Wicked Circle (11 page)

“You want the protection of my vehicle, vamp? It’s yours as long as you keep your mouth shut.” Johnny resumed driving.

I’d honestly never seen Johnny this . . . testy.

Not soon enough we were at the bar that served as a second home to the wærewolves. If the local fire chief wanted to enforce maximum occupancy rules tonight, this would be the place to start. The whole block was lined with cars. Johnny couldn’t park anywhere near The Dirty Dog.

“You’d think they’d leave you of all people a convenient spot,” Menessos mused. “Or is this a surprise visit?”

I gave Mr. I’m-Picking-a-Fight the stink-eye. He winked at me.

Johnny parked two blocks away in a residential area. “I’ll wait here,” I told him, “but don’t rush because of it. Do what you have to do. Menessos will keep me company.” After a toe-curling kiss, Johnny left.

His kisses were always wonderful, but that one had had a sense of “nanny-nanny-boo-boo” to it, as if the divine depth and scope of that lip-lock had been meant to incite both my pleasure and Menessos’s pain.

Men.

My gaze lingered on Johnny as he jogged up the street. At six-two his body was lean and long, but it didn’t make him awkward. He was graceful no matter what he did. My breath escaped in a soft sigh.

“How is your mother doing?”

I
had the urge to lecture Menessos sternly about the
in signum amoris
thing, but in fine female fashion, I decided to save that scolding for another time. “Skip the small talk and tell me what we’re facing here.”

He slid into the seat kitty-corner to me so we could see each other more easily, but he stared at his palms. “The shabbubitum.”

“Gesundheit.”

“Sha-buh-BYE-tum,” he said slower.

“And that’s what?”

“
They
are unique. The best description I’ve heard is vampire-harpies.”

My stomach did a flip. “Delightful,” I said morosely. In Greek myth, harpies were hideous sisters, part hag and part vulture, who were in charge of carrying souls to Hades. “What do you think they’ll do?”

“They are truth-seers. They will . . . reveal . . . the truth.”

He made it sound like torture. Maybe these shabbubitum were more like the Siberian myth of the alkonost. Similar to harpies, alkonost lived in the land of the dead and tormented the souls of the damned. “Is it as painful as you make it seem?”

“Imagine a stranger’s fingers tearing through your mind with the same hurried zeal as a thief ransacking an office while hunting for a specific file.”

“Ouch.”

“That, my dear, could win you the Understatement of the Year Award.”

His being here was making more sense. “What are your options?”

“One,
we
could delve into the Hellish pits of the blackest magic and overlay my entire psyche with a completely new set of memories, hoping they are innocent memories and that they don’t affect who I actually am. Two, I could abandon you, change my name and flee, then in a century or two reemerge and pretend to be a weak, new vampire while receiving the shelter of another master for an additional century or two. Or three, I could abandon you and crawl into a random grave and lie there starving until I become a revenant. Insane with hunger, I would lose all self-awareness, and with any luck someone from SSTIX would stake me before the shabbubitum even found out.”

The Specialized Squadron for Tactical Investigation of Xenocrime—SSTIX—was the government’s answer to the nationwide issue of state and local law enforcement’s refusing to serve and protect where nonhumans—and greater personal risks—were involved.

That two of his options involved fleeing stunned me. And hurt me. The only choice that didn’t involve him leaving sounded infinitely dangerous and implausible.
He can’t just run away. He’s part of this! We’re not whole without him.
“What if you simply submitted to it?”

“Easy for you to say.”

“No, I mean instead of resisting, what if you—” Before I could even finish I could tell by his expression that he was not fond of what I was saying.

“That is another option.”

“Would they go easy on you? Would it make a positive difference in the experience?”

“No. Nor would they show any restraint on you. They are not capable of pity.”

With an effort I swallowed down the big lump suddenly in my throat.
If he has to run, it will be temporary.
“Have you decided which option to take?”

He didn’t answer.

In fact, he was silent long enough that my own fears ignited a fiery willingness to push. “Johnny’s right, isn’t he? You’re hiding. And about to flee.”
Am I actually selfish enough to prefer that he stay and be tortured by these things?

“Changing my name and reemerging with another is the option that benefits you most.”

“That benefits me how?”

“If I flee, it will give the impression that I have broken your hold on me. That might spare you any further entanglements.”

I wasn’t as worried about “further entanglements” as I was about losing him. I couldn’t fulfill my destiny without him. I wanted to scream,
What about me?
Instead, calmly, I said, “What about your haven?”

“VEIN has been told that I was mastered by a witch, a witch formerly believed to be my servant. My haven is lost to me already.” His voice was tight and little more than a whisper.

My heart was so heavy. This was all because of me. He’d known he was risking this, but he hadn’t told me. I hadn’t even considered the consequences would be this high. I should have.

Guilt and shame chilled my stomach. Fear iced it over. “You fleeing means you avoid getting killed, and I go on the shit-list, but they
won’t strike against me because of that ‘Moonchild of ruin’ business, right?”

Menessos quoted the poem:

Lustrata walks,

unspoiled into the light.

Sickle in hand,

she stalks through the night

Wearing naught but her mark and silver blade.

The moonchild of ruin, she becomes Wolfsbane.

“Yeah.”

“That depends on whether or not you’re willing to be marked by the Excelsior.”

It did say
Wearing naught but her mark
. . . “If it saves our asses . . .” I started, but I really meant,
If it means you don’t leave.

“No, Persephone! The three of us are bound in a way that our respective groups dare not hope to accomplish. That we have achieved a workable union both frightens and fascinates them. Our binding to each other strengthens us, but none of us can afford a binding to anyone of higher rank, or to others not of our own kind. It would break us.”

But your leaving wouldn’t?
I held my tongue.

“Persephone, I believe the Excelsior has only the best interests of his people at heart, but if he had control over you, it would be only for whatever benefit he could achieve for VEIN. The Witch Elder Council would not abide their Lustrata being controlled by the Excelsior.”

I let my head rest against the glass, appreciating the way the coldness of it balanced my frozen stomach.

“Your current solitary status
means you lack affiliation to a coven. That forces WEC to pigeonhole you into a role that reflects the disaffected segment of their kind. That already has given the Elders much to worry about—and they’re so old they sleep little as it is, meaning they have vast amounts of time to plot and plan. Their designs would only worsen if they thought you were marked by the Excelsior.”

I crossed my arms and moped.

“When the news of dear John’s confirmation as the Domn Lup breaks, your lover will be included on, as you delightfully put it, the shit-list.”

“Have we hit the worst-case scenario yet?” I was being sarcastic. Sadly, Menessos had an answer.

“The worst-case scenario,” he said, “is if WEC, VEIN, or the Zvonul discover the
sorsanimus
spell that binds the three of us. We did it to keep you from being Bindspoken by the witches, but it strengthens us all. If detected, it will appear that we’re preparing a coup d’état.”

“Are we?”

Menessos was silent.

“If they think we’re prepping for a power grab, they’ll just kill us all outright. Won’t they?”

“They will have to assume the three of us are sharing what confidential information we know about our respective groups. Further, they will assume that we will use the growth of our individual powers to our mutual benefit. We could all be targeted for execution, as you suggest. Or . . .” He made a visual sweep of the perimeter before answering. “They might act with more cunning. Each group has the potential to send operatives to test our loyalties to each other. Just one could pit us against each other. Dividing us would not only end the union but it would
also offer that group an advantage via the information they learn in doing so.”

Could Menessos or Johnny be played by outside forces?

Could I?

Wonderful.
His adherence to the Machiavellian vampire stereotype was making my head hurt. I rubbed my forehead as if that might deflect the spinning-out-of-control sensation.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Congratulations. You’ve just made me paranoid of everyone.”

He leaned forward. “I am sorry, Persephone. I truly am. That paranoia is the only thing that will keep us united and safe.”

When he said my name a wave of warmth poured over me like a magical embrace. It emboldened me enough to ask, “How can we be united and safe if you flee?”

The vampire studied the world beyond the car window. “I do not want VEIN to know I am the original progenitor of the vampires. If that information is exhumed, it cannot be reburied.”

He’d told me this before. A little more than two weeks ago.
Goddess, it seems like so long ago.
I’d wanted him to tell VEIN the truth so they would rally to his aid against the fairies, but he’d refused. He had been willing to die to keep that secret. And he had.

I was not insensitive to the fact that he had given the most precious thing he’d had—his very life—to maintain his anonymity, or that losing it now would render his sacrifice pointless in hindsight.

“You did the right thing, for the right reason,” I said. That mantra had
bitten me in the ass a few times, but it was still, overall, a good policy.

Menessos plucked at his pant leg. “If the world learns it has someone to blame, I will become the target of every extremist group with a grudge against vampires and every vengeful person who has ever suffered because of my children’s thirst.”

“You’re not alone in the I-Dislike-My-Exposed-Destiny Category,” I snapped. “Everyone either knows or suspects I’m the Lustrata. They also seem to know more about it than I do, and have heavy expectations of me. Johnny’s not in such a different position either.”

He stilled, but said nothing more.

“How can that possibly scare you so much?” I asked.

He laughed, but there was an offended note to it. “If VEIN learned my secret, they would seize me and demand explanations. It could derail everything. My attention must remain fixed upon this purpose. The only thing I fear is not being able to finish
this
, Persephone, with you and John. I fear the repercussions that would befall any two of us, should the other one falter or . . . be slain.”

I couldn’t deny his devotion to this destiny of ours. “We must endure risks, but we all know the consequences of
not
following through get higher every day.”

“Exactly,” he whispered. “I can’t risk not following through on what we must do because I’m distracted by the other.”

“But you can’t leave!” I swallowed as if I could reclaim those revealing words. Hurriedly I added, “We’re all dealing with things happening that we didn’t want to happen. That’s part of the price we have to pay.” I stared at the steering wheel because I couldn’t meet his gaze after what I’d blurted. “I didn’t want Xerxadrea, Aquula, Ross, or Maxine to die. Not even Samson
D. Kline. But they all did.”

After the slightest hesitation, Menessos asked, “Do I not make your list of noble dead? I died for you, too.”

He was right. And he repeated his dying every sunrise. It was my turn to shamefully examine the dark world beyond the car.

“Does the fact that I sit here talking to you now diminish my sacrifice?”

We were all surrendering things we didn’t want to forfeit, but I still felt like an ass. “It shouldn’t.”

“But it does.”

I whispered, “I didn’t have to grieve for you, Menessos.”

He shivered when his name was spoken, and I wondered if he was experiencing something similar to what I felt when he said my name. “Menessos.” I said it slower, tasting the syllables on my tongue, on my lips.

He arched his back, took a deep breath, held it for a second, then sighed it away. Panting, openmouthed, he looked directly at me, displaying a sexual hunger my body reacted to—places low in my abdomen tightened.

Between the seats, I offered him my hand. “You came back. You come back every night.”

“If I didn’t, would you have wept for me?”

“I did weep.”

Menessos wrapped both of his hands around mine. He rubbed little circles with his thumbs. “You’ve been away for so long.”

I twisted my wrist upward. Menessos bore two of my hexes, making him the equivalent of my Offerling. He needed to partake of my blood occasionally, and it had been over a week. “Go on,” I said. “Drink.”

A
s Johnny strode from his car,
fall air gusted behind him. Stray leaves scuttled across the asphalt as if daring him to try to catch them.

Part of him wished the wind could carry him away from everything and everyone he’d ever known, to hide from this enormous destiny, burying it in lyrics and melodies like he had before. But the bigger part of him knew that wasn’t an option anymore.