Shattered Circle (Persephone Alcmedi)

by Linda Robertson

  When she rose she did not walk to the next point, she danced to it. He noticed that she moved with the confident balance of a trained dancer. He also noted that she had cute feet; her toenails were painted a dark red, the bracelets were draped at sexy angles, and the stones tinkled when they struck together.

  She placed another stone. “Elements of fire, of the south, guard this circle and warm us with the heat of life.”

  When she rose up, she twirled, then arched her back, lifting the incense up high. Her hips swiveled and her body swayed. Another spin brought her to the next point and another stone was set upon the floor. “Elements of water, of the west, guard this circle and bathe us in the liquid of life.”

  When she rose again, she seemed even deeper into the ritual. She had passed him when drawing the circle and he was sure she was no longer aware of his presence. Red and he had talked about magic many times. She’d told him that, for some, the casting of a circle was merely an act of protection. For others, it was like drawing a curtain around the circle, a curtain that transported them out of this world and into the etheric world. If he had to guess, he’d have said Hunter belonged to the latter.

  Hunter positioned the last stone. “Elements of earth, of the north, guard this circle and tread with us the terrain of life.” She rose and Demeter put a wand into her open hand. “This circle is cast and sealed,” she said, making one final ring around with the tip of the wand pointing at the circle she’d swept and danced already. “The elements are present. Lord and Lady, hail! I call to thee. Hear me, Goddess, She who walks alone in the spaces in between, maintain the balance of power we are about to invoke. Aid us to bring your daughter home.”

  Vilna-Daluca, Lydia, and Demeter stood around Red, each a point of a wide triangle. As Hunter completed this circle casting, Demeter shuffle-stepped closer to Red, not breaking the water circle around her. Hunter took up the position Demeter had vacated.

  “Vilna, since you have far more experience than I with ley lines,” Hunter said, “I defer to you for the sorcery portion.”

  With a nod, Vilna accepted the black pillar candle that Demeter offered. When Hunter and Lydia also held their candles and Demeter had lit each one, Vilna began.

  She didn’t speak, but she hummed softly. Within seconds, the hair on the nape of Johnny’s neck was rising. As she refined the melody, adding a note here and there, she let her voice grow louder. Lifting the candle to eye level, she stared at it intently and sang. Slowly, her right hand rose above her head, fingers curled as if she held a softball. A blue-purple orb of light swirled between her palm and fingers.

  To her left, Hunter joined the melody, following it, then accenting it. She lifted her candle, focused on the flame, then raised her hand. When the flickering orb appeared in her hand, an arc-like lightning sprang from Vilna’s to connect to Hunter’s.

  Last, Lydia began to sing. Her addition to the song was bold, fully formed from the first note. She belted her unique tune like it was the chorus of song she’d always known. She copied the position of the other witches and the orb flashed into her hand, followed by the lightning joining hers to Hunter’s. A completing arc joined hers to Vilna’s.

  Blue-purple light filled the space within the circle Hunter had cast, shading the witches with a glow not unlike the black lights Johnny had seen at various clubs his band had played in.

  He was listening to the witches’ lovely, dark chant, and was rather fond of the strange melody, but he remembered he was to keep his eyes on Red.

  God, she’s going to hurt when she comes out of this. I’ll carry her upstairs to a hot bubble bath, followed by a massage. Anything she wants.

  Demeter reached into her pocket and pulled out a four-leaf clover. “Here goes,” she said, and placed the clover on her tongue. She reached into her pocket again, and pulled out two stones. One she kept in her right hand, the other she transferred to the left. She slid her foot forward to the edge of the watery circle that protected Red.

  With one last glance at him, she breathed deep and pushed her foot through the water.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Goliath supervised Risqué being moved onto a stretcher, then two Beholders lifted her and kept her level as they carried her down the steps from the court witch’s suite.

  One of the Beholders asked, “The new infirmary, boss?”

  “Yes.” When Ivanka had broken her arm, he’d decided it would be to their advantage to have a triage and small infirmary on-site to manage the occasional injuries his people incurred in the line of duty. The space that was formerly used to store stage props was reclaimed for this purpose.

  He’d been so busy lately, he had not had time to check the progress. So, he followed the Beholders across the area behind the scrim.

  He was only a few yards from the door when a strange smell met his nostrils and he stopped. Glancing around, he sniffed again. It was an oily odor. One present only when the service elevator was in use. “Continue,” he ordered the guards.

  Running to the gate, he saw the new hydraulic that had been installed; the car had gone up. To his best guess, it remained one level above the ground floor. He pressed the button to bring the car down. Impatient, he paced as the elevator returned, then entered, shut the gate, and pushed the button to lift him up.

  When it dinged softly and stopped, he stood stock-still, listening, sniffing.

  Ailo had come this way with Beverley.

  He opened the gate and searched the area until he found a broken window.

  Goliath rode the elevator down. When it stopped, he walked to the infirmary. Voices were coming from a hallway in the rear. He proceeded in that direction and found the hall had four doors. The voices were behind the last one—but lights were on in both of the rearmost rooms.

  He peered into the second-to-last room and saw Mero in the bed. Seven stood to one side, watching as their esteemed guest fed from a Beholder’s wrist. It was clear, even from a distance, that Mero had been severely beaten.

  Goliath raised a brow at Seven; she made an irritated face at him and waved him on.

  Looking into the last room, he saw Risqué—still on the stretcher that now rested on an exam table. Ivanka was holding a compress to Risqué’s side.

  Seeing him, Ivanka said, “I learn field medicine.”

  “The doctor we’ve employed is on her way.”

  “We have a doctor now?” one of the Beholders asked.

  “Yes,” Goliath answered.

  “He give us this hospital,” Ivanka said.

  The Beholder grinned. “You’re gonna make a fine Haven Master.” The two Beholders left.

  Sil entered seconds after they left. “What is going on?”

  He nodded. “Too much to explain just now. You and Ivanka need to stay with Risqué.”

  Sil nodded and, for a moment, he and Sil stared at each other. Then he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

  When their lips parted, he left the infirmary. It would take Menessos only a few minutes to locate Ailo and verify her getaway path; Goliath guessed his former master had nearly accomplished this task by now. Still, he had time… .

  Goliath jogged to his own quarters, pulled off his formal jacket, and tossed it on a chair. Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he walked to the table near his bed and lit an incense stick. For a long moment he stood before it, focusing on his intention and breathing the sweet scent of juniper. “I will make sure she’s safe, Lorrie. I promise.”

  A buzzing erupted from within his bedside table. Light seeped out from the edges of the drawer. He frowned. His phone was across the room in his jacket pocket. He pulled open the drawer and saw an old cell phone, folded shut. Persephone Alcmedi had given it to him.

  The protrepticus.

  His dead brother, Samson, had spoken to the court witch via this magical device.

  He reached slowly for it, cautiously picked it up, and then turned it over.

  The window on the phone’s case face was lit up in a soft green. T
he caller ID flashing on the screen read: SAMSON.

  Opening the phone, he held it to his ear. Tentatively, he said, “Hello?”

  “I hope you’re ready for all the shit coming your way, Haven Master.”

  “Samson?”

  Silence.

  “Samson?” He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, but the screen was now dark.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Demeter felt her meditative self shift onto another plane.

  This was not what usually happened when she sought a quick glimpse of insight by touching someone’s head, but she didn’t usually do this inside an empowered circle with the intention of delving into another’s private realm.

  She opened her eyes. Of course. Nothing’s going to go quite as planned.

  Persephone was no longer seated before her; the walls of the kitchen were no longer surrounding her. Instead, she stood before a willow tree at the edge of a lake.

  She made a slow but complete revolution, viewing the whole of her new environment. It was a serene setting, green and fertile. The gentle lapping of the water was calming. The smell of wheat was carried on the breeze.

  “Hello!” Demeter called.

  Startled birds flittered out of branches, their protesting cries echoing back as they fled.

  Demeter grumbled and crossed her arms.

  Facing the lake once more, she wondered if the totem was a water creature. That would explain the proximity of the lake. She studied the surface, watching for a telltale splash. When no such sound occurred, her gaze was drawn to the island out in the lake.

  Seeing Persephone’s meditation world was insightful, but she could not shake the guilty feeling that accompanied this intrusive peek into her granddaughter’s private space.

  “Hello.”

  Demeter’s crossed arms shot out defensively, startled by the voice. Spinning to face the sound, she saw a jackal standing not far away. Her breath caught. “Oh!”

  The jackal must have sensed the unease she felt; he sat and pricked his ears forward. He even wagged his tail.

  “I’m Demeter Alcmedi.” She relaxed her shoulders as she spoke.

  “I am glad to meet you, grandmother of the Lustrata. I am Amenemhab.”

  “Am-men-what?”

  “Amenemhab.”

  “Got it.” She nodded once, but wasn’t going to try to say it aloud.

  “You’ve come because Persephone is in danger.” The wind picked up, cold.

  “Yes.” Demeter shuffled an urgent step forward. “What do you know of it?”

  His head bobbed up and down in an odd canine version of a shrug. His ears lowered, lending him an expression of concern. “I sense the danger, but I know nothing of it. Whatever is happening, it is not happening here.”

  Wringing her hands, she asked, “Can you not move between planes and find out?”

  The jackal’s nose pointed at the lake, then the tree. “This is her plane. I am here until she and I have accomplished all the tasks set before us. I can leave this place only then … or when her current physical body dies.”

  Demeter swallowed the lump in her throat that formed at his ominous words. “What can I do?”

  The jackal’s snout aimed downward and his paw rubbed his muzzle thoughtfully.

  Before he could come to a conclusive thought, a trumpeting roar filled the air. He came to his feet and looked at the lake. The sound had caused Demeter to jump as well, and she turned, too.

  Fog was now enveloping the small island and, as they watched, it billowed out across the lake. Clouds roiled in the sky, blocking out the sun. The surface of the lake changed from placid to choppy. The fog crawled over the surface, creeping closer with each moment. Demeter retreated from the water’s edge.

  A pair of black dragons emerged, yoked to a strange boat.

  The next seconds passed in a rapid blur as the dragons emerged partially from the water and a woman wearing a hooded cloak stepped along the plank that stretched between the scaly creatures. A dragon lowered its neck and she descended gracefully to the shore. The woman walked directly up to Demeter. A wrinkled hand appeared from within the cloak and she raised it slowly. Thick, twisted knuckles bent, and cool ancient fingers touched Demeter’s chin.

  Demeter had been watching the hand, as the woman’s face was hidden in the depths of her hood, but as she drew Demeter’s chin up, the wind blew the hood back, revealing a kind old face with frightening dark eyes that could see the past, the present, and the future.

  “Hecate.”

  The goddess smiled. “It has been a long time, Demeter Alcmedi.”

  Demeter’s gaze dropped downward.

  “Your granddaughter is ever finding herself in the path of danger.”

  “Because of you.”

  Hecate laughed. “Your grandmother blamed me for the antics of your youth as well.” She sidestepped and began circling Demeter. “But then you, too, were willful, powerful, and stubborn.” She paused to whisper, “It is a combination that wrought your bloodline. A combination that tests the soul, invites the notice of darker things, and entices the most tempting desires to your door.” Her tone was sharp and cold, as if she spoke icicles instead of words.

  “Can you help her?”

  “I am helping her.” Hecate began circling again. “Do you think I would allow all my plans to be foiled by Hades?”

  At that name, Demeter’s focus snapped back to the goddess. Her lungs expelled air like she’d been kicked hard. “Hades?”

  Hecate stopped in front of Demeter. They locked stares for a few heartbeats. “She went in without the proper precautions. He took advantage of her mistake.”

  Demeter stood straight. “What are you going to do, Hecate?”

  Hecate reached down and snatched Demeter’s hands. She lifted them up and examined each—the back, the palm, the fingers. When she released them she said, “Relax. I seek no bargain with you. I simply want Hades to stay out of my way.” She turned away, extending her hand. One of the dragons lowered his head to accept her petting. Finally, she said, “Hades must be taught a lesson.”

  Hecate wrapped one hand around the horn protruding from the dragon’s snout and dug the fingers of her other hand under one of the dragon’s cheek scales. With a shout, she yanked it free. The dragon jerked and snorted a complaint with his long fangs bared, but she did not release the enormous creature or shy from its threat. She wiped the loosened scale over the place from which it had been torn, collecting blood on it. Turning her back on the dragon, she faced Demeter again. “Dragon’s blood,” she said. “The real thing.” The liquid gleamed on the lustrous black scale. “Raise your hands. Palms up.”

  Demeter obeyed.

  The goddess held the dragon’s scale over each hand in turn, allowing blood to drip onto Demeter’s skin. It was dark, dark red, and almost hot enough to burn. “Rub your hands together.” She turned and shoved the scale back into place on the dragon’s cheek. It grumbled a single note.

  Staring at the thick blood smeared all over her hands, Demeter asked, “What is this for?”

  “To provide you the strength to hold this.” Hecate reached forward and a scythe suddenly appeared in the goddess’s hands. She held it out, offering it to Demeter.

  • • •

  Johnny felt something pop like a bubble, and could see on the women’s faces the strain they immediately felt. Seconds ticked away into minutes. Johnny watched the three chanting witches holding the circle, contained within their ley line force field. Lydia was clearly having trouble. Her old hands were shaking as if palsied.

  Worried, he remained focused on her. Through three rounds of the chant, her volume lowered. On the fourth time, her voice cracked. Her voice began to rasp, sounding like she badly needed a drink of water.

  He willed her to keep going, to have the stamina and the clarity of voice to continue, but on the fifth round, her voice began to falter altogether. Not sure if it would make any difference, he positioned himself behind Lydia
and began to sing her part. Vilna looked at him, glanced down at his hands, then at Lydia’s shoulders. He let his hands hover over the old woman’s frail shoulders. His brows raised, silently asking Vilna if he was doing the right thing.

  She nodded.

  Johnny’s hands lowered slowly, detecting a brittle, heated static before he made contact.

  This is going to be bad. He breathed deep. When his hands were completely in contact with her, an electric shock gripped his hands and forearms. He held his breath, fighting to master the pain. Fur sprouted and his claws pushed out. The energy kept pushing higher up his arms, bringing the change with it.

  He understood that by his joining their outer circle, the ley line energy was rerouting through him. It was pushing at him from both sides, trying to link. When he wrapped his head around that fact, he was able to release the tension in his muscles and allow the power to meet at his sternum. He itched as fur rose under his shirt, but once the new flow was established, he found he could revert the transformation. Lydia’s rigidly held shoulders loosened. She fell silent.

  Then Lydia’s knees gave way.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Goliath slid into the backseat of the waiting limo and shut the door.

  Beside him, Menessos said, “She is not far.” The car pulled away from the curb, tires squealing. “She is hiding in Mall B, near a tree.”

  “Only four blocks away? Why are we bothering to drive?” Goliath wanted to tell Menessos about the protrepticus, about hearing Samson’s voice, but there was no time. “What’s the plan?”

  “You get out at the corner of the mall, the car will take me closer to where she is hiding, and I confront her directly. The car waits while I try peaceably to get her to return, distracting her while you approach from another direction. You grab Beverley.”