Vicious Circle

by Linda Robertson

  “No. Lorrie saw a false side of the high priestess.”

  “I’m beginning to think my first meeting with her was the same.” She’d been grumpy with me even then, but I’d given her several reasons. “What’s up with her?”

  “You should ponder that.”

  “I mean, I get it that she’s using me to clear the path for her entrance to the Elders Council. I’m just a tool to her. And yeah, I hate being used, but achieving something good is worth swallowing my pride a little. Just…is this really ‘something good’?”

  “You should ponder that,” Amenemhab insisted.

  I gave him a wry look.

  He lay down as if settling in for a long rest. “Ponder what you know; the answers to what you don’t know are there. It is an equation you must solve to see.”

  Closing my eyes in the meditation, I thought back, reviewing our meeting. What did I know about Vivian? What could I see and add up? Being high priestess equaled knowledge of magic and energy as well as people-management skills. Overdone accessories equaled vanity, money, or just a penchant for diamonds. Neat office equaled neat freak at best and obsessive-compulsive disorder at worst. Spiffy wooden box equaled a carrying case for some cool magical thing. Too much cash for a coffee-shop owner equaled, well, there’s money again. I’d guessed the box held something to do with the business, but I didn’t think she had a goose in it laying golden eggs. What if its contents had nothing to do with the business and everything to do with her?

  She was younger than I thought and had been offended at me expecting her to be older. That, as well as her vanity over accessories and perfect makeup, suggested the box could be holding a glamour spell. Perhaps she had charmed, literally, the wings off a fairy. Maybe the WEC induction was as much about vanity to her as everything else. Still, all that money came from somewhere, and fairies weren’t known for their cash supplies. Vampires, however, were notorious for the liquidity of their assets, no pun intended. Wait—

  If Vivian was connected to a vampire—some people call it “marked,” but I always say “stained” because it denotes shame, and a vampire’s mark is worse than being forced to wear a scarlet letter—it would make her age more slowly, simply due to supernatural residual effects. I said, “She’s stained by a vampire.”

  Amenemhab bowed his head. “See? Equation solved.”

  “Solved? Nothing’s solved! This whole thing makes no sense anymore. Wait—”

  The jackal grinned.

  “She can’t sit on the Council if she bears a stain.”

  “And how would she get rid of it?” he asked.

  “Kill the vampire who gave it to her…” My eyes went to slits.

  “But?”

  “But she can’t act against him herself because, as I understand it, the bonds inherent in the binding stain create a kind of compulsive protectiveness and devotion between all those linked. But again, if I’m right, Goliath’s death would hurt her. His pain and grief would seep down to her, maybe even kill her. Why would she do that to herself?”

  “I doubt a roundabout suicide is her motive. It’s simply an inherent risk—and one she’s ready to accept, so she’s likely prepared to counter it by some means.”

  “She’s getting me to do the dirty work she can’t do, so she can have a shot at being an ‘Elder.’” I was seriously pissed. “I’m just a small part of her plan.”

  He gestured with his head in the direction the mustang had gone. “But you’re a big part of Her plan.” He winked. “She may have been there and not here”—he pawed the ground—“but a long time ago, Persephone, in a field of corn, She chose you. You. Take heart, for today, in the midst of your turmoil, She showed Herself to remind you that She is nearby.”

  * * *

  Leaving the meditation, I took up my protective circle, stretched and checked on Theo. Then I returned to the window seat and stared out the window.

  Vivian was using me. I knew that. But she was using me more than she wanted me to realize. I had agreed to be used, I thought, in order to protect Beverley and, I had to admit, attain vengeance for Lorrie’s murder. Did Vivian’s further use of me make a difference? Now that Theo had been harmed, did I have more reason to kill? But if I hadn’t agreed to do harm myself, would Theo have been hurt?

  I thought of the mustang. Did She have a hand in all this? Was the totem correct? Was I somehow meant to be Her tool?

  Whatever I had originally thought, whatever my motivations or Vivian’s, it was time to accept what either my own human foolishness had gotten me into or what the Fates had inexorably willed: I had a vampire to assassinate.

  Deep breath. That thought made my shoulders heavy.

  My ears detected a knocking sound and I stilled, listening. It didn’t repeat, so I figured it must be something banging around in the dryer. Who knew what kinds of sounds Johnny’s clothes made, with all the studs and zippers and chains. I’d seen him stuffing things into separate mesh laundry bags. It was surreal seeing him washing clothes. At my house.

  Then the knocking came again. A quiet, meek knocking. It stopped. But I knew I wasn’t hearing things this time. Going out in the hall, I peered down the stairs. A shadow darkened the window of my front door. A short shadow.

  I hurried down and opened the door. Beverley stood there with her face in her hands, her dark hair in crooked ponytails, and her shoulders jerking rapidly in sobs. “Beverley!” I exclaimed, unlocking the screen.

  Her face was splotched with pink; her usually bright blue eyes were swollen from crying. “She left me,” she said, shaking all over. “She drove here. Screamed at me all the way. Told me to get out.” She pointed at the driveway, where a box sat behind my Avalon, the flaps shuddering in the breeze.

  I had the greatest urge to hunt Vivian Diamond down and slap her around. I guess it showed on my face; Beverley started sobbing again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she cried.

  “Honey!” I went down on my knees and touched her arms. She had always been a spindly kid, but she looked waiflike just now. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with how Vivian’s treated you. Come inside.”

  Her expression was unsure. “My stuff.”

  “We’ll get it in a minute.”

  “Somebody’ll steal it. I won’t have anything and I got the—”

  “There’s nobody out here. For miles,” I said gently. “But I’ll get it. Okay?” It was important to her.

  She waited on the porch until I came back with the box. She held the door open for me as I went in. “Thanks. I’ll set this over here for now.” I placed it at the end of the couch. “How about you and I have some milk and cookies?” I asked, hoping Nana hadn’t eaten all of Johnny’s cookies.

  We sat at the table with glasses of milk and a few of Johnny’s white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Beverley didn’t touch hers. She seemed to be staring at a spot on the table between the cookies. So I picked up a cookie, broke it in half, dunked it in my glass, and held it there for a few seconds. I “mmmm”-ed when I ate it; Beverley glanced my way. I dunked the rest of that half. “Don’t you dunk your cookies anymore?”

  She shook her head “no” in timid motions.

  “Want me to warm them a little in the microwave?” Same response. “Beverley.”

  “You don’t have to pretend like you want me here.” She spoke with such weariness and resigned sadness that I could have cried. “Vivian tried to be nice at first too. But I know you don’t want me either. Nobody wants me. Only my mom….”

  “Beverley,” I said firmly. Reaching across the table, I took her hand. “That’s not true. I do want you here. I’ve missed watching movies with you. Eating popcorn.” Tears rolled out of her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. “But I want you to want to be here, too, and I should warn you: things are kind of crazy here right now.” I stood.

  Since Vivian had left her here, I’d guess that’d be considered abandonment. That might help if this got nasty legal-wise…

  What was I thinking? I
was going to kill a vampire, and I was worrying about the legal ramifications of custody? I rubbed my brow. I was becoming paradox incarnate.

  “Since you were last here, my grandmother has moved in with me. She’s got the room you usually slept in, but I’ll show you the other room, where you can stay. Okay?” She needed to sleep, and to wake up feeling safe and wanted.

  “What did you mean, it’s crazy here?” She held my hand tight as I led her up the stairs. “I’ve always liked it here. It’s quiet, and you have such pretty paintings.”

  “Well, a friend got hurt really bad. You remember Theo? One of your mom’s…friends? She needed a place to stay. A few other friends are staying here to help look after her. She’s in my room, and we have to go past there to get to the other room. She has monitors and stuff hooked up to her—don’t let it alarm you.”

  As I expected, Beverley stopped in front of my open door. “What happened to her?”

  “She had a car accident. You remember Celia and Johnny and Erik, right? They are helping out with taking care of her until she gets better. Erik’s upstairs sleeping because he gets the late shift. The other two went into town to get some groceries, but they’ll be back later.” If I had a chance, I’d call Johnny’s cell phone and tell him to pick up some kid stuff—like cartoon-character cereals or something.

  “Do you always take care of people?”

  The thread of hope in her voice made me want to hug her tight and tell her it would all be okay. But Nana had done that to me, and things still weren’t okay. “I do the best I can.”

  I led her across the hall to the third bedroom. There were a few stacked boxes of my things, a laundry basket, and a twin-size air mattress on the floor along one wall. “I’ve been staying in here, since Theo’s in my room. Would you mind sharing the room with me for now?” Hands on hips, I looked the room over. “Once Theo’s better, we could make it into your room and paint it and decorate it however you want.”

  “Do you really want me to stay with you?”

  “Yes, of course. If you don’t mind staying with me, that is. For now, we’ll get another mattress and put it on that side for you.” I smiled. “It isn’t much, I know. But it’ll get better.”

  “I like it.” She peered out the window.

  “Good. I’ll go get your box.”

  In the kitchen, I dialed Johnny’s cell phone.

  “’Lo, Red.”

  “Hey. Still shopping?”

  “At the checkout now.”

  I heard Celia’s voice ask, “Who’s Red?”

  He whispered, “Persephone is.”

  “Her hair’s not red,” Celia protested.

  “You two save it for later. This is important. Get out of line—”

  “I’m always out of line,” he laughed.

  “I need you to get some other things.”

  “Like what?” I heard him whisper to Celia, “No, don’t unload the cart yet. Red needs something.”

  “Some kind of fun kid cereal,” I said.

  “I already got Lucky Charms. That okay?”

  I should have known. “Only if you can share them.”

  “Right. Another box of Lucky Charms.”

  “And get another of those air mattresses, and some sheets for it. Like some soft pink flannel ones.” Nana had brought her stock of quilts and was constantly making more, so we didn’t need blankets. “And get cookies too. Oreos. Some microwave popcorn.” I knew Beverley liked those snacks.

  “Ooooo. And I had you pegged for satin sheets and champagne and strawberries, but I didn’t think our big night would come so soon. You know, Oreo crumbs are gonna show big-time on pink.”

  “They’re not for…us.” I was so embarrassed and frustrated, I could hardly get the words out.

  “Okay, okay. I’m wiping the image of you in pink flannel sheets and covered in Oreo crumbs from my mind.”

  Blinking as if that would remove the stunned roadblock on the tracks of my train of thought, I managed to awkwardly reply, “You gotta stop, Johnny. You said you’d be good.”

  “While I was there. But I’m not there. I’m here,” he declared proudly, raising his voice like a superhero. “At the superstore!”

  I could imagine all the leery patrons staring at the crazy man now. “Right.” Celia’s laughter drifted through the phone too.

  “Who’s moving in now?” he asked, more seriously.

  “I’ll explain when you get here. Don’t forget: air mattress and sheets, popcorn, and cookies.”

  “How about I make cookies? I can make ’em way better than Oreos.”

  “I know. But my new guest would prefer Oreos. Trust me.”

  “Asking for my trust. This is getting better all the time, Red. Buh-bye.”

  I hesitated. “Bye.” It was an awkward closing, and I stared at the receiver before hanging it up. I took the box from the living room and started up the stairs with it. Beverley sat halfway up; she startled me. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Shifting the box to my hip, I said, “Huh?”

  “For asking them to get things for me.”

  “Pink is okay, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I haven’t been a…a young woman”—I didn’t want to say “little girl”—“in a long time, and I’m sure things are different now. I’ll get up to speed if you give me a little time. I promise.”

  Feeling totally lame, I put her box in the room. I didn’t even have a dresser for her to use. I couldn’t say, “Well, I’ll leave you to settle in,” because it was a box and the floor. There was no “settling” to it. I wondered if we could get her things from the apartment she and her mother had shared or if there was some police procedure to go through. Vivian wouldn’t have bothered to take her there, I was sure. Ms. Diamond seemed content to let this girl suffer and live out of a box. It hurt my heart. “They won’t be back for an hour or so. If you want to rest, you can use my bed.” It was all I had to offer.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve got to check on Theo, but, um…I just wanted to say that whenever you want to talk—if you want to talk to me—about, well, about things…that’ll be okay. Or not. You don’t have to. I thought I should make sure you knew that.” I bit my lip, knowing I sounded so uncool and nervous.

  I left.

  Theo’s monitors remained steady; her fluid bag was still more than half full. Good for a while. I stepped back to peek into the spare bedroom. Beverley had moved her box right beside my stack of boxes. She was curled up on my bed with one of Lorrie’s sweaters, on a stuffed cat with its arms around her neck as if it were hugging her. She looked up at me. “If you need me,” I said, “I’ll be in the kitchen for a few minutes. Remember, it’s a big, old house. With creaky floors. I figured I should let you know where I’ll be.” A quick, apologetic smile flashed across my face.

  Beverley put her nose down to the sweater, breathing deeply of the scent of someone who could never again comfort her. Someone who should never have been taken away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When the intrepid wolves returned from the superstore, I gave them a quiet rundown on Beverley. Johnny made lasagna while Celia and I went off to get the air mattress set up.

  Dr. Lincoln was a no-show so far, and he didn’t answer his phone. Theo moaned despite the morphine that was supposed to keep her sedated. “If only she could change,” Celia said. “All this damage would mend in the transition.”

  Celia traced a finger down Theo’s arm. I thought about skin—about how superficial it is, yet how it holds all our parts together. People’s personalities, their souls, are in there too, but something more than skin held those in.

  For too long I’d allowed myself to see only the surface of so many people around me. Maybe I was that shallow.

  No, that wasn’t true. Ever since college, though, I’d tried to keep everyone from seeing anything other than my surface. My skin was a wall, a shield, protecting me. Protecting my heart. But th
at protection came, I now realized, with a cost. If I didn’t let people see inside me, see past my surface, then I couldn’t see deeper into them.

  I wanted to think I was doing better. I was seeing the man inside Johnny. The man who cared, the man who kenneled alone.

  Celia touched my arm. She was a touchy-feely person. More so now, as a wære, than ever before, but her hands were warm and comforting even in that small gesture. “You okay?”

  Relaxing, I said, “Yeah. If we can just buy her some time, she’ll change and she’ll be fine.” We crossed the hall to the bathroom to wash our hands before dinner.

  “Three weeks is a long time,” she said, “but we’re going to do everything we can. With all of us here, I do feel more hopeful.” She exhaled as we dried our hands. “I could use a drink, though.”

  “There’s some beer hidden in the garage.”

  “Hidden?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I didn’t want to listen to Nana gripe about it.”

  “Gripe about what?” Nana asked, stepping into the doorway.

  “All these people in the house,” Celia said quickly. “But you don’t mind us, do you? We really are trying to be respectful.”

  Nana pursed her lips. “The noises you and that man were making upstairs last night weren’t very respectful.”

  Celia’s eyes went wide and her face flushed instantly crimson.

  “Nana!”

  “It wasn’t.” She waved her hand at us. “Move. I have to use the toilet.”

  Celia and I made a hasty exit, but paused at the top of the stairs to share a glance that turned into a laugh as we went down to the kitchen. Beverley was having Oreos and being entertained by Johnny, who was currently balancing an antique bud vase on his chin.

  “Is that how you got that adorable cleft?” Celia asked.

  He jerked, caught the vase as it fell, and grinned as he rubbed the little dimple in his chin, almost hidden in the stubble. “Nope. I think I was born with this angel kiss.” He put the bud vase back on the window ledge. When he turned back, his expression and manner were serious. “Theo?”