Wicked Circle (19 page)

I strode toward the door, reaching for the knob.

“Milady!” Ivanka put a restraining hand on my arm. “Let me.”

Zhan snorted and tucked her wet hair behind her ears. “Maxine and I tried that when we first arrived. The E.V. is adamant about answering her own door.”

Ivanka fixed me with her “intimidating” stare. “Bad idea.”

The reward for her effort was seeing my “firmly resolved” stare. “Let go.”

The command made her withdraw. As I opened the door, a blast of cold air hit me like a frozen slap. My heart was pounding, and I was grateful for the separation of even a flimsy screen door between myself and this mysterious man. I said nothing.

Before me, long and pale fingers rose slowly to lower the hood of the robe.

His raven hair was worn in a non-styled manner, simply combed straight back over his head, where it hung almost to his shoulders.
Add to that a trim beard, and all that darkness steered my focus to his blue eyes, his slightly sunken cheeks and a mouth that seemed a fraction too wide.

At first, I thought him bony and underweight, but as my consideration lingered, it occurred to me that he did not emit the forlorn and pitiful hunger of the emaciated. What he did radiate . . . I couldn’t put my finger on. Even so—and regardless of the fact that he was dressed for a long-gone era—I found him attractive.

“Persephone,” he whispered.

Granted, when most people go to someone’s house, they know whose door they’re knocking on. I hated being at a disadvantage with people on my porch, but that was something I was learning to accept. A lot of people recognized me since I’d been on TV. “Who are you?”

Palms out in a benign gesture, he said, “Call me any name you find worthy of me.”

I blinked. “Okay. Henceforth you shall be known as Creepy.”

His only response to my sarcasm was the corner of his mouth crooking up.

Mountain arrived and assumed an intimidating pose one step from the porch.

“Why are you here?” I asked Creepy.

“A friend told me you might be in danger. I am here to provide protection.”

Peripherally, I noticed Zoltan, a young dragon, slithering silently along Mountain’s path. “What friend?”

“Menessos.”

It surprised me so much that I winced.

Mountain crossed his arms over his broad chest as he spoke. “He’s not someone most
people want to claim to know, let alone be friends with lately.” Zoltan slithered to Mountain’s side and hissed.
So much for “surprising” strangers with our pet dragon. We need to work on our offensive tactics.

Creepy perused the dragon without any of the astonishment I expected. In fact, he sounded convincingly bored as he answered, “I care little what people choose to think.”

“Why were you in my cornfield?”

“The vortex was the easiest way to arrive.”

He rode a ley line.
Fairies rode ley lines, and if any fey remained here on earth, they couldn’t get home because of my actions. Probably not something anyone left behind would be happy about. “Get off my porch.”

At my words, the tension radiating from Zhan, Ivanka, and Mountain ratcheted up a notch.

He made no effort to vacate the porch. “Have I offended you, Persephone?” His voice was husky, but sounded sincere.

My perimeter wards were specifically set to keep fey out. If he was fey—even in part—he should have at least set the wards off. Pondering this, I had to admit that fairies didn’t get as tall as this guy. Also, none of his features had the distinctive curves and points of fairies. He was all straight lines.

“If I have interrupted something, I assure you it was not my intention.”

“What is your intention, then?” Going forward, I pushed on the screen door, confident it would force him backward, toward the edge of the porch.

He still didn’t budge.

Just as I thought the
door would smack into him, his crooked smile grew and the door slipped
through
him.

I gasped.

Before I could even form a thought about the possibilities of him being a ghost, the door swung back, but this time it did not pass through him.

“My intention . . .” He reached toward my cheek.

His hand hovered above my skin. Though the temperature outside wasn’t much above freezing, I could feel the warmth radiating from this man and a fine trembling all around him. Then he touched me with the gentlest of caresses.

His countenance blossomed with wonder. “I can feel the storm within you. The burning blaze and the flood, too. You are so close . . . so very close.”

Ivanka’s big, silver gun slid into my view, business end about two inches from Creepy’s nose. “Retreat,” she snarled. “I ask only one time!”

Without looking at her, he said, “No.”

Even as she fired, the screen door moved through him again. I backed away
and
sidestepped, nearly tripping over my own feet. I covered my ears too late, but I kept Creepy in my sight. The bullet zinged through his incorporeal form. He reached for Ivanka, ripping a giant hole in my screen as he solidified and grasped her wrist.

My ears were ringing from the gunshot, but I heard him growl, “I have stated that your master sent me, Offerling.” He squeezed and jerked.

In my whole life I had not been so close to someone as their bones broke. The sound was as sickening as seeing her forearm bend in the middle.

Ivanka screamed and her knees buckled. She cracked her head on the lower portion of the door,
which was still partially open. He released her as she collapsed, smoothly stripping her of the gun. “The effrontery of your actions is unacceptable.”

For all the horror of the last eight seconds, the sound of his calm, sad and melodic voice soothed my aching eardrums.

Creepy’s gaze fell to the weapon in his hand.

Zhan and Mountain closed in.

He did not grip the gun as if he might threaten us with it, let alone fire it. His finger was nowhere near the trigger. I signaled the others to quell any rash actions.

Ivanka whimpered at my feet and spewed several angry phrases in Russian.

Holding the gun by the barrel, Creepy thrust it through the torn screen and offered it to me. “I have no need of this device. Since you carry no weapon, I assume you will show more discretion with this.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Keeping my eyes on Creepy, I fumbled the weapon into my grip. It was heavier than I expected, and I clicked the safety on and aimed it at the floor. “Did Menessos mention who I might be in danger from?”

“Strangers,” he whispered. “I will not let any harm come to you.”

The stalker possessiveness in his tone sent a twinge of fear through me. My fingers yearned to tighten around the handle of the gun, but I’d just seen how ineffective it was. “And what if it’s my opinion that
you
are harming me?”

His expression became one of wounded disappointment. “I would never.” It was a whisper, but it sounded like a vow to my stalker-cautious ears.

Since he was going for heavy, I kept my tone light instead of accusatory. “You just broke my sentinel’s arm. That damages my security, and I consider that personal harm. And you busted up my door.”

“She provoked me by firing. As for the door . . .” He scanned the screen up and down, and the wires began knitting together.

My jaw dropped. I poked at the mesh. This wasn’t an illusion. It was tangibly repaired.

I hadn’t even felt a tug on the ley line.

Clues clicked into place. Not a ghost. If not fey, he had to be a witch . . . a sorcerer.

“Say you forgive me,” he whispered.

Instead, I said, “Anyone who bothers with the news knows I’m connected to Menessos, so dropping his name around here isn’t going to earn you any trust, respect, or anything else, for that matter. Injuring my people actually puts you on my shit-list. So, Mr. Creepy-Who’s-Supposed-to-Be-Providing-Protection-Not-Diminishing-It, you’ve got my attention. Now what are you going to do with it?”

He scanned around, gestured toward Mountain and Zoltan. “Your dragon’s horns have not sprouted.”

My fingers impatiently tapped my thigh, but I held my tongue, waiting for him to go on.

“Can you predict when they will?” Mountain asked with a chuckle. “Just name the day and the hour, then you can go home and we’ll call after that to let you know how much credibility you’ve earned.”

“There is no predicting to it,” Creepy replied. “His transformation will begin the moment you take the action that causes it.”

Transformation? I recalled that Hecate’s dragons had had four limbs
and
wings. I asked, “What action?”

“The dragon must be poisoned.” The hint of a curve strayed to his lips. “She Who Walks Between Worlds should know that.”

I don’t like being scolded. I like it less when a stranger is doing it. But I learned something new about myself: When a creepy stranger who definitely knows I’m the Lustrata scolds me and also suggests I poison a pet, I loathe it.

Despite the narrowed eyes and crossed arms that signaled my annoyance, Creepy came right up to the screen. “Do you have any seeds of the
Strychnos nux-vomica
tree?”

I’d not heard of the vomit-tree, but the other part was obvious enough. “You mean strychnine? No. I don’t keep poisons around the house.”

“No matter.” He lifted his empty hand toward the edge of the porch, palm up, closed it and reopened it. It was full of dark coins.

Zoltan’s nostrils flared and he slithered forward.

Creepy let the dragon close in on him.

Those aren’t coins.

Z
oltan, no!” I shouted, pushing on the screen door. Creepy blocked it with his foot, but I was too late anyway. The dragon’s tongue had licked over Creepy’s hand, and the odd seeds were gone.

Mountain scrambled forward even as Zoltan crunched and swallowed. His big arms circled the dragon’s body. “No! Spit it out!” He squeezed, as if doing the Heimlich maneuver, but who knew exactly how high or low a dragon’s stomach was? Suddenly Zoltan was choking. I couldn’t be sure if it was the seeds or Mountain’s actions, but I was betting it was the former. Zoltan flopped to the ground, pinning Mountain. Behind me, I heard a window open. I saw Zhan’s foot as she slipped out.

“Bastard.” Creepy didn’t even bother to acknowledge me, captivated by the creature’s spasms. I smacked the door angrily. He wasn’t going to let me out, so I tore a hole in my just-fixed screen and shoved the gun through, whacking his still-solid head with the handle.

The sound it caused made me smile.

At least until he glared at me and his irises flashed red. “That. Hurt.”

I withdrew my arm from the mangled screen. “He’s in pain because of you!” I glanced at the writhing, eel-like dragon. Zhan had helped Mountain get free, and he had scooted a few feet away.

When I spied Creepy again, he wasn’t solid. He was halfway through my door.
“Hey!” I retreated, mad at myself. Creating a distraction was a standard bad-guy tactic, and this arrogant ass had told us what he’d do.

Ivanka made an awkward grab for his leg. While her broken arm was held tight to her chest, her uninjured arm swung through him. She kicked to no avail.

“In the fey world the dragon had no access to such trees,” Creepy said. His voice was ethereal at first but changed as he solidified. “Dragons crave bitter tastes, bitter like those seeds, for a reason.” He kept coming toward me. “The seeds stimulate his spinal cord.”

“He’s convulsing!” I kept retreating. This hall led to the kitchen. There were knives and things to throw in there.

“Yes. He will have violent convulsions.”

I spun and ran for the kitchen, hoping to find something that would make a more useful weapon than a gun I had no intention of firing. Maybe salt. Maybe the silver-plated holiday turkey-carving set. As I arrived in the kitchen, though, I saw Creepy was already there. In fact, I ran right into his solid arms. “Do not fear,” he said, wrapping me in his embrace. “It is no different than a wærewolf’s transformation.”

I struggled; he released me. His words sank in.

“There is so much I want to tell you,” he whispered.

A roar trumpeted outside, so loud and so strong that the dishes in my cupboards rattled. I stood there blinking, stunned that he’d let me go, and stunned by that sound, until I noticed movement in my yard.

The rest of the dragons were slithering across the rear lawn.

I ran for the front, where Ivanka was getting to her feet. I shoved the screen door
open. On the porch, however, my gait slowed, and I arrived in the yard flabbergasted at the not-so-small dragon. Zoltan’s smooth skin now rippled with scales. He had a gleaming spinal ridge and a crown of ebony horns upon his head. He sat on his haunches, his tail wrapped around him. His neck was curled down, his snout snuffling his new claws. “No wings,” I said.

“Five claws,” Zhan mumbled beside me, adjusting her robe. “He has five claws!”

“Does that mean something?” Mountain asked.

“In Chinese legend, the five-clawed dragon is the symbol of an emperor. Being a black dragon, he is a king of deep, numinous waters.” Her teeth were chattering. Mountain put an arm around her and pulled her to him.

The other dragons slithered around Zoltan and released cheerful bellows.

From directly behind me, Creepy whispered, “I can help you, Persephone. More than you can imagine.” He then advanced on Zoltan. Reaching up, he boldly seized the rhinolike horn that had sprouted from the dragon’s snout. “I charge you with the safety of this estate and the woman Persephone. Your life will be forfeit to me if she is harmed during the hours that Menessos is absent. Do you agree to this, dragon?”

“Wait a minute,” I tromped off the porch. “We don’t even know who the hell you are!”

Creepy released Zoltan and spun toward me, laughing. “You dubbed me Creepy. That is who I am.”

“There will be no deal-making—”

Zoltan lunged forward and shoved his head between me and Creepy. Using his long neck like a restraining arm, Zoltan kept me back
as he nodded at Creepy and warbled.