housed and cared for in the upper floors of the local pack’s den. When I’d done the forced-change spell for Johnny and his men, Beau had asked that William be included.

  Since Beau had given me a powerful charm that had saved my life, I owed him a favor. I’d agreed to have William in the spell. Someone from the den had sedated the wild, half-formed creature in order to move him and keep him still during the spell. He’d transformed fully into a wolf like everyone else. The fact that he had been drugged beforehand meant that when he did not regain consciousness after the transformation, I wasn’t alarmed.

  “I thought that spell was supposed to give them their man-minds,” Beau growled, still advancing, “but somehow it took his away!” He wasn’t slowing down to just verbally confront me. He was a freight train about to run me over.

  Suddenly, Ivanka shot forward, grabbed his arm, and thumped her cast across his chest in restraint.
“Keep back.”

  “The man-mind doesn’t come until the next regular cyclical change,” I explained. That was how it worked with the others. But then the others hadn’t been mindless beasts for years prior to the spell.

  Beau struggled with Ivanka and drew his cane up as if to cudgel her. Even with a broken arm, she was dangerous.

  Both were distracted.

  I made for the front doors and the last thing I heard as I pushed through them was Beau shouting, “You’ll pay for this, Persephone Alcmedi!”

  My escape revealed, I sprinted away.

  Living in a haven is like living in a movie theater; sometimes when you emerge, the brightness of the world is stunning. Sure, it was presently an average afternoon in late November, but the waning light on the buildings opposite pierced my retinas like high beams. I nearly ran over an elderly black woman. Shouting back my apologies, I ran east on Euclid Avenue, squinting and sometimes pushing my way along the sporadically crowded sidewalk.

  If the complaints rising from behind me were any indication, Ivanka was pursuing me with more intent than was socially acceptable. So, I jumped in the nearest cab and gave the driver the address of the coffee shop.

  Out the back window I saw Ivanka stop on the sidewalk, her cheeks flushed in anger, and she shouted something in Russian I didn’t understand.

  Settling into my seat, I tried to take in Beau’s news.

  William is catatonic.

  The spell could not have taken his mind, but then it was after that spell that Johnny had tried to kill me. I thought back, recalling my wording, considering the placement of the candles, the stones. I analyzed every detail but could not identify a misspoken phrase or anything that was obviously out of place. I could look at the charts, compare planetary positions of the first spell to the second, but I doubted that would make this kind of difference.

  That was the only plan I had when I arrived at the coffee shop. Since I’d taken a cab instead of walking, I was early and there was time to talk to the girls before Johnny arrived.

  Inside, Mandy looked up from the netbook she had behind the counter and grinned. “Hey, Seph! What are you doing downtown?”