Hallowed Circle (Persephone Alcmedi 02)

by Linda Robertson

  I locked that realization in memory; the Lustrata wouldn’t be immune to such reactions from others.

  As the other contestants came forward to congratulate her, I stepped away, relieved by my loss. Maria hugged Hunter, glanced about, saw me, and approached.

  “I was rooting for you,” she whispered.

  She pulled me into a hug.

  The Eldrenne cleared her throat to gain our attention. “Don’t forget, the details of the test are secret and not to be discussed.” She turned to Hunter. “At the Witches Ball on Hallowe’en,” she said, “I will make the formal announcement that you are the new high priestess, and I will introduce you to the coven members and the media then. Until then, you will keep a low profile and work with Lydia to tend to the remaining details.”

  “Yes, Eldrenne.” Hunter was beaming. The grin on her face wouldn’t have come off with a jackhammer.

  Lydia touched my elbow and pulled me into a hug. “That was a damn fine effort,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Into Lydia’s ear I whispered, “She’ll do a good job; you don’t need to worry.”

  She pulled away. “Are you sure?”

  “I learned a few things about her, saw the character in her.” I squeezed her hands reassuringly. “She’ll do right by the coven.”

  Despite appearing so very tired, Lydia seemed fierce. “I’m too old for coven-watching and keeping priestesses in line. If she doesn’t, Persephone, I’ll be expecting you to knock some sense into her!”

  “Of course,” I said softly. As the Lustrata, that’d probably fall under my jurisdiction anyway. But I didn’t like the feeling I was being inveigled again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The sun was well up by the time I pulled into the driveway. Johnny’s motorcycle was not there; it better not have been. The temptation to run over it might have been too much. Then I wondered if he’d stayed at Erik’s again. Or someone else’s. Stop it.

  Inside, Nana sat at the dinette where I’d left her more than twenty-four hours before.

  “You look like hell,” she said merrily.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said.

  She took a drag from her cigarette and sat it on the ashtray as she exhaled. “So you didn’t sleep. That means you had to participate all through the night. Every round?”

  “Every round.”

  “Well?”

  “I’m not the high priestess.”

  Nana sighed.

  “I’m the runner-up.”

  “Good. That’s good standing, then.”

  I yawned. “I’d like to think so.”

  “Go. Sleep. We’ll talk later.”

  *

  I awoke that afternoon, showered, and headed downstairs. Ares whined from his crate, which meant Beverley must be gone, so I went into Beverley’s room and let him out, then started down again. Through Nana’s open door, my eyes caught on the crystal ball on her dresser. I’d helped her pack it carefully away when she moved in with me. Perhaps she was telling Beverley about scrying or used it as a prop in a story. I continued, but midway down the steps, the pit of my stomach jumped and went cold. I stopped. Another step, another jump. I backed up. Nothing. I returned to the top of the steps, frowning. But by the time I reached the top, my stomach felt fine.

  The protrepticus!

  Taking it from the bedside table, I slid it into my back pocket and went slowly down the steps, without incident. I wondered if and when it would do something or if it would wait until I had a need. Did I initiate it, or did it work both ways? What, exactly, could it do?

  I kept my eyes away from my couch as I reached the bottom of the steps. My feet turned me toward the kitchen where I discovered two notes. One was from Beverley letting me know that she and Nana had gone to the movies. The other was from Nana letting me know that Celia had called me yesterday morning, afternoon, and again in the evening.

  I didn’t want to talk to Celia yet. She’d either make things better or worse by telling me something about Johnny and the situation. I needed to come to terms with what I already knew before I let her add to it one way or the other.

  I started to make a pot of coffee, but my palate was java-ed out. Juice sounded better. Checked the mail that had come yesterday, tended to some bills. Then, armed with the tape measure from the drawer, I sized the dining room, the doorways, and windows. A difficult task because Ares curiously followed me and obstructed the tape repeatedly.

  Sitting down at the dinette with paper, pencil, and ruler, I drew it out. In half an hour, I had a good idea drawn up for making it her bedroom, with an attached bath—a new room jutting out from the house. I’d even made a list of contractors to call to get quotes from. It was Sunday, so I’d be ready to start tomorrow.

  About that time, the moviegoers returned. Beverley dropped to her knees and hugged Ares, who greeted them with deep, happy barks and his tail wagging like a thick whip.

  “Seph!” Beverley came and hugged me next, as enthusiastically as she had hugged the dog. “I missed you yesterday! How’d it go?”

  “I came in second.”

  “Demeter and I went to the movies!”

  “I got your note. Tell me all about it.”

  She was excited and animated as she told me about their day together. Nana watched from the doorway, smiling as Beverley acted out some of the scenes for me. Moments later, she was off to watch cartoons in the living room where Ares lay so she could use him as a pillow. Nana chuckled. “They’re a bundle of energy at that age.”

  She dropped her jacket on the seat across from me, then dug her cigarette case from the pocket and placed it on the table. She didn’t open it but watched me steadily.

  When she opened her mouth to say whatever it was she was building up to, a combined buzzing and ringing erupted from my backside. It startled me so much that I jumped to my feet and jerked the protrepticus from my pocket. Its ring sounded like an old telephone with bells inside.

  “You got a cell phone?” Nana asked, incredulous. “You?”

  I held the buzzing thing out from me like it was a ticking bomb or a multilegged insect. “Um, no. I didn’t.”

  “Then whose is it?”

  “Well, it is mine, but—”

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  It stopped ringing. I set it on the table.

  “Maybe they’ll call back,” Nana said, finally opening her cigarette case. “I thought you didn’t want one of those?”

  “I don’t.”

  She cocked her head at me, eyes squinting at me as she held a cigarette to her lips. “Then why do you have one?” She flicked the lighter.

  “It’s not a phone. It’s a protrepticus.”

  Nana was stunned silent for a long moment while smoke wafted toward the ceiling and her eyes darted back and forth annoyingly. “Xerxadrea was your Eldrenne. Damn.” She breathed the last more than said it. “You said you weren’t the high priestess.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Nana shook her head. “When Xerxadrea is the overseeing Eldrenne, the high priestess always trots out of the competition with a protrepticus.”

  “Hunter and I both got them.”

  “Both?” Her features sharpened and she sat forward. “You mean the Eximium came down to a vote of the Elders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lord and Lady! What was the vote?”

  “The Eldrenne’s vote broke a tie between the two of us.”

  Nana pursed her lips, then loosed them to click her tongue.

  “What?”

  She took a long draw off the cigarette and rubbed at her knee. “She’s always been partial to her sorcery, showing off, and doing her part to ensure the generations after her have had a taste of it. Those willing to accept the bargains get the rank. Of all witches, it had to be Xerxadrea on this Eximium.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if there’s ever been a solitary to have a protrepticus.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Proba
bly not. But they all knew you were a solitary going in. You wouldn’t both have gotten to keep them if you were going back to be in a coven as an underling.”

  “You’re saying that in the end she voted for Hunter to be high priestess so she didn’t have to take away my protrepticus?”

  Nana fixed me with a stern look. “I’m saying she gave the prize position to Hunter because that way she could keep the ties to you both intact.” She sat back and took another drag off the cigarette. “Xerxadrea saw something in both of you, something she wanted to hold on to … and she let you both succeed in order to not have to choose between you.”

  “Is she corrupt or something?”

  Nana shook her head. “I don’t think so. Though I knew her when I was sixteen. That was a long time ago. She was the high priestess of your great-grandmother’s coven. She irritated me with her elaborations on every detail. Her rituals took hours.” She rolled her eyes and made a flippant gesture. “Many things could have happened since then. Did you get a sense that she was corrupt?”

  “No.”

  “You, being you, probably would have if she was. Forget about it.” She waved her hand as if dismissing the subject. She pointed at the phone. “You did it.”

  “Yeah,” I said softly. “Here,” I said and showed her the drawing for turning the dining room into her bedroom. “That’s what I think we should do. See how the bathroom becomes a new space added on there? You’ll have that window, but the other will turn into a door for the bathroom.”

  “A private bath?” She sounded tempted.

  I grinned. “Just for you. Jacuzzi tub if you want it.”

  “Look at this drawing. Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked proudly.

  “Keep a boyfriend,” I blurted, then instantly regretted it.

  Nana’s happiness faded in an instant. “I—”

  The protrepticus rang again.

  Since it had stopped her from starting something I didn’t want to talk to her about, I was thankful for the interruption, until she shifted gears and said, “Well, go on. Answer it. Introduce yourself to the spirit you got.”

  Resignedly, I picked up the phone, flipped it open, and stuck it to my ear. “Hi. This is Persephone.”

  “Now, more than ever,” the spirit said, “I think you’re gonna rot in Hell, little girl.”

  My eyes widened as I recognized the voice. Jerking the phone away and staring at the little color screen, my eyes beheld a pixilated version of the Reverend Samson D. Kline in a pale blue polyester suit. He waved at me and laughed. “Didn’t expect me, did ya?” It came out in a Southern drawl, “dih-juh.”

  “Oh, fuck.” I shut the phone and pushed it away.

  Nana squealed, “Language, Persephone Isis!”

  Before I could utter a word in my defense, the phone rang again.

  Nana reached for it, but I was faster. I didn’t answer it, just frantically turned it over and pushed buttons hoping to make it stop. It rang on and on.

  “What is wrong with you?” Nana asked loudly.

  “No,” I groaned. “Why him?”

  “You know the spirit?”

  “Unfortunately.” The phone was still ringing. I shoved it under my legs to deaden the sound. “It’s the spirit of the man who came to collect the stake from me after Menessos helped with Theo.”

  “That pompous-ass preacher whose head ended up in your fridge?”

  “Yeah.” There was a mental flashback I didn’t need. “Shit!”

  “Persephone!”

  I whispered hotly, “I vowed to investigate this spirit’s murder and avenge him!”

  The phone stopped ringing. My shoulders relaxed some.

  “That’s the trade-off you bargained for?”

  “That’s what he asked for. I thought that with me being the Lustrata it would be … okay,” I said dully.

  “You thought it would be easy.”

  “No, I didn’t. I thought it would fit right in with my other tasks.”

  “And be easy.”

  “I never thought that word!”

  “Definition’s the same.”

  “Nana.”

  “I forget, which one was actually to blame?” she asked pointedly. “Menessos for actually killing him or Johnny for the deception that brought it all about?”

  “Nana.” Did she have to rub it in?

  She pointed a finger at me. “You should know better! Witchery is natural; it asks the universe to align things as you will. Slow and steady, in good time, laying groundwork for what is to come. But sorcery’s immediacy alters what is. Its cost is equally immediate! After the protrepticus is sealed, it’s too late to change the terms of what you agreed to do.”

  I sat there feeling grouchy, then, “And what if his own stupid, brainless actions—and attacking a master vampire qualifies—brought about his death? What if no one is to blame but himself?”

  Nana just stubbed out her cigarette. I could tell she had more to say—

  The phone rang.

  This time it wasn’t the twitter of bells. This time it was some rap song about booty.

  I flipped the phone open and dropped it on the table, disgusted.

  “Hey, now. Not so rough.” Samson stumbled around inside the square display screen. “Holy Moses! You’re sweet as pie at first, but soon as something’s not going your way, pow, you go sour as a wet cat.”

  That probably was his true perspective, as far as my encounters with him went. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me, Sam,” I replied. Assuming he could see me, I added my I’m-being-polite-but-I-hate-you smile. Rev. Kline had seen it before.

  “Women.” He rolled his eyes; but being a spirit, he could literally roll them all the way back so the irises and pupils came up from the bottom. It made my stomach churn a little.

  “I suppose your attitude is well earned,” I said, employing a little psychology, “because this is how women have treated you all your life?”

  “Not at all.” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “Some women in my life were downright nice to me.”

  “After you paid them, right?”

  “It’s always a trade-off of one kind or another. Everything and everyone has a price. One way or another, what you want always has a cost; what you’re willing to pay for it defines you.”

  My fingertips galloped irritably on the tabletop.

  “Now,” he went on, somehow managing to make that a two-syllable word, “you’re not the first woman who can’t understand men. And,” I knew as he made that conjunctive monosyllable into a polysyllable, that he was going to drive me crazy with this diction. He grasped his lapels as if the gesture affirmed his right to analyze me, and finished. “Because of your lack thereof, you default to anger for your responses.”

  I said, “If you think starting off with ‘You’re going to rot in Hell, little girl’ is getting things off on the right foot and isn’t something that would make anyone ‘default to anger,’ then I think it’s you who needs the lesson on understanding people, Sam. An insult and a veiled threat is always wrong.”

  “I’m a preacher, Ms. Alcmedi. Telling people the status of their soul is my job.”

  “Not anymore.”

  He glared at me.

  Maybe I should drop the phone in the grove and run like hell, to break the binding. Let the Eldrenne know. Let her make me do another. It couldn’t be as torturous as this. “Why aren’t you and your soul in heaven, Sam? Why are you here in this phone, if your soul was so sanctified?”

  Samson laughed. “Already figured that out, girly. The afterlife is different if you’re murdered. And pondering the how-and-why of my being here doesn’t change that I am here and you’re stuck with me.” Glowering, he continued in a prissy tone, “I can’t go anywhere. Where you go, I have to follow. We’re in this together.”

  He was right. Damn it.

  “Good-bye, Sam.” I shut the phone and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. Nana wasn’t going to be able to keep quiet
much longer. I started counting in my head. I got to four.

  “Persephone, Johnny stopped in yesterday morning,” Nana reached across the table and wrapped her warm old hand around my wrist.

  Having anticipated she’d go on about the phone, I wasn’t ready for the shot of regret her words left ricocheting around my heart. I stared at her hand, the skin like parchment, and wondered what, if anything, Johnny had told her.

  She squeezed my wrist. “He took his things with him.”

  Some secret part of me had hoped there was some logic in Johnny’s actions, something I didn’t understand. Just then, that part of me shattered. And I realized that I wouldn’t have been more stunned by Nana’s words if she’d pulled out a gun and declared herself Jesse James.

  “Persephone?”

  “Good,” I said.

  With her other hand, she put the cigarette in the ashtray, then reached into her pocket. She pulled out an envelope and pushed it across the table toward me. “He said to give you this.”

  I stared at the rectangle of white. My heart wouldn’t beat; it felt like a cold rock in my ribcage.

  Ripping open the envelope, I removed the paper. It read:

  Lustrata you are … and yet not.

  You’ve come so far!

  You are what I’ve sought.

  Lustrata you see and are blind.

  Your answer won’t be inside your mind.

  It’s inside your heart.

  It’s in knowing yourself.

  It’s inside your heart.

  Recognizing yourself.

  Seein’ it.

  Believin’ it.

  You create your bound’ries. Will they be lines?

  Lines you won’t color outside of? Do you have a spine?

  Lines you can step across? Can you not redefine?

  You create your bound’ries. Will they be walls?