Fatal Circle (9 page)

“You’ve done a massive amount of work already,” I commented as I followed her up steps that led up to the left side of the stage. Menessos was right behind me.

“Yes, it’s quite an undertaking, but not
impossible
.” She smiled as she stressed the last word.

Crossing the brightly lit stage, Menessos gestured at an open framework slightly upstage. “I thought the screens were going up tonight?”

“They are. They’re over there,” Seven said, pointing at a row of boxes that, according to the labels, held large flat-screen display monitors. “The rest of the crew has gone to the Blood Culture. They should be back any minute.”

The Blood Culture was a bar for vampires, and its owner, Heldridge, could’ve been the poster boy for the “Vampire Executive” PR campaign. I’d met him at the Eximuim and he definitely had the bloodsucking-lawyer-type persona.

As I understood it, the blood bars paid cash to donors. Around here, many of the donors were nurses and staff from the Cleveland Clinic and University Hospitals—who enjoyed the supplemental income. The bar then resold the blood like any other retail operation.

Seven guided us into the stage-right offstage wing and through a maze of stacked lumber, stage lights, and other material. She opened a door in a cinderblock wall that opened into a rectangular space. The far wall soared up two stories. Two doors pierced it. One at floor level, the other opened onto a small landing atop a flight of metal stairs.

“This area was used as the green room when they did live shows here.” Seven indicated the space around us. The room was gray. Floor and walls. She started up the stairs to the upper door. We followed. “I know, it’s not green. That’s just the theatrical term for any room used by the performers as a sort of lounge area close to the stage.

“Here we are,” she said from the landing. She tapped in numbers for the keyless electronic lock and opened the plain steel door, went in and hit the light switch.

The first thing I saw was a broad stone fireplace centered in the finished room.
Finished.
I almost cheered. Seven had said “not finished”; she’d meant “not furnished.” The walls were solid, the ceiling and floor complete. I allowed a small sigh of relief to escape my lips. Seven could take it for appreciation.

The stacked stone rose up fifteen feet, like a giant support column. The bottom was open to the front and back. To the right of it, a black-granite-topped bar separated a small kitchen with stainless steel appliances and pale cabinetry from the rest of the space. The opposite side, except for a pair of dark mahogany tables and wrought-iron lamps, was empty. There were black-lacquered doors in the wall to my left, leading, I guessed, to a bathroom and a closet.

Small spotlights focused on a large empty steel security frame attached to the leathery brown, textured wall. A perfect location for Ariadne. Too perfect.

How long does he think I’m staying here?

The floor throughout was pale oak. Glossy black molding gleamed at the top and bottom of the walls. The ceiling was painted a soft wheat. I moved further into the room and noticed a circular portion of the ceiling behind the fireplace was recessed. Intrigued, I drew closer. After leaning my broom against the stone fireplace column, I discovered the interior was a dome painted like a night sky with wispy clouds.

Not a hovel at all. So much more than a hotel room. My “chambers” were a very comfortable apartment.

Beside me, Seven flipped another switch. Pinpoints of light began to glow in the dome “sky,” little fiber optics twinkling like stars. “Wow.”

“I was thinking this for the furniture,” Seven said, offering me a design board she’d picked up off the kitchen bar. Pictures of furniture, swatches of fabric, and a pair of professional sketches suggesting layout were all fastened to the board. A large black four-poster bed would be placed under the dome, with sheer black curtains hung around it. Curtains of a heavy opaque fabric would hang from burnished brass rods running from the side walls to the centered stone stack of the fireplace, effectively dividing a sitting area with two chairs and a black leather sectional angled around an entertainment center. She’d accented the black and brown theme with blues that would rival her eyes for brightness.

“What do you think?” She leaned subtly into my personal space and inhaled deeply. She was trying to “taste” my mortal scent.

Determined not to be annoyed, I smiled and said, “I love it. Everything is so dark, but I know it will feel cozy.”
Now if we could just move it to a building that wouldn’t be crawling with vampires
 . . .

“This area used to be six dressing rooms, a bathroom, and a hallway.” She circled me, pointing. “I had it gutted and completely remade. These walls, the floor, and the ceiling have been reinforced with steel arcs, cinderblock, and concrete. No creature is coming in here, unless you open the door.”

“And the fireplace flue?”

“Asphalt on the roof, iron grille at the exterior top. Any antifey wards between, you do yourself.” She circled me like a shark, her slow, predatory vampire grace indicating a change I didn’t like. “The door is the only way in or out of this room—it’s set in a reinforced frame and is made of solid steel.”

“We can post guards, if you would like, but I doubt it will be necessary,” Menessos said. He’d held back, but now he moved in, intimately close. His nearness caressed my aura, but he hadn’t evoked his usual heated response from me. “Everyone inside the building is loyal to me. Still, some may express jealousy for the attention you will receive.”

His fingers wrapped loosely around my arm and his thumb pressed to the bend of my elbow, on the vein. He leaned close enough that his beard brushed my cheek.

Seven was watching with a level of intensity that made me even more uncomfortable.

Menessos nuzzled close to my ear, near the veins in my neck, and whispered, “With your living blood so warm . . . the interest is unavoidable, but no one would dare harm you, for none would risk my wrath.”

His voice was like warm silk on my skin. Even without his metaphysical push toward desire, I was enticed. Still, he did not provoke that lust heat through my body. And he could have.

Meanwhile, Seven still circled.

It was this kind of shit that made me nervous to be in the company of vampires. So nervous, in fact, that the first idea that struck me made my mouth open. “Then why bother with guards?” I asked. “Nobody wants the boring duty of standing outside a door, right? Your people will think I’m weak and afraid.”

“Aren’t you?” Seven asked coolly.

Her glowing irises were neon bright, but I’d counseled myself to be bold. “Don’t mistake my caution for fear. I am mortal, yes, but Menessos just said there’s no reason to be afraid.”

Seven’s stalking ceased and she announced, “Your witch may survive after all.”

“Not only is she brave and quick to assess others,” Menessos replied as his hand trailed down my arm, “she is beautiful and powerful, as well.” He threaded his fingers with mine. Finally, warmth rushed through me.

Seven must have sensed it and took it as a cue. She moved toward the door. “I hear the crew coming in. By your leave, Boss?”

“Of course.”

I hadn’t heard anything before, but as Seven left, laughter drifted through the open door as did the sound of many footfalls. When Seven shut the door, Menessos stroked my cheek, gently aligning my face with his. Our lips were so close. “You are so captivating.”

He stared at me as if he could see all the way through me, to the burning desire in my very core . . . burning for him.

“Your very presence here soothes me and invigorates me. Your voice and your eyes are, to me, the bright reassurance that a summer day is to you.” His thumb stroked my neck. “In your company I feel as if the world is warm and bountiful.”

His words, offered like a bouquet of summer color, held the trembling timbre of a first date, as if each syllable were felt with such deep intensity, striving to mean
more
.

He kissed my cheek, so softly. “My world is more tender with you in it.”

His words, a breath in my ear, gently urged my spark of desire to rise up and blaze white-hot.

CHAPTER EIGHT

N
o!
I raged at myself.
Refuse his influence! Deny him the power to stoke these flames into more than I am willing to let them be.

Our bond, I’d learned, afforded him a measure of automatic compassion from me, and it was difficult to suppress. This, however, was base instinct responding in knee-jerk reaction to his call. It was up to me to stay mentally alert to his manipulation. Not just to keep my head lest I panic as I had in the cellar, but I realized that if I gave in to the passion he kindled, my regret would be fierce.

I expect exclusivity from Johnny and I owe him nothing less.

The heat within me began to cool.

Features wilting with rejection, Menessos slipped his attention to the side. His fingers gently combed into the hair at my temple. The strands fell free of his touch. I shivered.

“The Beholders will continue to work in shifts throughout the day.” He sauntered away from me. “My people will work around the clock. All will be completed in the hall in two days’ time. We will have the ceremony Friday.”

His matter-of-fact shift reminded me that, like it or not, I was going to be here for several days at the very least.

“May I take you to dinner? There are many fine restaurants in the vicinity.”

“I ate with Nana and Beverley.”

“A diminutive portion.”

“What makes you think that?”

His lip twitched. “Think? I know this to be true. I am very attuned to your body.”

Twenty minutes later, we were outside and I pointed to the restaurant next door—the upper half of an old, finned Cadillac sat atop an out-of-place attempt at a formal entry. A neon sign graced the lintel. “There?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Not good?”

“I wouldn’t know. But the manager emphatically communicated his dislike of our kind. I therefore forbid my people from visiting those premises. He will find his registers lacking for his misjudgment.”

“Okay. Where, then?” I buttoned my blazer.

Waiting for him to answer, I took in the crisp lines of his suit. He’d changed out of the one he’d worn when he slept in the hay in my cellar. All of his suits were cut to complement him as only the best garments can, but tonight there was something especially masculine about him. He wore no tie and his linen shirt was neither tucked nor fully buttoned. I appraised his self-assured gait, and the competent way he scanned both sidewalks ahead of us and behind, gauging every facet of our environment.

No matter how docile he seemed, underneath he was a predator.

No matter how modern he seemed, underneath he was ancient.

He’d lived
thousands
of years. He’d experienced almost all recorded history from the dawn of civilization until now. Yet, he strolled along with me, hands unassumingly in his pockets. Seemingly content.

“What was the moment you realized nothing would ever be the same?” I had to ask.

He stopped under the House of Blues marquee and considered.

“Many times I felt despair at what I had become, but always Una and Ninurta were there to comfort me, as I was there for them.” Until then, he’d spoken while gazing sincerely at me, but there his words faltered and his focus fell past me—and not as an indication of lying. I sensed his heartache rising to the surface. “We grieved,” he said. “Like a child’s song sung in rounds, it was the same melodious grief, overlapping at different intervals, but always together. We’d loved together, and we’d been cursed together. We were strong together. For a time it seemed it would always be so. My day of reckoning came when Ninurta took his own life.”

“Ninurta?”

“He bore the curse of the moon.”

“He killed himself?” I touched Menessos’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Una and I tended his body, bore him to the tomb.” He sucked in a lungful of cool night air.

I waited; he was staring up Euclid but was lost in memory. The Lake Erie breeze, though light, packed enough chill that I could see my breath in the air.
And Johnny is on his bike in this.
I wished my blazer were a little thicker. A cup of hot coffee would have been nice to drink
and
to hold. “What happened after you buried Ninurta?”

Still fixated on something up the road, he answered, “Guilt enveloped Una in a continuous embrace. Our curses had spread before we learned how to control ourselves through magic and sorcery. She was certain the world would be destroyed by our spawn. For her, I killed vampires and waeres alike, trying to correct our mistake. But the bloodshed could not purchase her peace. I tried to kiss away her nightmares, but my arms could not offer any comfort that was as constant as her regret.” He checked the roadway in a sweeping glance that brought him to face me. “Una’s dark hair turned silver. I knew she would age and die and finally be free of her shame. I was glad for her. But I had to watch her die and bury her alone. And I have been alone ever since.”

I felt a deep sympathy for what he had endured. “But you aren’t alone.”

His elbow pushed out for me. “Take my arm, Persephone, and we will go forth.”

“Hmmm?”

“A local slogan.” He smiled. “Go fourth-with-a-U—for an area on Fourth Street, where there are many restaurants. It is past the season for eating out of doors, but it remains a destination for the locals.”

I allowed him to lead me. My concentration circled around his story, without awareness of where we were going. As we strolled down a road blocked from traffic, however, my thoughts returned to the here and now. He guided me past the various venues, including a comedy club. Then he ushered me down a quaint brick alley.

Multicolored party lights zigzagged over our heads. A bench sat under the next building’s fire escape, from which hung a sign that read:
ZÓCALO, MEXICAN GRILL & TEQUILERÍA
.

The hostess showed us through the brightly colored space to a table next to a beautiful iron railing, placed the menus for us, and left. We sat. There were gorgeous brassy lanterns hanging all around. A curved stairwell led down to more seating and the kitchen. It was lovely.