Vicious Circle c-1

by Linda Robertson

  “Your scanner, duh. You really need to catch up with the times, tech-wise. Although you do have one non-techy thing I like.”

  “And that is?” I had an idea of what he might say.

  “That three-hole-punch thing. It is handy.”

  * * *

  I didn’t get to enjoy the surprise for long. When Nana found out, she took the notebook from me and started translating. “I’ll have Dr. Lincoln look these over, of course.”

  I turned my attention to dinner. My cupboards were nearly empty. I mumbled, “Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboards are bare.”

  “Don’t tell me this poor dog’s gonna get none.”

  Johnny could put temptation into his voice so easily. I smiled. “Dinner’s gonna be slight.”

  “Slight? You’ve got pasta and tomato sauce. I can work with this.” He reached and turned the oven on.

  “Seph?” Beverley called from atop the steps.

  “Coming.” I started for the hall.

  She added, “Someone’s coming up the drive real slow-like.”

  I stopped in my tracks and shot a look at Johnny. He stopped midway through pulling a skillet out of the cupboard and slid it back into place. He straightened and turned the oven off. With a dramatic gesture, one that revealed some of his still-remaining irritation with my decision about the stake, we headed for the front door.

  “Beverley, you stay up there. Nana—”

  “I’m not moving!” The sound of her lighter flicking followed her shout.

  Johnny took up a position just out of sight beside the door as I started unlocking it. The steps of whomever Menessos had sent to collect the stake thudded purposefully onto my porch. When he came into view, I couldn’t believe it. And then—then it made perfect sense.

  “Samson D. Kline.”

  “Miss Alcmedi.” He grinned at me. “Didn’t expect me, did ya?” he said with a laugh. “Well I didn’t expect what I’ve heard that you’ve done, either.”

  “What have you heard?”

  His grin turned sly. “Gossip on the front porch. How very white-trash. I expected better of the great Persephone Alcmedi, the witch who tempted Menessos back into a circle.”

  “What do you mean ‘back’?”

  He made a mock show of sympathy. “It’s girls like you who end up disappeared and on the alarmist, scandal-mongering media better known as the evening news. Girls like you who don’t find out enough about the boys they’re playing with.”

  “Since background searching led to a near-fatal accident for a friend of mine, why don’t you save me the risk and fill me in yourself, so I can stay off the evening news? I mean, I’d hate to think of you watching those awful shows waiting to hear of my gory end and being infected by the lust-indulging breaks better known as commercials.”

  Samson leered. “Fine.”

  I opened the door and gestured for him to enter, but didn’t say the inviting words.

  He made a show of wiping his boots on my welcome mat, then stepped in, came up beside Johnny, and jerked, startled. As he took in the long line of Johnny’s tall body and his tattooed and pierced face, the preacher seemed to wilt in his blue polyester suit like a kid who has just realized that rope he’s been yanking on is attached to a rather ominous-looking monster.

  He recovered himself enough to proceed hurriedly into the living room. “Waterhouse,” he grumbled. “Suits you.”

  “I’m surprised you know the artist’s name. I had you pegged as one of those people who decorated with paintings of Jesus on black velvet and considered it high art.”

  In the dining room, Nana sniggered but didn’t look up from the notebook.

  Samson flopped down onto my couch without having been invited to take a seat. He spread his arms across the back as he put one ankle up on the opposite knee, trying for a pose of comfort and indifference. The position, however, made his pant legs rise up to show that he wore old-man short boots that zipped up the inside. He followed my gaze and slipped out of the position. “Got anything to drink? Like Scotch?”

  Beside me, Johnny crossed his arms and took up a mean-bouncer expression.

  “I don’t keep liquor, Mr. Kline. How about some water?”

  He waved the suggestion off with a sneer like he’d just tasted something very bad. “Well, then, let’s get on with this. Where’s the stake?”

  “I thought you were going to tell me about Menessos getting back in the circle.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Yes.” He sat forward. “A glass of Scotch would make this a lot easier, though.”

  “I still have only water.”

  “Not even beer?” He looked Johnny over. “Don’t tell me you don’t keep any beer here.”

  Enunciating slowly and loudly, Johnny said, “Waaaa—terrrrrr.”

  “Right. Right.” Samson frowned. “It’s simple. Menessos gave up magic when Vivian bested him by creating the stake and keeping it secret from him. He vowed never to use magic again until the stake was destroyed.”

  “He broke that oath.”

  “Exactly.” Samson grinned lasciviously at me. “Broke it for you.” He sounded like a fifth grader at the lunch table.

  “You sure have a way of making people uncomfortable, Mr. Kline.”

  “My messages aren’t ever meant to put people at ease. I’m a fire-and-brimstone kind of preacher.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He seemed to take that as a compliment, though I hadn’t meant it that way.

  “I’m curious,” I said. “How did you find out about this sensitive subject?”

  “That thing that used to be my brother.”

  I should have guessed. “Our last talk left me with the impression that you didn’t speak with him anymore.”

  “It has its uses.” He glanced around. “Now…that stake?”

  I turned for the kitchen and heard Johnny ask, “So what do you get out of this deal?”

  Samson must have paused to gauge the wærewolf before answering, because he was just starting to answer as I came back down the hall.

  “Do you have any idea who I happen to be?”

  Johnny said, “You’re that prick on TV.”

  Samson leaned forward, putting his forearms on his knees. His hands rubbed together. “I guess you do.”

  “So why are you playing errand boy for a vampire? Isn’t this a new low in your life of hypocrisy?”

  “This is my out, son. My—”

  “Don’t call me ‘son.’” The darkness in Johnny’s tone sent a shiver down my spine. Made me glad he was on my side.

  “My deal is to pick up the stake and destroy it. In return, that bastard Menessos will call off those freaks and wannabes who show up to my every studio sermon.” He grunted. “He sends them down there on purpose with orders that the more fervent and freakish they look, the more they damage my credibility, the more they prove themselves to him. He uses me as a test of loyalty for those wretched jerk-offs.”

  “Maybe he’s testing you,” I said from the doorway.

  “What?” He straightened. “You don’t mean the Lord—you mean the vampire?”

  “Yeah. Maybe if you had the power to get through to those wannabes and change their minds, he would see you as a threat instead of a toy.” I grinned. “Bet you don’t even try, do you? You believe in saving people so much—but just worthy people, right?”

  Face flushed, Samson stood, finger wagging and ready to deliver a sermon in my living room. Johnny took a half step forward, a low growl in his throat. “She has a point.”

  Samson’s hand fell to his side; his fists were balled tight and his chubby knuckles were white. “You don’t know anything!” he shouted. “You’re filth. You’re all filth.” He gestured to Nana, who hadn’t said anything to him. “And you’ll all rot in Hell.”

  “Cut the bullshit,” Nana snapped, rising from the table and coming at him. “Do you think your sparkling life merits any rewards? You’re pathetic.”

  “You think I don’t know what y
ou are, you old crone? I’ve suffered too many of you for too damn long!” He held his hand out to me. “Just give me the stake and let me get out of here.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have any Scotch,” I said, starting forward. “If I did, you wouldn’t be in a hurry.”

  “I can’t expect you to understand my sacred mission. You’re already tainted. Bit into that apple, I hear. Got your mark. You’re well on your way, aren’t you? I knew you wanted to be one of them.” His pious “you-can’t-judge-me” expression—the one that was a cross between an idiot’s blankness and rapture—was set in his wrinkled skin. “The first time I met you, I recognized that gleam in your eyes. It’s the same one worn by all those fools he sends to my studio.”

  “I know you’re accustomed to forcing your opinions on others, but save it for the studio, Sam. Everyone here knows what a fraud you are.” I shoved the box at him. “Take it and get out.”

  He wrapped his arms lovingly around the box, rubbed his cheek over its upper surface. It was unsettling. “Mark my words, little girl, Menessos is a deceiver. More than any other black-hearted creature ever to walk the creation. But then, we don’t suffer him to live, do we? He’s already dead. And we suffer him yet.”

  * * *

  The door had barely shut when the phone rang.

  I jogged to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Seph. It’s Nancy. Please don’t hang up.”

  She sounded like she was in tears. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  “Would you please, please meet me somewhere? Like in Mansfield? I just have to talk to you.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Persephone?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Please.”

  “About what, Nance?” She sniffled in answer, so I added, “I mean, I didn’t like how things went last weekend either, but it kind of felt like it’d been coming for a long time.”

  “I didn’t want it to.”

  I let her have the silence this time, and I didn’t put in a pathetic sniffle for dramatic effect. Meeting with her would just stir up all the dying-friendship pain again. I understood that she was giving me—her favorite from the group—a second chance, but I didn’t want it. Nancy was good at distorting things; she did it without even thinking. It was second nature for her. Instead of her walking out on us with her head and morals high and leaving it at that, she was feeling guilty and wanted the opportunity to blame me for everything being wrong and to forgive me at the same time.

  “What did Olivia and Betsy have to say?”

  “I don’t know. I left shortly after you did.” I knew better than to let her wring any gossip out of me. “I think we should just let everything go, Nance. We’ve all grown apart, and those friendships feel like obligations now. That’s not good.”

  “Obligations?” Now she sounded hurt. “How long have I been an obligation to you?”

  Well, if I was going to be the ruination of it all, I could do that from here and save the gas money and the time. “We’ve grown apart,” I repeated. “Gone separate ways. Only Olivia and Betsy have anything in common anymore.”

  “Bar stools and second shift at the factory.”

  “Right. If they didn’t have that, they’d have forgotten each other by now.”

  “We haven’t forgotten each other.”

  “Maybe it’s time to.”

  “I have some of your things. I can’t mail them to you. Mr. Jarrod cut my hours and my funds just don’t have any room.”

  “What things?”

  “A sweater, a few cassette tapes. A book.”

  “Keep them.”

  “No. Meet me. I’ll give them to you.”

  “Now’s not a good time.”

  “You have plans?”

  “No. I’m just really tired.”

  “I see. Too tired for obligations. I’ll bring them all the way to you, then.”

  I was sure when I responded that she would know she’d won. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Take 71 South to 30 toward Crestline or Bucyrus. I don’t remember the name of the street, but there’s an exit by a big Meijer grocery store. In the plaza outside it is a coffee shop. We’ll meet there at seven. Thanks, Seph.”

  Chapter 28

  Nana threw a fit. Not because she didn’t want me to go, but because Johnny said he’d go with me—and that meant he wasn’t going to cook dinner. He whipped up a few sandwiches for her and Beverley and promised he’d go to the big grocery while I chatted with my friend. Then he leaned in and whispered something to Nana and then all was well. I made a mental note to ask him what his magic words had been.

  The sun was dipping toward the horizon and, since Mansfield was southwest of my home, I had to contend with its glare in my eyes. Even with sunglasses on, I continued squinting, and it was bringing on a headache. I wasn’t feeling very chatty. Johnny ruled the radio, but about forty minutes into the trip, he’d had enough. The local stations didn’t play much that he deemed suitable for human ears. “So…” he said, drawing out the sound and ending it with a slap on his thighs. “What’s up with this friend that you gotta drive an hour to meet her?”

  Pursing my lips, I tried to decide how to word it. Johnny wouldn’t want or need to hear all the details. Girl stuff would probably bore him. “Our friendship is over. It could end on terms that aren’t exactly bad, but she won’t stop till things get ugly.”

  “Why aren’t you still friends?”

  “We’ve just grown so far apart and become so different since high school that it’s a chore. Any relationship that feels like work isn’t working. Every relationship has to be worked at, I know, but—”

  “Can I put in here that I think you might be watching too much Dr. Phil?”

  “Shut up. I don’t even watch TV that much. What I’m saying is that a friendship shouldn’t be so hard.”

  His voice sank low and turned yummy. “Some things are at their best when they’re hard.”

  “Johnny,” I said exasperatedly. After signaling my annoyance by shaking my head for an appropriate amount of time, I continued: “I don’t remember her birthday anymore, but every New Year when I put up the new calendar, I feel obligated to reference the old calendar and write it—and other things—on the right date and send a card and some flowers to her work.”

  “Lots of people need reminding, Red.”

  “Okay, fine.” He clearly wouldn’t stop until he had the whole messy story. “She found Jesus recently—”

  “Was he lost?”

  “Oh stop it. She’s very connected to religion, which isn’t a bad thing, but it means that we don’t do any of the old stuff we used to do or talk about any of the old stuff we used to talk about because she’s ‘not allowed.’ It all just seems pointless. She doesn’t know I’m a witch. I never told her or the others because I knew they’d think I was a freak. Now I really can’t tell her. She doesn’t even know what column, exactly, I write, or she’d be on my case about that because she’s very anti-wære.” I sighed. “I have to be so careful around her. It’s tedious keeping secrets like that. And I know she wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore if she knew the truth.”

  He was quiet, then pointed out the big red-and-yellow Meijer sign in the distance, indicating that the next exit was the one I wanted. “Sounds to me like the truth will set you free.”

  * * *

  I dropped Johnny off outside the store and said I’d be watching for him in an hour. I drove off to the little plaza then and realized that the coffee shop Nancy expected to meet in was a Starbucks.

  I didn’t see her Cavalier anywhere, but I went on inside. I ordered a hot apple cider from a very congenial employee and chose a seat away from the window and the nearly retired sun. I thought about picking up the complimentary local paper to flip through, but my eyes needed to rest.

  Backing my chair against the wall, I let my head fall back, shut my eyes, and reflected upon my last visit to a coffee shop. Despite their different franchis
ed names and color schemes, the environments inside the two shops were pretty much the same, and the aroma was definitely the same. It took me back.

  Vivian had suckered me and started this whole mess. I wondered if Vivian was dead. Wondered if her flesh was cold and gray, her eyes wide and sightless. It surprised me how strongly I hoped that was the case. For what she had done to Lorrie, for the manipulation of so many, and to bury the info she held and keep it from getting to Menessos.

  Leaning on the table, I stirred the hot cider, watching the amber liquid swirl. The strong sense of justice that had embraced me all my life seemed to be gripping me tighter lately, strengthened by the accompanying urge to personally dole justice out in hefty doses to those who required it—but only to those who either admitted their guilt or had it otherwise proven. Sounded like top-of-the-list requirements for a Lustrata.

  “You hate me, don’t you?”

  Nancy stood there with a little box in her arms. Her red-rimmed and puffy eyes were wide and uncertain. Her mousy brown hair was coiled up into a bun, with wisps of shorter, loose hair sticking out. It created a slight wildness about her. I noticed the little doily pinned atop her head. She’d worn it to our brunch too. I realized Nancy had chosen a strict denomination of Christianity, Apostolic. I felt like a bug some kid had just dropped into a jar as she studied me. “No. I don’t hate you,” I said.

  “You look so…serious and angry,” she said.

  “Sorry. Just deep in thought.” Nancy didn’t look convinced. The kid was going to start shaking the jar and might even poke around with a stick. “I told you it was a bad time.”

  “Well, here.” She set the box on the table. “I’ll go get a coffee.”

  Peering into the box, I saw a bright yellow V-neck sweater neatly folded, and under it was a hardcover copy of The Mists of Avalon. An introduction, for me, to Arthur. Fallen to the side of the book were three cassette tapes, rock ’n’ roll from my rebellious youth. I couldn’t help but smile to myself.