Hallowed Circle (19 page)

Maria dried her hands on a towel. “Of course, or I wouldn’t have asked. And I’ve noticed that women who think highly of themselves—as in being too good to do the dishes because it might damage their pretty, fake nails—are easily baited and generally turn the hook
around and send it back trying to avoid tough questions.” She tossed her brown and gray braid over her shoulder. “Think you can answer now?”

Hunter squared her shoulders and took a pose of authority. “Yes, I am ready to be a high priestess, ready for the responsibility and the work of the position. And, if you must know, I have an allergic reaction to most dish, hand, and laundry soaps. I use specialized products at home and I doubt that what they have here is the same.”

Maria tossed the towel to her. “Then you dry.”

She caught it and said, “I would be glad to.” She didn’t look glad to.

Holly spoke up. “No one even mentioned dealing with vampires, wæres, wanna-bes, frauds, and the fey.”

“Exactly,” Hunter said triumphantly. “It all makes washing dishes seem”—she looked down at the drying rag with distaste—“absurd.”

“So you’d rather deal with a vampire than safely wash dishes?” Maria pressed.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever faced an angry vampire?” I asked.

She spun to me. “I assume you have?”

“I have,” I agreed. “And you didn’t answer.”

She realized she was busted again, but didn’t back down. “All I can do is my best. That’s all any of us can do. And when this is over, we’ll know who the best of us is.”

She still hadn’t answered the question, but had said something that sounded good and leader-ish anyway. Around us, the side-choosing began, some of it mental, some of it outward as women moved to stand nearer Maria
and me, or nearer Hunter. Goddess, help me. I hated politics. I wanted no part of it.

So, I gathered the dishes and started the water, but warily watched the assessment. Maybe I was assessing as well, but I wasn’t choosing teammates as if we were on a reality show. I was wondering who could handle the position. For whom was I planning to pave this road?

Lying on my cot, wrestling with the drowsiness that came after eating, I was racking my brain for a way to shield against the Elders that wouldn’t rouse their suspicion. I had to make it through the round. If I had a later interview, I could sleep and perhaps, with a fresher mind, come up with a plan. But that hadn’t been my multi-legged lot.

After the interview, I’d have about two hours to sleep. If I wasn’t cut after this round, that, I thought optimistically, should get me through the night.

A scream resounded through the stone walls.

Instantly on my feet, I was the only one up and moving forward. Yanking open the door, my feet had me in the hall before I knew which direction to go. The sound of another door pulled me around to face the restroom end of the hall.

Mandy backed from the alcove, trembling. One hand covered her mouth, while the other was held before her like a loathsome thing. Footsteps resounded behind me; Lydia was hurrying toward us.

“Mandy.” I eased toward her. “What’s wrong?”

The holding room door shut behind me, then shoved open again.

“Mandy,” I repeated.

Her frizzy blond head turned to me, her distress evident. She blinked. “Persephone,” she whispered. She held that outstretched hand toward me. Blood was smeared on her fingertips. “She’s dead—she’s—she’s dead.”

Lydia stopped beside me; I felt the other finalists crowding behind us.

“Who’s dead?” Lydia asked. “Where?”

Mandy shivered. “The … the one from Georgia. S-Suzanne.” She began to sob and pointed to the shadowy alcove near the restroom. I could see nothing from where I stood.

I heard the regular tapping of staffs behind us and turned toward the sound; Morgellen and Elspeth were rounding the turn. “Finalists! Return to the holding room,” Morgellen called. I did not obey quickly. Lydia went to them and they whispered together as they moved forward. “Lydia, take Mandy to the office where she can clean her hands. Call the police immediately. Elspeth and I will wait here to secure the area.”

The next hour passed in what seemed like only moments.

The police arrived right away and quickly marked off the area with yellow plastic tape. We were all herded into the holding room while they “secured the scene.” They photographed everything and dusted for fingerprints. From the doorway of the holding room, we watched the
body bag roll by on a stretcher. We were all stunned, moved, and frightened. We barely spoke at all.

Until the police came in with fingerprint cards and ink, I don’t think it occurred to any of us that we were suspects … or that a killer might be among us.

We were questioned individually in the kitchen by a short, balding male officer with glasses. His badge had the name Moore on it. During my turn, he wrote down my name and asked, “All right, miss, where were you when you heard Mandy scream?”

“On my cot trying to sleep.”

He scribbled in his notes. “And for the half-hour preceding that?”

I explained about being in the kitchen, then returning to the holding room.

He scribbled more. “Did you go to the bathroom at any time?”

“No.”

“You just laid on your cot and stayed there?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see anyone else leave?”

“I was aware of the door opening and shutting a few times, of walking back and forth, but I didn’t see who. My eyes were shut.”

He let me go back to the holding room alone, after asking me to send in Holly. The doorless stretch of hallway must have been deemed safe enough for us to walk alone—and no one could escape from it. As I reached the last curve before the holding room door, I heard Morgellen
arguing with another police officer. “We are conducting an Eximium! Every one of the contestants has been given a dagger. Every Elder has one as well, though I cannot be sure if any of us brought ours. I didn’t bring mine.”

“We will have to have everyone’s dagger,” the officer said. “For forensic testing.” He radioed to another officer and requested thirty evidence bags be brought.

“You may take the daggers and proceed with your investigation, young man, but we must continue with our competition.”

“That may not be possible—”

Despite the horror I felt that someone was dead, I was ready to cheer about getting out of the interview with the Elders. But Morgellen cut him off mid-sentence.

“I assure you it is,” she insisted, her voice firm. “We will keep to the Great Hall. You may do your work here.”

“In all likelihood, ma’am, one of them is guilty! I want them all confined to the holding room below ground for now.”

“I don’t doubt that, young man, but the rest of them are
not
killers and a high priestess will be chosen from among them. These women are foresworn to compete, and face dire consequences should they refuse to participate, let alone leave these grounds before the night is over. We Elders see no reason to halt the contest.”

“Someone has taken a life, ma’am. Your consequences are clearly less of a deterrent to the killer than the threat of life imprisonment or capital punishment.”

“Perhaps, Officer Detrick, but our prize is probably the motive for the murder. Our proceeding may help you find the murderer.”

I stepped into view as if I hadn’t been listening out of sight. Still, I felt the weight of Morgellen’s gaze as I passed.

Rejoining the others, I said to Holly, “Officer Moore will see you next.” She left as I sat on my cot.

Overhearing Elder Morgellen and Officer Detrick confirmed to me that Suzanne had been stabbed to death and one of the ceremonial daggers we’d each pulled from the cauldron was the most likely weapon.

Hot, I removed my sweatshirt, folded it, and laid it under my cot. I smoothed the copper Henley down.

Why would anyone kill her? As I understood it, none of us contestants knew each other, beyond what would be revealed in holding-room chatting. I thought about each person in the room, considering Morgellen’s suggested motive. Who might have done it?

I noted Holly’s empty cot; she was answering Officer Moore’s questions right now.

As the runner-up, if one person was out of the running, she was in for the next round and therefore had a one in ten shot at advancing. If she remained the runner-up, she would compete, but it would not even be counted unless one of the other ten refused.

Or died.

I remembered how she had glared at Suzanne in the kitchen when Suzanne spoke of being “vigilant for our cause.” Among us, Holly was the only one who seemed to have any benefit from Suzanne’s death. Did the paper tiger have real claws?

• • •

Morgellen had convinced the police to let the Elders proceed with the Eximium. I had no idea how she managed it but the fact that she was an Elder left me wondering if she would use her power to compel him into giving his permission. Unethical, but considering the situation, I wouldn’t rule it out. Even if she was sincere in her belief that we would aid in the killer’s capture if we continued, allowing us to do so with a killer loose among us was quite a risk to take.

Another officer came to the holding room and bagged and tagged each of our daggers individually. A watchful and silent female officer stayed in the room with us when he left.

When I was called to my interview at ten after nine, my feet felt heavy. Escorted upstairs by Lydia and the dagger-bagging cop, I trudged along, my legs like iron weights. How could I shield? How could I hide? At the bottom of the steps to the Great Hall, I stopped. This was my formal meeting with the Elders. Nana had warned me about this.

Would they detect that I was the Lustrata? That I carried a stain? Would I, in the next few moments, be condemned to be Bindspoken? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would nullify the stain.

But I couldn’t imagine not feeling the vibration in a stone, or the elemental’s spirits standing guard in a circle, or not hearing the call of a ley line.

Determined to clear my mind and keep my secrets my own, I started up the steps. The handrail was cold under my sweaty palm as I ascended into the dark, and turned to the dimly lit center of the vast floor.

“Come, child,” said the Eldrenne.

I went.

The candlewicks had receded deep; the flames were no longer atop the pillars, but housed inside thin walls of wax, dimming the already low light until the Elders’ faces were shadowed under the brims of their hats, wrinkles deep and forbidding as they appraised me.

“Merry Meet,” I said, bowing in formal greeting, “Elders and Eldrenne. I am—”

“You are Persephone Alcmedi, of Eris Alcmedi, of Demeter Alcmedi, of Clio Alcmedi, of Thalia Alcmedi, of Elpis Alcmedi,” Elspeth said.

“Yes,” I answered. My Greek witch lineage went back centuries. I was grateful she didn’t want to list it all.

“As the local nominee, we all anticipated you would breeze through the written portion of the test, as surely the acting priestess made a wise choice in you. We were not disappointed. We are assured by your very nomination that you not only know the Rede well, but strictly adhere to it.”

Fighting against swallowing the lump forming in my throat as it would be a telltale sign, I worked at mastering the blankness within me and without and making the lump shrink so it wasn’t choking me.

“Being high priestess is many things,” Elspeth continued. “What concerns us here is how, in some ways, it is akin to being the owner of a business. There is a budget to consider—funds must come in, and they must flow out as well. What would you do to keep that flow of funds coming, and what would you do with it once you were in control of the Venefica Coven finances?”

Whoa. I didn’t actually want this job. Suddenly, I was willing to bet Hunter had a business degree. Vivian had run a coffee shop, so she had a degree of sorts, or experience anyway. What experience did I have? “I honestly don’t have experience with a business’s finances but I am self-employed, so I understand money management and documentation. I maintain savings, handle investments with the help of a qualified professional, and live within my means. Do you have guidelines, training, or assistance in this area?”

Elspeth’s mouth crooked wickedly on one side. It was not a smile; more like a cat’s mouth twitching before it pounced. “You readily admit then, that you are not experienced enough to take this position and would need help.”

“Yes, if it is available. If left to my own, though, I’d pull the books and study what was spent where and for what purpose in the past, and compare that to the budget at the time. I could create my own guidelines that way.”

“What would you do to raise funds?”

“Find a successful coven and ask their priestess to share her techniques with me.”

“Bah!” She thumped her staff on the dais and shook her head, irritated. “Do you know what the annual goals for this coven are? The long-term goals?”

“No.”

“Are you aware of the policies and politics? The promises and commitments made to local government?”

“No.”