Vicious Circle c-1

by Linda Robertson

  Vivian returned my stone-cold stare with a steady, self-satisfied look that said she knew she had me now. That really ticked me off. “You already understand what danger I put her in, Miss Alcmedi.”

  “Yeah, I do. But when did you know?”

  “From the start.” She glanced down. “I knew she was a wære from the start.”

  “Then why? Why would you let her risk it? Why risk it yourself? ‘An’ it harm none.’” I quoted the Rede’s first phrase.

  Vivian hit the desktop. Her glare blazed. “Don’t you dare quote the Rede to me as if I don’t know it! You have no right to quote that to me, hypocrite.”

  I admit it was rude; as high priestess, she had to know the Rede and all the various codes and laws backwards and forwards. But calling me a hypocrite? “You’re not spotless either.”

  Vivian looked me up and down, then squinted at me, thinking so hard I almost expected to smell smoking brain cells. But her heated anger eased, slowly. Drawing little circles with her finger on the top of her desk, she finally said, “My interaction with Lorrie wasn’t risky. We met privately at her home once a week. We never did energy-or spell-work. It was just a faith and prayer Goddess thing for her. She needed it.” Vivian paused, swallowed, and continued piously: “Lorrie continued to kennel for her monthly security, but she came to me for her soul’s solace. She needed spiritual guidance in her life as she dealt with what she’d become. She feared hurting Beverley or, worse, that Beverley would come to fear her and run away.”

  Her self-righteous tone did nothing to endear her to me. “Did you warn her of the danger?”

  “Lorrie wasn’t ignorant! She knew the dangers and, yes, of course, we discussed them. As I said, I simply counseled her on issues of faith.” Her gaze strayed along the edge of my newspaper. “I didn’t know the bill for guiding her spirituality would be this high. I didn’t think the council would find out.”

  “Wait a minute. The council? You mean the Witch Elders Council?”

  Vivian nodded grimly. “WEC did this.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” I sat in the folding chair again. “Are you saying they knew you were spiritually counseling a wære and because of it they—as a group—violated the Rede to have her murdered?” Me breaking the “An’ it harm none, do as ye will” law was bad, but I’d done it unintentionally. For the council to sanction law-breaking knowingly was a different matter.

  Vivian re-situated herself in her chair. “Not WEC exactly, but…”

  “But?”

  My tone was harsher than I had meant it to be. Vivian latched onto it with a snotty little smile. “Am I ruining your perfectly naive concept of the world?”

  I really, really didn’t like her. “I’m not naive.” Am I?

  She sat back in her chair, exuding arrogant confidence. “The Elders aren’t above the temptation of corruption, deary girl. And they’ve never had a deep love for PAW.”

  PAW was the acronym for Packs and Allied Wæres. The wæres’ version of WEC, they administered the “responsibility policy.” I copied Vivian’s position as best I could, right down to the impassive expression. “You better start explaining why WEC would feel it necessary to take such actions.”

  “The less you know, the better.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Then the answer is no. I’m not buying you an Elders seat and I’m not getting involved in a WEC versus PAW pissing contest.” I got up and left her office without looking back. This time, it was easy.

  As I crossed the wide seating area, however, my steps grew sluggish. I felt so sorry for Beverley. Her devoted mother was dead, and nobody was going to do anything about it. Not one governmental agency would do a damn thing to help her or solve the case. There would be no justice for Beverley unless I did something…

  But this was madness. I couldn’t do this. What was I thinking? Entertaining the idea was just plain stupid.

  Some of my anger was vented on the coffee shop door; I shoved it open so hard, it rattled. I half-stomped to the crosswalk that led to the parking area where I’d left my car.

  “Miss Alcmedi, wait!”

  Vivian’s voice came just as I arrived at the crosswalk. I crossed my arms and waited, letting her come to me. I told myself if the light changed, I was crossing. Vivian arrived first. Before she could speak, I held up my hand, and then I did the talking.

  “WEC may not like you counseling a wære, but they wouldn’t act against the Rede. Not like this. A verbal or written first warning would have been logical, and if you didn’t comply, then they could renounce you and strip you of your position.” If she wanted one of their seats so badly, why would she risk it this way? “This whole story stinks, and I don’t believe you.”

  Her chin lifted somewhat. “If you bothered to come to a few of the local meet-ups,” she retorted, “you’d know that WEC isn’t as lofty as they’d like everyone to believe.”

  I didn’t budge. Lydia never mentioned anything about the meet-ups’ discussing WEC for good or for bad.

  “Look.” Vivian bowed her head and rubbed it wearily. “I know about your column, and I’m concerned about giving you details. I have to make sure that nothing I say to you is in any way considered an interview. And you have no right to scold me for ‘hiding’ when you won’t even use your real name for your column.” She crossed her arms, mimicking me. “Who are you hiding from, I wonder?”

  So she knew I was the writer behind my byline: Circe Muirwood. I was surprised, but not much. All the wæres who kenneled at my home knew that. If Lorrie spilled my secrets to her, that was the smallest of them. I ignored the dig. “Did you get a verbal or written warning? Did you know Lorrie was in danger?”

  “No!” Vivian stomped her foot and dropped her arms to her sides to emphasize the word, then leaned closer to whisper. “That’s why he must be stopped. Lorrie never knew. She never had a chance! And hers was not a simple, isolated incident. At first, WEC used him discreetly, but now…” She glanced furtively at some people approaching from up the street.

  “Sounds like you need to get the support of several coven leaders and confront the Council. Sounds like ‘they’ need to be stopped, not ‘him.’”

  “No. They’ve lost control. He’s become a rabid watchdog. He’s taking it upon himself to act like surveillance and security, and he’s begun to act whenever he feels it is necessary. He’s out of control.”

  The people were close, and the fact that their presence bothered Vivian made me resolve not to let it bother me. I said, “They should tighten their grip and restore control.”

  “They can’t tighten their grip on him!”

  “Why not?”

  Vivian waited until the pedestrians had passed us before answering. “He knows too much now. If they try to stop him, he’ll use what he knows against them.”

  “Maybe he should. If things are so bad, a restructuring might be therapeutic.”

  Vivian clenched her hands into fists. “You can’t possibly understand what you’re saying. If you were active in your community, your opinions might be worth something to me.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked. “You’re not a Council member.”

  “I have close friends seated in WEC.” She said it with an arrogant toss of her head. “I’ve made no secret of my ambitions to be voted in, Miss Alcmedi, but I have to wait two more years to finish my decade of coven service to be eligible. By then, he may have destroyed the council and, like I said, if I save their asses, they have to give me a seat immediately. With him gone, they will have to revert to the old ways. The time-honored ways. He knows I intend to change things; that’s why he did this. To stop me. That’s why I am the reason she’s dead.” She gave me an imploring look. “If he isn’t stopped, if we don’t show we will take care of our own problems, the government will legislate our annihilation. There is no other way.”

  “There’s always another way.”

  “A way that stops a killer, avenges your
friend, saves the council, and stops the government from wanting us all dead to make life easier? You have something that accomplishes more than that?”

  She had me there.

  “He’s already created countless orphans, Miss Alcmedi. And Beverley will not be the last. Beverley herself might be in danger.” Vivian edged closer. “Are you willing to take the job, or aren’t you?”

  My stomach churned. The roof of my mouth turned pasty. Sweat dampened my neck and palms.

  I had acted to keep Beverley’s mother alive once before, to keep Beverley from becoming an orphan. In the guilt I’d suffered after what had happened, I consoled myself with the knowledge that Lorrie and Beverley were safe.

  Had I scarred my karma for nothing?

  Karma-wise, I couldn’t abandon Lorrie’s spirit now as if she hadn’t mattered. I had killed for her. Accidentally, yes, but I had blood on my hands. If I didn’t avenge her now, well, stuff like that makes ghosts go insane. Her spirit might refuse to cross over and lash out in frustration as a phantom. This was a wrong I had to make right.

  Then there was the matter of Beverley. How could I live with myself if something happened to her, if I had the opportunity to do something to save her from further harm and refused?

  “I’ll take care of it.” I was glad my voice sounded confident.

  Vivian smiled. “Good.”

  “I’ll have to know where to start. And I’ll need a contact number for you. One that will reach you at any hour.” I handed her one of my business cards and a pen; she wrote her cell phone number on the back.

  As she handed the card to me, she said, “His name is Goliath Kline.”

  I repeated it in my head a few times, though I doubted I could forget that name. “Your ‘donation’ will be in cash.”

  “Half now. Half afterward.”

  “Agreed.” I dropped the card into my purse. “Tomorrow at four, at the coffee shop.”

  The gleam in Vivian’s eyes disturbed me enough that I found myself wondering if the coffee shop had security cameras. I decided I should have someone else pick up the money for me. Someone who’d smell a trap if Vivian had one in mind. “A friend of mine will collect it. And, Vivian?”

  “Yes?” she asked with a condescending grin. It made me happy that some of her lipstick had smeared on her teeth.

  “As for your meeting with Children’s Services concerning Beverley, you have some rather lofty parental shoes to fill. I’ll be watching you.”

  Her smile disappeared. She knew a challenge when she heard it. She blinked, clearly shifting gears. “How will I know your bounty collector?”

  “Trust me. When he walks through your door at four, you’ll know exactly what he’s come for.” I hoped Johnny didn’t have plans for tomorrow afternoon. He was the only one I could think of who might be able to handle this and not ask a billion questions.

  Chapter 4

  I sat in my silver Avalon, a car bought more because of the Arthurian reference than the gas mileage, and gently banged the back of my skull against the headrest. What are you doing? An’ it harm none, you witch! An’ it harm none!

  In addition to following the Rede, witches and pagans believe that what you do comes back to you “threefold.” If you shoplift and harm a store financially, the Fates will see that you’re harmed back in triplicate. If you’re kind and good, you get kindness and goodness back in triplicate. “Pay it forward” isn’t a new idea at all.

  I groaned. I was so screwed.

  How could I have just agreed to kill someone for money? My next life was going to be a bitch. Talk about karmic suicide.

  With trembling hands, I started the car and cracked the windows open. Fresh air helped me think, but the city air stank like a tire shop. I cranked up the radio and drove until the air smelled cleaner and deep breaths helped me feel calmer. By then I was halfway home and had pondered—yet again—the “wære problem.”

  The conspiracy theorists were probably right—some top secret military experiment to create super-soldiers using wære DNA had run amok—but no one had come close to proving it. I doubted they ever would. How could the government admit responsibility for the chaos that had followed?

  It wasn’t as bad for witches. Outside of fairy tales and the minds of religious fanatics, we were usually seen—accurately—as humans with a different sort of knowledge and the skill to use it. A great deal of what we did was no different than what other humans did—like meditation.

  The crisp air had cleared my head. I’d made it a point to know the locations of all the area parks, and I proceeded to the closest one. Taking the blanket and a bottle of water from my backseat, I walked to a spot where I’d meditated before and spread out my blanket. I stepped into the middle, sat, and closed my eyes in the soothing presence of old trees. The sun was warm, though the breeze remained chilly. I listened to the branches rustling, the leaves dropping. Cleansing breath in, out. Center and ground.

  Focusing on the music of shade crickets and the lyrics of birds, I popped the flip top on the water bottle and gave a flick of my wrist, squirting a circle of water around me.

  “Mother, seal my circle and give me a sacred space.

  I need to think clearly to solve the troubles I face.”

  Meditation was second nature to me. I could slip into an alpha state as easily as changing channels with a remote. It was just like breaking into the chorus of a song you’d known all your life: you took a deep breath and you sang.

  What I visualized, when I meditated, was a grove of old ash trees beside a swift, clear river. My totem animals and spirit guides visited me there. A buckskin mustang frolicked in the fields, but she never came close. I didn’t know her name or why she let me glimpse her, but I knew she was there, and I guessed I’d find out why when I was ready. That was how this place, this meditation of mine, worked.

  Today I visualized myself sitting and putting my feet in the so-clear river water. I cleansed my chakras and imagined all my worries and doubts sinking down through me and flowing out of my toes, released into the rushing water.

  “Mother, guide every step that I’m about to take.

  Direct every thought and deed, every choice I make.”

  A flock of geese flew overhead, honking. I wasn’t sure if it was a real sound from the world around my body or just a sound within my meditation.

  “Your heart is heavy.”

  I turned in the meditation, pulling my feet from the water. A gray-and-tan jackal stood three feet away from me. My current totem animal, his name was Amenemhab. Before he had taken up the role, a lizard named Shoko had been my totem. They changed when I’d learned what they had to teach. Amenemhab had introduced himself a few weeks ago. I knew a life change was coming when the totems changed, so I’d consulted my Tarot. The cards concurred about the change and warned me that it had something to do with Nana. Silly me, I’d been afraid she’d die. Somehow, her moving in with me was almost as bad. “Yes. My heart is heavy.”

  After glancing upriver, then downriver, the jackal sat. “You appear relaxed on the outside, although inside you are not.”

  “That is true.” Agreeing with totem animals kept the meditations smooth and quick. Denial wasn’t something they let you get away with. I reclined on the soft grass of the grove, feeling my feet drying in the warm air.

  The jackal lay down too, his muzzle on his paws, nose pointed toward my head. “What is it that worries you?”

  I told him about Lorrie being murdered and about meeting with Vivian.

  “Why do you think you agreed?”

  “I have a justice streak a mile wide. Even as a kid, I stood up to bullies on behalf of smaller kids and protected kittens from cruel little boys. Convinced by a school counselor that all this was due to my mother leaving me, I found it logical that in some mental way, every time I opposed someone, I was confronting my mother. But teen angst fades, and I’ve gotten over her betrayal.”

  Amenemhab gave me an unconvinced look.

  “Truly
, I have. And now, with the desire to ‘right the wrongs’ still evident, I believe I was born with this programming.”

  “Righting wrongs is not a bad thing,” he said.

  “I know. I like helping people fix things, especially if I can help them fix things for themselves.”

  “Tarot is perfect for that.”

  “Right. But people aren’t perfect. Even with the answer staring them in the face, they often can’t take action, or at least they can’t take the right action. Or just won’t. That gets frustrating.”

  “Then there are the people who’ve been wronged without provocation.”

  He meant Lorrie, but I also thought of another friend, Celia, my college roommate. I had started college determined to earn a law degree. After Celia and her boyfriend, Erik, had been attacked during a camping trip, nearly died, and ended up turning wære, I had seen firsthand just how ineffectual lawyers could be. Nothing was done about it. When the newspapers picked up the story, though, people took action. A campus group was formed to provide valid information about wæres. It helped promote awareness of the dangers of the marauding wæres and publicize facts about the conscientious majority. I realized then that journalists sometimes had more power than lawyers and changed my major from pre-law to journalism.

  “Has this desire to right wrongs diminished as you’ve grown up?”

  “No. If anything, it’s grown stronger. For instance, last week, some teenage thug cut the grocery line, stepping in front of an elderly couple I was standing behind. I tapped him on the shoulder and told him that cutting wasn’t nice and that the line started behind me. I’m only five-six, and he was like six feet tall and three feet wide. He looked at me like I was a maggot, sneered, and said, ‘Sucks to be you.’”

  “What did you do?”

  “I calmly put down my half-gallon of skim milk and loaf of whole-grain bread. Hands on hips, I smiled sweetly. I said, ‘Last chance.’ He smirked and asked what I was gonna do.” I stopped, grinning at the memory. “Maybe it was because I’d caught the end of a Stooges show that morning, but in a flash I had him by both the ear and the nose. I walked him beyond the end of the line. He didn’t say another word, though he did a lot of sniffling trying to resettle his sinuses.”