Arcane Circle

by Linda Robertson

  Johnny released my arm and relaxed back onto the pillow, shaking his head. “I can’t risk any more damage. Just stitches. And not where the ink is if you can help it.”

  “I’ll do my best.” The doc put the heated tool back on the tray.

  “It’s not aching as bad now, Doc, after the salt.”

  “But your moving set it bleeding again. Be still.”

  “You need to talk to Todd,” Kirk said, offering the phone.

  The doc motioned Kirk to stay back. “I need his arms down flat to do these stitches.” To Johnny he said, “Take your calls later.”

  Kirk ignored him and said, “It’s important.”

  Due to the recent death of the pack’s leader, Todd would have been promoted and given the title dirija if Johnny hadn’t revealed he was the Domn Lup. Todd retained his place as second-in-command, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled about anyone leap-frogging him to gain the position, least of all Johnny.

  “Put it on speaker, Kirk,” Johnny half-snarled.

  Kirk hit the button, kept the phone upraised. Todd’s authoritative voice demanded, “Who else is in the room?”

  “Red and the doc.” Johnny called me Red, as in Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf.

  Dr. Lincoln opened another pack of gauze.

  “This is pack business,” Todd barked. “I’ll wait.”

  Johnny growled, “There’s no one here I don’t trust. Just tell me.”

  Todd’s marked sigh signaled his disagreement with the idea.

  Johnny growled again in frustration, adding forcefully, “Now.”

  Todd said, “I’ve made arrangements for the two wæres we lost, we’re contacting and counseling the families.” Some members of the pack had volunteered to fight at Johnny’s side in the fairy battle. Most survived, but a few were incinerated by a superheated beam that had melted sand into glossy walkways. There weren’t any remains left to bury. “You’re going to have to meet with them soon. And …” Todd didn’t finish.

  “And?” Johnny prompted.

  “I got a call from Romania.”

  Johnny and Kirk shared a look I couldn’t read.

  “Word of the Domn Lup has traveled up the ranks. All the way up. The Zvonul didn’t send word back down and have some bean-counting adevar call. The personal assistant of the Rege called. The Rege is coming to meet you.”

  Sounded like the bigwigs of the wæreworld were taking a personal interest in their new Domn Lup. This wasn’t unexpected, but it was fast. Less than forty-eight hours had passed since Johnny had revealed himself to his pack. The wære governing system was unfamiliar to me, so I was listening close, making mental reminders to ask about these new terms and titles.

  “When are they coming?” Johnny asked.

  “On Wednesday. Unless their travel plans change.” It was now Sunday afternoon.

  “Make sure we’re complying with whatever they need. Call me later if you have anything more.”

  The phone’s screen faded to black. Kirk closed it and replaced it where he’d found it.

  “I’d like to numb the area and give you a sedative so you can relax and rest,” Dr. Lincoln said.

  “No,” Johnny said. “No numbing, no sedatives. Just sew me up.”

  My duties as light source monitor continued as the doc worked. It was a front-row opportunity I’d rather have missed. Watching him stitch the torn muscle, listening to him remark how the sutures would dissolve slowly, and then discuss the area where the bone had been exposed, was not an experience for the pleasant memories scrapbook. I had to verify which line went where a few times while he carefully aligned the tattoo, sewing in stitches to either side of the lines. After he had tended to all the inked areas, he worked outward from them.

  Johnny’s expression spoke for him; it wasn’t a painless process.

  When the doctor finished, he rinsed Johnny’s chest again. “The damage to the pectoral muscle is going to be the worst of it. Any movement of your arm will pull on the wound. I suggest you use a sling for a few days at least, maybe a week. Maybe more, depending on whether or not your usual healing kicks in. No matter what, no activities of any kind that could strain those stitches.”

  He wiped Johnny’s skin dry and applied a salve. “Use this. Although you’re averse to the numbing additives in it, this stuff will help minimize scarring.” He placed the container on the bedside table. “Three to four times a day. I’ll bring you more soon.”

  The doc checked the temperature on the cauterizing device and, satisfied, put it away in his bag. The bleeding was stanched. Johnny had been effectively tended to. I breathed a relieved sigh. Then the doc stood, ready to leave. “Doc, wait.” My respite from stress was too short. This wasn’t over yet. “I have something to show you before you leave.”

  “Red,” Johnny interrupted, “I want a minute with you first. Kirk, you and the doc step out.”

  No one questioned him.

  I sank down on the bed, grateful for a moment alone with him. My fingers pushed into the jet-black waves of his hair, scrubbing over sand still on his scalp. My mind flashed on the beam cutting a dragon in half, then incinerating a Beholder’s legs as the rest of him burst into flame. I could still hear his final scream.

  That grit also reminded me of what Johnny had done. In wolf form, he’d attacked the fairy Fax Torris. She’d dragged him beneath the surface of Lake Erie. They’d been under a long time. Too long. In those moments when my fear was most intense, I regretted terribly not yet telling him that I loved him.

  My heart compelled me to say those words now, but with him lying there injured, it seemed that telling him here, like this, would cheapen the words. I didn’t want to say them out of pity or as a reaction to fear.

  I said nothing and kissed him. Not a sexy, passionate kind of kiss, but a so-alive-in-this-moment kind. I put to memory the feel of his soft lips pressed to mine because earlier today I’d thought I might not ever get to kiss him again.

  Johnny, however, took it as a “Let’s get naked” kind of kiss. His hands rubbed up my arms—and he jerked in pain and said something very improper.

  “Doc said no activities that would risk the stitches,” I whispered.

  Undeterred, he put on a brave face. “I don’t care. Any chance you’ll do a little voodoo on me tonight?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I sat up, rolling my eyes. “Your libido is insatiable. You’re not in any shape to be doing—”

  “Wait, wait—not voodoo, I mean probing. Can we do a little probing tonight?” He grinned.

  It was such a Johnny thing to say that the words filled me with relief. He’s going to be fine. “I’ll give you two innuendo points, but that’s all you’re getting.” I’d lost track of the score in our little game of who could use the most sexual innuendoes in normal conversation.

  He carefully moved his arm and laid his palm across my thigh. “Seriously, Red. We’ve shared pieces of our souls. I need you to use our connection to find out what you can about who inked me up and stifled my powers.”

  “I will.” I found a clean spot on the towel and blotted the blood that had seeped between the stitches when he moved. “Let’s get you past this first.”

  “Does the process of digging in my memories involve hand-to-hand combat?” he asked sarcastically.

  “It might.” The point he was making was clear, but so was mine. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before. It might involve mud wrestling for all I know.”

  Expecting him to wiggle his brows and make a remark about bikini-clad females in shallow pits of mud, I was surprised when his mirth faded and he became very serious. “Red, the top dog is coming. I need this unlocked pronto. I don’t want anything holding me back when he arrives.”

  “Johnny.” He’d lost blood and energy. Because his power was locked in his tattoos, transforming at will wasn’t ever easy. Right now doing so would have been harder still. “I get it that the Zvonul are the wærewolf equivalent of the Witch Elders Council, and that th
is won’t be as easy as a couple of neighborhood dogs getting introduced via mutual butt-sniffing. But what is this Rege going to do?”

  “He has to see me change. The rest of the wæres won’t accept me until he confirms me as the Domn Lup.”

  “Other than the Rege, Todd said something about an adevar?”

  “Titles up the chain of command. Let me start at the bottom so this makes sense. Dirija is a local pack lord, like a mayor or a priest. They account for a hundred to two hundred and fifty wæres, depending on area and city size. They answer to an adevar—think of them as IRS agents with governorships. Each adevar deals with ten to fifteen dirija. They aren’t well liked.”

  “Why not?”

  “The dirija see them as buttinskis and tattletales.”

  “But ‘bean counter’ was the term Todd used.”

  “They’re basically accountants who get furry once a month. They kennel with the packs they oversee on a rotating basis. Never a fun time. It’s like being audited.”

  “Okay.”

  “Between them and the Zvonul are the diviza, who are more like mafia dons crossed with U.S. senators.”

  “I think the government official examples help me understand, but the priest and mafia descriptions create a bunch of blanks that I’m not sure I want filled in.”

  Johnny snorted. “Yeah, but actual government officials are elected or appointed. These guys fight for position. The Zvonul are a pack of the most powerful wæres on the planet, each with a region under his direct influence. They keep control through loyalty they create with spiritual connection, intimidation, and strategy. So the idea of a group of priests, mafia dons, and generals—with a whole lot of Big Brother mixed in—is a more accurate analogy.”

  “Yikes. Sounds like a cult.”

  “See why I wanted to stay out of it?”

  “Yeah. But you’re in it. Big time.”

  He didn’t reply. He just picked at the sheet on the bed.

  Though etymology made it pretty obvious, I asked, “And the Rege?”

  “The Zvonul’s main man. Think of him as …” he considered it and said, “Pope-Czarzilla. If he called the packs to unite, it’d take the airlines weeks to handle the exodus of wæres to Romania. No one would dare refuse.”

  “But the moving industry in America would crumble!” My flippant statement won me the lopsided grin I was hoping for, but it faded too quickly.

  Johnny had taken the mantle of his fate in order to help me defeat the fairies: He’d killed Ignatius Tierney, the former dirija, who also happened to be his father figure, and in doing so he’d claimed the pack. The responsibilities of his destiny were changing him, siphoning off his lightheartedness, replacing it with new gravity. He’d risked everything for me; to deny him anything would have been selfish.

  “Okay. We’ll do some probing tonight. But you’ve lost a lot of blood; you’re going to have to drink a gallon of orange juice.”

  “You should know, Red. This household has the potential to single-handedly keep Florida orange growers in business.”

  Johnny was referring to my own frequent need to consume OJ. The vampire Menessos was my servant, and part of being his master meant letting him feed from me.

  But Johnny had been unconscious on the beach during part of the battle. He’d missed some very important events … such as me staking Menessos. If he’d known what I’d done, I don’t think he would have made that joke. I’d taken a terrible risk to defeat the fairies. Menessos may be well and truly dead, never to rise again. Just thinking those words caused tears to threaten, so I changed the subject. “Is Todd going to be a problem in all this?”

  “No. He must’ve realized that I’m only in his way until I’m confirmed. Then, the Zvonul will have other plans for the Domn Lup. This pack will be his anyway. I’d bet a guitar or two that, to hurry the process up, Todd personally called them before Ig’s body had even cooled.”

  “What do these ‘other plans for the Domn Lup’ entail?”

  “I’m not sure what they’ll expect. There hasn’t been a Domn Lup in centuries. But,” his fingers tightened on my thigh, and his warm voice rescued me from the sadness building inside me, “I won’t move to Romania.”

  That deserved another kiss. This time, instead of reaching up for me, his fingers glided around my leg and over my hip. I broke off the kiss when he poked at the contents of my pocket.

  “Why do you bother keeping it with you now?”

  He meant the protrepticus, an inanimate object—mine was an old cell phone—that housed a spirit. It could never be very far from my person. When I’d created it with Xer-xadrea’s help, it had bound me with her and the spirit. She’d given her life to save mine at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens late Friday night. We’d had to leave her body behind. It was an awful thing to do.

  With her death, the spirit should have been freed, but I hadn’t had the nerve to check. “Dunno,” I mumbled. “I’m sure it’s useless but … I feel guilty for leaving her and maybe, somehow, through this thing I can tell her I’m sorry.”

  “If you figure out how to find the dial directory for specific dead people, I want to talk to Randy Rhoads.” He patted me softly. “Hey, you better get the doc on to his next appointment.”

  I stood. “You want anything?”

  “A bowl of Lucky Charms would be nice.”

  He’s definitely on the mend. “I’ll send it up with Kirk. And the juice.”

  “Kirk’s going to have to go soon, Red.”

  “I’ll come back as soon as Dr. Lincoln’s shock wears off.”

  The bar bouncer wære and the veterinarian were standing in the small foyer area on the main floor, obviously uncomfortable with each other. “Kirk, I need you to take some food up to Johnny.” He looked grateful for the promise of escape. “And, Doc, do you have plans for this evening?” I asked, even as I headed for the kitchen.

  “I was going to order a pizza and watch my latest delivery from Netflix,” Dr. Lincoln called.

  Without disturbing Nana and Beverley’s very serious game of Chutes and Ladders at the dinette, I gathered a small mixing bowl, a spoon, the cereal box, a half-full milk jug, and the half-gallon of orange juice. The items passed to Kirk and he headed up the steps. “What do you like on your pizza, Doc?”

  “Why?” He drew the word out suspiciously.

  “I was hoping you would evaluate a few animals I’ve acquired. If you will take a look at them, I’ll send Nana and Beverley to pick up some pizzas.”

  The doctor, bemused, shook his head but conceded. “Banana peppers and sausage.”

  “That was easier than I expected.” The prospect of losing his down time and taking on unexpected work seemed like something he should resist with a bit more force.

  “Whatever you’ve got going on is sure to be more exciting than Underdog.”

  On my way out I grabbed my jacket, an insulated flannel overshirt. The doc followed me through the cornfield, lugging his medical bag. “Is there a corral out here?” he asked.

  It was colder than I’d thought. Buttoning the flannel, I answered, “Sort of.” We didn’t have to fight our way through the cornstalks; the elemental animals’ passage had bent the stalks down and created an eight-foot-wide path straight to the grove where the ley line ran.

  “What kind of animals did you acquire?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He grunted. “How many of them are there?”

  “Several. I don’t have an exact count.”

  “Give me a hint or something.”

  Our approach caused the animals to stir. There was nickering and bird sounds and a noise like a giant burp. It could have been Mountain’s belch or one of the dragon’s.

  “Did you know a ley line crosses my property, Doc?”

  “No. I’ve heard you use the term before, but I’m not sure what it means.”

  “It’s a magic thing, an earth-energy line—but you can’t see it. If you’re attuned to such things you may gain a sense of it
, but the animals are undeniably drawn to it. They’re keeping themselves close to the ley line in the grove of trees up ahead.”

  The crunching of our steps abruptly changed. An over-the-shoulder glance revealed the vet had halted. He stood stiffly and his humorless expression was what I’d expect to see if I’d taken him snipe hunting and he’d just caught on to the game.

  I stopped, too. “What?”

  “Exactly.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You’re talking magic. What’s out there?”

  Though he was confident with the farm animals he treated, the idea of magical creatures stripped away his certainty. He had learned some of how wære genetics changed the rules of medicine. I couldn’t blame him for being guarded. And, with the exception of a single normal Great Dane puppy, our relationship had involved injured wærewolves, kidnapped and thieving witches, and some very dangerous vampires. But I had hoped to get the elementals into his line of sight before he freaked. The elementals might be even harder to accept, but at least they were closer to regular work for him.

  I strode back to him.

  He said, “Tell me there aren’t any bizarre wære-creatures out there.”

  “No bizarre wære-creatures. No wære-pigs or wære-platypus. Wære-things probably wouldn’t gather at a magic line, anyway. I promise, there’s nothing out there that’s contagious like that.” I used the word contagious rather than dangerous on purpose. These creatures had done a lot of damage while the fairies had control collars on them.

  “And still you won’t name what I’m going to see.”

  “Doc.”

  He removed his glasses and wiped them clean on the tail of his shirt. “Very well. But I’m billing you. Regardless of the pizza.”

  “And I’ll expect the overtime rate.”

  He tucked his spectacles determinedly back into place and had just taken his first step forward when a shrill neigh pierced the air. The thump of hooves followed, bringing a pristine unicorn cantering into view.

  Dr. Lincoln stopped in his tracks again. This time his jaw dropped.

  The young stallion pranced to a halt and shook out his glorious mane as he noticed us. Then the unicorn leveled his horn at us and snorted. He pawed the ground, ready to charge.