Hallowed Circle (9 page)

Nana had been translating the Codex from its archaic Latin into English, consulting with Dr. Geoffrey Lincoln, the vet who’d helped us take care of Theo and been involved in the ritual that saved her. The doc was more expert in Latin than Nana.

The coffee smelled fabulous and I realized my usual morning dose of caffeine was late. I pulled my favorite mug bearing Waterhouse’s
Lady of Shalott
from the cabinet.

Nana said, “So, I was sitting here, and suddenly I hear ‘Folsom Prison Blues’!” She chuckled.
“It was Johnny’s phone singing! Said it was his boss calling. Did you know those cell phones can have anything as a ring? What did he call it?” She tapped the pages before her. “Ringtone.
Yes, ringtone. Any ringtone from any song or sound ever. And different ones for different callers, so he knows exactly who’s calling by what song plays.”

I wondered if he had a special ringtone for my number. What song would he pick for me?

“Anyway, they got an order for a bunch of seven-string guitars for Germany. Ain’t that rich? Global business, happening in your home in the middle of an Ohio cornfield with not a skyscraper in sight.”

Nana wasn’t grilling and badgering this morning? Maybe I’d been wrong about her. She wasn’t pressing me about the Eximium. My shoulders eased, tension fading as I savored my coffee.

“Now tell me, Seph, how are you going to get out of this Eximium?”

I tried ignoring her, sorted through the grocery ads on the counter. “Asparagus is on sale. Two dollars a pound.”

“We need to talk about this.”

“Have you come across anything in the Codex about fairies?” I asked. Maybe inquiring about Aquula would distract her.

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Persephone. We were discussing you getting out of that competition.”

“No we weren’t. You were
telling
me to get out of it. And I’m not. It’s the right thing for the right reason, and nothing you can say is going to change my mind.”

I’d said it firmly enough that Nana closed the copy of the Codex with an angry flip of her hand and announced she was going upstairs to sew.

Damn it. She does her sneakiest thinking when she’s quilting.

I went about my normal routine and parked myself in front of the computer. Email, the first order of business, turned up a message from WEC with
Eximium
as the subject:

Congratulations Persephone Alcmedi on your recent nomination to the Venefica Covenstead High Priestess Eximium.

A nomination is a high honor and we expect your performance in this contest will prove your skill and potential. We always receive numerous inquiries as to the best way to prepare for an Eximium, but we can offer no advice except to be physically, mentally, and magically ready for any challenge.

The Elders overseeing this Eximium look forward to meeting you.

We expect you to arrive this Saturday at least one half-hour before the dawn.

Blessed Be.

While the physical training session I’d been looking forward to would keep my energy level up and work my concentration in ways that I hadn’t in a while, I wondered what Hunter Hopewell would be doing to prepare. Surely nothing that promised to chip her nail polish.

That led my thoughts back to Nana calling me a bully.

Defiantly promising myself that I could beat Hunter Hopewell in nonphysical ways, I got out my Book of Shadows and studied gemstones and their correlations with herbs. I reviewed poppets, runes, and astrology. By then, my coffee was cold. I dumped it out and poured myself a fresh cup.

As I resumed my seat, the computer beeped. I had a new email. It was a revision request from Jimmy Martin, the editor for my “Wære Are You” column. Newspaper deadlines are forever tight, so I immediately tended to it, then did some preliminary Web research for the follow-up piece and left myself sticky notes.

Thinking about wæres, however, turned into thinking about Johnny and daydreaming about his hard, lean body and how sparring with him might lend me some insight into what other kinds of physical exertions with him might be like. And I was more disappointed than ever that he’d been called away to work.

Before I knew it, Nana was rambling in the refrigerator and making herself a scrambled egg sandwich as lunch. The day was getting away from me.

I went outside with my broom and reset my perimeter wards so they included the bulk of the yard as well as the house. That done, I put my broom away and carried my Book of Shadows upstairs. As I passed Nana’s room, I noticed she was working with shiny green fabric. Not the type of material she normally uses on quilts.

Then I noticed a pattern package on the floor: Beverley’s Hallowe’en costume. A mermaid.

Without stopping or commenting, I proceeded to my
room and put my Book of Shadows in its place, but my thoughts had returned to Aquula’s warning. I still had to do more than protect myself. I had to warn Menessos. And I remembered the contact information included in the documents about the painting.

Aha! Though I wasn’t about to call and leave a message, I could email him and not have to get anywhere near him.

I wrote and rewrote the email a half-dozen times to be sure it was as sterile and to the point as it could be. Cursor on the send button, finger poised to hit the mouse, I re-read it one last time:

A fairy of your acquaintance, Aquula, paid me a visit. She warned me that a certain three others of her kind are plotting against you. I thought you should know.

Persephone

I clicked the send button.

I had no idea how often he checked his email—and for some reason imagining Menessos logging in to check email seemed ridiculous to me. He couldn’t possibly get it until nightfall, but that wasn’t my problem. I’d warned him. Even if my conscience murmured that I was taking the easy-cheesy way out, I’d done
something.

Beverley had accomplished her spelling and math goals so we set up the folding table in the garage, covered it in
newspaper, and were just placing chairs around it when Johnny arrived. He slipped into the bathroom before I even saw him, and when he came out he was wearing a long-sleeved thermal tee, sweatpants, and sneakers. All of it was black, of course, even his socks, but seeing him in sweatpants made me think …

When we’d done the spell to heal Theo, I’d had to rummage through everyone’s suitcases to find clothes to take down to the kennel in the cellar. The wæres had all taken wolf form and when morning came, they’d need human clothing. I remembered that there were no undies in Johnny’s suitcase. Come to think, his laundry never included them either.

The sweatpants might be interesting. He had, of course, dressed in loose-fitting clothes in preparation for the evaluation.

I explained about the pumpkins. Johnny seemed happy enough to delay it and carve pumpkins first. He sat next to me. Beverley was across from us. I was elated by his nearness yet I felt shy.

“Yuck!” Beverley stuck her tongue out and made a face, but dug her hand into the pumpkin’s webby innards and pulled up another handful of gelatinous goo and slick seeds. “It’s so cold and slimy! I like it and hate it all at once!” She giggled.

I knew exactly how she felt.

“Ready to scoop it out?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.”

I held the bucket while she had fun scraping out the sticky stuff. “We’ll dump this in the cornfield for the deer when we’re done.” I let her play with the stuff in the bucket
while I used a big spoon to smooth out the interior of her pumpkin, then mine. Beverley preferred to squeeze the goo through her fingers in the bucket.

Johnny spooned all the seeds loose inside his pumpkin’s hull, then, upon approaching the bucket, announced he felt sick and acted like he was throwing up as he dumped the innards into the bucket and on her hands. Beverley thought it was hilarious.

Their faces were both lit with joy. It was a great moment, a memory to keep. After the first handfuls of pumpkin goo were flung at each other, though, I wondered why I hadn’t seen it coming.

“Now, kiddies,” I protested.

Johnny splattered goo across the front of my white V-neck shirt.

“Hey!” I said loudly, standing. I’d managed to keep my shirt and jeans clean until then.

They went stock still, busted little kids, the both of them. I stepped over and grabbed the bucket from him.

“If you’re going to include me in your mess-making, I have to have some ammunition too!” I held the bucket with my knees and grabbed handfuls out to throw at them. Shrieking with laughter, Beverley grabbed the bucket back and a bucket-stealing goo-fight began in earnest.

Beverley threw a handful and it landed in my hair. I gave a squeal and turned away, right into Johnny’s arms. In a perfect cartoon-hero voice, he said, “Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll protect you from the seed-spitting dragon!” In my ear he added, “But the one-eyed, seed-spitting monster you’ll have to take care of yourself.”

Orange goo splatted across Johnny’s cheek.

“That’s it!” he said, letting me go. Grinning, he chased her around the garage. Beverley screamed and laughed. When he caught her, he tickled her until he got the bucket away from her. He threw a handful at me. It splattered against my collarbone and slid down into my shirt, cold in my cleavage.

“No, no!” Beverley laughed. “The prince doesn’t turn into the seed-goo-dragon! He just saved the princess from it. Now she has to kiss him as a reward!”

Johnny quickly turned and offered her a high-five. “That’s a great idea,” he said, setting the bucket down to come to me. “You heard her.”

“Um … but—”

“Oh stop.” Johnny leaned in and tapped his unsplattered cheek. “Plant it right there.”

I made it a quick peck. “It still counts,” I announced quietly, “as one of the hundred.”

He winked. “Eighty-five to go.”

“Eighty-one,” I corrected.

He feigned confusion. “No, I’m sure I have eighty-five left.”

“Are you trying to steal them or are they just not memorable anymore?”

“I cherish each one, which is why they’re worth stealing.” He moved in like he might steal another.

Then goo hit him in the chest. Beverley had reclaimed the bucket.

Minutes later, saddened by how quickly the innards of three big pumpkins could run out, we heard, “You three are a fright.” Nana stood in the doorway, a spot of seeds
centered on her cabbage-rose shirt and a deep scowl on her face.

“That’s perfect because it’ll be Hallowe’en soon,” Beverley said, giggling.

“It’s going to be dinner long before it’s Hallowe’en,” she retorted. “And all of you will have to get cleaned up first.”

“Aw, but we haven’t carved faces yet,” Johnny said.

“Tomorrow,” Nana said firmly. “Come on, Beverley.”

“Okay.” She trudged across the garage, but grinned at us from the doorway. “That was wicked awesome!” She darted inside. Nana shut the door.

Pumpkin seeds hung from my hair, spotted my jeans and shoes. Johnny was no better. “Kid’s got a good arm, good aim,” he said, picking seeds from his hair and trying unsuccessfully to flick them from his fingers into the bucket.

The goo in my cleavage was uncomfortable, so while he wasn’t watching, I started digging it out in a very un-ladylike manner. “Seeing her laughing just feels so good.” I thought of Lorrie; she would have approved of a pumpkin goo-fight. My eyes got a little moist, but I didn’t have a clean hand to wipe them with.

“Yeah,” he said, turning to me. Then, “What are you doing?”

“The goo got in my shirt. I’m just getting it out.”

“Can I help?”

“You wish.”

“Duh.” He waited. “You’re a mess.”

“You should talk.”

He brought the bucket over and started picking seeds out of my hair.

“Ow! You’re pulling!”

“Sorry.” He tried again. “It might just be easier if we took a shower and then cleaned up the drain.”

We?

I stared hard at Johnny’s chest and began picking seeds from his shirt and acted like I hadn’t heard the statement.

“You’re biting your lip,” he said.

I was. I stopped. “If we get cleaned up there’ll still be time to do a training evaluation, right?”

“Oh,” he said in a high, condescending tone. “So you have to start clean if you’re going to fight?”

“No.”

He put up his arms, hands lightly fisted, and bent his knees into a ready stance. “C’mon, then.”

I dropped my hands and shook my head as I said, “Johnny, I can’t just—” I lashed out quickly, knowing he wouldn’t expect it, and kicked him, following with a left-right-left that had him backpedaling across the garage. I dropped into a ready stance. “I protected new wæres from hostile wæreophobes.”