Hallowed Circle (29 page)

Maria took three steps closer.

“You competed well.”

“No spirits answered.”

“That is their way, child. Sometimes their unwillingness to participate is to the competitors’ benefit.”

“Yes, Eldrenne.”

“Stand to this side,” she said, gesturing for Maria to stand on the right of the dais.

The Eldrenne released a slow breath, leaning heavily on her staff. The raven adjusted its position on her shoulder, fanning its wings once. “Long years has it been since a final round produced two successful witches. It goes to a vote.” She turned. “What say you, Morgellen?”

Morgellen stamped her staff and said readily, “Hunter Hopewell. Her score was highest of them all.”

“What say you, Elspeth?”

She stamped her staff. “Hunter Hopewell. Her education, qualifications, and experience are superior.”

The Eldrenne turned to her other side. “What say you, Desdemona?”

Desdemona sat forward and stamped her staff. “Persephone Alcmedi. In the company of vampires she was unafraid, and her inspired solution was tailor-made.”

“What say you, Vilna-Daluca?”

Vilna stamped her staff. “Persephone Alcmedi. True courage is rare. Combined with selflessness, rarer still.”

“The tie is mine to break,” the Eldrenne said. She thought for a moment, then eased down onto her throne again. The bird hopped up to the raised back and cawed. The Eldrenne rolled her staff in her gnarled fingers so that the orb-top spun round and round. She whispered, lips moving, no sound I could hear coming out. The other Elders did not copy her gesture. Who was she speaking to? Herself ? For a long minute she conversed with no one, head tilting in thought, then whispering more.

The bird cawed again.

Her old face lifted, conical hat tilting back until her
face was turned up to the orb, mouth open, and blue-filmed eyes glistening. She cackled, long and loud and worthy of ancestors gathered ’round a cauldron under a darkened sky singing of toil and trouble.

She lifted the staff and stamped it hard. A clap of thunder resounded inside the Covenstead.

“The new high priestess of Venefica Covenstead will be . . . Hunter Hopewell.”

When the applause from the other contestants died down, the congratulations I spoke to Hunter were true and heartfelt. She’d proven to me she was worthy and capable of the job. She’d acted and reacted like a leader from the start. She’d asked questions and sorted through the contestants to find her competition, to assess the threat. What bit of ego got in the way, Maria and I honed down with our comments. In the end, Hunter showed me that a strong woman is often seen as a bitch, even when she’s succeeding and doing the very things expected of her.

I locked that realization in memory; the Lustrata wouldn’t be immune to such reactions from others.

As the other contestants came forward to congratulate her, I stepped away, relieved by my loss. Maria hugged Hunter, glanced about, saw me, and approached.

“I was rooting for you,” she whispered.

She pulled me into a hug.

The Eldrenne cleared her throat to gain our attention. “Don’t forget, the details of the test are secret and not to be discussed.” She turned to Hunter. “At the Witches Ball on Hallowe’en,” she said, “I will make the formal announcement that you are the new high priestess, and I
will introduce you to the coven members and the media then. Until then, you will keep a low profile and work with Lydia to tend to the remaining details.”

“Yes, Eldrenne.” Hunter was beaming. The grin on her face wouldn’t have come off with a jackhammer.

Lydia touched my elbow and pulled me into a hug. “That was a damn fine effort,” she said. “Thank you.”

Into Lydia’s ear I whispered, “She’ll do a good job; you don’t need to worry.”

She pulled away. “Are you sure?”

“I learned a few things about her, saw the character in her.” I squeezed her hands reassuringly. “She’ll do right by the coven.”

Despite appearing so very tired, Lydia seemed fierce. “I’m too old for coven-watching and keeping priestesses in line. If she doesn’t, Persephone, I’ll be expecting you to knock some sense into her!”

“Of course,” I said softly. As the Lustrata, that’d probably fall under my jurisdiction anyway. But I didn’t like the feeling I was being inveigled again.

The sun was well up by the time I pulled into the driveway. Johnny’s motorcycle was not there; it better not have been. The temptation to run over it might have been too much. Then I wondered if he’d stayed at Erik’s again. Or someone else’s.
Stop it.

Inside, Nana sat at the dinette where I’d left her more than twenty-four hours before.

“You look like hell,” she said merrily.

“Gee, thanks,” I said.

She took a drag from her cigarette and sat it on the ashtray as she exhaled. “So you didn’t sleep. That means you had to participate all through the night. Every round?”

“Every round.”

“Well?”

“I’m not the high priestess.”

Nana sighed.

“I’m the runner-up.”

“Good. That’s good standing, then.”

I yawned. “I’d like to think so.”

“Go. Sleep. We’ll talk later.”

• • •

I awoke that afternoon, showered, and headed downstairs. Ares whined from his crate, which meant Beverley must be gone, so I went into Beverley’s room and let him out, then started down again. Through Nana’s open door, my eyes caught on the crystal ball on her dresser. I’d helped her pack it carefully away when she moved in with me. Perhaps she was telling Beverley about scrying or used it as a prop in a story. I continued, but midway down the steps, the pit of my stomach jumped and went cold. I stopped. Another step, another jump. I backed up. Nothing. I returned to the top of the steps, frowning. But by the time I reached the top, my stomach felt fine.

The protrepticus!

Taking it from the bedside table, I slid it into my back pocket and went slowly down the steps, without incident. I wondered if and when it would do something or if it would wait until I had a need. Did I initiate it, or did it work both ways? What, exactly, could it do?

I kept my eyes away from my couch as I reached the bottom of the steps. My feet turned me toward the kitchen where I discovered two notes. One was from Beverley letting me know that she and Nana had gone to the movies. The other was from Nana letting me know that Celia had called me yesterday morning, afternoon, and again in the evening.

I didn’t want to talk to Celia yet. She’d either make things better or worse by telling me something about Johnny and the situation. I needed to come to terms with
what I already knew before I let her add to it one way or the other.

I started to make a pot of coffee, but my palate was java-ed out. Juice sounded better. Checked the mail that had come yesterday, tended to some bills. Then, armed with the tape measure from the drawer, I sized the dining room, the doorways, and windows. A difficult task because Ares curiously followed me and obstructed the tape repeatedly.

Sitting down at the dinette with paper, pencil, and ruler, I drew it out. In half an hour, I had a good idea drawn up for making it her bedroom, with an attached bath—a new room jutting out from the house. I’d even made a list of contractors to call to get quotes from. It was Sunday, so I’d be ready to start tomorrow.

About that time, the moviegoers returned. Beverley dropped to her knees and hugged Ares, who greeted them with deep, happy barks and his tail wagging like a thick whip.

“Seph!” Beverley came and hugged me next, as enthusiastically as she had hugged the dog. “I missed you yesterday! How’d it go?”

“I came in second.”

“Demeter and I went to the movies!”

“I got your note. Tell me all about it.”

She was excited and animated as she told me about their day together. Nana watched from the doorway, smiling as Beverley acted out some of the scenes for me. Moments later, she was off to watch cartoons in the living room where Ares lay so she could use him as a pillow. Nana chuckled. “They’re a bundle of energy at that age.”

She dropped her jacket on the seat across from me, then dug her cigarette case from the pocket and placed it on the table. She didn’t open it but watched me steadily.

When she opened her mouth to say whatever it was she was building up to, a combined buzzing and ringing erupted from my backside. It startled me so much that I jumped to my feet and jerked the protrepticus from my pocket. Its ring sounded like an old telephone with bells inside.

“You got a cell phone?” Nana asked, incredulous. “You?”

I held the buzzing thing out from me like it was a ticking bomb or a multilegged insect. “Um, no. I didn’t.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Well, it
is
mine, but—”

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

It stopped ringing. I set it on the table.

“Maybe they’ll call back,” Nana said, finally opening her cigarette case. “I thought you didn’t want one of those?”

“I don’t.”

She cocked her head at me, eyes squinting at me as she held a cigarette to her lips. “Then why do you have one?” She flicked the lighter.

“It’s not a phone. It’s a protrepticus.”

Nana was stunned silent for a long moment while smoke wafted toward the ceiling and her eyes darted back and forth annoyingly. “Xerxadrea was your Eldrenne. Damn.” She breathed the last more than said it. “You said you weren’t the high priestess.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Nana shook her head. “When Xerxadrea is the overseeing Eldrenne, the high priestess always trots out of the competition with a protrepticus.”

“Hunter and I both got them.”

“Both?” Her features sharpened and she sat forward. “You mean the Eximium came down to a vote of the Elders?”

“Yes.”

“Lord and Lady! What was the vote?”

“The Eldrenne’s vote broke a tie between the two of us.”

Nana pursed her lips, then loosed them to click her tongue.

“What?”

She took a long draw off the cigarette and rubbed at her knee. “She’s always been partial to her sorcery, showing off, and doing her part to ensure the generations after her have had a taste of it. Those willing to accept the bargains get the rank. Of all witches, it had to be Xerxadrea on this Eximium.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if there’s ever been a solitary to have a protrepticus.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Probably not. But they all knew you were a solitary going in. You wouldn’t both have gotten to keep them if you were going back to be in a coven as an underling.”

“You’re saying that in the end she voted for Hunter to be high priestess so she didn’t have to take away my protrepticus?”

Nana fixed me with a stern look. “I’m saying she gave the prize position to Hunter because that way she could
keep the ties to you both intact.” She sat back and took another drag off the cigarette. “Xerxadrea saw something in both of you, something she wanted to hold on to . . . and she let you both succeed in order to not have to choose between you.”

“Is she corrupt or something?”

Nana shook her head. “I don’t think so. Though I knew her when I was sixteen. That was a long time ago. She was the high priestess of your great-grandmother’s coven. She irritated me with her elaborations on every detail. Her rituals took hours.” She rolled her eyes and made a flippant gesture. “Many things could have happened since then. Did you get a sense that she was corrupt?”

“No.”

“You, being you, probably would have if she was. Forget about it.” She waved her hand as if dismissing the subject. She pointed at the phone. “You did it.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Here,” I said and showed her the drawing for turning the dining room into her bedroom. “That’s what I think we should do. See how the bathroom becomes a new space added on there? You’ll have that window, but the other will turn into a door for the bathroom.”

“A private bath?” She sounded tempted.

I grinned. “Just for you. Jacuzzi tub if you want it.”

“Look at this drawing. Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked proudly.

“Keep a boyfriend,” I blurted, then instantly regretted it.

Nana’s happiness faded in an instant. “I—”

The protrepticus rang again.

Since it had stopped her from starting something I didn’t want to talk to her about, I was thankful for the
interruption, until she shifted gears and said, “Well, go on. Answer it. Introduce yourself to the spirit you got.”

Resignedly, I picked up the phone, flipped it open, and stuck it to my ear. “Hi. This is Persephone.”

“Now, more than ever,” the spirit said, “I think you’re gonna rot in Hell, little girl.”

My eyes widened as I recognized the voice. Jerking the phone away and staring at the little color screen, my eyes beheld a pixilated version of the Reverend Samson D. Kline in a pale blue polyester suit. He waved at me and laughed. “Didn’t expect me, did ya?” It came out in a Southern drawl, “dih-juh.”