Wicked Circle (32 page)

“Do you want to know what we saw of you in his mind?” Ailo asked conspiratorially.

Shoulders squaring and jaw flexing, Giovanni snapped, “What did you see of me?”

Talto clasped Ailo’s hand. Ailo said, “You were a charismatic captain of men . . . and seven hundred professional soldiers followed you to Constantinople—a mission you undertook only after Menessos recommended it based on the glory you could attain there.” Her voice was enthralling, all dulcet tones and hypnotic inflections.

“She’s using the ley,” Menessos said.

“Bespelling him?” Mero stood. They were about to take action—

Menessos motioned him back into his seat. “I have seen them play this game with non-magic-using vampires before. They do not like him or his questions, so they toy with him.”

“You were defending the wall when a debilitating injury forced you to leave your post,” Ailo said. “Because of your departure, many gave up hope and fled. The enemy observed the panic that beset the guards in your absence. His redoubled efforts conquered the Byzantines. The Queen of Cities fell.”

Color drained from Giovanni until he was pale even for a vampire. He backed up until his spine was against the wall, as if memories were playing out before him—he stared in horror at nothing.

“But your injury was not a mortal wound,” Talto said. Ailo whispered
a chant as Talto continued. “A single crossbow bolt and shrapnel from the Ottoman cannon . . . but not as life threatening as initially believed. And yet it was too late. Panic had swarmed the troops and the men had fled. Days later, finding the weakness you had displayed inexcusable when paired with the devastating cost, Menessos took your throat.”

Giovanni’s fingers skimmed over his neck. Talto rose from her seat and, with a gentle touch, caressed his cheek. She took up the whispered chant and let Ailo speak: “It was another vampire, Konstance, who saw in you a mighty captain worth saving. As Menessos protested her actions, she fed you her strong blood and worked the change upon you. Though your death was not averted, she welcomed you into undeath.”

Giovanni blinked and seemed to recover himself from far away. Seeing Talto, who was chanting still, he balled his fist and struck her. She was flung across the room. “Never touch me! Never!”

She screamed and leapt to her feet, crossing half the distance. “For this you hate Menessos?” Talto asked. “You hated yourself for the failure wrought in your absence. You wanted death. He gave it to you. Konstance is the one who brought you back.”

“She loved me!” Giovanni shouted. “And Menessos poisoned her mind against me.”

W
hy does Deric keep him as Advisor?”

Mero shrugged at Menessos’s question. “He plays the devil’s advocate very well. It is better to keep someone who is that bitter and conniving nearby rather than monitor them from afar.” A long moment later, Mero asked, “Now that your people are searching, will you help me rebind the sisters so they pose no threat?”

“I’ll help you,” Menessos said, “but only if we bind them to me—not you.”

“Bound to
you
?” Mero was so surprised that he was out of his seat before he realized it. He paced away, then back. “Your haven is lost, the power of your people will be transferred to Goliath and you will not have the means to contain these sisters,” Mero argued.

“Liyliy outwitted you, Mero.”

“It was not as bloody as what she did to you, and still you insult me.”

“It is not my intent to insult you, my friend.”

“But you do, and
after
I have done all I can to minimize the tragedy here.”

“I am grateful for that,” Menessos said, “but I have spoken truly. She stole the necklace from you. I will bind her sisters more thoroughly. . . .” He sighed. “It is no less than I deserve.”

“Deserve? As a penance?”

Menessos said nothing.

“You can’t mean to make them
your own? It would make them stronger!”

“Through the connection forged in the blood exchange, a deeper binding could be placed upon them. One that would ensure their loyalty.”

Mero was incredulous. “Their story is sad and you feature in it more than most know, but this . . . error . . . is not your doing. It is mine. If either of us must suffer that solution, it should be me.” A deep breath could not counter the fearful tightening of his chest that the mere idea inspired. “They would have to accept it, and as they loathe you already they would surely not accept such a binding. Their former master tried as much. You know how that ended.” They had read their former master into madness and death. “I stand a better chance of gaining their acceptance.”

“You cannot risk this, Mero. Your son needs you. If you succeeded, Ailo and Talto would require too much of your time, and I apparently will have plenty . . . without the duties of a Quarterlord to perform. Besides, with Liyliy absent, they cannot conduct the kind of reading that the three of them can do together. And . . .”

“And what?” he demanded. He knew Menessos’s expression indicated fast thinking and serious risks. “What are you thinking?”

“When Giovanni is through with them, they will be tired. If you bring them here, one at a time, I can seduce them into the blood exchange. Then . . . the rest is just binding their flesh.” He paused and lowered his voice. “They need not agree.”

Mero sank onto the edge of the bed. “A black binding? Are you mad? Performing it would corrode your soul—”

“Some souls aren’t affected by the black arts.”

“You’ve made mistakes,
but you’re no demon.”

The corner of Menessos’s lips curled. “This will work best if done while the sun is risen.”

Connecting the clues, Mero whispered, “A black binding with the sun up means you and the sisters would be dead flesh, making this black necromancy . . . are you saying you have a demon?”

“I do.”

All magic had an element of danger to it. All bindings were to some extent evil. But this . . . magic used on the unwilling was vile and twisted. Moreover, Menessos was shackling them to him
forever
. As endless as vampires were, committing centuries to each other was not uncommon. Even millennia could be achieved when the bonds of friendship were strong—Seven and Mark were evidence of that. But Ailo and Talto were wicked, and they hated Menessos.

Mero couldn’t allow him to do this. “This is too dangerous.”

Menessos crossed his arms. “Then suggest something better. Something sure to work.”

Mero had nothing better. He stood and paced away.

On paper from the bedside table, Menessos wrote up a list. He then sent for the Offerling who had tended his wounds, and upon her arrival he gave her the paper. “Bring these items as soon as you can. Then we’ll discuss what I want you to do with them.”

Mero watched her leave and marveled that he had not identified her before—the red irises should have been a giveaway, but demons were rare and red contacts were not.

“She is half-human,”
Menessos explained. “Her mother did some very bad things. Her father was one of them.”

Flashing a smile at his Maker’s wit, Mero said, “Risqué has the better half on her exterior. She’s beautiful. No tail.”

“She has a tail, a short one. The ruffles disguise it.”

“Do you truly trust her?”

“Yes. Her mother gave her up at birth. I saw to her upbringing, so I trust her implicitly,” Menessos added.

“You taught her magic?”

“Of course. Demon father, witch mother. It was necessary for everyone’s safety.”

“And she is powerful enough to do what you suggest?”

“If I was not certain, I would not allow her to work magic on my corpse.”

Mero was growing weary with the impending dawn before Giovanni released the sisters from his interrogation. There was no time to discuss what Giovanni might have asked them. Mero asked Menessos, “Where might the two shabbubitum secure their rest?”

“Take my bed for the coming day,” Menessos said to Ailo and Talto. He had risen from his bed an hour prior and slipped into silk sleep pants. Although his movements were stiff and slow, his injury was clearly mending. He gestured to the rear chamber. “Here you will have privacy.”

“We are honored by your gesture,” Ailo said and directed her next words at Mero, “but our sister has not returned.”

“She will,” Mero assured them, patting his chest. He gestured her nearer.

“What if she does not
appear by first light?” Ailo asked, verging on tears. Behind her, Menessos led Talto into the back chamber.

Work fast, Menessos.
Still touching his chest, Mero closed his eyes, as if he were contacting Liyliy in some manner. He maintained it for as long as he dared, murmuring, “Her chase of the Erus Veneficus carried her far away.” He dragged out his act for another minute, then ended it. “She has found a safe haven for the day already. She will rejoin us come nightfall.”

His performance satisfied Ailo, who wandered toward Menessos’s private chamber. “Ah good,” Menessos said as he opened the door. “I was just coming to get you. Your sister said you would want to hear the history of these antiques. . . .”

Mero inched closer. He heard Ailo’s stifled scream as Menessos attacked. He watched as his Maker drank from her. Ailo struggled. She tried to beat at him with her fists, but Menessos restrained her. She tried to transform, but Menessos tapped the ley line and prohibited her. He drank until she was weak enough to comply. Then he Marked her and put her to bed beside her sister.

Minutes later, Menessos created a magic seal on the shut door and, licking his lips, said to Mero, “It is done.” He sauntered toward the seating in the round. “Mark!”

The door opened. “Yes, Boss?”

“Bring two beds to this outer chamber for the Advisor and myself.”

“I’m on it, Boss.”

“And Mark?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“You’ll have to quit calling me Boss.”

Mark stalled. “Yes.”

Menessos opened the
door again within minutes for two burly Offerlings. Mero was glad Menessos did not cling to the coffins many vampires preferred. Instead, the men brought in two modern versions of old-fashioned closed beds, the type with bifolding doors to allow access and provide privacy. Narrow enough to fit through the wide doorway, they were each sized for a single occupant to lie comfortably.

As he climbed into the bed, Menessos said, “If you leave your clothes on the floor, you will find them cleaned and pressed upon waking.”

“Wonderful.” Mero undressed. “Are you not nervous?”

“I die easily, Mero. It is the return that I find difficult.”

“Not for the dawn. I meant, aren’t you nervous about the black binding that will be placed upon your body while you are elsewhere?”

Menessos considered it. “No. I trust Risqué. The only unease I feel stems from not knowing where my Erus Veneficus is.”

J
ohnny was dreaming. He was racing across white sand toward a giant clock. As he neared, he could tell the brass disk at the bottom of the pendulum was taller than he was. He gauged the swing of it. The ticktock beat was much too fast, cluing him in that time was running out as more and more sand gushed from the base of the clock, raising it higher, farther away. He had to get through!

Only a few feet from the pendulum, he felt the rush of wind in its wake. He planted his foot and it sank in the sand more than he expected. He had to lift his other leg high and fast to step up onto the clock’s base. The ticks and tocks were so loud here.

Momentum carried him into the path of the pendulum—

His eyes opened.

He still heard ticking.

His nostrils filled with the scent of the cement beneath him.
Cement
? He was in the den. In a kennel. Memory of the rooftop rushed back to him.
Red—

He sat up—and spotted the source of the ticking.

A woman was striding toward him, carrying a file. The tips of her heels were clicking on the cement floor. She was blond and wore a trim lavender business suit with a too-short-for-the-office skirt. She had shapely legs, and her pace was lithe and unhurried.

She also smelled of wærewolf.

Johnny stood.

“Good morning, sire. I’m Aurelia, your assistant and Zvonul liaison.”

Her voice was warm and friendly. Too friendly. She
assessed him up and down, and Johnny became more aware of his nakedness.

“You had a rough night.” Her gaze fell to something in the cage behind him.

The remnants of a side of beef lay on the floor. The hay that was supposed to be in this kennel was piled up at the edges, pushed into the adjacent kennels.

He remembered agony, a pain like he was being eaten alive from the inside out. He recalled thrashing about and howling.
What the hell?

Red!

Mind racing, he recalled all that he’d done and her reaction.
I’ve fucked everything up. God damn it. I knew I shouldn’t trust myself. . . . I’ve failed. I failed me, but worse, I failed
her.

“Let’s acquaint ourselves in your office,” the woman said. “After you’re dressed.”

Ten minutes later, Johnny had collected himself, mostly, and entered his office, dressed in black jeans and an Ozzy Osbourne concert tee. A tray rested on his desk, a plate with an insulated cover not restricting the aroma of the bacon and eggs underneath. There was also coffee, milk and orange juice.

He ignored it all, sitting and picking up the phone in one motion. He was punching in Persephone’s number when his new assistant walked in. “Aurelia—”

“You may call me Aury, if you like.”

“I have a few things to take care of first. Then I’ll see you.”

She sat across from him.
“I can wait.”

“Do it somewhere else.”

Aurelia crossed her long legs unhurriedly. “You want to make sure that I understand I am not your top priority. I get it, Mr. Newman. But please try to remember I work for the Zvonul and am here to aid you.”

He tore his eyes from her thighs and said, “Aurelia, I don’t play games. If I say I have other things to do, I do. It’s not a show meant to put you in your place.”