Shattered Circle (21 page)

Ailo crossed in front of the guard, who did not respond.
She climbed the stairs to the upper suite with silent steps and knocked softly. Silhouette opened the door.

•  •  •

Goliath stood facing Menessos. They were in the private bedchambers of the Haven Master’s suite. All was dark except for the faint light cast by the black candles on the altar table they had relocated into this room. Between the candles sat a black-handled dagger with a stubby blade. He watched as Menessos grasped the dagger and examined it. He stuck one flat side of the blade in the candle flame, holding it there until that side had blackened. Then, after checking it, he flipped it and did the same to the other flat side using the second candle.

When the blade was fully darkened, Menessos sat it once more in position. “This is no small undertaking.”

“I am aware of this.”

The breaking of the bonds between a Maker and his vampiric offspring was not so dissimilar from the actual Making of a vampire. Instead of severing ties to mortal life, they would be severing their ties to each other. Goliath had seen firsthand that—like the old adage that a woman giving birth comes very close to death herself—no vampire was Made without his Maker risking his own existence. Not all vampires could even Make another. For all that he had seen in service to the Quarterlord, he had never witnessed
this
ceremony before.

It was rare that a vampire’s Maker would deign to release him, even when the younger gained substantial rank. But Menessos had agreed. That made this a monumental moment in Goliath’s preternatural existence.

So he was nervous.

The fact that Goliath had borne some doubts concerning his master’s actions of late added to Goliath’s anxiety. “I regret only that harsh words brought us to this moment, Father.”

Menessos put his hand on the other vampire’s shoulder. “I am proud of you, Goliath. You will be a great Master, and you will keep your haven strong.”

Goliath had not liked the sentimental note in his own voice, much less the one mirroring it in Menessos’s tone. It was something like the sound of doubt. His expression hardened. His Maker had already been taxed this night. Whatever he had done—and whatever it had been had taken great strength—had saved Beverley. “Should this wait until another night?”

Menessos considered it. “No. I can do this. You have earned it.” He breathed in a purposeful pattern.

Ground and center.
Goliath did the same.

From the altar Menessos took a handful of sea salt and circled Goliath, murmuring in Akkadian and letting the granules cascade from his hand and create a barrier around them.

“Hecate, hear me and give us a sacred space.

Let nothing interfere with this task we face.

Give me strength to honor Goliath’s request

And provide him freedom for a rule that is blessed.”

When the circle set, Goliath’s ears felt a slight
pop
like when being in an airplane that was about to land.

“Are you ready?” Menessos asked.

Goliath nodded once.

Menessos put one hand over Goliath’s mouth. The
nails of the other grew into claws and he gripped the flesh of Goliath’s abdomen.

“What hunger I awoke in you, I partook from as your Master. I now grant you the full of that hunger and the sating of it.”

Where Menessos touched him, his skin prickled. The electric charge was building.

“It is yours to own,” Menessos said. “Yours to keep. Yours to feed. I no longer derive any sustenance from it.”

Goliath felt the energy flow like a static libation flooding down his throat. Resonance gripped his gut. Cold and heat passed through him in waves, raising gooseflesh then searing him like desert winds. He jerked with each shift, the sharp difference jolting him harder, longer . . . then tapering until he felt only one even temperature.

Menessos released him, panting hard. His hand reverted to normal.

Goliath said, “I accept that hunger.”

When his breathing had normalized, Menessos put Goliath’s hands together as if in prayer. Squeezing the clasped hands in his right and placing his left to cover Goliath’s brow, Menessos said, “What power I awoke in you, I held tethered to me as your Master. I now give you the full of that power and draw on you no more.”

Again his skin prickled as the words were said.

“It is yours to own. Yours to keep. Yours to tend. I no longer hold any authority over you.”

Energy sliced into Goliath like searing hot scalpels stabbing deep into his mind and melting there, liquefying into something mystical and molten. It burned into his bones and became one with every molecule of his being.

Menessos released him again, but this time he staggered a step backward.

“I accept that power.”

•  •  •

The child slept on a bed in the darkened back half of the room. She was small, petite but pretty. Dark-haired. Ailo stroked the silky strands, and jerked a few free. She jabbed her fang into the flesh of her own hand, where her middle finger joined with the palm. As the blood rose, she wrapped the hairs around the wound like a brunette bandage. Holding the hair there with her teeth, she put her free hand on Beverley’s forehead, fingers scratching along the girl’s scalp.

“Tell me your secrets,” Ailo said through clenched teeth, holding her tongue against the mingling of her blood and the child’s hair.

Information trickled into her mind slowly, forming indistinct shapes and muddy colors. She could feel the knowledge was close by, but something was holding it back like an oiled cloth, letting it through only in drips.

Ailo reached up, reached out to that barrier and found one of the leaks . . . and widened it. A flash of birthday cake. A homework paper. The merry-go-round, a laughing little boy. Falling. Pain.

The physical pain linked back to emotional pain. Ailo saw snapshots of a woman in a photo album. She could smell juniper and feel the texture of a certain sweater in her hands.

Talto’s voice invaded the visions. “Get out, Ailo! Risqué is coming!”

Ailo didn’t have the information yet. She pushed the rift wider.

She saw a unicorn with purple ribbons tied in its mane. Heard the sound of a singing mother’s voice . . . then it dropped low and dark. She felt the rip of the ley line consuming her.

The data gushed at Ailo and she gasped, stumbling backward.

The connection was lost.

But she understood what she had seen.

The door burst open behind her and Talto’s desperate whisper crossed the room. “Ailo!”

•  •  •

Goliath watched as Menessos reached to the altar and lifted the unsheathed dagger as he said, “My son, you deserve to be your own Master.” Menessos pulled the blade across his own palm. The cut was deep. His whole hand trembled as the syrupy fluid welled up.

“Thank you,” Goliath said as he pulled his shirt open.

Menessos’s bleeding hand shook and his nails again became claws.

The two vampires shared a grave look in silence, then Menessos slammed his hand against Goliath’s chest at his heart, curved claws sinking through skin, through muscle, to slide against newly empowered bone.

“What blood we exchanged, I empowered as your Master. I now reverse the exchange of that blood.”

What life force vampires knew was bound in their cursed blood. Goliath felt that force coalesce within him, solidifying, turning his veins into thick burning wires. His heart rebelled, shuddered, and stopped. His knees gave—and so did Menessos’s.

Goliath screamed, feeling like his body was ripping apart.

“It is yours to own,” Menessos rasped. His eyes had gone black. “Yours to keep.” Through gritted teeth he said, “Yours to bleed.” His voice was breaking. He sucked air as if he were drowning, but it seemed he could not bring any into his body.

Whispered, soundless, the words passed into the air. “I . . . am no longer . . . your Master.”

Goliath could not breathe either. He had to say his part or both would be destroyed.

Shaking and struggling, one word at a time, he said, “I accept that blood.”

I
landed on ground that might have been soft if not for all the small rocks.

Groaning, I dug my fingers into muddy sand. I forced my eyes open and saw willow branches and a starry night overhead. The smell of water made me realize I was hearing the lapping of a lake at my back. Slowly, and with effort, I sat up. The willow fronds draped around my shoulders like the tree would embrace me. Guess I needed a hug, because I reached up and held the leafy tip like it was someone’s reassuring hand.

As I scanned around, I realized I knew this place. It was the land I usually visited when I meditated. Encouraged by this, I shifted into a cross-legged position and prepared myself to leave. I was sooo ready to go home and crawl into my bed. I was going to sleep until I forgot this had ever happened.

Deep breath. In and out. Count backward from ten and awake in my kitchen as I left it. Ten. Nine. Eight.
Something was wrong. I usually felt the grip of this world loosen.
Seven. Six. Five.
I should be able to smell the scents of my home.
Four. Three. Two. One.

When I opened my eyes I remained on the lake shore.

I tried again. And failed again.

“You cannot leave.”

I twisted toward Amenemhab’s voice. The jackal, my totem animal, strode closer out of the dark. He stood on
slightly higher ground and watched for my reaction. I tried to keep the anger and worry from my features, but hiding my emotions wouldn’t do me any good with him. “Why not?”

“You arrived through his doorway. You must return through it.”

I stood and brushed myself off. “Who is he anyway?”

The jackal sat. “He is who he is.”

“What’s his
name
?”

“It is not for me to say.”

“Riiiight.”
I should have known. “What are my options?”

“You have only one. Decide how to proceed.”

My shoulders slumped. I turned back to the lake and stared at the long and choppy reflection of the moon. I wished I’d had my shoes on when I sat down to meditate. If I’d been wearing them there, I’d be wearing them here and I could kick a rock into the water. I was sure it would make me feel a little bit better.

After a few minutes of silence, Amenemhab asked, “Is the choice so difficult?”

“Well, I can pick very bad, or very, very bad.”

“Ahhh. I see. Tell me more.”

I glanced back at him. He’d lain down. His getting comfortable meant he was willing to hear me out. All the way out.
Damn it
. I bent over and picked up a handful of stones. I threw the first of them at the water. And the second. Frustrated, I dropped the rest and stomped away from the shore, flopping down to sit beside the jackal.

“Why did you stop?”

“I can’t see where they land.”

“So?”

I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. “It’s pointless.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I dunno. There’s something satisfying about seeing the ripples and in the dark my eyes can’t even detect where the rock landed.”

His ears pricked forward. “But you know the rock hit the water. You heard the splash. You know the ripples had to occur.”

“But I can’t see them.” I shook my head. “We shouldn’t get sidetracked anyway. We need to talk about the choice.”

“We are.”

I faced him squarely.

He copied the move. “The ripples you’re causing on the darkened surface may be lost to your eyes in this dim light, and they may seem insignificant compared to the natural and relentless ebb and flow . . . but you are aiming for the lake and I guarantee you are hitting it.”

In my deepest self, the metaphor struck a chord. I scrutinized the surface of the lake. “My dark destiny is flowing and I’m helpless to stop it.”

“Of course you are. That’s rather inherent in the word ‘destiny.’ Why would you even try to stop it?”

I ground my teeth. Every word here was telling. Even if I didn’t want them to be.

“I told you it would only get harder.”

That was true. The last time I’d spoken with him, I’d had a decision to make. His advice then was
Cor aut Mors
. Heart or Death. A choice between the morals and loyalty of the heart, and the insignificance and disgrace of death.

That choice between loyalty and disgrace had been easy to make. This time, however, the choice was not so clear-cut.

Choosing to do things my own way could entangle everyone I cared for and, as Creepy implied, eventually put
them in danger. That was what I wanted to avoid. I already carried some hefty guilt; many had died since this whole thing began and it was likely the death toll would continue to rise.

Choosing Creepy’s way would doubtless keep my loved ones safe, but I probably wouldn’t like his method of securing their safety. It’d turn into something I would feel guilty about.

“You are who you are as well, Persephone. You have the strength you need. And the drive. And the intelligence. Cast away your doubts like the pebbles they are. Let them sink to the bottom; they will never amass into anything that can stop you.”

I faced him again.

“A million pebbles will not significantly alter the lake.”

“Are you saying my worries about this choice are irrelevant?”

“I am saying that the choice itself is like deciding between two routes to the same destination. One is longer and smoother than the other, but both will get you there.”

“Do I have time for the longer, smoother road?”

“The shorter route is more difficult. The time equals out and the choice is more balanced than you know.”

“Then, what’s the catch?”

“Each road has a separate toll; the imbalance exists in the price that you must pay. Focus not on the choice, but on what it costs you. It is that which you must weigh carefully.”

Yeah. Creepy’s services weren’t going to be free.

“Now, Persephone, let me tell you a little about the art of negotiation. . . . ”