by P. N. Elrod
“The figure we discussed over the phone . . .”
“Stands,” Dahlia said, nodding solemnly, sure now she’d been talking to the right person.
“I’ll consider it. It sounds risky,” Kathy said. “My many-times great-grandmother was all about vengeance, especially against men. I’m partial to men when they’re only as tall as my waist and have trouble tying their shoes.” She laughed, and took off her glasses to polish them on her napkin. “Then, I figure I have a chance to set them straight. By the time they’re grown up, it’s too late.”
That was the Circe’s party line, Dahlia could tell by the ease with which Kathy spouted the words. Dahlia had been a very successful predator for more years than she could count, and a successful predator knows her prey. She thought Kathy wasn’t exactly being honest. She thought Kathy liked men very much. “So it’s true about the pigs?” Dahlia asked.
“Yes, absolutely.” Kathy smiled proudly. “The original Circe fed Odysseus’s men drugs, which made them hallucinate they were pigs, but since then we’ve learned how to do it better.”
Clifford removed the salad plate and told Kathy that her steak would be ready in just a moment. Kathy waved a hand at him rather than looking at Clifford directly.
“Was Odysseus really so good in bed?” Dahlia asked. She’d heard it personally from a vampire who’d lived on a neighboring island, but it was always interesting to hear stories from an inside source. “Circe kept him for a year . . . the legend says.” Actually, “the legend” was Dahlia’s buddy Thalia, who was even older than Dahlia. Thalia, during her nighttime hunting, had come across Odysseus a time or two.
“Not only entertaining, but . . .” Kathy held her hands apart about nine inches, glanced at Dahlia to make sure she’d registered the gesture, then made an incomplete circle with her thumb and pointer finger to indicate girth. Dahlia’s eyes widened. She was genuinely impressed. “And he knew how to use it,” the witch said. “That’s what she said in her spellbook.”
Clifford placed the steak and baked potato in front of the Circe as if they had been ambrosia made by the gods. From the price on the menu, they might as well have been. He inquired discreetly if Kathy needed anything else, and upon hearing she was fine, he left.
“You say the original Circe left a record.” Dahlia looked approving. “The grimoire you spoke of. Is that the same thing as a spellbook?”
“Yes, it is. And it’s also a record of a witch’s life and deeds. All hereditary witch lines keep one, though of course, ours is several books now,” Kathy said proudly. “If you don’t mind me changing the subject, and maybe getting into something painful, how did your husband’s death come about?”
Dahlia wanted to end the meeting right there, on the spot, at that moment. But she had to show the woman she trusted her. Dahlia braced herself and said, “Todd was second in command of the Swiftfoot pack. Whoever wanted to become packmaster had to go through Todd first. Of course, you wouldn’t know this, but the Swiftfoot pack hangs out at the Full Moon Bar.”
Kathy, who was chewing steadily, nodded to show she’d absorbed that information.
“A wolf from the Ripper pack came to the Full Moon one night when Todd and Don were both there. There was no open enmity between the two packs up until then, so this wasn’t so very unusual. According to a friend of mine, Todd was surprised when the Were challenged Todd after they’d had a couple of beers together. I believe that the wolf put something in Todd’s beer.”
Kathy lay down her fork and stared over at Dahlia. She looked horrified.
“Todd fought, but Don said he staggered a couple of times and seemed to have trouble focusing. Eventually, it became clear that Todd couldn’t win. But he wouldn’t concede. Don told Taffy that Todd didn’t even seem to know where he was. And after a time, the Ripper dealt the killing blow.”
“Don couldn’t stop it?”
Dahlia looked down at her hands to keep her face private. “He kept urging Todd to say the right words of surrender, and Todd wouldn’t or couldn’t. Since he didn’t speak, Bart Ripper was technically within his rights to kill him.”
Kathy looked rather ill. “I’m so sorry. I’m gathering that you weren’t there?” she said, her voice faltering.
“No. I didn’t like to spend evenings at the Full Moon. I’m not very popular with most of the pack.” Dahlia shrugged with supreme indifference.
“Was your friend Taffy there?”
“No, though Taffy is far more popular with the Weres than I.” Dahlia’s lack of worry about this was apparent. “But she’s very concerned. Now her husband has a Ripper second, who’ll certainly challenge him at the next full moon in two nights, or the one after that. Who knows what tricks Bart has in store?”
Kathy seemed to relax a bit. “Okay, I got the picture now,” she said with a reassuring half smile. “Have you figured out a way to do this, and what you want done?”
“Yes, I have,” Dahlia said. “Are you willing?”
“I’m enthusiastic about trying,” Kathy said, though she didn’t sound enthusiastic. “But, of course . . . I’m doing this as a professional. When we agreed on a price, I didn’t realize there would be up to fifty people to take care of; and let me tell you, schoolteachers are always short of money. . ..”
So for the next five minutes, they revisited the topic of price.
DAHLIA’S FRIEND TAFFY was waiting at the vampire nest. In the city of Rhodes, the largest vampire nest was owned by the sheriff, or local vampire leader, a rather lazy and indolent vamp named Cedric, who had excellent connections. Dahlia and Taffy had both lived in the nest before their marriages, and Dahlia had returned to live in her former room after Todd’s death.
At this hour of the night, the rest of the resident vampires were out amusing themselves. The big mansion seemed pleasantly empty.
“What was the Circe like?” Taffy asked. Her blond hair was piled up high on her head, and she wore the slut clothes Don favored — leather pants that fit like a glove, and a red halter top studded with silver circles. Her earrings were ancient Sumerian, though, and Dahlia smiled when she noticed them. Taffy hadn’t totally gone over to the dark side.
Dahlia described her meeting with Kathy Aenidis . . . in detail. “We need to find out if she’s really as good as she says she is,” Dahlia said. “No matter how many stories Cedric has heard about her, there’s nothing like firsthand evidence. So we’ll need to ask a breather. I think Clifford wouldn’t mind doing some more research for us.”
Taffy swatted her friend on the shoulder. “Dahlia, you know that’s just rude! Can’t you say ‘human’? Clifford’s already brought us the tape from the bar. No one’s seen it but us.”
“Clifford seems pleased to help. He was very fond of Todd,” Dahlia said. “I think he actually enjoyed an evening at his old job. He said he was making sure the Circe didn’t poison me at the restaurant. I don’t think she ever realized that I knew more than I told her.”
“If it hadn’t been for the tape, we would never have known what happened.”
“My Todd was poisoned. And I believe Kathy Aenidis prepared that poison. My research shows she’s probably the only witch in Rhodes with the knowledge to make a potion that would cause Todd to do what Don described.”
“The tape clearly shows Bart putting something into Todd’s beer,” Taffy said.
“I think we know the truth now,” Dahlia said. Her pretty face was hard and unyielding as a rock. “But we need to ask Clifford to visit us. I want to be absolutely sure she’s the one we need. Cedric did some wonderful research, and to my mind she gave herself away, but I have to be certain she understood what she was doing.” The two vampires looked at each other. Though outwardly so different, they’d shared a nest for years, and they understood each other very well.
Clifford was there within the hour. Though visibly uneasy at being in a vampire nest, he did his best to be jaunty and nonchalant. Dahlia thought he might be more relaxed in her own small room on the bedroo
m floor, and the young Were did seem to find Dahlia’s personal domain more homey.
Clifford had been an invaluable accomplice, and Dahlia was already worried about how she could reward him for his service. Though he said he was helping because he’d been devoted to the older Todd, Dahlia knew very well that Clifford also found Todd’s widow intriguing and attractive.
He’d come to Dahlia after Todd’s death when he’d reviewed the security tapes of the events at Full Moon Bar the night Todd died. Clifford, who was in training to become pack shaman, was in charge of all the security tapes at all the Swiftfoot businesses in Rhodes, and he attended film classes at Rhodes University whenever he could fit them in to his shaman training schedule. Like most of the Swiftfoot males, he was tall and had light brown hair. Though he hadn’t grown into his full strength, he was formidable enough to humans.
“Dahlia,” he said, and bent to kiss her on the cheek.
Dahlia hugged him, taking care to be gentle. It was so easy to break their bones.
Clifford was blissfully unaware of her restraint. He turned from Dahlia to Taffy. “Wife of my packmaster,” he saluted her formally. He bowed his head, and Taffy sniffed his neck, as she was supposed to do. She rolled her eyes at Dahlia while Clifford couldn’t see her. Then Taffy gave the young Were a little lick, and he straightened. “What do you beautiful ladies want me to do for you?” He spoke to both of them, but his gaze was on Dahlia.
“We need you to film a third-grade classroom,” Taffy said. “We need to know if there’s anything suspicious, or simply different, about the way the teacher treats the children. The teacher will be the young woman you saw tonight in the restaurant. Just in case, we need some leverage.”
Clifford flinched. “You think she’s, like, abusing the kids or something?”
“Oh, probably not,” Dahlia said. Clifford didn’t seem reassured. “Let me warn you, Clifford, you must have a story to tell, and it has to be a good one, a credible one. This woman is a witch and she can do awful things to men, if her predecessor is any example to go by.”
Clifford brightened. “Hey, I’m a shaman and a Were,” he said proudly. “If she’s a woman — and I know that she is — I can charm her out of her pants.”
The two vampires raised their brows, clearly skeptical.
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t work on you ladies,” Clifford conceded. “But a witch? Piece o’cake.”
The two vampires exchanged glances. It was true that many young Weres possessed a lot of physical charm. And if their suspicions were correct, the witch had already proved susceptible to that particular brand of charm. They looked at Clifford, and they nodded simultaneously.
THE NEXT NIGHT, Clifford rang the mansion doorbell just after the sun had gone down. Taffy, who’d been waiting anxiously since the second she’d risen, gaped up at the young man. He now had grayish-white horns sprouting from his forehead. They were about half the size of a longhorn bull’s, and they were sharp-pointed. Dahlia, who’d heard Clifford’s voice and come to greet him, put her hand over her mouth.
“Piece of cake,” Taffy said. She turned away because she was trying not to laugh. Even Dahlia’s lips curved in a quick smile. She preceded Taffy and the Were down the hall to her room. “Please sit down, Clifford,” she said, trying to make her voice as level as ever. “You seem to have acquired a burden.” They passed a yawning male vamp on their way, and his mouth fell open when he took in Clifford’s new head decorations.
The young Were was trying hard not to look as chagrined as he must have felt. “Well, okay, stuff happened. I filmed in several classrooms,” Clifford began, but had to stop and rearrange himself in the chair. The unaccustomed weight of the horns put him off balance unless he sat absolutely straight. “So that part was okay. The school seemed happy that the university film class was making a short feature about children. But after I filmed Kathy’s kids, I hung around while they were on the playground, trying to make a pass at her. I got her address and phone number, so she went along with it, up to a point. But when she realized I was a Were, and she figured out I knew what she was, she felt free to show her real nature. I pushed a little too hard with the sexual innuendo, maybe.” Clifford shrugged, and his horns wobbled. He had to reach up to grab his head to make it balance. “She twiddled around with her fingers and said a few words in some language I didn’t know. I felt okay at first, but by the time I got home, the horns had started growing.”
The two vampires stared at the young Were without saying a word. Then they burst into laughter, and he glared at them while they rocked back and forth.
“Well, we know she’s the real deal now,” Taffy said to Dahlia.
“Yes. Let’s watch Clifford’s film.”
“You’ll find it interesting,” Clifford said, though he wouldn’t elaborate. Payback for the laughter, of course. He passed Dahlia a disc.
Dahlia had a television and a DVD player in her room, and it was the work of a second to start Clifford’s morning project. In a moment they were watching Kathy Aenidis’s third-grade class. The children all looked well scrubbed and neat, which was a surprise to Dahlia, who had kept up with the progress of modern education through the newer vampires.
Taffy said, “They look so tidy.”
“Yeah, the kids in her room did look better than the kids in the adjoining rooms,” Clifford agreed. “Shoelaces tied, clothes clean, shirts tucked in. But you’ll understand why in a minute.”
Kathy Aenidis, also known as the Circe, passed through the rows of desk doing her teacher thing. Her red hair was coming out of its low ponytail, and her glasses were sliding down her nose. Her long skirt came down almost to the socks and Birkenstocks on her feet.
Dahlia shuddered, and Taffy said, “Ewwww.”
While the camera followed the young teacher around her classroom, Kathy patted, corrected, encouraged, and chided. But all the while, her fingers were moving unobtrusively by her side.
“I see,” said Dahlia.
“See what? Aha!” said Taffy a moment later. “There, you see? She’s spelling them as she goes.”
“Their test scores are significantly higher,” Clifford said as his hands shot up yet again to still his wobbling head. “The principal told me so. The whole staff thinks Miss Kathy is the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
“She’s definitely got another side,” Dahlia murmured, her eyes fixed on the image of the plump and sweet Circe, whose fingers flickered constantly as she taught the children arithmetic. “I’ll give her this. The teaching job is good cover. Who would believe a word anyone spoke against her?”
“Oh, we would,” Taffy said. Taffy took things literally.
“I sure as hell would,” Clifford said. “Ladies, what am I gonna do about these horns? If I go to my instructor, he’ll laugh his ass off and make it a dinner story for years. And I haven’t had enough experience to attempt anything like this myself. I might vanish my whole head. These horns are throwing my skull off balance! What do you think? Ideas, please.”
“Cut them off?” Dahlia suggested.
Clifford flinched. “Don’t even say that as a joke,” he said.
“They actually look good on you,” Dahlia said, eyeing Clifford with some appreciation. She felt better than she had since Todd’s death. She’d enlisted the services of exactly the right witch, and she was going to have her vengeance. As for her glimpse into the morals of the Circe, Dahlia wasn’t overly concerned. After this job was done, she wasn’t planning on having dealings with the witch again.
Taffy wasn’t so distracted by dreams of the future as Dahlia. “Come on, Clifford,” she said. “We’ll go see the Ancient Pythoness. She’ll fix you up.”
“If she’s in her right mind today,” Dahlia said quietly while Clifford was busy pulling on his coat and opening his umbrella, the only thing that would halfway conceal his horns.
“I called the Depository,” Taffy whispered back. The Depository was the vampire headquarters for Rhodes, the place where all t
he secret ceremonial things were kept — and anything or anyone that the vampires wanted to hide or imprison. The Ancient Pythoness, who’d been turned when she was a very old woman, was one of the artifacts who needed to be hidden, for her own good. She was still quite a seer and quite a witch, but her powers were erratic and poorly controlled. Making a magical person a vampire had been a bad idea.
“While you’re there,” Dahlia said, struck by a sudden thought, “ask her if she can see where the current Circe hides her grimoires.”
“They really keep books? Full of spells and stuff?”
“Yes, they do. The current Circe said as much.”
“Oh,” Taffy said. “Well, that’s very interesting. Are you thinking we could steal them and hold them for ransom? And she wouldn’t be able to use the spells, because we’d have them.”
Dahlia tried not to look as exasperated as she felt. “No, Taff, that’s not what I was thinking. Just find out from the AP, and we’ll plan from there.”
Dahlia had thought of a final polish to her plan.
TAFFY REPORTED THAT Clifford had had a great time with the Ancient Pythoness, who was in a chipper mood and propositioned him several times. Clifford easily dodged the AP’s salacious suggestions, charmed her with his health and youth and budding shaman abilities — and his horns — and in the end, obtained everything he’d been told to ask for.
He reported back the next night, happily rid of his unwanted head decorations, to tell Dahlia and Taffy that he’d located the meeting place of the Ripper pack. Dahlia wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d convened in a Starbucks, but it was even worse; they met in a gym called the Fitness Firm.
Taffy made gagging sounds.
“What?” Clifford asked. It was the night before the full moon, and he was antsy and tense. “It looked like a great gym. Boy, those Rippers got some good-looking women, let me tell you!” He let out a happy yip, then looked sideways at Dahlia, embarrassed. “Hey, you’ll never believe who I saw in there with the Rippers, looking really not-so-great in yoga pants!”