Fatal Circle c-3

by Linda Robertson

  Risqué had declared me ready—a word I was heavily weighing the definition of as I stood alone in the lobby outside the auditorium doors. I guessed they’d cleared it of malingerers before Risqué escorted me to my place. I wondered if latecomers were to be held up somewhere to be allowed in later.

  For their purposes, I was: ready (adj.) “completely prepared.” Meaning: I was dressed and able to proceed with this ceremony. Taped into a revealing dress—which would be on the news!—and coached in how to not stomp or march. Risqué had made me practice walking in the damned platform boots until I could move with some measure of confidence and grace.

  However, for my own reasons, I was not: ready (adj.) “inclined to start.” At least not yet. Johnny still hadn’t arrived. Where is he? Menessos better not have anything to do with his being absent.

  Inside, voices chattered quietly, and music began to play. The voices began to hush. Risqué had told me the doors would open and I’d enter. At the sound and light cue, I was to walk the red carpet to the stage steps. I would take the steps up to center stage where Menessos would await me. She’d not said what I could expect from there.

  Damn, damn, damn. I’m about to become a master vampire’s court witch, I’m wearing next to nothing and about to be on TV, Johnny’s not here, and whoever the WEC traitor is—not to mention other assorted unknown enemies—might try to use this event as a means of attack. Deep breath.

  Beyond the doors, the music waned and Menessos’s voice called out to address those assembled. My hand strayed to my neck, to the bite. Love him as he loves you.

  “Vampires mine, honored Offerlings, beloved Beholders, members of the media, guests—welcome, all of you, to our ceremony. In an effort to be open and allow the public to see us . . .” He went on with his prepared opening speech.

  Very exposed, I was an image of vulnerability. Bait. But thanks to Beau and Xerxadrea, I was not defenseless.

  If only I was calm. For that, I realized, I needed Johnny.

  I heard Menessos’s voice whisper as if next to me, “Come.”

  The doors before me swung open.

  Everyone came to their feet. In the seconds before the cameras flashing burned out my retinas, I saw a DJ booth (Jaded Jason, according to the logo), and a news crew area (Channels 3, 6, and 43 all seemed to be tolerating each other well). Between the cameras and the stage lighting, I was unable to see anything else.

  Fighting to not squint, I found that directly ahead I could see the equally-lit stage where Menessos sat on his throne, across the long hall, and Goliath sat to his right. Behind them, the bank of screens displayed the stylized fang symbol I’d seen on the plywood by the theater’s front doors. No sign of Johnny anywhere.

  Where is he?

  Goliath Kline caught my eye from the stage. Despite Menessos’s obvious possession of the stage, Goliath still had considerable stage presence. Tall and Nordic in a supermodel way, with eyes the color of summer forget-me-nots, he was nothing like his younger brother, Samson, whose spirit was now housed in my protrepticus—which rested in a black velvet pouch draped from a belt at my waist. Risqué had fretted over this addition to the Boss’s selected ensemble as well, and grouched about my being afraid I might miss a call. I let her grouch. She didn’t need to know what it really did.

  I heard the music swell slightly. The houselights dimmed a bit, leaving the scarlet aisle more highly illuminated. That was my cue.

  Chin level, shoulders squared, I moved forward amid an orchestrated melody of pomp and spectacle. My steps were as confident as any I’d ever taken.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  There were several rows of chairs at the back of the house for less exalted guests and Beholders. I moved past them, concentrating on walking and the stage before me. My eyes were adjusting to the lights and I could make out that the tables seemed to be occupied mostly by vampires and Offerlings. My best guess numbered them at about a hundred. It seemed that, with the exception of Risqué, basic black was a requirement for the ceremony, or they dressed dark all the time, in love with the stereotype. I imagined some mundane humans were there, too: local celebrities, movers-and-shakers, politicos.

  But Johnny was still nowhere to be seen. Had he seen his “dog bed” and refused to have any more to do with this event? I couldn’t blame him if he had.

  Another mental signal from Menessos instructed me to stop several paces from the end of the ramp and turn to face the crowd. Smile regally. A follow spot “hit” me—as if I weren’t already noticeable. Around me, vampires were breathing me in, murmuring of roses and warmth.

  I saw Seven—my predecessor!—standing to my left at a table in the row closest to the stage. A ruggedly handsome man, who had to be Mark, stood next to her. He was broad-shouldered and built like a lumberjack, as if muscle and brawn were part of whatever his trade had been in life. At the table to my right, I spotted Heldridge, the local vampire lord and owner of the Blood Culture. With the spotlight in my eyes, I couldn’t see any further.

  Menessos stood on stage and extended his hand. “I present to you Persephone Isis Alcmedi!”

  At my name, Seven zoomed in on me.

  “Henceforth,” Menessos continued, “she is Erus Veneficus of this haven.”

  I turned toward the stage and carefully made my way up the steps. Reaching the stage I took the vampire’s hand. Menessos twirled me around in a pirouette. That was a move Risqué had not prepared me for; I barely stayed on my feet.

  From stage left, Mountain came forward with a large wooden chest. While he held it, Menessos opened the lid. Drawing a blood-red velvet cape from within, he placed it upon my shoulders and adjusted the hood before once again reaching into the chest. This time he held up a much smaller item. Mountain backed away.

  “Shall I, Master?” Goliath asked. The others called him Boss, but Goliath always used “Master.”

  “No. I will display to her, and to you all, the honor I feel at having her here. I will place it upon her myself.” With that he crouched before me, carefully not going down on one knee. Still, a few gasps were heard. He held the elaborate red garter open and ready. I lifted my foot, somehow retaining my balance on one leg, and he deftly maneuvered the symbol over the boot and up my leg to mid-thigh.

  The garter was a symbol of power among witches, and in some traditions it marked the high priestess in a coven. I was certain the symbolism was not lost on the vampires, or at least not on Menessos.

  He came to his feet and took me into his arms, dancing me merrily around in a circle. I caught a glimpse of a close-up of our faces in the big television screens. Grinning splendidly, he called out, “Let us celebrate!”

  The houselights came up and the music kicked in again but this was not orchestrated. Now, the beat thudded from the speakers like that of a dance club. Waitstaff offered stemmed glasses on trays to the vampires and placed red pillar candles around the room. “My sincerest thanks to Heldridge for providing the beverages,” Menessos announced. Cheers filled the theater.

  He led me to the divan on his throne’s left. When I sat, he gestured to Goliath. After Goliath had taken his place in the smaller chair, Menessos sat in the center.

  Risqué climbed the steps—her golden ringlets and shiny orange rear end were probably quite a sight as she ascended—carrying a tray with three glasses. She offered the tray to Menessos first, then Goliath who pinched her bottom. When she offered me the tray, she said, “Yours is strawberry wine.”

  I scanned the auditorium again. Still no sign of Johnny.

  The doors I’d entered through swung open and a body flew through, rolling and twisting in what seemed a gymnast’s nightmare, only to leap, arcing up and out, and into a series of spectacular backflips along most of the length of the red-carpeted aisle. When the figure came to stand upright, he hesitated only until polite applause began, then threw his arms out and whips shot up with a crack. He went into a routine I thought might snap the leather lashes across the bodies of the vampires, but none react
ed. The crackling sounds worked with the music and I was impressed with how this performer was emphasizing the beat through dance and whip.

  He worked his way amid the tables, expertly minding his whips and flicking out the candle flames on the red pillars the staff had just placed.

  Rapt, several minutes had passed when I felt a sharp coldness in the pit of my stomach. I felt fine, just cold. Cold enough to be distracted from the show. I looked for Johnny again.

  Menessos put his hand on mine. “Eyes ahead,” he whispered. His voice was tight, though his expression was pleased. “And smile.”

  I did as he said. “What’s going on?”

  “I will explain later.”

  The performer dropped the whips and drew daggers from his belt. Tossing them high into the air, he began to juggle.

  Menessos’s grip on my hand tightened. The coldness in my stomach grew. Something was wrong.

  He lifted my hand and drew me toward him. “Come,” he whispered. “Into my lap.”

  In private, I would have argued, but this was not the place. In an instant, he had me draped across his throne and his lap as if I were a rag doll. He was trembling.

  Something bad had happened.

  I covered his hands with my own. He needed blood from his master to balance whatever was happening to him. I stroked my throat as if offering it to him, letting him know I understood and that it was all right.

  His mouth lowered to my neck, lips gentle on my skin, moving the thin gold chains out of the way. His beard tickled a little, in a way that made me tingle with urgency. My eyes shut, waiting . . . waiting. “The stones,” he whispered.

  Right! The jasper wouldn’t have stopped any vampire from feeding, let alone one caught in bloodlust, but they were protective of me. They were pulsing, drawing mystical energy off me and storing it inside them where they would hold it like a reservoir for me to tap. That, while protecting me, would keep him from getting what he needed. Concentrating, I shoved the protective shielding back within the stones. I held Beau’s charm in my palm and envisioned an orb shield momentarily containing its protection, too. It’s okay.

  Menessos’s tongue drew across the bumps caressing my flesh. “I would not take from you again so soon . . .” His voice was barely a breath in my ear. “But they are killing her. It pains me to the core.” His embrace became a vise. His fangs stabbed into me. My eyes shot open, time slowed.

  Killing her? Killing who? They?

  Vampires had left their seats and gathered at the edge of the stage to watch their Master drink. Camera flashes twinkled in the distance. And a gleaming line of steel zoomed toward me.

  A dagger.

  All my protections were disabled.

  Goliath’s body shot in front of us. I heard the clang of metal on the floor as he deflected the knife. The music stopped. There were gasps and a few screams. Goliath rolled down the three dais stairs and shot up, running. His voice boomed a command across the room.

  Vampires surged toward the performer. He tried to flee, but in milliseconds they had him.

  “Cameras,” I whispered. Menessos withdrew his fangs and repeated the word himself. I knew he was sending that one word as a warning to Goliath, who immediately shouted a new command. Vampires carrying the performer leaped onto the far end of the stage and dragged him into the back.

  Stunned silence fell across the room.

  Was that dagger for me? Or Menessos?

  I heard a thud of doors, distantly, but ignored it.

  That is, until Johnny’s voice rang across the theater, “Help me!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Johnny, two vampire guards trailing him, was walking hurriedly toward the stage from the back of the auditorium. His white shirt was smeared with dark stains. He carried something in his arms. Something small. It moved. A child? My heart lurched in my chest.

  Menessos came to his feet, and put me on mine. Instinctively covering the wound with my hand, I applied pressure and felt blood smear on my skin. I tried to stand. Dizzy, I stumbled. Menessos caught me and sat me on the divan. “No.” I didn’t want to sit. “Let me see!” I stood again, and Menessos gave me his arm.

  What he carried was blue—Aquula! The fairy’s mermaid tail fin flared in spasm.

  “Make way!” Menessos commanded the vampires. They had toppled chairs and overturned tables in an effort to get to the performer. Beholders had flooded from backstage and were carrying out furniture.

  I was at Johnny’s side as he stepped onto the stage. “Aquula . . . what can I do for you?” I reached to my pouch for the protrepticus. I’d call Xerxadrea. She’d know—

  “Waste not thy effort. Nothing can be done for me.” The fairy’s voice was little more than a tremulous whisper.

  “No!”

  “The fire fairy has seen to it.” Aquula meant Fax Torris, but saying her name was similar to calling her, and nobody wanted her to show up now. “The poison is slow, but it is certain.” Aquula coughed; blood was draining from her mouth and her gills. “I must warn thee.”

  “Tell us,” Menessos said, caressing the top of her head.

  “My death is meant to hurt thee, Master. Moreover, the fire fairy has vowed that if Persephone doth not honor WEC’s command and deliver you at dawn on Sunday, she will target the child again.”

  My heart shuddered. Beverley!

  Aquula convulsed, then continued. Her too large eyes had lost their sparkle. They seemed dim. Her pupils dilated, then contracted and found me. “She will use any means necessary to get around thy protections, and she will not stop there. Thy granddam and the new high priestess will follow.” To Menessos, she said, “She will not stop until her bonds are broken.” She stretched to touch his face but was too weak to reach him.

  “I grieve,” Menessos said, taking her hand and bringing it to his cheek.

  When she touched him, she whispered, “Remember me well.”

  “Fondly. Forever.” Menessos stroked her glittery blue cheek.

  “From an immortal, that is more than enough.”

  As she spoke, I saw that her teeth were stained with blood. Her eyes searched around and found mine again. “Take my pearls. I want them to be thine.”

  Tears burned my eyes.

  “It is an honor to die in thy world,” she whispered to Menessos. “Ever . . . ever do I love thee.” Aquula’s hand dropped from his face.

  He positioned her fragile arm across her small chest. He was shaking badly.

  Johnny saw it, and shot me a questioning glance.

  I shook my head.

  He scanned the smear of blood on my neck.

  “How did you find Aquula?” I asked.

  “She was in the parking garage, trying to drag herself to the stairwell. They must have flown over and dropped her on the top level.

  “I was just getting here and I can’t stay . . . but I wanted to tell you what was going on. Hector called.”

  “Ig?”

  Johnny nodded gravely.

  Menessos turned his back to us, moved a half step away.

  Aquula’s body, I saw, was covered in dark blisters. Perhaps they were from the poison, but they might have been from the proximity of large amounts of asphalt and iron in the city.

  “Red, I have to go. Where can I put her?”

  I didn’t know and Menessos didn’t seem to be about to answer. I reached to the vampire’s arm, but withdrew realizing Goliath had positioned himself so they could stare at each other. They were communicating. With an almost imperceptible nod, Goliath approached the edge of the stage. “Brethren of this haven, a new EV has been appointed to you, and that is cause to celebrate. Continue your festivities, but pardon our absence as we attend to this matter.” He gestured to the DJ and the music blared through the speakers once more.

  I felt a ripple on my aura—as if it had been flicked by invisible fingers. Menessos’s voice resonated from the speakers, mentioning “minor events must be attended to . . . dance and enjoy.” Along with the words, he
was giving them all a subliminal push away from any curiosity.

  Goliath led Johnny backstage. Menessos was following. I remained where I was, unsure of what to do. Mountain—in a tuxedo!—approached me. “Ms. Witch? The Boss will be needing you.”

  I took Mountain’s arm and he guided me through the backstage maze to the green room. We arrived as Menessos was opening the door to his private chambers, beneath mine. We all filed through the door. Mountain took up a position outside.

  The front chamber had a round stone altar table across from the door and leather seating to the right. The latter seemed designed for private meetings with other members of VEIN. Two plush armchairs sat directly across from each other, while two armless semicircular couches would each accommodate six. The walls were stacked stone. On the back wall, two white marble pillars stood on either side of a wooden door with iron studs set into it.

  “Here.” Menessos shoved items from the circular altar. Stones went flying. His athame clattered to the tile floor. A clay goddess statue shattered on the floor. “Place her here.” He cast the altar cloth aside.

  Johnny laid Aquula on the stone table. Poisoned purple blood continued oozing from her gills. Menessos adjusted her into a peaceful pose, lovingly folding her fingers together. He lifted her head to remove the pearls and smooth her raven hair, then he bent and kissed her forehead tenderly. When he straightened, he reverently covered her with the silver altar cloth and laid the pearls at her side.

  “I have to go,” Johnny whispered again.

  “Do you need to change?”

  “I don’t have time to change.” He brushed hair from my neck; I felt strands pull, caught in the congealing blood.

  He saw Menessos drinking from me. Had he understood?

  Or maybe it didn’t matter. He was in anguish, losing someone he cared about. So was Menessos. I wanted to be with them both, to comfort them both. “I want to come with you! But—”