Fatal Circle (14 page)

“No.”

“No?”

“I will not play your game.”

“This is no game. Your dominance over me is not real unless you make it so.” His chin lifted so his fangs were right before my eyes.

Two months ago, I would have been terrified. Not now, however. “You want me to pretend to be your servant because that keeps you in power out there.” I gestured with my nose toward the door and the haven and world beyond it. “But then you challenge me to prove my power in here. You get off on the power games, and are trying to play both sides.”

“I am not playing, dear Persephone. I
am
on both sides. You have put me in this awkward position. We must invert the truth and play master and servant beyond these walls. There is no room for ambiguity with the foes who will be watching. Some of them may suspect it is a ruse. We must both know our places, unequivocally.”

“Damn it, I get the point already! Will you just tell me what you want me to know and skip the stupid demonstration?”

He sighed as if conceding. “When I have met weak masters, I have disposed of them hastily.”

“Are you worried about some vampire coming to town and trying to take over your haven?”

“No. Those havens of which I spoke infiltrated from the inside.”

I squinted at him. “This is already your nest.”

He squeezed me tighter. “And I dispose of any threats inside it. What if I want to kill Johnny . . . can you control me enough to stop me?”

That was it. Tired of the fearmongering and the bullying, I opened my fists, I drew energy into my palms and gripped his ass. In a heated whisper, I commanded him, “Release me,” even as I let the power of a witch-jolt hit him.

His body spasmed under my touch, but he did not let go. He held me tighter and put my backside against the counter.

My tactics reversed. Like transferring energy from one gemstone to another, I drained energy out of him, dragging it deep into me.

Instantly, his arms left me. I was standing on my own so abruptly that, without the counter to support me, I’d have stumbled.

“You learn quickly.” Menessos reclined on the couch, legs stretched along the cushions, ankles crossed.

I crossed my arms and gave him a petulant look. “Wouldn’t this be easier if you’d just give me the damned textbook or something?”

His amusement lasted a fraction of a second then he covered it with bottled seriousness. Eau de College Professor. “One learns most effectively when the lesson is experienced in the flesh.”

I stopped leaning on the counter and walked purposefully toward the door. “I think I’ll go ask Mountain some more questions.”

Menessos shot to his feet and intercepted me before I reached the door. “You came close to making a profound mistake out there.” He made a face and adjusted his slacks. “Customarily there is an Erus Veneficus and an apprentice who is learning protocol from her mistress. You are lacking that training. I see now how a brief lecture would be beneficial.”

He crossed his arms and looked arrogantly professorial. “Unlike the Lustrata who bears the burden of balance, an Erus Veneficus should be carefree, cosseted. You never lift a finger to do any kind of work unless it is at my direct behest, and believe me, if there is an advantage for me, I will command you to action. Aside from that, you are at my left hand, a representation of arcane power applicable day or night. Outside of court, as necessary, you tell others what to do.” He pointed at the kitchen. “You are theoretically not even to cook for yourself. I included this because I have told them that Johnny is doing the cooking.”

I tucked my fingers into my jeans pockets. “He probably will. He’s quite good at it.”

Menessos’s expression changed to snide amusement. “How masculine of him.”

“How childish of you.”

He kept pushing. “The waere working with the Beholders shows his place is equal to theirs—far beneath me.”

“No.” My fingers left my pockets to perch on my hips as I arched my back just a little. “His place is beneath
me
 . . . or in any other position in my bed.” It was a low blow, but he had threatened Johnny’s safety and I wasn’t going to tolerate that. “Otherwise he’s at my right hand.”

My words, however, had no apparent effect on Menessos.

“Actually,” he said in a droll tone, “in court I am at your right. He may, however, sit upon the floor at your left.”

He was making sure I knew the rules of his court. I intended to make sure he knew where I stood. “Outside of your court, Johnny is my right hand. And that leaves you to be the left, I suppose.”

“He is not my equal
here
.”

“Of course not. Your people call you ‘Boss.’ His will call him ‘King.’ ”

With inhuman speed, Menessos was right in front of me, close but not touching. “Yes, he is the future king of waeres, but he is laboring for
me
. What would his pack think of that? Will they accept a king who labors for a vampire?”

This maintaining-the-balance thing was proving to be at least as difficult to maintain between these two males as it was going to be with witches, vampires, waeres, humans, and whoever else was involved in the universe. “Your ego is about to take over the building.” I sidestepped him.

Menessos held me back, forced me to turn around. “You do not understand.”

“I understand that if I order him to stop working with them, it allows him to refrain from the labor without costing him his integrity. His show of equality will stand. Your people will not forget it.”

Menessos sighed in exasperation. “I told you, in this place, the equilibrium is maintained only by my dominion. In this place, you must
both
choose behaviors that do not challenge it.”

“How could my calling him back upset anything?”

“At worst, they will credit his constant attending to you as evidence of an appetite I cannot satisfy. At best, they will claim I’ve grown . . . permissive.” He said that last word as if a foul taste accompanied the uttering of it. Another tremor of anger rippled through him. “A spoiled Erus Veneficus will not be well thought of.”

“Let me get this straight: I’m not to be caught doing any work but somehow I’m also not to be thought of as spoiled?”

“You are to be pampered, Persephone. There is a difference.” He still hadn’t let go of my arm. His other hand, though trembling with anger, rose and smoothed my hair. “You must be even tempered and show that you appreciate your new status.”

“Or?” I squared my shoulders.

“Or they will question you, and then me. Already they sense a change. I have told them it is the new city and the unfinished haven. They think I am weakening.”

I jerked, wrenching free only because he allowed it. “Are you?”

He scowled at me.

“Is that why you stole my blood?”

Menessos walked past me, leaving my way to the door unhindered. From where I stood, the kitchen lights cast him in silhouette, a luminous glow around the dark figure; he could have been a statue of stone, except for that bright edge glinting with life. “I must drink of you. The court must see the evidence.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“No.” He didn’t face me. “The death of the fairy had consequences.”

“I’m not stupid, Menessos. Stop dancing around the truth! I know every binding has a price. But you took from me without my consent—”

His bark of laughter cut me off. “You would never have given it freely!”

My face hardened; I was truly hurt that he thought so. “You don’t know that! Before we saved Theo that night, you said I was an uncommon woman.” I snorted. “You should have been honest. You should have given me the chance. Now you’ll never know for sure, will you? But you have your neat excuse and that’s good enough for you. Isn’t it?” I shouted at his back. “That’s
not
good enough for me!”

“The death of the fairy, through his binding to me,
did
weaken me.” He finally looked me in the eye. “I have desired to know the taste of you since I first saw you. Since you burned the stake, however, I have
needed
to taste you.”

“Is that why you insisted I rest at the farmhouse? So you could feed from me in my sleep? As if I wouldn’t notice the marks?” My anger was growing hot. Fast.

“You have drawn on me and I have given according to your need. Alone with you last night, the first time since just before you altered the mark I placed on you, I could not resist.” As further excuse he added, “I saw to it you were well fed first. I took only what I had to have.”

The pitiful justification infuriated me. “Do you not hear yourself? You
planned
it!” I wished I could take that moment back and make him ask, make him do it the right way. If I could, I’d draw that power back to me and see if he could take it again.

I could feel the buzzing power he had drawn from me like the vibrating energy of a stone thrumming in my palm. Though I wasn’t touching him, I recognized the magnitude and character of it as my own. That electricity was there inside of him, as was my hex.

“When have I
not
accepted the responsibility thrust upon me?” I demanded. “When have I drawn the line and said ‘no, this is too much’? I am your master! I accept what that means, Menesssos! The good and the bad.” I called that energy to surge to the surface. “And it’s time you did, too.”

Wind swirled around us. Power crawled over his body—my power, manifest in scribbles of white-blue light.
Discharge, escape back to me!
My hands cupped before me, ready to catch it. Reaching his sternum, the energy leaped like lightning. An arc of electricity zapped into my palms. I gasped, holding the power like a water hose, feeling it fill my aura as if I were a glass filling with icy water.

It put Menessos on his knees, panting and swaying.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Enough!” Menessos cried.

I twisted and squeezed the power, stopping it—as if making a kink in a garden hose that stopped the flow of water—but I could easily reopen the flow between us in the same manner. I commanded, “You will ask, when you are in need.”

He nodded, panting. “I will ask.”

“You will not threaten Johnny again.”

“I will not.”

“And you will not harm him.”

His lips pressed together.

“You will not harm him!” I unkinked the cord.

Menessos shouted, “I will not!”

I shut down the power flow between us.

Menessos caught the couch with his arm and managed to keep from falling over.

I stomped closer. “Did you
feel
that, Menessos? Did you
see
and
believe
that?”

“You are a marvelous quick study,” he said between breaths.

Someone knocked on the door.

Feeling absolutely invigorated, I went to answer it and pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

Mountain’s voice replied, “I’ve brought the prize.”

Menessos climbed onto the couch and whispered, “Stall, if you will.”

“Just a minute,” I said into the speaker, but did not move. When Menessos nodded at me I opened the door.

Mountain entered with a paper-covered painting. “Shall I hang it, Boss?”

“Please do.” Menessos sounded normal.

Striding to the wall, Mountain placed the wrapped frame against the end of the couch, and reached up to the steel framework on the wall and turned it. The metal screeched intolerably for an instant, then the security frame was vertical.

It’s not
Ariadne
then
.

He unwrapped the package but the face of the frame was covered with white gauze. Mountain hung the picture, adjusted it straight, then set about connecting wires under the lip of the security frame. “Five . . . four . . . three . . .” he whispered, then jerked the gauze down, just as a field of blue static buzzed in front of the painting and dissolved.

“
The Charmer?
” I asked, gaping at Menessos.

“You do like Waterhouse, correct?”

Mountain flipped the switch for the accent lighting and left us. Portrayed in oil, a woman sat on the edge of a pond with a harp. At her feet, fish were swimming near to hear her play and sing. Her hair was dark, her skin pale, and her dress was a blue that matched the accent colors Seven had chosen to trim the room.

I couldn’t look away from it, but my mind was racing.

Menessos—with his infinite wisdom—had been trying to weave this juncture to highlight his authority, then punctuate it with this extravagant gift. His ability to provide a valuable work of art as a decorating accent was supposed to make me feel indebted.

Johnny insisted the vampire gained his greatest advantage with his expert use of manipulation; Xerxadrea claimed Menessos’s ability to weave events to meet his desired eventual outcome was his best—and most dangerous—talent.

My arms crossed over my chest. He hadn’t exploited me this time. I had risen—
grown up?
—and somehow proved myself the stronger. He was probably regretting having hung the “prize” here. I turned away from the painting to see if there was a sign he was conceding this point.

Damn him.

Xerxadrea was right. He was nothing but smug—as if he had just lavishly rewarded my forced growth.

Menessos left shortly after Mountain, saying his people were rising. That was fine by me.

I figured the Beholders would work Johnny hard while they had him, so I decided to fix some dinner. No one would see my little rebellious act of self-sufficiency, but it made me feel better. With a pot of water on to boil for pasta, I rinsed the green peppers.

The protrepticus rang. Gounod’s “Funeral March of a Marionette”—the
Alfred Hitchcock Presents
theme song.

“Hello?”

“Got a call from Xerxadrea coming in,” Samson said.

“No insult, tonight?”

“Of course not, my lady,” he said sweetly.

My lady? Not “little girl”?
That piqued all my intuitive warnings.

“Hello?” Xerxadrea said.

“Hello. Can I speak freely?”

“As freely as you dare.”

We’re not the only two listening . . . Crap. I need to set up a time and place to strategize.