Shattered Circle (Persephone Alcmedi)

by Linda Robertson

  Screaming, Ailo spat blood from her mouth. She willed a change, wanting to become an owl, but the chains around her neck prevented her from transforming fully. Still, she pushed the change into her legs and feet, feeling talons stretch out from her toes.

  Reaching awkwardly up, her talons snatched hold of Risqué’s arms and she kicked the woman across the room. Risqué slammed into the stools at the kitchen counter, sending them flying like bowling pins.

  Ailo staggered into an upright position as her feet reverted to human. She tore the shoe from her side and started forward. “What are you?” There was no one she couldn’t read.

  Picking herself up from the floor, Risqué touched her already swollen face, dabbed at one puffy eye. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

  Ailo called to the magic that clothed her, shifting the fabric to a short sheath dress, the excess forming silver weapons in her hands, cylinders that fit her grip nicely, with points on either end. “You don’t look like more than a mild daydream to me.”

  “Is this better?” Risqué thrust her hands downward with a jerk and flames swirled across her skin. With a toss of her head, her pale ringlets transmuted into a mass of thin, hissing white serpents.

  “Daughter of Hell,” Ailo whispered.

  Risqué leapt at Ailo.

  Diving to the side, Ailo rolled away. Risqué landed on the sofa, knocking it over with her momentum, then setting it aflame with her burning hands. Ailo pounced as she was clambering to her feet, and struck at the half-demon. Risqué threw herself backward, kicking out and knocking the weapon from Ailo’s hand. It clanged to the floor and reverted to quicksilver, which pooled and slithered to rejoin with Ailo.

  Risqué crouched behind the burning sofa, her every serpentine appendage hissing.

  As smoke filled the room, Ailo changed her weapons into daggers and advanced. As she swiped the blades before her, Risqué blocked with fire so hot, it melted the blades as they passed through the flames.

  The fire alarm began clanging. With a scream of frustration, Ailo threw a dagger.

  Risqué raised her hands to block it but miscalculated the speed, and it sailed through her defenses. She lurched sideways at the last, and the dagger sheared off the heads of three white serpents. Blood dripped from their severed bodies. The weapon clattered to the floor and dissolved into a pool of liquid.

  Ailo magicked another dagger from her quicksilver and launched it. The blade thumped into Risqué’s torso between her lowest ribs. She fell backward. The dagger pooled on her skin, disappearing inside the wound, only to roll around under her skin, making her scream and writhe, before the liquid slithered out of the wound and returned to Ailo.

  A scream from her side drew Ailo’s attention.

  The child stood holding back the curtain that separated the back half of the room. Her eyes were wide, jumping from the burning couch to Ailo, to Risqué, and back.

  Ailo ran to the girl. “I’m here to help you.”

  She took a step back. “Did Celia send you?”

  Ailo started to agree, then she had a better idea. “No. Persephone did. Come with me.” When the child took her offered hand, Ailo sent the fabric rushing down her arm, encircling the girl’s head, gagging her mouth lest she scream, and wrapping her body in a cocoon of gray satin. It left very little in covering for Ailo, but that was irrelevant. She lifted the girl in her arms and hurried from the room, leaving Risqué gasping for air on the floor.

  She heard the sound of many feet rushing across the stage. Leaping from the top of the stairwell, she landed heavily with the extra weight of the girl in her arms. Still, she managed a second long leap, landing behind the door, unseen by those charging in. She slipped into the unlit depths of the backstage and located the service elevator—a minor detail she’d gained from Sil’s mind.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  My love, are you recovered?”

  I heard the voice in the darkness. A man’s voice. It was close to me. Then I realized my so-heavy eyelids were shut. Little by little, I managed to part them and allow some light to hit my retinas.

  The man was lying beside me in this soft bed that smelled of sweet white flowers. Indeed, as I moved I noticed the petals strewn about us. Stephanotis.

  “Love?”

  I faced him, and my spine stiffened. He was handsome with his dark hair and eyes, but I didn’t recognize him. I chanced to answer. “Yes?”

  He smoothed hair from my forehead. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  My eyes widened slightly but I said nothing.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “The physician said you might have memory loss for a while.”

  “Memory loss?” I made a confused face at him. I was sure that any second now all my thoughts would click into place.

  He gave me an unconvinced expression. “Tell me my name.”

  So simple a question. And yet I did not know. “I can’t.”

  “Your name?”

  I don’t know my own name!

  I sat up, heart racing—but his hand on my shoulder was reassuring and warm.

  “Stay calm,” he said soothingly. “You are safe here. All will be fine.”

  “How is it going to be fine when I can’t remember who I am?” My mind raced, searching for details. I could think in sentences, I knew language, I could identify that we were in a bed, but I could not remember myself.

  How the hell do I know those are stephanotis flower petals and I don’t know my name?

  He leaned in and kissed my forehead. His action was one of familiarity, but it startled me and I flinched. Although he noticed, he didn’t seem bothered by it. “Your memory will return. In the meantime, I will tell you everything you want to know. That is what any good husband would do for his wife, don’t you agree?”

  I winced at his words. The confusion and uncertainty in my mind were disturbing, but the sudden suspicion in my heart made me want to flee. “Yes,” I said calmly. “You’re my husband?”

  He nodded and offered an easy, charming smile. “I am. For many happy years now.”

  His dark hair was thick and hung to his shoulders. His eyes sparkled with kindness. His bare chest and arms were muscular. He seemed a happy, pleasant man; healthy and robust. His demeanor was calm and non-threatening. Still, I felt misgivings I could not justify. “What is your name?”

  He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Aidon.”

  “And mine?”

  He kissed my cheek; this time I didn’t flinch. “When you remember that, we’ll know your memory has returned.” He slid away from me and rose from the bed. He was naked and kept his back turned as he lifted his pants from a seat nearby. “For now, let’s walk around our kingdom and see if anything is familiar.”

  Our kingdom?

  He turned and flashed me a smile that could melt hearts. He backed away. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

  After he’d passed through the doorway, I slid from the bed. Unclothed, I looked myself over. No bruises. I felt my head. There was a bit of a knot near my temple. A glance around the room revealed an armoire with one door open, a lovely dress hanging from a hook on the door. It was made of copper-and bronze-colored fabrics. The off-the-shoulder style had a tight, dropped waist. Thin, gauzy layers created bell sleeves, and the matching skirts mimicked them perfectly. I flipped it around and saw the back dipped low except for a single ribbon that, when tied, kept the shoulders in place.

  In moments I donned the dress that had obviously been fitted exactly for me—but tying that ribbon was impossible, unless I knotted it, and then it wouldn’t be the correct tautness. I was sure he—Aidon—would assist me with that detail. I glanced around for a mirror and discovered one on the armoire door.

  My face was … unfamiliar.

  Then I noticed the red marks and the burns on my neck.

  What happened to me?

  The sounds of movement beyond this room reminded me that Aidon was waiting for me. I found some slippers in the armoire and hurried out of th
e room.

  His expression lit up when he saw me.

  “I need some help with this.” I held the dress up in the front with my hands. “There are ribbons in the back that need to be tied.”

  “I can manage that.”

  I turned around.

  “Forgive me. I should have sent a maid to see if you needed assistance.” His fingers were deft with the ribbon and barely touched me, but at the last, as he drew the ribbon into a bow, his fingertips slid across my shoulder blades and made me shiver. “One of them could make a prettier bow, but this will suffice.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Finished, I turned so he could see me. The ends of the satin ribbon tickled.

  “My beauty … I do adore you in that dress.”

  I smiled for him, but lost it. “What happened to my neck?”

  My question chased the happiness from his expression. Sadness diminished him and he reached out to me, caressing me near the injuries. Seeing the marks must have stirred his anger. His face hardened for an instant, then he covered it.

  “It is done, and it will heal. Let us have something to eat, and then we will walk.” He offered me his arm.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I slid my hand into the crook of his arm and began walking with him. “I’m not hungry. Can we just walk? Maybe that will stir up my appetite.”

  “Whatever you wish, my love.”

  As we strolled along, the grandeur of this place couldn’t be missed. It was merely a hallway, but the carpet was an elaborate wool weave. The curtains were more like tapestries. The walls were crimson and gilded frames held lovely paintings and the occasional mirror. There were sculptures in alabaster, in ebony, and in jade.

  My grip slipped from his arm and I roamed closer to a window. Beyond the glass stretched a darkened world of rolling hillsides lit by silvered moonlight and twinkling stars. There was a gentle breeze out there, blowing over the fields and making the plants undulate like the sea.

  That silvered light drained the colors, though. I found no recollection in the view.

  This vulnerability made me sick inside. This was wrong. Knowing things, but knowing nothing of the people around me, not even knowing where the halls of “my” home would lead me … this could drive me mad.

  My shoulders slumped and a sigh slipped from my lips.

  His fingertips strayed across my skin at my spine, below the ribbon, and traveled downward. It was a gentle touch, affectionate and teasing. My shoulders straightened and my sigh turned from dispirited to desirous.

  “Aidon … ”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Show me something I am sure to remember. Something wonderful. Or something terrible. But I must remember!”

  He searched my eyes as he considered my request. I waited.

  Finally, he said, “This way.”

  We walked through this incredible palace—a palace!—and arrived at a set of huge golden doors set with ivory carvings and iron handles shaped like stephanotis flowers. Twined stems created the handles that curved out in an arch and down to rejoin the iron.

  Aidon gestured. “Open them.”

  I put my hands on the cold iron and pushed the great doors. They swung more easily than I expected, and as they parted a grand hall was revealed. Thick white pillars held up a ceiling so high I grew dizzy looking up. The floor was black marble and, as torches flickered to life, lighting the expanse of the hall, that marble gleamed.

  Aidon took my hand and guided me onward. Halfway across the hall, he eased in front of me and took my other hand, dancing me to the right, leading me to the left, then twirling me around. His movements were smooth; mine were awkward. The dancing was strange, and I wondered if this was all a nightmare.

  We stopped before an ivory staircase. He coaxed me up the seven steps and knelt between two regal chairs of gold. With his hand palm up, he indicated the seat with more feminine curves and carvings to it.

  “This is your throne, my beloved queen.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  While Demeter searched her address book and made a call, Johnny asked Mountain if he would watch Red for a while.

  Mountain nodded, yawned, and leaned against the counter.

  Johnny climbed the steps up to the farmhouse attic. The minute space before him had been his bedroom here. It felt smaller than it ever had before. Not that he was bigger for being the Domn Lup. More like his bright and wide-open world had deflated, constrained by the weight of his responsibilities.

  He stared at the simple twin bed he’d slept in. He remembered lying on that bed bleeding after the phoenix had clawed him. Doc Lincoln couldn’t stop the blood loss, but Persephone had found a way.

  She never let him down.

  So much had changed since then. Life had gotten so complicated.

  His gaze trailed over to the little amplifier in the corner and the guitar in the stand beside it. Almost without willing himself to move, he suddenly held the guitar in his hands, the strap was over his shoulder, and the amp was plugged in and turned on.

  He played, quiet and slow, letting the sad melodies of a minor blues scale ripen and evolve on the fret board. He listened to the notes, but some piece of his mind was thinking about Red. Another piece was thinking of Plympton, and of Aurelia.

  The longer his fingers worked at the song and modified it with each repeat of the progression, the more those out-of-control concerns changed from crushing whitewater rapids to tranquil little waterfalls, each issue flowing individually over the edge to pool in one placid, peaceful lake. By the time he’d decided that the phrasing of the tune was perfect, his worries had each smoothed into place. He switched the amp off, unplugged the cord, and put the guitar back in the stand. When he turned, Demeter was in the doorway.

  “Sounded good. Kind of took me back to my youth. I visited a dance hall or two.”

  He smiled. “You?”

  “It was mostly records on the jukebox, but some musicians would come in from time to time.”

  “And you danced?”

  “Oh yes. I could cut a rug. Jitterbug. All that shit. I was a slip of a girl then—and my knees weren’t bad. But that wasn’t dancing music you were playing. That was … melodious lamentations.” She crossed her arms. “There’s more going on than my granddaughter being stuck in a meditation.”

  Johnny thought about denying it, but Demeter was … Demeter. He sat on the bed, patted the spot beside him. Her knees were probably killing her after climbing all the steps. She was a spunky old lady, not the type to give up or let things stand in her way. Not even pain. “A lot.”

  She shuffled over and sat beside him.

  “The damage to the house is my fault. There was a vamp here. I thought he might have something to do with her condition. He wanted to take her to the Excelsior.”

  “Looks like your refusal didn’t suit him much.”

  Johnny shook his head. The broken parts of the house were insignificant compared to the safety of the people he cared about, but he said, “I’ll have it all fixed.”

  “I know. What else?”

  He sighed and stared at the floor. “Demeter, something happened with Beverley earlier. She’s okay now as far as I know, but she slipped into a ley line. Apparently Menessos pulled her out. I haven’t had a chance to follow up on that yet.”

  “She’s fey?”

  Johnny looked up sharply. “Huh?”

  “She’d have to have fey blood to survive a ride on the line.” As she thought that through she rubbed at her knees.

  He thought of Toni—another spunky older lady who wasn’t letting pain stop her. “Demeter, there’s more. Um … I recently found out that before I was turned … I had a girlfriend and … ” He stood and paced toward the door. “She gave birth to my son.”

  “Oh my!”

  He turned around.

  “Where is she now? Does Persephone know?”

  “She knows I have a son, but I didn’t get to tell her anything more than that… . I wanted to explain but
… ” The fingers of both hands raked through his hair, and he bumped his forearms on the low ceiling. His arms dropped to his sides. “Evan’s mother died in a car accident a few years back. His grandmother has been raising him. She recognized me on TV and sought me out. She’s dying of some kind of cancer. She only has a few months.”

  “Oh my,” Demeter repeated.

  “I’m having them brought to Cleveland.”

  “To get her treatment?”

  He shook his head. “I think her condition is beyond treatment. It’s more for their safety… . I don’t know who to trust anymore.” Sometimes I don’t even trust myself.

  Demeter hesitated a moment, snorted, and said, “You ever hear of Aeschylus?”

  “No.”

  “Greek philosopher. Wrote some plays. Prometheus Bound.”

  “I’ve heard of that.”

  Demeter nodded. “Actually, there’s some debate over whether or not he truly wrote it, but never mind that. He lived in the city of Eleusis, where the Eleusinian Mysteries were based—that was a cult devoted to the goddess Demeter, you know that, right?”

  “No, but go on.” Johnny wondered where she was going with all this.

  “Well, I’m rather fond of the goddess Demeter for obvious reasons, so this guy is one that I knew a bit about once upon a time, as he was said to have been initiated into that cult. Among other things, he’s credited for having said some good things that have stood the test of time.”

  He thought he knew where she was headed now. “Like?”

  “Like: ‘In every tyrant’s heart there springs in the end this poison, that he cannot trust a friend.’ ”

  Johnny repeated it to himself and let it roll around in his mind.

  “If you let all this break you,” she said, “if you stop trusting people, you will become a tyrant.”

  He straightened, standing taller. “I trust some people. Like you. But there’re so many new people that have come into my world all of a sudden. I don’t really know them. Because of my rank I don’t know if I’ll ever know the real them, if I’ll see their true motives, y’know? I don’t want to simply trust everyone and risk the people I care about getting hurt.”