Shattered Circle (14 page)

Undeterred by my anger, Menessos crouched before me. He slid his hands into mine without altering the way my arms held Beverley. “My master, you cannot accept the marks of the Excelsior.”

Many thoughts flooded my mind. What would Beverley think of this? How would she react? What if she didn’t want to be at the haven? What about school? There were no children at the haven—
Stop
.

Menessos was being too nice and too calm about all of this.

I blinked the moisture from my eyes and searched his face.
Why?

He had quickly evaluated the situation, then skillfully devised a conversation that kept me focused on Beverley and the solution to this new problem.

What was his verbal maneuvering trying to hide?

I sat straighter. “What in Hell had a hold of her?”

He blinked as if to make a denial, saw my expression harden, then sighed. His hands slipped from mine and he stood. “If I had to guess, I would wager it was Nyx.”

My embrace tightened protectively around Beverley.

“Nyx?” I asked. “You mean Nyx as in the
deified personification of night
?”

Menessos hesitated, then said matter-of-factly, “Yes.”

Zhan turned on her heel and walked away.

“Why?”

“That is what we must figure out.”

“And how do we do that?”

The corner of Menessos’s mouth crooked up. “Perhaps there is an Eldrenne or two that could aid you. Their reference library is one of the finest in the world. You could research—”

“I’m not going to hide behind the Council’s skirts.”

He was undeterred. “Two birds with one stone, my master.”

“No.”

“Then you doom Beverley.”

“Don’t pull this shit. Not now.”

“That is such an odd phrase. Why would anyone ‘pull shit’?”

I smirked at him. “I guess it has something to do with getting your hands dirty in a stupid and pointless way.”

“I am not needlessly dirtying my hands by trying to protect you while you figure out why Nyx would want a ward-breaker.”

I frowned, but before I could speak, a car horn honked. Zhan had brought the car as close as she could to us. As I shifted Beverley so I could stand, Menessos deftly removed her from my arms. I asked him, “How did you get here anyway?”

“After your call I had Risqué gather supplies while I informed Goliath I was leaving. My driver dropped me off.”

I stood. “I never realized a ley line ran through here.”

“This area is secluded. If I lost control, the isolation would minimize the wild magic’s impact on others.” He began walking toward the Audi. “I sent my driver some distance away for his own safety. If Zhan can drive us all, I’ll let him know he may head for the haven.”

He glanced back. “I trust that I will be permitted to ride along?”

W
hen Zhan pulled into my driveway I saw Johnny’s Maserati parked behind Celia’s CX-7. While seeing the Maserati made my stomach do a little flip—I’d have to confront Johnny now, no getting out of it—something else worried me more. My house sat unlit in the night and another car had pulled off to the side of my seldom-trafficked road. It seemed to be abandoned, but other than my place, there was nowhere close by to walk to or visit. I had a hard time believing anyone had parked there by coincidence.

I realized that Zhan had not cut the engine.
Of course not. Menessos won’t drive himself to the haven
. I glanced back at Beverley, wishing she had awakened so I could talk to her and explain. But that wasn’t meant to be. Without a word, I slid across the seat, kissed Beverley’s forehead, and exited the vehicle.

The wind was picking up and helped me slam the car door before I stalked around the other vehicles to my porch.

Inside, I removed my dew-damp boots, sat them aside, and stood there with my back to the open main door, listening, as Zhan drove away. This big farmhouse felt so empty suddenly. One step, then two. I was the only thing alive in here, the only thing making a sound, and I knew where to step to not squeak the old floorboards.

A tie hung across the handrail of the stairs.

Johnny’s. He had a key.

I listened hard. There were no sounds from upstairs, only the roaring of the wind outside.

My touching the silky smoothness of the fabric raised his scent. I pulled my fingers away, leaving the tie there.

I glanced into the living room, where my slipcovered couch and framed John William Waterhouse poster prints were hung. The moonlight was dim, but my eyes had adjusted to the dark. Above the fireplace was a genuine Waterhouse painting, but the fancy art light above it was switched off. The slow flash of a tiny red LED seemed more like an eerie blinking eye than the indicator of a security system for that very valuable gift from Menessos.

Walking toward the kitchen, even my sock-footed steps seemed loud in my ears. My gaze focused on the floor.

A memory flashed. Of Creepy—the otherwise nameless benefactor Menessos had secured an unsettling union with—here, in my kitchen. I had run away from him, leaving him behind me at the door, but he had impossibly materialized himself in front of me.

And, he’d materialized in the cargo hold of the ship Liyliy had held me captive in.

How had he done that?

Outside the wind roared. It caught the screen door and pulled it open enough that when it snapped shut it startled me. I spun around to see leaves skitter across the porch. And I noted the rip in my screen door. Another memory of Creepy.

I turned back toward the kitchen. Johnny wasn’t here, and that meant he was probably hanging out at
Mountain’s trailer. I walked to the windows to peek outside. The lights were on, and it looked like something had happened to Mountain’s trailer near his front door. I wondered if one of the animals had damaged it.

At the thought of damage-causing animals, my thoughts pounced on Johnny. He wanted to talk, to try to work it out. It would not be a short conversation. I was feeling drained and unsure if I could make up with him.
Don’t let exhaustion make decisions.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, recalling the good things with Johnny. Our awkward first kiss. Our funny score-keeping. We hadn’t kept tally in such a long time. Larger concerns had seeped in all around us. Maybe if we could bring the fun back . . .

Maybe then I could forgive him.

The wind pulled the screen door and slammed it shut again.

The bang knocked me out of my thoughts. I turned on my heel and headed for the front. I should go to the trailer and let Johnny know I was home.

Before I reached my boots I noticed something on the floor, like leaves scattered all over the entryway.

Moving closer, I was four steps away when, even in that dim light, I could tell the spots weren’t leaves but small puddles.
Wet and dark.

Bloody footprints
.

The attack came from behind.

Something hit my neck and jerked me backward and off balance. I grappled at the restraint—the necktie, by the silken feel of it—but could not get my fingers between it and my flesh. I struggled to no avail. I let the fullness of my weight sag against my attacker,
but whoever had me had no problem holding me up. I tried to think of something I could grab and bash against my assailant’s head, but this section of the hall was clear. Not even a picture on the wall to tear down.

My ears were buzzing. I couldn’t breathe.

The mantle
.

I shut my eyes, concentrated on my thumbs, and called on fire.

Even as I detected the mantle’s change in light with my lids closed, I heard a female voice say, “What the fuck?”

I reached over my shoulders to grab at her hands. Pressing my thumbs into her wrists I let the heat flash out of me and into her.

She screamed, but held on.

On her arm, blisters rose under my pinky—the finger that represented water—and under my thumb. Her scream turned into a growl and she squeezed the tie tighter.

I saw stars . . . needed air . . .

I squeezed harder. The blisters broke. The damaged skin in my grasp slid over the raw tissue beneath. I stomped my heel down on the top of her left foot. Without my boots on, I might not have broken bones, but she still yelped at the damage to her bare foot and the silky ligature around my neck loosened a bit. I used that instant to pull her arms forward with all my might, sucked in a breath, and ground my heel in harder.

She growled again and, in spite of the pain of burns, she forced my weight off her injured foot and managed to jerk the tie tight around my throat again.

But this time I had the fingers of one hand curled around it.

With the mantle still shining, I used my thumbs to burn through the silk.

This, of course, meant I burned my neck as well. My pain-filled scream was stifled by the pressure around my throat, but when the singed fabric tore apart from the pressure, it sent her reeling backward, and my choked cry surged out full force. Gasping, I turned to see a stunningly beautiful blond woman wearing only her underwear, cursing as her damaged foot became her literal downfall. She fell on her ass in my hall.

I didn’t stand around trying to catch my breath.

Panting, I leapt at her. She was trying to get up, and my only thought was to keep her down. I shifted sideways and I curled up somewhat so I slammed onto her torso with my entire body. I felt the breath
whoosh
out of her flattened body.

I rolled and straddled her with my knees on her arms to keep her from fighting me. Then I dug my fingers into her hair and cracked the back of her head on my hardwood floor four times.

I would have kept going had it not been for someone calling my name.

Spinning to look over my shoulder, I saw Johnny in the doorway, mouth agape.

“What are you doing?”

My voice was raspy as I said, “She tried to kill me!”
And came closer to succeeding than you did.

“What?” Johnny rushed toward me. His gaze fell past me to her. “Aurelia?”

She didn’t answer. I’d knocked her out.

“You know her?” I stood, rather gracelessly.

Johnny took my arm to steady me. “Yup.”

I blinked repeatedly. My question was obvious.

“The Zvonul sent her to be my assistant.” He paused and, as a glare took over my face, his tone dropped to a justifying one. “She’s very . . . qualified.”

I jerked out of his grasp. “Qualified to kill me.” As I glowered down at the gorgeous unconscious woman, I asked, “Why is she in her underwear?” It looked like someone had dragged it through the cornfield as pieces of dried and broken cornstalks were stuck to it in various places.

Johnny stepped away. “She’s after power,” he said. “She’s been trying to get close to me since she showed up.”

While I was away in Pennsylvania with my mother.

I looked Johnny up and down. His clothing was disheveled, to say the least. There were flecks of grass and shards of cornstalk on him.

Riiiiiight
. Everything clicked into place suddenly and I knew what his urgent need to talk to me had been about. “Let me guess. She got close, didn’t she?”

J
ohnny’s mind was racing. He was stunned to learn that Aurelia had tried to kill Red, but Red’s coarse voice and the splotches on her neck were proof enough, even without the burn right in front. The wærewolf had come close to achieving her aim.

“This is what you had to tell me,” Red said when he didn’t answer. “She’s why we had to talk face-to-face so urgently.”

The reproach in Seph’s glare was a physical slap. The hard note in her words, even over the gruff tone, was an accusation.

“No. She wasn’t.” He opened his mouth and shut it. He wanted to apologize again for losing it and attacking her before. He wanted to smooth that situation over before telling her about Evan. But with his assistant having tried to kill her, and Persephone’s obvious jealousy, he knew he had to back up and fix this before he could straighten the other mess out.

He knew what he had to do. He took out his cell phone and dialed. The Omori needed to come now.

“Yes, sire?” Gregor’s deep voice answered.

“I need you to come to Red’s farmhouse ASAP.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Bring the Omori with you.”

“Sire? Is there a problem?”

Johnny looked down at the unconscious woman and said, “Aurelia must be taken into custody.”

At that, Aurelia stirred and sat up, eyes wide in disbelief. Red retreated a few steps farther from the woman, then disappeared into the living room.

Gregor asked, “For?”

“Attempted murder.”

“Who’d she try to kill?”

“Red.” Johnny hung up. He heard Seph passing through the dining area to the kitchen. She appeared again, dragging a dinette chair and holding a rope.

“You can’t be serious.” Aurelia’s droll tone indicated that she’d recovered herself. “The witch is a liability to your rule.”

Johnny shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

Aurelia laughed, a single condescending note. “Of course you can’t see it. You’ve barely lived your life with the pack. Every den is bound by the common denominators of being wolf and fearing the threats of those who are not, but this pack has something more charmingly homey about it. I’ll give Ignatius the credit. That’s the legacy he built. A pack that was more than pack . . . by aspiring to be family.” The tone she used would have been more suitable as a response to learning her house was infested with bedbugs.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Johnny said.

Aurelia rubbed at the back of her head and climbed to her feet, keeping her left on the heel only. It was obviously injured. “It is for you.”

“How so?”

“You kept this family at arm’s length, and they were the good ones. What’s out there”—she gestured vaguely
beyond the house—“is not the same. The higher the rank, the less familial it gets. In the Zvonul, they’re barely more than rabid pack animals. When they see threats, they eliminate them. As you should well know.”