Fatal Circle

by Linda Robertson

  “What have I got to do with this?”

  “All he does know is that he was prepared for you. He told you that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must give pieces of your soul to each of them,” Beau said. “And take a piece in return in order to maintain the soul balance within yourself. Then you can block WEC from Bindspeaking you. You can also unshackle what’s been imprisoned deep inside of Johnny, and—” He shut the briefcase and locked it. “Oh yeah, doll, you can save the world and yourself to boot.” He was smiling, but I knew this was no joke.

  I just sat there, stunned by his words.

  Beau stood. “Come on.” He limped through the door. Somehow I managed to stand and follow.

  Out in the store, he busily rifled around the shelves. He selected a small, wide-mouthed bottle with clear liquid in it. Uncorking it, he added a peach pit. Scrutinizing the larger jars of herbs, he took down three. By their labels, they were willow, moss, and orchid. He took a pinch from the first two jars, and three dry petals from the orchid jar. After hurriedly replacing those jars, he chose another, took out three holly leaves, and placed them in a small box.

  The bells on the door jingled.

  “Hi, Maury,” Beau called. He recorked the bottle and gave it a shake, then shoved the items into a bag and pushed it to me. “Go now.” He ducked back behind the curtain.

  Someone knocked on the door of my room at the haven. I opened it expecting to see Johnny. Instead, I found Seven smiling at me. “It’s time to get you ready, my lady.”

  “C’mon in.”

  “No, for the ceremony you will be entering from the rear of the auditorium. We have a dressing room prepared for you off the lobby. You can dress there and be ready for your entrance. Menessos has provided you a gown and accessories.”

  “What about Johnny?”

  “Please advise him to shower and be ready. Mark will deliver his attire in half an hour.”

  “Johnny’s not here.” After Mountain had escorted me back, I’d paced and thought. Beau’s charm was on a long, thin gold chain around my neck, but hidden under my clothes. I needed to talk to Johnny and Menessos about what Beau had told me—before the ceremony.

  “Where is your pet?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He went to work. Was supposed to get off at six.” It was six forty-five now. The ceremony would begin at eight.

  “I’m sure he is simply stuck in Friday-evening traffic.”

  She was probably right. He normally rode his motorcycle and doubtlessly weaved illegally through traffic as needed, but today he’d taken my car.

  The new heavy red velvet stage curtains were drawn in far enough to frame an opening in the center the width of the black dais. Three steps up from stage level, the dais was set with three regal chairs: the ornate, high-backed one I’d seen earlier was flanked by a similar but smaller chair to its right and a feminine divan to its left. Beside the divan was a large red velvet pillow. For Johnny to sit on, like a pet on the floor.

  “Seven, is it possible to give him something less like a sissy dog bed?”

  She lingered atop a new set of red-carpeted steps leading from center stage down to the house. “I have a large black pillow of wormy silk, if you would rather …”

  Johnny would prefer black. “If you’d exchange them, I’d be grateful.”

  “Consider it done,” Seven said tersely, then led me down the steps onto more red carpeting. It made an eight-foot-wide crimson aisle that reached through the center of the black marble-tiled area and extended to the doors to the auditorium. The marble floor was now set with tables decked in black cloths and black candles in gold-crackled globes. The chairs were wrought iron and I wondered if they would scratch the high-gloss marble. Glossy and slick. Although the ever graceful vampires would have no problem with it, the marble could be dangerous for a mortal in the wrong shoes.

  That reminded me of the Hallowe’en costume Menessos had sent me. While I’d worn the top, I’d replaced the skirt and stilettos with pants and boots. I hoped he hadn’t included similar shoes for tonight.

  She took me through the lobby area. The walls were covered in gathered silk. Gold wall sconces may have been original, but had been cleaned and restored to working order. “It’s lovely.”

  Seven stopped at a hallway leading off the lobby. Pushing back a bit of the fabric on the wall, Seven revealed new particle board beneath, and staples hidden under the fabric to make it pleat. “You’re amazing,” I said.

  Seven let the fabric fall back into place. “And here I thought you were the amazing one.” Her words had an edge of dryness, as if there were sarcasm in there.

  “Why me?”

  “The Boss has kept few court witches. He is so powerful himself, it was not necessary.”

  In case she was one of those concerned about his power—and something had her in a snit—it would be better not to feed any suspicions. “A vampire executive must have many responsibilities. I guess he decided that it suits him to allow another to help carry this aspect of court life.”

  “He once enjoyed the magic, displaying his power before us all and for other vampire executives.” She said the last word with distaste.

  “Maybe he’s impressed everyone he cared to impress. My nana used to collect snow globes—you know, the ones with water in them you shake to make the fake snow swirl? But when I was in high school she stopped. Then, while I was away at college, she gave the whole collection away. She’d just lost interest in them. Maybe he’s done everything magically he ever wanted to do and now it’s lost its thrill for him.”

  Proceeding down the hall, she gave a backward glance at me. “He’s lost something. I’ll agree with that.”

  Oh, hell. Change the subject. “Have you been with him long?”

  “Centuries.”

  “Vivian had quite a long life because of her mark. Do you know who preceded her?”

  “The last witch before her was in the sixteen hundreds. I do not remember her name.”

  Perhaps Menessos’s mention of court witches and their apprentices meant other vampires customarily kept them, but not him. “That is a long lapse, I guess.”

  “Here we are,” she said, and opened the door for me.

  I preceded her inside. It was a wood-paneled room, with a door on the opposite end. Rose-scented candles ringed a wide claw-footed tub in the center. Petals floated on the water, red roses, deep purple violets, and white daisies.

  Behind me, Seven shut the door and locked it. “Now, it’s just you and me.” She took my arm and squeezed hard enough to take my blood pressure. Her tone was harsh as she continued, “I may not be privy to whatever arrangement you and Menessos have concerning the handsome waerewolf, but your skin reeks of your pet.” She spat that last word.

  Reeks?

  “You’ve used soaps you must have brought with you.”

  “I did. I like Ivory. It floats.” Damn. And I thought she liked me yesterday. “I didn’t know it was a big deal.”

  Her fingers squeezed tighter; I resolved not to wince or whine as long as I could fight it. “While here, you will use what is provided you. We’re not naïve; we know and expect that your pet is more than a servant, but to flaunt your pleasure and parade around smelling of your coupling as you did earlier is unwise. It creates an undercurrent of disrespect toward Menessos. And that I will not abide.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “So I’m telling you. If you have any questions, ask them now.”

  The pain in my arm had harnessed my focus and I couldn’t think of any questions though I was sure I had several. I said, “There really needs to be a textbook for Erus Veneficus etiquette.”

  “There isn’t. But I hear you’re a journalist. I expect you’ll keep fine notes and write one for whoever will follow you.” It was an unsubtle reminder that Menessos was timeless and I wasn’t.

  “Can I get a rain check and ask some later?”

  “How about you take some advi
ce: make certain you ‘pet’ the wolf in private. Never show him affection in front of another member of this haven. They must all see that you are utterly loyal to Menessos. There must be no flaws in their perception of this.” She released me with a shove; her vampire strength put me back three steps. “He has given you a position of honor, and I will not watch you make him a laughing stock before his own court. I will not allow you to destroy what he’s built. Even if it costs me my place.” Her lip curled enough that I saw fangs.

  “Your pointed threat is understood.” I couldn’t begrudge her wanting to protect those she cared for; Seven was a lot like me in many ways. In other ways, of course, we weren’t at all similar. Like the fangs. “The mistakes I’m making are out of ignorance, Seven. How can I keep from breaking rules I don’t know exist? Who can? He won’t tell me. Or can’t or … I don’t know. Every time I ask, it results in a show of power. I learn a single lesson in the time that he could have told me a long list of rules.”

  “A show of power?” Her tone remained sharp. “Do you not see the obvious?”

  I didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t guess what answer would satisfy her. I couldn’t tell her we were struggling for dominance and defining our roles. I couldn’t explain about being the Lustrata. The risks kept me from confiding in anyone. I longed to talk to Xerxadrea. Or even Nana.

  “Get your bath. I’ll be in that room waiting when you are finished.” She left. After the door shut, I heard her mutter, “Foolish woman!”

  My skin was scented with rose soap, and my body and hair were wrapped in two of the softest, thickest towels I’d ever touched. The necklace had come off while I soaked, but it was around my neck again, charm under the top of the towel. I didn’t want to take any chances. This evening was the public ceremony and WEC might try something.

  I exited the bathing area by the same door Seven had used. The room beyond was candlelit, with a single beauty-salon-style chair centered in a U of granite countertops. To either side sat vases of roses and scented candles. Long garment bags hung from hooks to the right of the door.

  Seven sat in that salon seat facing me. As I was clad only in a towel with my hair turbaned up in another, my entire bare neck was on display—fang marks and all. Her eyes were neon bright, focused on the puncture marks. She made small circles with the wine glass in her hand. Dark red fluid swirled in its bowl. “I know what you are,” she said plainly. “And I know why you are being made EV.”

  Claiming she knew and actually knowing were two different things. And Seven was shrewd. I was determined not to give up any information, but I decided not to play dumb, either. “And?”

  “And!” She flew from the chair and stood before me, panting with anger. The crystal glass trembled in her hand, but she did not spill a drop. “And Isis weeps for me, as I cannot cry out my mourning myself,” she whispered.

  I stayed very still. “Why do you mourn?”

  “He will not find what he is seeking.”

  “What does he seek?” I was pretty sure we were talking about Menessos.

  “I have seen him struggling to re-create what came before. It cannot be done.” She inhaled my scent again. Her look of disdain indicated that, in spite of the flowery perfumes, she’d found the fragrance of a fool upon me yet. “I have been the object you are about to become.”

  “You were Erus Veneficus?”

  “No!” She withdrew from me. “This was before VEIN or its earlier version, before any such hierarchy started trying to brand vampires, before there were peripheral titles or even a parliament!” Shaking her head, she spat the words at me. “Long ago, I was Isis for him. A goddess for him.” She turned away. “It was not enough. And neither will you be.”

  Isis? “I’m not trying to be anything but myself. If you did …”

  “What?” She turned back. “If I did, what?”

  “Maybe that was your mistake.”

  She hmpfed. “He’s altering and amending you already.” She gestured at the garment bags. “And you cannot resist it.”

  “Should I? Shouldn’t I?”

  “You cannot be Una!”

  Oh, hell. “I’m not trying to be Una!” I’d even told Menessos as much.

  “Don’t you understand? That is what he wants! He wants you and the waerewolf to complete the trio he once had!”

  Beau’s ritual might bring us close.

  Seven sank into the salon chair. “I could not love him as he needed to be loved. I tried. I care for him deeply, but I do not love him as I love Mark … never have I loved anyone as I love Mark.”

  “Seven, you say that like it means you failed. Loving someone isn’t a failure.”

  “And what of not loving someone who deserves it? Of not being able to be what they need you to be?” She stood and tore the fastener from her braid, ripping her fingers through her long, black hair. It fanned out behind her, full and loose, crimped from the twisting. “Do you know who I am?”

  I nodded and my voice came soft, “You’re Seven.”

  “I was once the Lustrata.”

  I gaped at her. She was my predecessor?

  “Long ago,” she added.

  “You’re a vampire.”

  “I am now.” Her tone was rueful. “He could not bear to lose us.”

  “Us?”

  “Mark and I.” She delayed before continuing. “I failed. Horribly. We both failed him.”

  “How?”

  Her gaze went downcast. “I grew blinded by my love. My heart wanted to do the right thing.”

  For the right reason?

  “I was proud. And I was selfish. I could not give up what I had and follow his course. Love blinded me to what must be done.”

  “Whatever I have become, I am yet a Greek, Persephone. Like you. I used my position, my power, to achieve what was best for my people. When all I had fought for was lost, my heart was broken and my will shattered. When Mark stood before these eyes again, restored and immortal, my judgment grew clouded. Love led me to make choices for him … choices that failed Menessos and the balance of the world.” She fixed those bright irises on me. “You must not fail. Not even for your waerewolf.”

  “Then tell me what to do.”

  “Love him, Persephone. Love Menessos as he loves you.”

  My throat clenched up and nothing would come out, neither would any air go down. Love? She said love? “He doesn’t love me.”

  Seven crossed to the door. “Risqué will be here soon to do your hair and makeup.” She left.

  I stood there for a full minute, staring at the closed door, hearing “Love Menessos as he loves you” echo over and over in my rattled brain.

  Her final words eventually silenced the echo: Risqué was going to do my hair?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I was thinking on what Nana had once told me about there being two previous Lustratas when Risqué came in wearing a slip dress of shiny orange fabric and clear high-heeled shoes. The skirt was so short there was a potential peep show in her every move, and the zippers over her breasts promised one. She should have been at the Playboy Mansion, but it was common knowledge they had something against the not-quite-human. Still, her attire hadn’t surprised me, though the suitcase she carried did.

  “Let’s get your hair done first.” She set the case on the counter.

  “You know, I can do this myself. You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

  She ignored my resistance. “Boss said to make you elegant. Goliath suggested an updo with hanging tendrils. Said he’d seen your hair up at some concert thing and that it suited you.”

  “That’s what I’ll do, then.”

  “Honey, Boss gave me orders. Not even you can alter them. Now sit down.” She patted the chair and actually smiled. Sort of.

  I sat.

  The suitcase held all the tools and supplies she needed to make me into a red-carpet statement. She even had a pair of lights; she set them up on the counter first. The next twenty minutes passed blow-drying and hot-rol
lering my hair. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but she seemed to be an expert hairdresser. “Let’s get your dress taped on now.”

  Taped?

  “We’ll do your makeup and then I’ll take those rollers out and pin your hair up.”

  Although Risqué was on her best behavior—no rudeness or apparent animosity—I still had the distinct impression that she was imagining shoving actual pins into my head like a voodoo doll.

  Risqué unzipped the first garment bag and I knew this was going to be bad. She took out a pair of boots, set them to the side, and reached for the next garment bag.

  “Wait,” I said.

  The glossy red boots were thigh high, laced up the front and had multiple buckles. Santa might wear them—if he were a drag queen. The five-inch heels—as in two inches of platform and an additional three inches of heel—made me wince. I’d be nearly as tall as Johnny in those. “I can’t wear those.”

  “You must.”

  “Not.”

  Risqué scowled. “This is what the Boss has provided you. It’s all there is.”

  She needed to think I was motivated by his orders, so I reconsidered the boots. They were stripper sexy, but I wasn’t sure I could walk anywhere in them without breaking my neck. At least the chunky heel was not a stiletto. “Show me the clothes.”

  She unzipped the second bag and brought out a red dress.

  The skirt was at least longer than hers, but slitted over both thighs. The top draped to enhance, and the back was nonexistent except for a few strings that would keep the front from revealing too much. I gulped. Audibly. Thank the Goddess there were matching dance briefs, high cut on the thigh, but still offering coverage if I did take a tumble in the boots.

  “Off with the towel, Miss Modesty.”

  Nearly an hour and several strips of double-sided tape later, Risqué had proved that, in spite of her lack of people skills, she did have cosmetology talent. She wanted me to remove Beau’s charm, but I insisted it stayed on. When my clothes, hair, and makeup were done, she presented me with a wrapped and beribboned box from the bottom of the last garment bag. “Boss said to give you this, and to leave you alone with it. I will wait in the bath chamber, and escort you to your place in time for your cue.”