Fatal Circle

by Linda Robertson

  “Sure! But you have to do the voices.”

  “What voices?”

  “Johnny never says just ‘go fish,’ he says, ‘Git yer pole ’n git down to that there yonder crick!’ ” She imitated his impression of a hick perfectly. Then she switched to British for, “Or, ‘Blimey, old chap, you need to retrieve some fish from the market.’”

  Twenty minutes later, we were giggling uncontrollably at ourselves when Johnny came in, leaving the big front door open. The screen door snapped shut but let a swirl of cool autumn air follow him. “Sounds like somebody’s stealing my act.” He came to hug me. “You get that math done?” he asked her.

  “Yup.”

  They traded high fives.

  “You ready?”

  Before he could answer, Johnny’s cell phone went off like an air-raid siren. He jerked it from his pocket. “Sh—oot.” He changed his expletive for the child-safe version. Nana had once threatened to start a swear jar.

  “What is it?”

  “I completely forgot. The band is doing a radio interview tonight.”

  Though he’d earlier professed to be choosing me over the band, I wasn’t about to insist that he do so. I was confident he’d juggle it expertly until the time came when he absolutely could not avoid it any longer. “What time?”

  “Eight.” He pushed buttons on the phone. “I can just make it.” His expression was imploring. “I can’t crap out on the guys. I set this up.”

  I wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of going alone into the vampire’s haven, but I wouldn’t make things harder for him. I hoped he never had to “crap out on the guys.” I nodded.

  “That’s okay, Johnny,” Menessos’s voice heralded from the doorway as the vampire strolled through. “You can join us later, whenever you’re done.” He flashed his delighted and pointy grin.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  While Menessos gave the location of his haven to Johnny, I changed into my freshly washed copper Henley shirt and added my brown blazer. They dressed up the jeans a little. I had to admit, this kind of felt like I was meeting his family. I wanted to make a good impression, even though I knew the notion was ridiculous.

  When I came downstairs, Johnny hugged me, planted a quick kiss on my cheek, and whispered, “This thing runs until ten. I’ll get to you ASAP.” Then his lips pressed mine. It might have grown into something lustier but Beverley giggled and we both broke it off.

  I escorted him outside. The rain was gone, the sky clear, but it was cold.

  Johnny pointed to the duffel bag on the porch. “That’s my suitcase.” It was pretty big, as duffel bags went.

  “I’ll take that with my stuff.”

  “Make your minion carry it for you.”

  “Johnny.”

  He affected innocence and shrugged. “It’s heavy.”

  “Riiight.”

  His lean arms encircled me with another hug and he whispered, “You’re the boss, Red. Don’t be afraid to make him know it.”

  “I’m not.” The hug ended too soon. “I’m not a fan of going in there alone, but I’m not afraid of it, either.”

  He tweaked my cheek. “That’s my girl.”

  Like a good boyfriend, he left me with a toe-curling kiss that sent fireworks sparkling up and down my spine. “I’m sure we’ll have our own room at the haven,” I whispered. “There’s some perks to our temporary relocation.”

  “How am I supposed to talk coherently about band shit while my brain is stalled on that promise?”

  I tapped his temple lightly. “Duh. Think with this head in the studio.” I added, “Innuendo point for me.”

  He chalked it onto the air scoreboard. “As soon as I get to you, though, the other one’s taking over.” He finished with a low and lusty growl in my ear.

  When his motorcycle roared up the road, I went back inside. Nana leaned in the dining room doorway, smoking and giving Menessos the stink-eye. He appeared a bit sheepish. “What did I miss?”

  Neither offered an answer.

  Beverley spilled the beans. “He complimented her on her shirt.”

  “That’s it?”

  “She told him not to try any weirdo vampire crap.”

  “Oh.” The moment went awkward. “Well. I hate long good-byes, so let’s get this over with.”

  Nana put her cigarette in the ashtray and came forward, open armed. “It’s the right thing for the right reason, Nana. It will all work out.”

  “I believe you.” She patted my back.

  “The contractors are supposed to come and give quotes about the remodeling. Their days and times are written on the calendar. And there are enough sticky-note jokes inside the book cover to last for three weeks … I don’t think I’ll be anywhere near that long, but just in case. Use them and it’ll be kind of like I’m still here.”

  Nana backed away. My attention went to Beverley. Unenthusiastically, she came toward me. I crouched to receive her hug. “I’ll be thinking about you, kiddo.”

  “I miss you already.”

  “Likewise.” When this embrace ended, I held on to her arms, being as earnest and sincere as I ever was. “I will be back. And that party will happen.”

  The onset of her tears brought mine flooding up like the dam just broke. “I gotta go.” I stood, hefted my bags, and left.

  With everything tossed in the trunk of my Toyota Avalon, we climbed into the car. Menessos got in the back. Seeing my displeasure revealed in the rearview mirror, he innocently asked, “What?”

  “I am not your chauffeur. Get up front.”

  “I’m sorry, Persephone. Habit.” He settled into the passenger seat.

  At the end of the drive, I flashed my lights at the pair of silhouettes on the porch waving. “To I-71, right?” My voice was thick, still fighting tears. Damn it. Enough with the weepiness shit!

  “Yes.” It soon became clear that Menessos only gave directions on an “as needed” basis—which also kept the car uncomfortably silent. His method, though not very satisfactory to my detail-seeking self, would still get us there.

  I considered my present state. This can’t be hormones. My Depo-Provera shot isn’t due until Yule. The nurse, aware of the timing, had teased about it being my gift to myself. This is just an outlet for stress. Don’t think about it as leaving home. Talk about something, anything! Shoving that emotion away, I asked, “Is there an Internet connection at the haven that I can access to do my column?” I’d packed my laptop.

  “Yes. High-speed Wi-Fi. You are welcome to use my desktop if you’d care to.”

  About to insist that I didn’t want to impose, I stopped myself. Do masters worry over imposing upon a servant? I wondered if strong emotions made one a terrible master.

  “Thanks. I’m used to the laptop.”

  More silence.

  “Tell me about your vampires,” I asked.

  “All vampires … all of them, everywhere, are mine. My curse has become theirs. And I mourn for them as equally as I delight in them. They are my children’s children’s children.”

  I took a breath in order to rephrase.

  “Do not misunderstand,” he went on, “I never created life in the womb of a woman. But I brought forth my kind with a relentless and undeniable seed. It brings death and rebirth into a new kind of life. And yet as I watch them, my offspring, so many of them waste the gift they have been given.”

  I felt like I should cue Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” after that little speech. I tried again: “I meant the vampires at your new haven. What’s it like?”

  He sulked for a heartbeat or two. “Masters run their havens like mini-kingdoms. Their word is law. Not all observe the same laws, however. In my private haven, none are allowed to spoil the gift they have received. You will find evidence of my dominance, but …”

  “But?”

  “I care for them. Genuinely. I believe most of them truly care for me.”

  It is like meeting his family. He didn’t elaborate further, so I asked, “What
are your laws?”

  “My laws are based on respect for and compliance with my supreme authority.” He twisted to face me. “I believe you are beginning to understand how the people around someone with power come to expect things of that someone. And not just trivial things. They expect protection, they seek their leader’s favor. My laws are simple and firm, my rewards are quick and generous.” With wry pleasure he added, “And I do enjoy being in charge.”

  That didn’t surprise me at all. What did surprise me were his directions right to Public Square, the center of downtown Cleveland.

  “I’m better acquainted with the history of Chicago and New York, but I am told that in the light of day you can still see the letters spelling out ‘May Company’ atop this building.”

  “Your haven is in an old department store?”

  “Technically yes, but specifically no.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “The department store was ground level and several stories up. This particular building, interestingly enough, goes deep into the ground, more than you might expect. Do you know the local history?”

  “Not really.”

  “Care to venture a guess at what is down there?”

  “Subway tunnels?” I don’t want to live in tunnels and room with rats.

  “No. Beneath is a long-neglected theater, barely more than a ruin. We are, of course, modifying it to accommodate our needs. It would have been a shame to destroy a beautiful structure, so the terrible state of disrepair was truthfully an advantage to us.”

  “Aren’t you being a little Anne Rice Theatre-of-the-Vampires … minus Paris, of course.”

  “Underground real estate is always hard to find. Especially in a big city on a lake. Our choices were limited.”

  “Right.”

  He directed me to pull over in front of the building, basically at the intersection of Euclid and Roadway, where a trio of men stood—men blatantly advertising they were the dangerous sort. My instinctive reaction was to drive the other way, fast, but Menessos got out and greeted them. They gave acquiescing nods, and I realized they were servants. More than that, they were vampires.

  “You two, conduct the bags from the trunk to the appropriate rooms. You, park the car and return the keys to me.”

  I popped the trunk and got out. Before either of the vampires could reach inside the Avalon’s back end, I removed my broom. “I’ll take this myself.” I quickly retreated.

  Following Menessos, we approached what was basically a wall of particle board, with one rough-cut opening for a standard windowless steel door in ugly primer gray. keep out was spray-painted on the wall in bright colors and with graffiti artistic-style letters. Centered on the door was a circle of black, with the stylized fang symbol—six gleaming white teeth, the outer two were fangs. Like the universal symbols differentiating men’s and women’s bathrooms, this image indicated a vampire establishment. A governmental regulation meant to protect the innocent public, of course. It was a sign I knew to avoid, but I wasn’t avoiding it this time.

  I’m about to enter a real vampire haven.

  I had expected the gray door would be locked, but Menessos reached for the knob and opened it with a turn.

  Before Goliath and Menessos crossed my path, I considered the undead anathema, and I avoided them. I wasn’t about to be converted by the new “Vampire Executives” campaign—which was trying to soften their image from demonic bloodsuckers to lawyer-type bloodsuckers.

  What’s funny is they see that as an improvement.

  Both Menessos and his next in command had shown evidence they were above-average violent offenders. Yet, I had seen both offer kindness and tenderness as if they were still people. It was hard to believe.

  And here I was going into Menessos’s world, his haven. There would be a lot of vampires.

  Like Krispy Kreme doughnuts at a Friday morning office meeting, I didn’t stand a chance.

  “After you, Persephone.” He indicated for me to enter.

  Had we been going into a normal public place, the “chivalry isn’t dead” gesture would have been more appreciated. Not knowing what to imagine on the other side of this under-construction vampire domain, my steps were hesitant.

  A single light, the only illumination, beckoned me away from the empty, echoing department store entry toward a separate structure to my left. As I neared, the structure was revealed as an old ticket booth. Through the filthy glass, I saw a metal-caged bulb dangling from a now-exposed beam in its ceiling. The eerie glow was enough to make out that the booth was faced with deep cherrywood paneling and ornate molding. A thick coating of dust obscured the details.

  It wouldn’t have surprised me to see a cobwebbed skeleton sitting inside that booth. The sound of distant pounding and power tools could easily have been mistaken for rattling chains and rapping spirits.

  Menessos led me past the booth and through the dingy lobby behind it to a short hall where we passed a boarded-up elevator. We descended a wide stairway opposite the elevator. Occasional bare light bulbs screwed into once-elegant wall sconces provided minimal illumination. My fingers followed the wooden railing until I realized it was not only dirty but rotting and splintery, as well. Many of the iron spindles were missing.

  The farther we went, the worse it became. I might have to use my broom to clear the way.

  The stairs were covered in dust and debris, although the center portion was cleaner from obvious travel—and I could see why people were staying to the center. The walls were black with grime and mildew, the paint and paper peeling like diseased skin. It smelled moldy and musty, and underlying that was the damp odor of rusting metal. This is what abandonment smells like.

  The staircase rounded down a quarter turn and a hallway stretched to either side. The ceiling here was as bad as the walls. The tiled floor was dirty, cracked, and broken—furthering the haunted-house atmosphere.

  Menessos stopped and looked both ways thoughtfully.

  “Are we waiting on ghostly traffic to stop so we can cross?”

  The dim light caught the gray of his eyes, making crescent moons of them and the effect transfixed me. He said, “I am just trying to decide which way I should take you.”

  Accustomed to Johnny’s innuendos, I found that his words had my mind flashing on various sexual positions. Stop it. He’s not Arthur.

  “This way.” He led me to the left, past this level’s boarded-up elevator, and down a longer flight of steps. It, too, curved and was dilapidated in disgusting ways. We emerged into a lobby. Three sets of double doors were spaced along the wall on the far side. The centermost pair stood open with enough light streaming through to illuminate a considerable number of mostly large boxes sitting in the lobby.

  Beyond the door, amid the sounds of construction, a female voice shouted, “Damn it! They better be furred out in ten minutes!”

  Menessos strode ahead of me toward the open doors, but I guardedly kept three steps behind him. It wasn’t a full moon and if people were furring out—

  As I peered around the door frame I saw a room covered in the expected layer of dust, but this was new dust from the renovation that was evidently in full swing here. The area was brightly lit with work lights. The shouting woman stood at a podium near the doors. She was slender and wore a turquoise tank top, black jeans, and work boots. Her black hair was woven into a waist-length braid. Her bare arms were lean but bore obvious muscle tone. Bracelets rounded each wrist.

  In front of her, the theater “house” was a study in contrasts. Portions remained dilapidated, but just as much was fresh and new. All the seating in the orchestra level had been removed. Its gradual rake had been leveled and what appeared to be black marble was being installed as flooring. The stage—I could see right under it—was held up by a new framework. There were men under it, grunting and hammering and sweating.

  Vampires working and sweating? I realized most of the workers’ shirts actually did show signs of wetness under the armpits
. So these aren’t vampires but Beholders. A lot of them. My count topped twenty.

  “Did you hear me? Where are those carpenters?” The female voice again.

  “They went to get drinks,” came a static-laden reply through a two-way radio on the podium.

  The woman grabbed the handset. “Mark,” she replied, no longer shouting. “I don’t care if they take their break early, but they didn’t check with me. I intend to stay ahead of schedule.”

  “They checked with me. I meant to tell you.” He sounded apologetic.

  After releasing an aggravated sigh toward the ceiling, she continued. “There’s nothing elegant about cinderblock. I want it furred out and I expect to see the drywall hung by dawn.”

  “They’ll get that done. It’s this exterior wall I’m worried about.”

  They sounded like a married couple disagreeing about which work needed to be done on the house first. He wanted structural issues fixed; she wanted the aesthetics addressed.

  “The bricklayers will be here tomorrow,” the woman replied.

  The man’s voice came softer, saying, “If I had a dollar for every tomorrow …”

  “Then you’d be funding this job.”

  Speaking of the guy paying for this, I located Menessos to the right of the doorway I still hadn’t passed through. He was only a few feet into the room and no one seemed to have detected him yet.

  The man said, “The pyramids couldn’t have seemed as impossible as this, Seven.”

  Seven?

  “The pyramid builders didn’t have jackhammers or cranes. So I don’t want to hear the word ‘impossible’ again.”

  Before she had a chance to speak again, Menessos softly said, “Seven.”

  The woman turned. “Menessos!” She approached him with open arms and he accepted her embrace. “I worried when you did not return last night.”

  “All is well,” he said.

  Not quite mollified, she looked him over to make sure. As she performed her inspection of him, I made an inspection of my own. Her dark hair was pulled back into a single long braid. Her eyes had bright blue irises that darkened at the outer edges. The coloring gave her eyes the impression of glowing. Paired with high cheekbones and perfect proportions, hers was a striking face—even at the thirty-something she was. In this environment it didn’t surprise me that she wore little, if any, makeup. Her lashes couldn’t naturally be that lush and full, could they? The bracelets with bright blue-green stones that matched her tank top, however, did seem odd for a work zone.