Fatal Circle

by Linda Robertson

  He jerked back and examined me again. “You’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine because Xerxadrea sacrificed herself.”

  The tears won. I pressed my face into his naked chest and he held me so tight. I squeezed my reaction, being as silent as I could, telling myself this was just a little overflow. Let a little spill out and then I can seal them off again. That’s not all I need to tell him about.

  A moment later, in his safe arms, I found the strength to staunch the waterworks, quashing tears down hard. On to the bigger thing we had to deal with. “Johnny, she was working on a plan, but whatever strategy she had, left with her.” I wiped my face with my hands. His embrace diminished but he didn’t fully let me go. I went on, “We have about thirty hours to come up with something. I know you have to be here, to let the waerewolves mourn, but …”

  “They mourned Ig for about a half an hour. That”—he gestured to the bar—“is a celebration of being the pack that can claim the Domn Lup.”

  The drinking and dancing made more sense now. I nodded.

  “I’ll come back to the haven as soon as I can, okay?”

  There were so many other things I needed to tell him right now, but they would keep a little longer. I didn’t want to pass through the waerewolf throng again, so I reached for the knob of the back door. “I’ll go this way, and walk around.”

  “I’d go with you but it’s cold and I don’t know where my jeans are. I’d be humiliated if you witnessed the inevitable shrinkage.”

  I smiled and whispered, “Please, please, don’t ever change.”

  Johnny pulled me into a sudden kiss, and I clung to him, very unheroinelike. His soft lips pressed to mine. I felt tingly and velvety static crawled over my skin. His arms were like a security blanket around me, making me safe and grounded. I didn’t ever want to be parted from him.

  When his tongue slipped to mine he tasted like something I couldn’t name, something oaky sweet, and when the kiss ended, his lips rose to my forehead. The tinglies subsided. “What’s that flavor?”

  “Todd toasted me, opening Ig’s bottle of eighteen-year-old Laphroaig.”

  “La-froyg?” I repeated.

  “A single-malt scotch. Made on some island called Islay off of Scotland.”

  Interesting. “Where is Todd?”

  “Upstairs listening to Erik and Celia and Theo’s account of what you did to them, how they keep their man-minds.”

  “Is it a good idea to let him know about that?”

  “I think it’s something in our favor, something we can use in our planning. I’ll explain more when I get to the haven.”

  I squeezed him tight, then exited out the back door.

  The party was still going full tilt with the vampires, Offerlings, and Beholders. We could hear it when we entered. Mountain was waiting for us to get back, sent to the ticket booth by Goliath. “After coming in with a broom,” Mountain reported, “he hurried off to question that guy with the daggers.” Mountain took Menessos and me the back way around, down the service elevator, and across the backstage area.

  Menessos dismissed Mountain, then called my name. “Before you retire to your bed, would you please come with me?”

  A nod was the best response I could muster. I was drained of energy, and filled with emotion. I needed to reverse that.

  He opened his door; his room had been tidied and cleaned since we’d brought Aquula here. “Wait here.” He passed through that heavy, iron-studded door to his private room, and quickly returned with a small wrapped present. “It is traditional to give the Erus Veneficus a gift after the induction ceremony. Of course,” he said as his expression went sly, “that tradition dictates that the witch be bedded and her family taken hostage. She is to be given a ruby ring to remind her of the family blood that would be spilled if ever she disobeyed. I was certain you would object to such traditions, and I have no desire to put any of my people through the agony of holding your grandmother hostage again. I selected something more modern instead. I hope you will enjoy it.”

  Curiosity piqued, I ripped into the paper and lifted the lid of the palm-sized box. What I saw was a sharp reminder that Xerxadrea was dead, that my protrepticus was useless, and that Samson was gone. “A cell phone?”

  “This is actually more than a cell phone. It is connected to a private satellite network, directly linked to others with similar phones. The lines are scrambled for assured privacy.” He took it from me and opened it, hit a button or two. “I took the liberty of programming my own number and a few others in there for you, including this one.” He handed it back. The letters read: NANA.

  Almost giving myself whiplash snapping my head up so fast, I started to ask but he answered my question before I could. “Yes. I thought after the ceremony you would want to speak with her. I had not guessed that so much would happen before I had the chance to present it to you.”

  My finger poised, ready to hit the dial button, but in the corner the time read one-twelve. “She’ll be sleeping.”

  “If my guess is correct, she’ll be sleeping with her phone right beside her.” He pushed hair back from my shoulder and neck, appraising the bite marks he’d made. “Take this to your chambers, call if you wish, but rest.”

  “You’ll tell me what Goliath found out from the performer?”

  Menessos sighed. “We removed weapons from two others at the door, and refused admittance to another we suspected. That was close.”

  “Which of us was the target?”

  “When I find out, I will let you know.”

  With that, I left. If there was any doubt of my exhaustion, climbing the metal stairs confirmed it. My finger touched the send button of my phone before my chamber door had shut. Nana answered on the third ring. “Seph? Is that you?”

  “Sorry it’s so late, Nana.”

  “Forget the hour! Are you all right? I saw the news, I saw him bite you! Saw that scrawny blond vampire divert a blade—”

  “The bite was just for show, Nana.” The lie tumbled out so easily when I heard her fear and worry trembling in her voice. “The other … the culprit is being questioned. We’re all fine. I’m okay, really. What’s happening there? How’s Beverley?”

  Nana sighed and I could hear her relax in the sound of it. “She got a perfect score on her spelling and vocabulary semester test, so we went to the movies to celebrate.”

  What? Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is to take Beverley away from the safety wards of the house? But they couldn’t stay inside forever. According to Aquula, Fax Torris’s threat stated she’d go after Beverley if I didn’t deliver Menessos at dawn on Sunday. We had a little time.

  The first part of the plan had to make sure the fairies thought we were complying with that. Then they had to be stopped once and for all.

  Then it hit me: Aquula’s death meant that severing the ties to Menessos was as easy as killing the remaining two fairies. Our plan had to utilize that, and somehow strengthen Menessos against that dual loss.

  “… left Ares out,” Nana was saying. “I thought he’d be okay, but he chewed up one of your couch pillows. I’ll replace it. And I promise we’ll remember to crate him before we go out again.”

  “Good.” If only the worst of the problems I faced was a teething Great Dane. I unbuckled the boots.

  “And the men came to install the security system this morning. Done and gone in three hours. Said it secured the house against intruders as well as the painting. And while they were here, a contractor showed up to give a quote on renovating the dining room into a bedroom. He said that it would actually be better to just add a whole room and a bathroom than to take away the dining room.”

  “What about the cellar entry?” I dropped the first boot aside.

  “He drew a picture on that grid paper to show you what he means.”

  “I’m anxious to see it.” I considered. “With just a crawlspace under it, we may have to put heated flooring in to keep your room from getting too cold in the
winter.” I wiggled the second boot off.

  “This quote isn’t cheap, Persephone, and I don’t think any heated flooring was included in his estimate.”

  “You’re worth it, Nana. How are your knees feeling?” I never got the chance to ask Xerxadrea to teach Nana how she did that mist trick. I wished I could tell Nana about Xerxadrea’s death, but—if she knew an Eldrenne had died, she’d be even more worried about me. I removed the pouch from my belt. I almost took out the protrepticus to see if it worked, but didn’t. I set it aside, unzipped the skirt, let it fall. I peeled the dual-sided tape from my skin. Ick.

  “Steady.” She paused. I sank on the bed and drew covers over me, threw them down again, rose up and got the bloodstone. “What was it that Johnny carried in? The cameras never got a clear shot of that.”

  The sigh that left my lips must have sounded like a yawn through the phone. “The fairy. Aquula. She died, Nana.”

  “Oh.” She was silent a moment. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You must be worn out.”

  “Yeah. I am.” I held the stone tight and let it bleed energy into my palm. “And Nana, please don’t go anywhere. Threats have been made. I’d feel better if you’d promise me that you won’t take Beverley away from the house and wards this weekend.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Nana. This is serious. The fairy made a threat against Beverley again. And you. Promise me?”

  She delayed. “I promise.”

  “Thank you, Nana. I … I love you.” I didn’t tell her that nearly as much as I should.

  “I love you too, Persephone.”

  I was asleep as soon as I closed the phone; the bloodstone was still in my hand.

  When I woke, Johnny was beside me. The clock read five-nineteen.

  My first thought was to wake him and find Menessos and tell them about the soul-sharing. My second thought reminded me Johnny had done at least two full transformations yesterday. Disentangling his arm from around my waist, I decided that since he didn’t even stir that meant he needed more rest. I left the bloodstone on the bedside table.

  In the tub, when the water temperature was just right, I relaxed in the heated fluid and steam surrounding me.

  Mother, seal my circle

  and give me a sacred space.

  I need to think clearly

  to solve the troubles I face.

  I flipped my meditation switch to on and hit my alpha state—my meditation mode. Visualizing the grove of old ash trees beside a swift-flowing river, I imagined walking toward the water.

  My skin seemed dim. As if the sunshine here weren’t touching me.

  Proceeding with my method of cleaning my chakras, I sat on a rock and stuck my toes into the water. My shields begged to be let loose, to be eased for just a short time. Here, alone, it was safe to let go. I gave in and tried to loosen that protection the same way a flexed muscle relaxes. But the shields seemed cramped in place, and would not lower.

  Typically, if my body was clothed when I meditated, I was clothed here within the meditation. If, like now, I meditated in the tub, I showed up here naked. So, I scrutinized my exposed skin. All of me was coated in something murky.

  The coating was all the emotions my life path had cultivated. The ones I didn’t want, like despondency, panic, shame, fear, and grief. The ebb and flow of emotions was healthy, but I’d been shoving all these feelings down and tucking them far away. Tucking them here. They weren’t released, so they didn’t recede naturally. Instead, these emotions were dammed up. And they stagnated.

  Like mold on past-ripe fruit, this darkness was the rot of what was meant to nourish me. This was the apathy I’d protected myself with while, like an emotional anorexic, I avoided the buffet of negative feelings my life had served me lately.

  Sure, I’d devoured the laughter and the happiness, the contentedness. But, to be the Lustrata, to be balanced, I had to ingest the negative emotions, too. I had to consume all of it to truly own my life and my destiny.

  That’s part of the cost.

  I’d thought that, to accomplish all I had to do, a barrier around my emotions would be helpful. And this was the apathetic wall I had to show for it. I’d been building up my shields in the last few weeks, taking them down less and less, strengthening them by constant use. With Menessos bouncing all over my emotional trampoline, and my being absent from this place of cleansing and release, I’d been reinforcing these shields with the mortar of pain, guilt, denial, and mourning.

  But strength had to be balanced with vulnerability. Closing off to the negatives meant not being open to the positives.

  I understood what I’d done now, but undoing this damage would not be easy. Nor should it be.

  I leaned over the water and looked at my reflection.

  I could leave this murky shield alone. Let it get thick and so solid it would never come down.

  My eyes adjusted to see through that reflection, to the things under the surface, the stream bed, the stones.

  Nana once told me how if you peer into a stream during the day you see your reflection. But if you look in the stream on a moonless night, you’ll see the stream bed. She’d said, “You’ve been exposed to the dark, so you’re seeing below the surface, now, Persephone. You’re seeing the beauty in the smooth stones, but you must also feel the slime covering them. Slime that, if you’re not mindful of your footing, will cause you to slip …”

  I’d slipped. There was slime on me that would make me someone I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be unable to care, to be cold and indifferent. I’d rather be strong and vulnerable.

  In that instant I stood and clawed at the murky surface of emotion. Rending a hole, I released those feelings I’d resisted and fought against. Sobbing and staggering further into the river, I tried to use those emotions, to convert them into anger and rage, to fuel the destruction of that barrier. But the wave of anguish was too strong, the barrier too thick. The more I dug at the shield, the deeper the emotion became. Relentless, I tore until my fingers, in the meditation, were bloody.

  There, in the middle of the river, as the grief and fear and loss and doubt and pain poured out of me in a flood down my cheeks, I stumbled. The current caught me and threw me under the surface.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The river dragged me, yanking me desperately along, mocking me, heaving me to my feet and permitting me to slosh a few steps toward the bank. I retched and gagged. Then another wave pounced, shoving me under the surface again. I fought to rise above it, but the water quashed me, twisted and wrung me, stifling every attempt.

  These emotions are too powerful. You don’t want them.

  Immersed, drowning, I grappled with the rushing current, too stubborn to surrender. Surfacing amid white rapids, I gasped once before plummeting over a high falls. I was pinned at its base, buried under the weight of the water pouring down on me.

  Yes. I. Do. They’re mine!

  All I had left was this fight. I curled into a ball and scrabbled for the edges of large rocks to hold on to. Using them, I wrenched myself away from the imprisoning, crushing weight of the falls. Then the current plucked me loose and whisked me away again. This time it wouldn’t let me surface.

  I thought of what I’d said to Menessos about being his master, about accepting it. The good and the bad. But I hadn’t accepted the good and the bad emotions of my own life. How could I balance a world if I couldn’t balance myself, couldn’t accept the good and the bad of what I had, inevitably, to face?

  I kicked my feet and stretched for the bottom, raking already bleeding hands along the riverbed searching for something heavy enough to anchor me. I clung to the first large stone I could keep a grip on.

  The current tugged at me, wrenching me and the stone free, dragging me slowly along the bottom, scraping my fingers against other rocks. But still, I would not let go.

  I will not be swept away. Not by any emotion! I accept what it means. The good and the bad.
The good and the bad!

  The river hurled both the stone and me onto the muddy embankment. I landed on my back. My arms flew over my head guiding the stone to thunk into the soft ground there.

  A tree leaned over me, branches low. I started to sit up, but the stone rested heavily on a portion of my hair. After slithering around in the mud, struggling without enough leverage to roll away the offending rock, I finally managed and sat up. I wanted to rise and stomp away, but the branches of this mighty tree made standing up impossible.

  I lingered, considering. The river had deposited me under a willow tree laden with some kind of wispy moss. As my awareness of the area spread further, what I saw before me was no longer a river, but a lake with water so blue and smooth it made me calmer just to see it. The picturesque lake was framed by distant forested mountains. The sharp shapes revealed a particularly jagged glacier had carved this land.

  Nearer to me, a craggy, sun-bleached face of stone thrust up from the water like a giant’s spearhead rammed into the earth. The white reflection of the bare stone on the water’s surface was the only break in the blue, like a single cloud in the sky.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I twisted in the mud. “Amenemhab!”

  “Hello, Persephone. Needed a change of scenery?”

  I crawled out from under the low branches and sat near the jackal who served as my totem animal. “I hear mud is supposed to be good for your skin, but I can’t say I like it.” I couldn’t wipe my face clean, my hands were covered in it. I tried to get one hand mostly clean with the other. It wasn’t working. With a glare at the placid and benign surface of the lake, I decided not to attempt washing it off just yet.

  “I’m putting this to memory so I can always remember you this way.”

  “Naked and covered in mud. Gee, thanks.”

  “I see you more as bathed in the element of water, and coated with earth for good measure.” His nasal-haughty and matter-of-fact tone meant he was being literal; totems aren’t typically sarcastic. Didn’t keep me from letting loose my own cynical humor, though.