Shattered Circle (4 page)

Stifling her yelp of pain, she regained her grasp and silently laid it flat on the floor before shutting the closet door. Crouching between the bed and the wall so she couldn’t be seen from the doorway, she studied all the strange symbols painted across the surface.

She’d heard Seph and Celia talking about this.
Great El’s slate
.

They’d said that a person could talk to ghosts with this . . . and that Seph had used it to find her mother.

But how does it work?

Beverley ran her hands over the surface. Her fingers traced the lines of a symbol here, there. They tingled like the fine lines of her fingerprint weren’t so fine after all.

She studied her index finger, then compared it to her other hand’s index finger.
If one tingles . . . what does two do?
She picked two symbols she liked that were side by side and put her fingertips to the slate. Carefully, slowly, she traced both. The tingling began immediately and resonated through her hands and into her wrists.

Suddenly, some force grabbed her hands. She gasped and tried to pull away, but it just squeezed tighter. It dragged her fingers along to one symbol, then on to another. She watched in horror as all her fingers were pulled across the board, each finger moving independently. The more symbols she traced, the more the tingling increased. It became like a fire inside her skin, swelling up through her thin arms, crackling through the broken bone.

It hurt. It hurt
so bad
. She drew a breath to scream—

—and then it felt good.

It wasn’t hot, merely warm. It wasn’t warmth like summer, though, not something a thermometer would show. This was warmth of another kind. The kind only a heart could feel. She felt so . . .

Loved
.

A shimmer flashed across the surface of the board.

She whispered, “Mommy?”

L
iyliy, a vampire-harpy, had tried to kill me a few hours ago, and the struggle left me exhausted and sore. That was the reason I was still abed at nearly two in the afternoon. When my satellite phone blared the opening riffs of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon,” it startled me, instantly reminding me about all the sore muscles I had.

Mid-reach, I stopped. That was Johnny’s ringtone.

He had tried to kill me, too.

My hand shook as my finger jabbed the Answer button. “Hello?”

“Red . . . I’m so sorry.” Johnny’s voice was barely audible.

I sat up and deliberated whether to play deaf and repeat my “hello” as if I hadn’t heard him. I considered being a jerk and hanging up. I even contemplated ripping him a new one.

Instead, I remained silent.

Two days before, minutes after I’d performed the forced-change spell on him and his loyal pack mates, Johnny had attacked me. He’d always retained his man-mind while transformed, but that last time he didn’t—he’d been pure animal. The only reason I was still among the living was because I’d pumped ley line energy into him like a human Taser.

“Red?”

He’d frightened me to my core. The unshakeable faith I’d had in him had been shattered by an emotional earthquake. Damage was done. My fear felt like betrayal.

But . . .

Could going through the forced-change spell repeatedly have an undesired effect?

No. I was sure the whole terrible incident could be pinned on the fact that my mother, Eris, had revoked the tattooed bindings she’d placed upon Johnny eight years ago. He suddenly had access to all the power and potential she’d locked away from him. That was surely a disorienting, difficult situation.

I’d helped him dig up the clues, helped him achieve that goal. Hell, I’d even been a part of the reversal spell. So some responsibility for the consequences
was
mine to bear.

“Persephone?”

He rarely used my full given name; he usually called me Red, as in Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf. Or Seph like nearly everyone else. I had to respond.

“I’m here.”

“Then say something.”

Pushing back the covers, I stood and began to pace. “I don’t know what to say.”

He paused. “Can you forgive me?”

I wasn’t sure.

Part of me said I couldn’t allow his attack to be a personal issue because of the fateful trio that Johnny, Menessos, and I forged by binding ourselves magically. The other part argued that no matter the circumstances, attempted murder was very damn personal.

It all happened because Johnny had surrendered to his
destiny. His unique ability to transform at will made him the Domn Lup—king of the wærewolves. It was a position with power, prestige, and perks such as a Maserati Quattroporte. Johnny knew his royal place was unavoidable, but he’d fought it and hid from it a long time. He’d finally pushed forward because it was beneficial to our triple union, but kinghood was costing him his dream of being a rock star.

It had been my fear that he’d lose who he was in the course of this alliance of ours. More than ever, it seemed this fear was being borne out.

On the other corner of our triangle was Menessos. He now bore two witches’ marks—mine, of course. That made him my servant. When Heldridge, his former right-hand man, learned of my authority over Menessos, he tattled to the highest vampire authority, the Excelsior. To protect us against the personal grudge of the truth-seeing vampire-harpies sent by VEIN to make formal inquiry, Menessos had allied himself at great personal expense with someone dangerous—a “nameless” guy I had aptly dubbed Creepy.

The secrets he’d wanted to hide from VEIN—secrets even I didn’t know—were apparently safe, but our little who-marked-whom secret was out. Menessos lost his haven and his status as Northeastern Quarterlord.

Johnny had accepted great power and lost a lifelong dream. Menessos had lost great power and accepted serious personal risk. It didn’t seem fair.

And what about me?

In the last several weeks I’d learned that I was the long-prophesied Lustrata, the Witches’ Messiah, She Who Walks Between Worlds, She Who Will Bring Balance,
blah blah blah. As this news spread throughout the non-human communities, some scoffed and some believed. I was fine with the scoffers; it was the believers who were dangerous. They wanted to know if I truly possessed the power that accompanied those titles. Yeah, I was a magnet for nasties who either a) wanted me dead to be sure I
didn’t
have that power, or b) wanted to try to force me to wield power for their gain.

I guess I’d accepted the endless complications of my status and was well on my way to losing all scraps of naïveté.

At that thought, I stopped pacing. As I stared into the nothingness of a darkened corner, it felt like my innocence had slipped from my grasp and I was watching it skitter across the floor, waiting for it to come to a stop so I could reclaim it.

I wasn’t sure it was worth the effort to look for it. Or perhaps it would be impossible to find if I made the effort. Maybe it had rolled into some crack, never to be seen again.

I heard Johnny breathing through the phone.

It wasn’t Johnny who had rescued me last night. When I defeated Liyliy, Menessos had been there to bring me to the haven. Sure, Menessos had a hand in creating the monster she now was. And it was he who had imprisoned her, creating her need for revenge. But it was me and my marks upon him that had brought her to Cleveland.

When she pursued me from the haven—according to the Offerling I’d spoken to—Menessos had sent everyone out to search for me.

Had Johnny even known I was missing?

It was shitty of me to compare the two men in my life, but I couldn’t help myself.

Though Menessos had drunk my blood numerous times, he hadn’t tried to kill me.

Yes he did! He nearly killed you not long after you first met.

We were strangers then,
I argued with myself.
Now, we know each other well.

Better, perhaps, than you should. . . .

Defiantly, I ignored my conscience’s scolding.
I will not regret what I did last night.
During the predawn hours, reeling from my encounter, I’d kissed Menessos.

Fine, but clearly you were able to forgive
him.

That was true. Considering this, I felt hope.

I sighed heavily into the phone. My whispered answer was, “In time.”

“There’s so much I need to tell you.” Johnny’s voice was raw, and the rev of an engine punctuated his words.

I wondered where he was going. And I wondered if I should tell him about kissing the vampire.

It hadn’t been a peck.

When our lips had touched, I felt the promise and power of a more intimate union. He’d definitely felt it. It wasn’t only the power of the marks between us that had been kindled.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Johnny said.

His voice drew me out from my memory of a passionate moment with another man. Guilt swelled around my heart . . . but not remorse.
What am I going to do?

“I’ll have that figured out by the time I get back to Cleveland,” he said.

That’s why he didn’t come for me! He wasn’t even here.
“Where have you been?”

“There’s so much to explain, I don’t want to do it over the phone, Red. Say you’ll see me. I’ll come to you. Anywhere. We have to talk. Face-to-face.”

“What time is good for you tomorrow?”

“No. It’s gotta be today.”

My gut twisted. This wasn’t a conversation to be rushed. “I can’t.”

“This is important.”

He didn’t know what had happened to me or he wouldn’t push like this. But if I didn’t harbor this fear of him now, I wouldn’t mind being pushed. “Johnny.”

“Let’s have an early dinner. Anywhere you want. Someplace fancy like Mallorca, or even a burger joint like Wendy’s. I don’t care. . . . I just have to talk to you.”

It was past two in the afternoon. I’d have some time to prepare. “Okay.”

“Let’s say four o’clock. Where do you want to meet?”

I decided to stack the deck in my favor. I picked a certain coffee shop near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The place employed a few witches I knew. I hoped at least one of them was working today.

L
ate November in Northeast Ohio can be cool or outright cold. So, after shoving my feet into a pair of comfy boots, I grabbed a blazer and a hoodie from the closet. Adding layers over the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt was the best option.

Then, though ready to leave, I stood at my heavy haven door procrastinating.

I was deep within the building. Between me and the world outside were the backstage area, the main stage, a greatly modified theater house, a long hallway, then three stories’ worth of stairs, followed by a hundred-yard trek to the entrance.

It wasn’t the distance that bothered me. What made me hesitate was the fact that there could be a hundred or more Beholders and Offerlings between me and the doors to the world beyond the haven. Liyliy had made sure to announce to them all that I had twice-marked Menessos—to whom they had pledged their loyalty. Mastering their master was a roundabout way to make them all
my
servants, and to many it smacked of deviousness and ill intent.

My name was surely not to be found on the favorite-persons list of anyone in the haven.

But if I was to be successful as the Lustrata, I couldn’t cower from Offerlings and Beholders. Regardless of their
overwhelming numbers, they were, essentially, mine. Therefore, they wouldn’t dare raise a hand to me.

Right?

I closed my eyes and affirmed to myself that the mantle of the Lustrata rested upon my shoulders. With a turn of the knob, I stepped out.

The door to my room was so heavy, it could have served as the entry to a bank vault in a former life, so, with a push on its significant weight, I shut it and descended the steps. My gaze trailed back. The Offerling on duty was playing
Angry Birds
on his phone and he glanced at me, expressionless, then returned to his game. My focus skipped past him to the door directly beneath mine . . . the entry to Menessos’s chambers. The vampire was beyond that door, not so far away.

Winding my way through the backstage maze, I found the former theater house was lit only by the sconces on the outer walls. It was enough illumination for me to traverse the room without bumping into tables. The place was, thankfully, empty of people. As I walked, the darkness and silence allowed my mind to revisit my last exit from the haven, fleeing upon my broom.

Near the entrance to the theater I paused to look back, imagining what it must have looked like, me flying out of here, a giant harpy in swift pursuit.

“Going somewhere?” Her heavy Russian accent made the word sound like
suhm-vair
.

I spun around.

In the doorway stood a tall woman with short, spiky black hair. Muscular shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath, her bulging arms crossed. Her familiar oval face was frowning.

Ivanka.

She’d served as my sentinel until she’d tried to shoot Creepy in the head. He’d broken her forearm like it was a bendy straw.

It didn’t surprise me that her cast was covered in a green wrap that had been marked up to resemble camouflage, or that she wore a black tank top and military fatigues. Her combat boots were untied, with the strings tucked down inside. I was glad her handgun was still holstered on her left hip and not in her hand.

“Yes. I have a meeting in”—I checked my watch—“about twenty minutes.”

“You must stay.”

“Why?”

“It is order of Haven Master. Erus Veneficus is not to leave premises.”

“Menessos said I couldn’t leave?”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed angrily. “Because of you, Menessos is our master no more.”

Right.
Suspicious, I asked, “And who is?”

“Goliath.”

A sudden fear gripped me. If he had made claim to the people of the haven, then maybe they weren’t “essentially” mine at all. I thought it through. Goliath belonged to Menessos, so unless they had done some kind of separation, he was mine as well. By default, things should still be kind of the same as I had expected.