Wicked Circle (13 page)

Then headlights shone from behind. A blue Corvette passed us and parked right in front of the Maserati.

Zhan spoke with us briefly,
then returned to wait in the Corvette.

It was close to 4:00 a.m. when Johnny made it back. He was sniffing before his backside hit the seat. He shot me a quizzical look, so I said, “It was feeding time.”

I showed him my wrist. It had scabbed over nicely. Johnny put the car forcefully into gear. “Home or haven?”

“Home,” I said. With Menessos here there was no need to force a confrontation with Goliath. “Zhan will follow.”

On the main road, he said, “Give me the details.”

“We have approximately twenty hours,” Menessos said. “Maybe a little more, before the shabbubitum arrive.”

“Shabbubitum?” Johnny asked. Irritatingly enough, he pronounced it perfectly the first time.

Menessos set about explaining to Johnny everything he had told me before.

The information clearly irritated Johnny. We’d been on I-271 for miles and he’d been driving safely, but I could sense his tension ratcheting up.

“So because you two got busted over the mark, three vampire chicks are gonna stir up shit for me?”

“You needn’t worry unless the
sorsanimus
binding is discovered.”

“So what are you doing to ensure they don’t?”

“I’m trying to leave, but it seems there is no viable way to claim that option. If she simply bore my mark, this would be of no concern to VEIN. The fact that I wear two of hers is everything here.”

“Two?” The speedometer needle pitched to the right, and inertia snuggled me into the seat.

Shit. “Johnny.”

“Two?”

I crossed my arms
as if that would defend me, but I was guilty as charged. “I did it when I staked him. It—”

“You mean when you kissed him?”

I felt his words like a slap. I twisted in my seat to glower at Johnny. “I was about to kill him. He was laying down his life to save our asses—”

“Oh, well,
that
makes it the right thing for the right reason, then.”

I set my jaw and continued through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t a kill in haste or anger or in self-defense. It was outright murder, and I didn’t want to do it. You were under the water with Fax, and I was so scared—”

“That you kissed another man.” Though I’d have thought we were at top speed already, he made the engine roar and go even faster.

I remained silent for a long second. He already knew about that kiss. He’d seemed to understand before. I growled, “Yeah, I kissed him. And I staked him. Then, I put a second mark on him. It was an effort to make sure he came back because—like it or not—we need him. There was no guarantee, but I did what I thought was right, and I don’t regret it. That’s more than I can say for Cammi’s lip-lock on you.” I sat back.

From the backseat, Menessos chuckled and said again, “Ah,
l’amour
.”

The ritual, the sex, the late hour, the argument and the blood donation were a hard-hitting combo that had me yawning as we rolled up my gravel driveway. There was a glow behind the mini-blinds of Mountain’s trailer near the barns, and I
wondered if the Beholder—he was a once-marked member of Menessos’s court—was still awake or was up early.

His porch light flickered on, the door opened, and Ares bounded across the yard. The black Great Dane pup circled the car to greet me with all the tail-wagging enthusiasm a pup could have. He tried to get Johnny to play but had to settle for some vigorous head-scratching.

By the time Mountain rounded the corner of the garage, Zhan was rolling up the driveway. The Corvette either couldn’t keep up, or she didn’t have the nerve to try. Personally, I doubted it was the latter.

Mountain’s low voice rumbled a happy, “Good morning to you all.” A hulking figure with a round face and eyes like pitch, he was formidable in appearance, but he was in fact a big teddy bear. He offered friendly acknowledgment to each of us, but the last one, for Zhan, was conveyed with something softer and more secretive. I caught the drop of her gaze in reply. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and her cheeks rounded with a small smile.

“Menessos,” I said, to draw his attention and keep him from picking up on what I already knew about his Offerling and his Beholder. “There’s less than three hours until you retire for the day.” I kept talking as I headed for my porch. “Do you intend to head back to the haven for that? It’ll shorten our time to plan.”

“I will rest here.”

I opened the screen door. “That’s good because—” My words cut off midsentence when, before my key even neared the dead bolt, the main door swung open an inch.

“Because why?” Menessos asked.

“My door’s already open,” I said, backing away.

Suddenly, Johnny put himself between me and the door and was backing me off of the porch.

Menessos
hmpf
ed, pushed the door open and walked inside. “All is well,” he called. The entry lights blazed.

Johnny and I moved forward as one. And stopped as one. The moment waned awkwardly, then Johnny extended his hand chivalrously and allowed me to go first. Peering cautiously inside, I discovered Goliath Kline sitting on the staircase. He smiled maliciously and waved. Then he stood and bounced on my squeaky step.

Taller even than Johnny, with a lanky scarecrow frame, he was intimidation incarnate in collar-to-toe black leather. Goliath’s skin and hair were like a white palette with two daubs of forget-me-not blue, and the blue was so feral and cunning that his glance seemed more like an incision. Menessos had chosen his second-in-command and security head because he was a certifiable genius whose perfect ACT score was achieved at the age of ten. Menessos had raised him and trained him as an assassin before Making him a vampire.

And I was on this guy’s least-favorite-people list.

His brother, a defunct Southern Baptist preacher, had once tried to stake Menessos and been beheaded for the crime. But apparently even brothers separated at a young age and with opposing opinions of vampires could be protective of each other. When Goliath heard Sam’s voice on my protrepticus, he had grabbed me and questioned me.

At the time, I happened to have been wearing a charm that amplified my magic. He’d frightened me, and all I’d wanted was for him to let me go. In a knee-jerk reaction, I’d pulled arcs of electrical
power from him through my connection to his master and Maker Menessos. I’d put both vampires on their knees.

I’d saved Goliath’s life a few hours later, but I’d never explained Samson’s voice emitting from my phone. I was sure he thought I’d done something terrible like rip his brother’s spirit from the ever after and forcibly bind it into the device. He needed answers. He deserved them.

Fully aware that I wasn’t wearing that charm now, I closed the distance between us, flipped on the stairway light and passed him. “Follow me.”

“An Erus Veneficus cannot command an Alter Imperator.”

I blinked stupidly at him for a heartbeat; I hadn’t known his official title.

“Besides,” he added, “I’ve already rolled around on your bed.”

At the bottom of the steps, Johnny growled.

“Goliath,” Menessos said in a weary tone. “Our circumstances are far from typical. You will always treat both the Lustrata and the Domn Lup with respect, and for me, please give them an extra measure of tolerance.”

“As you wish, master.”

That was good enough for me. I resumed my trek to my bedroom. I flipped this light on too and rummaged through the luggage Zhan and I had dropped off earlier. Finding the cell phone, I held it up.

His eyes widened slightly in recognition.

“It’s a protrepticus.”

“Bullshit.”

I let him see my deadpan expression.

“Samson hated witches! He would not deign to bind his soul into a device
that put him in service to you. And,” he added, “you cannot exceed a certain distance from a protrepticus. This bag was here, while you were fifty miles away in Cleveland.”

The latter part was true. Or it had been, anyway. I was just relieved that he knew enough about the spell to know it would require a
willing
spirit. “The spirit did not identify itself until after the spell was finished.”

The vampire entered my room and angrily demanded, “Why would he do that for you?”

“I don’t know what he found in the afterlife, Goliath, or how that may or may not have weighed in his spirit’s decision to comply with that spell, but if it’s any consolation, he
did
use every opportunity to be completely annoying. As for the distance . . .” I shrugged. “It was a triple binding, involving Xerxadrea. With her death, his spirit should have been freed.”

“
Should
have?”

“When I open it, the screen stays blank, and yet it’s rung a couple times since. In those instances it lights up and he’s spoken to me. I can’t explain it. I’ve asked him. He won’t explain it.” I tossed the phone to Goliath.

He caught it, looking confused. When he wasn’t being a sinister badass, Goliath was a handsome man. For a moment, I glimpsed the vampire with whom Lorrie—the mother, now deceased, of my foster daughter, Beverley—had shared a relationship with a few years after her husband had died.

“You can use magic, Goliath. See if he will talk to you. It was never my intention to extricate him from his afterlife.” I left him standing in my bedroom.

Samson’s calls since Xerxadrea’s death had all been warnings I desperately
needed, so parting with the protrepticus put me ill at ease, but giving the device to Goliath nonetheless felt right—and regardless of Johnny’s opposition, I wasn’t going to give up my way of making such decisions.

Downstairs, Mountain and Zhan were conspicuously absent. Johnny had built a blaze in the living room fireplace and was playing tug-of-war with Ares and a rope toy. Menessos sat on my couch, his elbow propped on its arm, and his index finger to his temple as he admired the John William Waterhouse painting over the mantel.

Crossing my arms and leaning against the newel post, I let the scene before me linger undisturbed. Who knew how long the two of them could maintain such contentedness in each other’s presence?

It was a skill they were going to have to master.

Encouraged, I said, “I have to admit, I like this.”

They both turned when I spoke. Johnny released his end of the rope toy, and Ares carried it merrily around the room and thumped down on the floor to chew on it.

“You look peaceful,” Menessos said. “Finding a little peace before the storm is enviable.”

Before the storm? I’ve already ridden one today.

Menessos’s words could have been a sincere compliment, or they could have been a roundabout jibe at Johnny to say I seemed unaffected by our spat. I uncrossed my arms and entered the living room. “You don’t seem like you’re
not
at ease.”

“Thank you.” His lips curved slightly. “That bodes well, since I have just decided that come nightfall, I will return to my haven and await the shabbubitum.”

M
y spine stiffened, and any sense of peacefulness I had scurried away. Menessos was going to accept the pain and torment of being read. He was going to accept the risk of judgment.

He’s going to stay.

“Why the change of heart?” I asked, keeping my voice as casual as possible.

“Escaping them is . . . improbable.”

“And the ramifications you were so concerned about?”

Menessos extended his arm toward me, palm up. I walked to him and slipped my hand into his.
Can’t read my mind anymore, can you?

“I have been so focused on the negative possibilities, and on escaping them, that I had not considered how I might create an alternative confrontation.”

“You didn’t instantly envision every potential benefit to you?” Johnny snapped.

Menessos gripped me tighter. “This is particularly personal, Johnny.”

I asked, “How so?”

“First, Heldridge is my son—the only kind I will ever have, anyway. I Made him. I watched him break free of his mortal womb and I raised him in my world. We have had our quarrels, as all fathers and sons do—”

“Quarrels?” Johnny snarled and pointed at me. “He tried to kill her!”

“Yes. Even so, it does not mean I love him less.”

Johnny straightened. “You
love
him?”

“I care for all the men and women in my haven. You care for those in your pack, don’t you?”

Johnny put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I’d profess to
love
them.”

Ignoring him, Menessos resumed his explanation. “Heldridge broke away to become his own master and to have his own haven. He interpreted my relocation as an encroachment. Had I not been his Maker, he may not have seen it as a personal insult.” He drew a long breath. “Had I not been his Maker, I would not have assumed his cooperation. I should have consulted him as a courtesy, but at the time my thoughts were not for him.” To me, he said, “I am forced to admit that these events have been set in motion because I have failed as his Maker and presumed too much. For my insult, he has struck at me . . . first by striking at you, second by going to VEIN. Now the shabbubitum are being freed.”

“What do you mean
freed
? They’ve been imprisoned somewhere?” I asked.

Intent on the flames, he told us a story.

In Babylonia, he said, the priests of Marduk were very powerful. When Nebuchadnezzar II died, his son failed to gain the support of the priests, and his brother-in-law, Neriglissar, succeeded him. When he decided on a campaign into what was known as the “rough” Cilician lands, he needed aid. Menessos was able to offer that aid—for a price: Neriglissar’s eldest daughter.

He assured us that it was not like what we were thinking. She was beautiful, yes, but Menessos was more interested in her potential for magic. She had latent power attempting to awaken,
but was fearful and fighting it. Menessos, who knew she could be very powerful, wanted to train her.

So he provided the assistance the king sought. Neriglissar gave Menessos a dark-haired girl, but Menessos could sense no power in her. He asked the king if he was certain this girl was his own flesh and blood. The king lied and assured Menessos the girl was his daughter. Menessos made no further accusations, but he refused to take her.