Wicked Circle (6 page)

For me, a pair of goggles would have been nice.

We were rising again. “Updraft,” he shouted. “Hold on!”

Thunderbird let the spiral sustain us, twisting his body to keep me as vertical as possible as we rose up into the cloud. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and it was hard to breathe. Swallowing to release the pressure in my ears, I wondered how high we had flown. With the way he could cover distance, I was sure our altitude would have petrified me if I could have seen the ground.

The frigid ascent lasted for long minutes, including brief bouts of rain and hail—during which I buried my nose in his feathers. Finally we seemed to peak, to break over the updraft’s edge and spiral downward, again detecting the precipitation in the air. The temperature was warming and my ears popped again, but the wind was tugging at me as if it were cognizant and seeking to snatch me from Thunderbird’s back. I squeezed as much with my legs as I did with my arms.

Then the lightning flashed again and a rumble filled the air around us. In seconds, the sound had escalated, roaring like a jet engine just inches from my skull. Caught in a rushing wind, we were tossed outside the cloud as a funnel formed beside us, and I saw the tornado’s tip lunge toward the ground so very, very far below.

My stomach heaved like I was on a roller coaster. I felt a static charge, then lightning flashed. A heat wave throttled me as thunder boomed with a metallic clang.

Thunderbird spread his wings wide, tilting to slow us down, but the buffeting winds were too powerful. He adjusted and pumped his wings as if trying to break free of the downward spiral. That didn’t work either.

We were dropping fast, and I knew my added weight was keeping the griffon from breaking free of the storm.

We looped around three more times and then the hair on my arms lifted. In seconds lightning struck just beyond Thunderbird’s flank. In the instant before it became blindingly bright, the erratic illumination was beautiful, as it always was in the sky. It had even been beautiful when it crawled over Menessos when I’d called my power up out of him.

Aha.

My grip loosened on the griffon.

“Persephone! Hold tighter!”

I barely heard him over the freight train rumble of the tornado, so I didn’t even try to answer him. When I felt the next flare of static, I threw myself off the griffon.

As we tumbled head over heels through the air, the charge flooded my body, reaching through fabric, scouring my skin, searching me. Fingers splayed, my palms felt it most, like the friction from sliding down a rope. I clutched at that rope, squeezing as a thread of light formed.

In the milliseconds that it took for my core to open—as it did when I accessed the power of a ley line—the bright thread swelled in my hands, becoming a thick bolt. Every molecule of oxygen inside my body jolted as if joined with the lightning, scalding me, fighting my grasp, rejecting my will.

But I held on.

Bound with burning, itching pain, I ground my teeth together. I had burned in the heat of fire. I had drowned in the depths of water. This explosive bolt was the creative and destructive power of air. I
would
harness it. No matter how much it hurt.

I free-fell toward the earth, dragging the lightning, my instincts screaming, “
Let go
!”

But I held on.

Element encounters weren’t about obeying instincts. I had learned that much.

Arcing electricity crawled over me. It forced my head back. It choked me. It pried at my grip with electric fingers. It beat upon my forearms with a swordlike arc that raised welts on my skin.

But I held on.

The sword image made me think. In Tarot, air was linked to the suit of swords.

My intention of harnessing this element by bullying it into submission wasn’t going to work. Air was far more aggressive than little ol’ me would ever be. I’d never defeat it, and I didn’t need to. I had simply to embrace this gale force like the lightning that had already crawled inside me.

My fingers slackened, relaxed. I embraced the lightning like a long-lost friend.

Air. Glorious air. Atmosphere of earth! You are the breath of life!

The arcing arms of lightning hugged me back. Electric fingers stroked my hair.

My body exploded with sensation. I breathed every breath of my life in a second. I sighed and I sang.

The lightning flickered and sizzled and flowed continuously into my palms.

And still I was dropping.

Air gusted past me. The tornado threw me around like a speck of dust. I curled into a ball. I felt full, so terribly crammed with energy that my skin might split open.

Thunder trumpeted nearby, but softer.

Thunderbird.

Wings flapped up around me as his body flew under me. I stretched out and clung to his neck.

Beside us, the tornado dwindled and the wind died down, the roar falling into near silence. The griffon glided to the ground beside a white picket fence.

Here, there was no fog, or the storm had blown it away. I could see the pale barrier stretching endlessly across the land of my meditation world, penetrating the surface, an obstruction that divided this place that needed no separation.

Why, Menessos?

With my hands hovering above the white wood, I reached into my core again. Electricity crackled across my knuckles and I grabbed the fence, letting the energy and heat flash out of me.

Sparks crackled from the pickets, stretching in either direction. The wood blackened. Smoke wafted up. I opened the conduit as wide as possible and shoved all that I’d absorbed into this fence.

What binding there was is about to fade.

The spell is broken, magic unmade.

What binding there was is burned and scorched.

In signum amoris
is no more.

In signum amoris
is no more.

The fence exploded, shattering pickets into little more than splinters one by one for as far as I could see. When the energy of the bolt was used up, the land on either side of the fencing was unaffected, but what remained of the posts was reduced to ash.

I was awestruck by what I’d accomplished, but horrified by the ease of destruction.

“It’s done,” Thunderbird said. “And time for you to go home.” Behind me, he flapped his wings, and the talons of his foreleg wrapped around my arm.

I awoke from the meditation to a cold world of wetness and fog and pain. I threw my arms, splashing and thrashing, caught in a swift-flowing river.

The fog above me swirled and parted. Thunderbird descended through the mist, talons out. He gripped my arm and dragged me through the water. In minutes, I could hear voices, and weeping. My heels bounced over rocks and I twisted toward the shore.

Nana was sitting on the bank. Her cheeks were red, but she was silent. My mother stood a few feet away, sobbing, with her arm clutching her stomach, as if she were about to be ill. The griffon dragged me ashore, released me and flew away.

Both turned as I scrambled to my feet.

“Persephone,” my mother blurted in a choked voice. “Is it really you?” Her eyes were wide and watery with disbelief.

“Yeah.” As I shivered and rubbed at my aching head, everything that had happened snapped into place and I realized what they must’ve thought. “Yeah. It’s me.” I glanced from her to Nana. “What are you doing on the bank?”

A
fter crawling up the embankment—swearing all the way over the ruined dress—I hurried into the fog. Just as I was sure my feet had veered to one side, the light of the candles brightened the mist. On target, I was able to locate the parking lot.

In the days that had followed my mother’s accident, we’d all understood that Eris wasn’t ever again going to drive the old stick-shift Corvette. So, partially as a pity-present and partially as a thank-you-for-acting-to-save-my-boyfriend, I offered to buy her an automatic vehicle that she would be able to drive when the doctor gave her the okay.

She’d picked a ten-year-old Dodge Dakota SLT from the third car lot we’d visited. It was a high-mileage vehicle, but neither the rust edging the wheel wells nor the American flag and eagle decorating the rear window had deterred her decision.

I think she decided the candy-apple-red vehicle was perfect when she saw the SLT emblem on the side. She laughed and said, “Get the salesman. Tell him I want to take the
Slut
for a test drive.”

Of course I hadn’t repeated that to the salesman, but the truck’s name had stuck.

I ended up driving the Slut here tonight. That left Nana to drive the Corvette—the image kept me amused the whole way. Zhan, my personal bodyguard from
Menessos, had been reluctant to let me out of her sight; I’d only been able to get her to stay behind by giving her orders to obtain some sneaky cell phone video footage of Nana getting into the low-riding sports car.

By the time I made it to the Slut, I was limping. My foot ached where it had been sliced by rocks.

After changing into my jeans and T-shirt, I donned the hoodie. The solidity of my hikers was reassuring. Once the hood covered my wet hair, I felt warm enough to function.

Despite being certain this was illegal, I drove the Slut into the park itself, jumping the curb and rolling slowly through the fog. Past the circle I veered around and backed the Slut to the edge of the embankment, where I cut the engine. Outside, I rolled under the truck’s back end.

Eris asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting the spare tire.”

As I tried to loosen the rusty bolt holding the tire on, Eris checked both sides of the truck. “The Slut doesn’t have a flat.”

My fingers slipped and I scraped a knuckle. “Damn it,” I muttered. The bolt was rusted in place. Louder, I said, “I know.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

I squeezed the metal nut holding the bracket and concentrated, moving a little energy into my hand. “Loosen, loosen steel I hold, must get Nana out of the cold.” I pushed the energy into the nut. Pain zapped through my thumb. I jerked away and swore.

When I tried again, the rusted-on nut turned easily. I
figured the jolt meant I had a little lightning left over.

With the huge tire loose, I dragged it to the edge of the embankment and heaved it down.

Nana gawked at the tire. “What’s that for?”

“Getting you up to the parking lot.” I retrieved a rope from behind the extended cab’s backseat and returned to Nana, silently praising the glorious traction of the average hiking boot.

She said, “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Would you rather I call the emergency squad?”

“No,” she snapped.

I unwound the rope, looped the middle of it through the center a few times and hauled the tire closer to Nana. “C’mon.” I offered her my hand. “Sit on the tire.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand. I’ll pivot you onto it.”

She assessed the all-season radial, then the rope. “Are you shitting me?”

“Just hold onto the tread. It’ll be fun.”

Nana glowered but gave me her hand. “It better be.”

Once she was maneuvered into the center of the tire, she said, “I’m relieved I got to play the crone tonight.”

“Why?”

“If I’d played the maiden and worn all white, I’d look like the Michelin Man on this thing.”

I laughed, proud of her for finding some humor in the situation. Our three-generational trio was a kind of triangle, too. I didn’t trust Eris, but I could always count on Nana.

Perception hit me harder than the river rock that had knocked me unconscious: With all I had to do, knowing Menessos and Johnny would be there for me gave me strength. Hecate was right. If either one of them faltered . . . none of us could succeed.

“Keep your legs straight.” I tossed the rope’s length onto higher ground and gave Eris my arm. “Your turn.” My mother’s teeth were chattering. “You’re soaked! Why aren’t you in the truck and out of the wind?”

“I’ll get the seats wet.”

“The seats will dry.” We trudged cautiously up the bank.

“Are you seriously going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

Feeling like an ass for not noticing sooner that she was wet and shivering, I studied her and saw the cut and bruising on her cheek. “Yup. Unless you have a better idea.”

She snorted in answer.

“Just one more minute in the cold for you,” I said as I tied the rope around the trailer hitch. “I won’t be able to see Nana with my mirrors, so you have to watch her. Signal me when she’s level.”

Eris nodded.

In the truck, I twisted the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, and I smiled to myself. When I’d brought this thing to Eris’s apartment, Lance had teased her that it was only a gun rack shy of being officially redneck. I hadn’t argued.

With the brake fully depressed, I put the Slut in gear. I slowly let off the brake, and the vehicle inched forward. When Eris gave me the signal to stop, I put it in park and cut the engine.

“That was
not
fun,” Nana proclaimed. “But it wasn’t terrible,” she added with a wink.

Once I had completed the not-so-easy task of getting Nana in the passenger seat, I put the spare tire in the truck bed and the rope in the backseat. “You’re going to have to drive,” I said to Eris. “Get her to the hospital.”

“I’m
not
going to the hospital,” Nana grouched out her open door. “It’s just a sprain.”

“It may be more than that.”

“It isn’t. Eris needs to go home and get warm and dry. All I need is some ice and Aleve. I’ll be fine.” She dangled the Corvette keys from her finger, then tossed them to me.

I caught the key ring. “How are you going to get up the stairs?” Eris’s apartment was on the second story, above her tattoo parlor.

“Lance will help me.” Nana slammed the truck door.

“And she has spoken,” Eris said through chattering teeth. “I may not have been around her for years, but I still know when her mind is made up. That hasn’t changed.”