“Gentlemen—”
I politely called them each by name, intentionally mispronouncing “Menessos.” Didn’t want these others, or the Elders watching, to think I knew him at all. “What can I do for you?” I asked, keeping my eyes on their chins.
Heldridge came from the shadows toward me. “One of your witches owes me.”
The brighter light made the angles of his face harsher. “Who?”
He smirked. “We’ll call her Ann.”
“What is it that Ann owes you?”
“Blood, money, or some combination of the two.”
He was going to play his role as “intimidating,” so I sat opposite Sever and relaxed into the seat. My role was going to be “unaffected.” Hard to do with Menessos in the room, but I was going to do my best and get through this without delay. “And you have discussed this with her?”
“Of course.” Heldridge looked down his nose at me. “I wouldn’t be here if I were satisfied.”
Looking down at me did not reinforce his attempt to intimidate. As our roles went, this was the high priestess’s territory, and therefore my place he was invading. I had to be comfortable. Cocky, even. And I could do cocky. “And you came to me for your satisfaction. I’m flattered.”
“I want my money!”
Most people who expose their anger expect a similar emotional response. Instead, I smiled sweetly. “I’m not a banker. Did you misread the sign on the door?”
Heldridge growled and ran a hand over his head. It messed up the trio of tendrils on his brow.
“Miss,” Sever put his feet down and leaned across the table. “My friend here has a contract with … Ann. She’s not upholding her end of the deal.” Sever seemed like a good ol’ boy. Not pompous or elegant, but he didn’t lack sophistication. “It’s simple, really.”
“If it were simple, Sever, you wouldn’t be in my office. What is it you expect me to do about this illicit little arrangement between private citizens?”
The two of them exchanged glances; Menessos continued examining the art.
“Ahhh,” I said. “There’s a business involved.”
Heldridge slid a hand into his pocket. “My club. The Blood Culture.”
“Apt name.”
“Of course. It’s easily reached from both the Cleveland Clinic and University Hospitals.”
I held up a hand. “Let me guess—a lot of nurses are donors?”
“On their way home. Very convenient.”
I said, “You don’t want police involved, but you want my help in getting you what you want.” I paused. “Perhaps you should explain this more fully. What kind of arrangement did you contract with Ann?”
Heldridge barked, “Details aren’t necessary.” He turned away from me, back to the darkness.
“You are afraid to tell me the details? Why? Are you afraid I will tell the police?” I tapped my cheek. “Perhaps they’ll shut your business down?”
“They wouldn’t dare! If the blood-drinkers in this town don’t drink with me, people die. The cops wouldn’t risk what would occur if my doors didn’t open!”
I was willing to bet that most of this, except the “Ann” part, was true. Heldridge probably did have a club and nurses probably did donate.
“You’re missing the point,” Menessos said quietly.
His voice stroked me physically, as if he’d breathed warmly into my ear. I ignored it as best I could. Time was a factor in this test. “Spit it out, Heldridge,” I insisted as I stood and approached him. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to take your witch, straighten her out, and sober her up so we can take her blood as contracted!”
That wasn’t possible. But his demand showed they didn’t know that the taint was disease and drugs, not booze. With affected cynicism, I said, “You want me to take her to rehab?”
“Or she gives me my money back!”
“So you prepaid for her blood?” Devil-deals like this didn’t surprise me at all. I readily believed they did shit like this all the time.
“Quarter of a pint, every other Friday, for the next year.”
Was that safe? Not that they would care. But fictitious Ann didn’t have a year to live. They weren’t getting paid, either way. “A quarter pint every other Friday isn’t going to send a slew of vampires into the night searching for victims.”
“No, but I can.” Heldridge’s threat was convincing.
Sever cut in, “Vampires party on the weekend like everyone else, doll. Our drinks don’t come off the beer truck in boxes full of pretty-labeled bottles. We have to make arrangements. The demanding thirst never wanes. So if supply wanes, we act.”
“It’s business,” Heldridge added, straightening his tie to match his ramrod posture. “Usually, the living get to live on unhindered.”
If it were legitimate business, he could put a lien on her property if she had any, as if she were a contractor who didn’t do the work she was paid to do. But it wasn’t legitimate; though I’d bet if I researched it I could find this kind of situation covered in new legislation on the dockets. A degree in business would probably have provided me some ideas on this too.
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “you should just write this off your taxes as a bad debt.” I knew something about writing off losses.
“I told you,” Heldridge sneered, “I seek satisfaction. An accountant’s solution won’t satisfy me.”
“Sometimes, in business, you take a loss.”
“I don’t lose!” he seethed.
“Rehab is not the answer. First, it takes time. Second, she may not dry out. And, if she does, she might fall off the wagon.” I folded my fingers together. “I’m betting you already have a solution that will satisfy you in mind. But you don’t want to say it, you want to steer me toward it so you can agree with me when it becomes my idea.” I paused. “I don’t have time for that. And I’m not easily led, Heldridge, so quit wasting everyone’s night. Just spill it.”
“Spill it?” He reached for my throat, stopped inches away when I neither flinched nor blinked. “Spilling your blood might satisfy me.”
“But that wouldn’t profit you.”
He grabbed my throat and squeezed. “It isn’t always about profit!”
Menessos was suddenly there, throwing Heldridge to the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I will rectify this,” Menessos said, and winked at me. He grabbed Heldridge’s arm and dragged him to the other end of the room. Sever, encouraged by the twitch of Menessos’s finger, joined them. Once Heldridge stood and smoothed his ruffled suit, the whispers began.
Glad to breathe again, I touched my throat lightly and leaned against the table. I’d been warned they could blood me.
But Menessos wasn’t supposed to come in here and solve this for me. He wasn’t trying to help me, was he? Trying to maneuver me into position as the high priestess so he could benefit?
I wouldn’t put it past him.
While they chatted, I repeated the words to myself: May, Catch, Oyster, Eclat.
Menessos turned and sauntered toward me. “We have reached an agreement,” he smiled alluringly. I even saw a hint of fang.
As each step brought him closer, his growing nearness stoked the heat in my body, kindling the desire that tightened places low and deep inside me. Forget it! “Good.” I said, crossing my arms. No matter what kind of response I was having to him, this test was being watched by the Elders. Giving them even a hint of my connection to Menessos could ruin everything.
“We will accept the child as an offerling—”
“What?” I demanded, shoving my rising desire down on its ass. I came to my feet again.
“She will be given to us—”
“A child?”
“Yes.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Absolutely not.”
“You,” Menessos said pleasantly, continuing as if I had not protested at all, “will discreetly look the other way. My people accept it, yours accept it, an
d we all move forward.”
“A little girl’s life?” I was stunned by what he was suggesting.
“A virgin child’s blood will sell for ten times that of her mother,” he replied.
“That’s abuse! Sticking her with needles to bleed her—”
“Your witch is a drunkard. That kind of life is arguably more abusive.”
“You have no right to—” I stammered, remembering they did not realize the woman was as good as dead, and altered my words.
Menessos took advantage of my hesitation and filled it with his own thought. “What kind of life could the child possibly have with her mother?”
“Your point is taken, but you’ve no right to judge the situation of that home. An’ it harm none!” I protested. “I will not let you harm her!”
“Who said anything about harming her?” he asked, innocently charming.
That desire rose up, brushed itself off, and rushed at me again. I squinted suspiciously at him. His eyes sparkled and he seemed to be laughing at me.
“ ‘An’ it harm none, do what ye will,’ ” he quoted the Rede. “Do you subscribe to the belief that it implies ‘harm least’?”
Some wiccans and pagans added the line, “An ye harm some, do as ye must,” to the Rede, meaning if some action was deemed absolutely necessary, some minimal harm befalling others might be acceptable. Others felt that there was always some measure of harm involved in any spell-work and that the Rede merely implied a witch should endeavor to do as little harm as possible. I said, “No one should ever knowingly, willingly, purposefully seek to harm another.”
“But it happens. People have tempers. Some are weak.”
Where was he going with this? He was setting me up. And his soft voice sounded so reasonable, so warm, inviting me to agree with him.
“Some drink liquor and abuse their children. That is, without a doubt, harm, yes?”
“I am not aware of any abuse in their home.”
“Abuse takes so many subtle forms, Persephone. Neglect can be as bad as physical harm.” Menessos’s voice was low and soothing. “Making a child watch daily, live daily in the environment of their parent’s slow self-destruction, that is mental harm. Would you agree to that?”
“To the statement, yes, to it applying to their situation, no.”
“People get hurt every day, Persephone, dear, idealistic Persephone.”
Every time he said my name, it was as if his voice physically touched me. Gooseflesh rose along my arms.
“Perhaps you have heard the saying, ‘An’ ye harm some, do as ye must’?”
“I am aware of that additional line in some traditions.” Had he been reading me?
“The harm has been done,” he said benevolently. “We will take her, teach her, and raise her to be wise and strong and beautiful. She will have a fuller life than her mother could ever provide.”
“No.” My voice lacked the strength needed to give the word real weight.
“We will see to it that she is loved, attended, and nurtured in ways her mother is currently incapable of handling. We have many options.” He gestured to the other vampires who indicated their agreement. “I know of couples who are childless, but do not wish it to be so.”
I thought of Celia and Erik. Did he mean wæres? He was suggesting they would—in theory—foster this hypothetical child into a home of wæres! But in exchange for what? “You will deliver her to a life of servitude to the undead.”
“You would have her stay in a life with no future. As good as dead!”
“You would make her a pawn—”
“No! Her mother made her a pawn,” he snarled. Heat flared on my sternum. “I would make her wealthy and her every need would be met.”
“Still a pawn,” I countered coolly, “just a classier version of the game.”
“This game will be played regardless, Persephone. What version would you choose to have this child play?”
My stomach churned. “Merciful vampires” administering a fate free from wont … this was brutal to my conscience. My only consolation was that this was a hypothetical situation. Not real. Not real.
Or was it?
Could this kind of deal-making have been behind Goliath’s kidnapping? Had a family secret been covered up by the payment of a child?
“As above, so below, witch,” Heldridge shot in. “Does your Goddess never cause harm?”
“She would choose to harm least,” I whispered. By allowing unpleasantness to transpire in small doses, a tenuous balance would be maintained.
My secret hint was that her mother was dying anyway. There was no mention of extended family to adopt the girl. Could I make this decision? As high priestess, I would have authority and would be expected to use it, even when unpleasant for me. The job is what the job is. But if this kind of thing was under the jurisdiction of a high priestess, it was news to me.
Neither option was good. Still, I had to make a choice… .
Make a choice. May … catch … oyster—! May-ca-choys-tereclat. Make-a-choice-directly.
I knew what this was all about. I knew what to do.
“Fine. I will agree to look the other way while you take the girl on the following conditions: One, she is fostered with a wære family of good conscience and a history of secure kenneling—a family of whom I approve. Two, you may take blood from her only in safe amounts and only without her knowledge. I’m sure you have ways of doing that. Three, on the full moon just prior to her eighteenth birthday, you return her to me, where she will remain for no less than two cycles of the moon. She will yet be mortal, human, and alive. I expect to find her healthy, both mentally and physically; to be well educated, socially adjusted, and happy. I will perform a rite of passage. If she chooses not to return to your fold, if she chooses to remain away from you and not become an offerling, she will be rescinded. You will count your debt paid and allow it.”
Heldridge’s unyielding glare was icy. “You ask us to become foster parents so in the end you can convince her not to become an offerling?”
“If you’ve sold her blood, taken in non–health-threatening amounts, the cost of her rearing should be less than your profit. In fact, that should be part of the deal. A complete annual accounting, verified by an outside source, of what you have earned from her blood and what you have spent on her upkeep.”
The vampires exchanged glances.
Before anything could be said, however, the door to the room opened. Desdemona stood beyond it.
“Well done, contestant. Your performance will be evaluated,
And you will proceed to the next round if you are thusly fated.”
The test was over. I’d shown that I could and would make a decision, even when all the options were flawed.
I moved immediately toward the door. I was so out of there, so gone before something else happened with the stain.
Menessos caught my arm and held it, keeping me from leaving. I wanted to jerk away, to huff angrily, defiantly. But the instant his flesh touched mine, this first touch since I’d chosen to keep the stain, since I’d destroyed the stake, he sent a heated caress deep inside me, sinking through skin, through muscle, and deep into bone, warming me as if I’d swallowed the summer sun—
Menessos jerked his hand away.
Was that the vampire version of the jolt Hunter had given to everyone in the contest?
He stared down, studying me. His scrutiny was not unlike that he’d given earlier to the art in the room, but suspicion lurked under the surface of his cold-steel irises. Even as I stared boldly into his imprisoning eyes, I felt no draw from them, no threat, but saw they were paler, icier than I remembered. “That was brilliant,” he said. “Manipulating us into attending properly to the needs of a child whose parent wronged us.” He paused, a wicked twist claiming his lips. “This concept, I will have to consider all possible applications. I can utilize such arrangements immediately.” The menace in his tone was unmistakable. “Can’t you, Heldridge?”
I
suddenly remembered the pain that Menessos felt when I’d tended the wound where Samson tried to stake him. Angered he would manipulate my ideas to his devious aims, and more so that children might be involved, I gave in to an impulse: I grabbed his raven-scratched arm and squeezed. But this time I anticipated the heat of our contact and threw my witch-jolt out to shield against it, effectively diminishing it. I felt his ridged and torn flesh squirm under the pressure of my grip.
In a blink, his eyes had gone nearly white. His fanged mouth opened in an indication of pain, but he made no sound.
The fingers of his uninjured arm suddenly snatched onto my shoulder and he jerked me close. Heat billowed around me, between us, without passing my shield. His wicked expression returned and his voice came low and threatening, “Whatever the outcome of this Eximium, I will see you again, witch.”
As I brushed past Desdemona in the reception area, she put one of the tea light lamps into my hands. Outside in the hall, I paused for a deep breath to cleanse my aura of the fear and feel of Menessos. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wait for the Elder or Lydia or a policeman to escort me, but I wasn’t going to wait either. Forcing myself onward in the dark, I hoped the outage didn’t reach all the way to my more rural home. Nana would wake up to a cold house. It wouldn’t help her knee.
Going with that thought to keep the vampire from my mind, I promised myself I’d get right to work getting a contractor out to start work on renovating the dining room for her.
As I started down the hall, I heard a sound from the darkness ahead.
It was a sound like the susurrus of fabric as someone walks along.
I stopped. “Hello?” Holly?
Nothing.
I held the lamp behind me. The space darkened, but my eyes adjusted slowly. I saw nothing.
Without further incident, I made it to the door of the newly designated holding room. It was an office supply room. The three cots barely fit—each was pushed tight against the shelves and boxes of the three doorless walls. There was an iron stand with a platelike top just inside the door, the two pillar candles placed on it provided soft light. Maria was on the cot to my right, snoring. She was alone.
Hallowed Circle Page 17
