Shattered Circle (Persephone Alcmedi)

by Linda Robertson

  The brake lights ahead brightened, and the 650i squealed into a turn. The Quattroporte made the same turn with much more finesse. The BMW should have been able to corner better. Johnny chalked it up to Aurelia’s unfamiliarity with the area.

  Worse, this particular road, he knew, dog-legged. Another sharp turn was coming up fast, and a farmer had knocked down the warning-arrow sign with his tractor.

  Oh shit.

  Johnny took his foot off the pedal. If he backed off, maybe she’d slow down. Maybe she’d see the turn—

  Aurelia was going too fast. She missed it.

  There was no ditch—the farmer’s access to his field was right there. The 650i shot straight onto the dirt roadway of the field and bounced along the tractor path. Against his better judgment, Johnny took the Maserati after her.

  According to the sound, she was pushing the BMW hard. It wasn’t meant for this kind of terrain, and more important, she needed to downshift. The peals of the engine voiced her desperation.

  What if this tractor path merged onto another road?

  He gripped the wheel and closed the distance between them. Suddenly the 650i lurched to the right, bobbing and dipping, throwing chunks of dirt as it wobbled hastily onto a paved road. The entrance to the road on this end was fine for a tractor, but hell for luxury cars. Once on the road, the engine revved high and Johnny knew she’d double-clutched it for speed.

  Trying to make up precious seconds, he slowed as he neared the dangerous spot and made his reentry to the road as smooth as possible.

  He could see her taillights in the distance and gave the Maserati all he could. Surely she was thinking this was her shot at escaping and he needed to catch up pronto.

  That was when he saw the eyeshine.

  Their reckless driving through the field had stirred up the deer. A group of five—at least—were on the move. He saw them closing in on the road and held his breath.

  When they bounded into Aurelia’s path, her brake lights flashed. The car lurched to the left, then right. One deer rolled up the hood and, legs flailing at broken angles, flew over the roof to skid along the road, while a second deer broke through the now-cracked windshield. The car slid from the road, hit the ditch, and began to roll.

  Johnny left his vehicle on the road, hazard lights flashing, and raced toward the 650i. It must have rolled eight or nine times; it was deep in the darkened field—the car’s headlamps had shattered. He passed the dead deer; it had been tossed off the windshield as the car spun. He hurried onward, scenting the air, searching for the tang of human blood. All he picked up was damp foliage, metal, and motor oil.

  Luckily the car had come to rest right side up, but it was crushed and crumpled. Even as he neared, the motor sputtered and died. His last few steps stalled.

  What if she’s dead?

  What if she isn’t?

  She lay very still inside, her head drooped forward. He could not tell if she was breathing.

  His fingers tried to curl around the door handle. It had compressed almost flat from the impact. He hurried to the other side. Smashed, but not as much.

  Concentrating, he stretched his index finger into a thin claw. This fit under the handle. He lifted and pulled. The door didn’t want to open. Using both hands on the now-raised handle, he yanked with all his might.

  When finally the metal screeched and the door scraped open, the dome light flickered on. The scent of blood was suddenly strong. Instantly his beast roared within him and his mouth began to water.

  No.

  “Aurelia.” He sank into the passenger seat. He looked her over and she seemed to be in one piece, nothing obviously broken. Her purse had fallen to cover her feet. Tentatively he touched her arm. “Aurelia.”

  Nothing. He knew better than to move her, but he reached up and pushed her hair from her face. Her nose was bloodied. More of the red fluid trickled down the left side of her neck and he could not tell if it was from her scalp or her ear. He touched her cheek, letting the heel of his hand rest under her nose lightly. He could feel the warmth of a shallow breath on his skin.

  She was alive. For now.

  Implications bounced around his mind. She was alive, but if injured as badly as she apparently was, would she be able to check in and keep the information about Evan from leaking out? He wondered how much time he had to reveal this news the way he wanted to.

  He jerked his phone from his pocket, opened it, and searched through the numbers for Doc Lincoln, the veterinarian who treated wæres. Before he could queue it up, Aurelia moaned. The sound grew into a cry of agony as she tried to lift her head.

  “Aurelia, don’t move. Stay very still. I’m calling for help.”

  “For help? You … you … bastard.” Her voice grew louder with each new word.

  “What?”

  Her head had shaken with her earlier effort but now she was still. “Look what you’ve done!”

  “Stay calm. Help will be coming.” I can’t call 911. If they recognized me they’d know immediately she’s wære. They’d let her die.

  He pushed the button for Doc Lincoln’s private number.

  “Calm? Calm! You want me to be calm?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re calling for help. I don’t trust you or your help.”

  The phone began ringing. “You’re delirious.”

  “You wish. Why don’t you just kill me now and be done with it.”

  “I’m not calling for help as a ruse, Aurelia. He’s a real … doctor.” Of sorts.

  She growled. “Spare me the games. No one would suspect a broken neck wasn’t part of the crash, John. You better do it before they get here.”

  Doc Lincoln’s message system picked up. At this hour, he wasn’t surprised. “Doc, it’s John Newman. There’s been an accident.” He left the details as to where. “Please come ASAP.” He shut his phone. “Aurelia, he can help you.”

  “Riiiight.” She tried to laugh but it turned into a strangled cough and blood sprayed from her mouth.

  The smell was richer than usual, and there was unusual warmth to it. His beast rolled its shoulders and wallowed in that scent. He guessed it was arterial blood. He squeezed the phone in his hand. C’mon, Doc.

  It bothered him that she didn’t even try to wipe the blood from her face, but he had told her not to move.

  When she’d recovered from the small fit, she said, “I promise you. I will make your life miserable.”

  “Aurelia.”

  “Even from behind bars, John. I know everyone,” she snarled. “They all owe me favors.”

  Her threats were irritating but he kept his voice even. “Seriously, you need to stay calm and keep your heart rate down.”

  “Every day, you’ll wonder who around you is spying for me.”

  The words stung because they were true. “This isn’t helping you.”

  “Every night, you’ll wonder who I’ve asked to assassinate you.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Every fucking moment, you’ll wonder what I’m plotting.”

  “Stop!”

  “You’ll wonder if it’s you who’s gonna die or your precious witch.”

  He ground his teeth.

  “And every goddamned waking minute, you will worry about your son’s safety. Little accidents at first. Not life threatening but painful. Soooo painful. A broken arm here. A leg there. And then … ” She laughed a throaty and malicious little laugh. “I can promise you … he won’t be safe anywhere.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Within the Haven Master’s suite, Goliath was still pondering Mero’s reaction when he heard a clamoring on the steps outside and rose from his seat to investigate.

  “Has the witch returned?” he asked the guard.

  “No. Seven and Risqué were escorting Menessos. He was carrying an unconscious child into the E.V.’s quarters.”

  Goliath started moving when the guard said “Menessos,” but the “unconscious” part sent him up the steps three at a ti
me. He stopped in the doorway and took in the scene before him. Menessos was laying Beverley on the bed in the back of the room while Risqué looked through the closet. She was pushing hangers to the side, saying, “No, no, no … God, who bought her these awful clothes?”

  Seven, who was starting a fire in the hearth, said, “Pick a shirt and put it on.”

  Pouting, Risqué jerked a black tank top from its hanger and shoved it over her head.

  “Is she all right?” Goliath asked.

  The women faced him but said nothing. Menessos had one hand on the girl’s forehead. He looked up and said, “I believe so.” He paused. “I suspect that she will sleep through the night.”

  Goliath lowered his tense shoulders, but he did not feel relief. “What happened? Why did you have to get to a ley line?”

  Menessos eased down to sit on the edge of the bed. “She discovered a spirit board that has been in Persephone’s family many years.”

  “She used it alone? Unprotected?” Goliath stomped a few paces into the suite.

  Menessos raised his hand and stopped Goliath’s advance. “No one even knew that she was aware of the item, much less that she would endeavor to remove it from the house by stealth and use it.” Menessos explained what they believed had happened.

  “You mean she was in the ley?” Resourceful. She is her mother’s daughter. Goliath had heard tales of sorcerers lost to the ley. Retrieval was nothing short of miraculous the few times it had been accomplished. Like magical brain surgery, precision was everything. Goliath asked, “How did you get her out?”

  “I had to gift her.”

  Goliath’s eyes widened and he rushed forward. He needed no explanation to understand what his Maker had done, but still he repeated the words, “Gift her?”

  He stood at the bedside looking down at her small form. Even with her visage relaxed and peaceful in sleep, her brows rested a fraction low and the ends of her lips were turned slightly downward as if there was pain in her body, or a bad dream was playing out before her closed eyes. Her cherubic innocence was missing.

  Menessos said, “I had to fill her with power. It was the only way to separate her body from the ley line and bring her out. Gifting her was the only way to keep her from dying after the dividing.”

  Separate. Divide. The words held so much meaning.

  Only Menessos could have achieved it.

  Only Menessos would have dared undertake it.

  Goliath was grateful that his Master was powerful and skilled, and willing to risk his own safety. He was thankful the girl was alive and safe.

  But.

  Beverley would have to live with the consequences of being gifted.

  Goliath touched her feet. Her toes were cold. Rather than disturb her to pull the bedding down, he told Risqué to fetch the throw blanket from the couch. When she handed it to him, he covered the girl up, remembering how she’d often fallen asleep on the couch when he was visiting her mother. He’d covered her up many times.

  “What gift did she receive?”

  Menessos hesitated. “She had already shown promise. Persephone and I missed the power signature, unaware that the girl had fey blood. But she must have. That is the only rationalization for how she could have gotten into the ley in the first place.”

  Goliath considered this news, but knew his Maker was trying to steer the topic elsewhere. “What gift?” he pressed as he tucked the blanket around her feet.

  Menessos lingered over the question.

  Goliath faced his Maker, rage darkening his own eyes and resonating in every fiber of his being. “Tell me.” His whisper was a heated demand.

  Menessos looked up slowly and met Goliath’s angry gaze with a mixture of sorrow and grave intensity. “She has become a ward-breaker.”

  Goliath stared at him, straightened up abruptly, then turned on his heel, and stared into the flames Seven had built.

  Lorrie’s child was a danger to them all.

  Here, there were barriers meant to keep wærewolves away from havens; it was nothing more than a simple spill of magical energy that gave wæres a sense of foreboding, but it warned them that magic may be in use in the area and kept them out. It was as much for the wæres’ own safety as it was for the vampires’ security. Those barriers could be nullified simply by Beverley’s will. Once she was trained, that is.

  He could not suggest that she be left untrained.

  Until she learned to control the gift, her presence and unconscious intentions could impact the magical seals. Moreover, having established contact to so much power, if she lost control it would all rush forth, consuming her and everything around her. It would tear the May Company building apart, haven and all. She might even lay waste to the whole of Public Square.

  She had to learn to control what she had become.

  But after she’d been taught to contain and command her abilities, she would be sought after. Vampires, witches, sorcerers, wæres—even nefarious humans—would see in her an object to use, a tool to open everything from bicycle locks to bank vaults … and more.

  He glanced at Seven. He could tell by her expression she understood what danger they were all in with the child here. He turned to Risqué, who had donned the tank top. She fussed with the fit of the tight fabric.

  It was obviously Menessos’s plan that the half-demon stay with the girl for the day.

  Goliath was not certain he approved, but he had no alternative. If she was going to stay, she wasn’t going to be half-naked while taking care of the child. “Pants, too.” His tone did not invite argument.

  She clenched her teeth but turned back to the closet.

  She did not seem to comprehend how hazardous the situation was with the child there. “You haven’t briefed her?” Goliath asked Menessos.

  “Not yet.”

  Goliath nodded toward the half-demon. “Make her understand.”

  “Risqué, Beverley must stay in the suite,” Menessos began calmly. “She will need to eat—see that she gets whatever she wants, but not to the point that she makes herself ill. You must keep her happy and entertained. If you play a game, let her win—but not obviously so. Her mood must remain cheerful. It is the best way to avoid incidents.”

  Risqué turned from the closet with a pair of flannel sleep pants in hand. She cocked her head. “What exactly would constitute an ‘incident’?”

  “If she gets upset, things are going to happen that will alarm her and worsen the situation. It is a cycle she must not start.”

  “What things will happen?”

  “You will know,” he said sternly.

  “You’re going to have to train her, right?” Risqué asked as she stepped into the sleep pants.

  Menessos nodded. “Yes.”

  “She needs to sleep all day and be ready for you come nightfall, so”—she shrugged and had to tug her shirt back down—“why don’t I dose her with something when she eats?”

  “No,” Goliath snapped. “She will not be drugged.”

  Risqué crossed her arms. “What if there’s an incident and I have no other option?”

  Goliath eased close to her and mimicked her pose. “I believe you were told it is your job to keep that from happening.” Glowering down his nose, he reminded her, “As your Haven Master, I expect you to do what you are told.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. She recovered herself, set her jaw, and gave him a curt nod. “Of course. I forgot my place, Master, and spoke too freely.”

  “Don’t forget again.”

  She bowed her head.

  Goliath walked away. At the door to the suite he turned back. “Menessos … you and I have to finish what we discussed earlier.” He did not want to say “You promised to break our bonds” in front of the others. Also, he was not satisfied that Menessos had made Risqué understand the scope of the situation, but he did not want to correct the former Haven Master in front of those he used to rule. It seemed distasteful and disrespectful, so he held his tongue—for now.

  Menes
sos nodded. “Once everything is in order here, I will come to your suite.”

  Hoping that getting things “in order here” meant Menessos was going to elaborate on the danger for Risqué, Goliath shut the heavy door behind him. As he descended the steps, Silhouette walked through the doorway that led to the stage and smiled at him.

  The tension in his shoulders finally diminished.

  • • •

  Mero hurried up the stairwell to the ground level. With Liyliy’s exit, all had returned to normal here, with guards posted on duty. He approached the ranking guard. “I require a car.”

  Once supplied with a vehicle, he drove, and he worried. So much so that he was speeding. As a general rule, he was not averse to taking his chances at being ticketed if the situation warranted the risk.

  This situation doubtlessly did.

  Persephone Alcmedi must not be slain.

  Although the Excelsior had once given him orders to eliminate her if she was not the Lustrata, he had come to believe that she was in fact the destined witch. That being the case, his orders were to bring her to the Excelsior. He knew what would become of her then.

  The Excelsior would give her his marks. He would make her his servant, securing her loyalty through the bond of being mastered and the control it offered, if necessary. She would also be guaranteed a prestigious position as Erus Veneficus of the Excelsior. Having the fated Lustrata under his power and protection would benefit them both, not to mention the boost she would give the Excelsior’s status.

  And the issue of her spirituality will be a platform from which I can reintroduce Deric to the goddess.

  Mero accelerated.

  • • •

  When Mero had left the room, Talto faced Ailo. “He said the child was here. Why would they bring a child into the haven?”

  Ailo was staring at the doorway, mind racing over the same question. “I do not know but I intend to find out.” She sat forward and started to rise. Talto’s hand on her arm stopped her.