Arcane Circle

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When the alarm clock buzzed, I realized Johnny hadn’t come home last night. With all the threats aired between the two wære factions, I wasn’t surprised.

Nana had taken Beverley to the bus stop. Mountain was using an expensive paint that included primer—a timesaver—on Nana’s new room, a pretty lavender color. The subflooring was in place. Stacks of prefinished tongue-and-groove flooring were just outside the door, topped with bundles of the gray radiant heat padding. I asked him about Thunderbird.

“I checked on him at dawn and he had moved into a nest, but was still sleeping. The other griffons were nearby but not covering him as before.”

That put me in a very happy mood, for a few minutes, at least. As I flipped through the phone book to find the number for the grocery to make the cake order for Beverley’s party, I noticed Zhan staring down into a cup of tea. There were tears on her cheeks and she seemed resigned to let them air dry. I could understand that. Wiping them only draws attention to the fact that you are crying.

She and Maxine must have been closer than I knew.

“You know what?” I asked her, still searching the phone book.

“What?”

“I’m thinking that instead of buying the kiddo’s cake, I could actually make one.”

“Do you have the ingredients? The pans?”

I checked the pantry; it gave her a chance to wipe her cheeks unseen. “That would be a no. Not much cake-baking goes on here.”

“You’ll have to order it, then.”

It would be good for her to get out of the house. “Let’s just go pick one from the bakery case. They’ll write what we want on it.”

Outside, Zhan got in the driver’s side, but as she reached to put the keys into the ignition, I could see her hand was shaking. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She squeezed the steering wheel until her knuckles paled to white. “This was Maxine’s car. She loved this car.” She grabbed a tissue from her pocket. “Maybe you should drive.”

I kicked myself for not insisting on driving in the first place. “Sure.” We switched. It was a silent ride into town.

I didn’t go south to the Lodi Grocery, where Maxine had been shot. Instead, I headed southwest into Ashland. It was slightly farther, but Hawkins had better cakes anyway. By the time we arrived, Zhan had recovered.

Inside, we chose a chocolate cake from the bakery section with pink and purple in the frosting edges. The attendant took it to write “Happy 10th Birthday Beverley” on it.

We roamed around tables displaying cookies shaped like turkeys and cornucopias. I picked up one of the stiff plastic containers and considered buying them.

“I want to go home,” Zhan said.

I set the cookies down. “I wasn’t planning on any other stops.”

“To San Francisco,” she clarified. “Actually north of there in Contra Costa county.”

I hadn’t expected this. A dozen questions flooded into my mind. When did you leave? How long has it been? Does your family know you’re an Offerling to a vampire? Lamely, I said, “Oh?” Nothing like a death to throw around some perspective. If she was homesick, I could make Menessos let her take a vacation. “I’ll talk to Menessos. I’m sure he’ll let you—”

“It isn’t him keeping me from it. I did this to myself.”

I wanted to help, but there was nothing to do without more information. “Mind if I ask what you did?”

She paced away and I was sure she had decided to go and wait for me in the car, but her steps slowed and she came back. “Unlike many Chinese-American families, mine still practices ancestor worship. They follow the oldest of the old ways. My father is an artist. All my life I was aware that he wanted a son to teach his trade, but my mother had no children other than me. By the time he accepted that he would have no sons and deigned to break tradition and teach his art to a daughter, I had decided his pride was false, that he painted lies, and in doing so he furthered the lie to the next generation. I vowed not to be a part of that and I ran.”

I didn’t understand. “What did he paint that was false?”

“Dragons. Phoenix. Creatures I believed never had existed. But now,” her eyes welled up and she brought out the already damp tissue again, “now I know they do exist, and that they always did. My ancestors weren’t fabricating lies. My father’s honor is intact. Mine is not.”

Geoff arrived at five-thirty. In the back of his dually pickup truck stood six full-grown goats. They were on leashes that were tied to the roll bar. I put my shoes on and walked out to greet him. Beverley stepped up behind me at the door.

“Goats?” she asked.

He said, “I don’t think the dog food is doing much for Thunderbird.”

“Oh.” Beverley’s sunny demeanor dimmed.

I was somewhat disturbed myself. “Geoff, you’re not going to walk them into the barn on leashes, are you?”

“No. I’ll let them loose in the field. I’m sure the griffons will do what griffons do.”

“What if Thunderbird doesn’t come out?”

“After what I saw the others do to keep him warm, I have to believe that they understand things in a way that normal animals do not.”

“Meaning?”

“Either he’ll understand and come out, or the others will take him what he needs.”

“Let me tell Mountain before you set them loose, okay?”

“Sure.”

I put my jacket on and headed out. Beverley was right on my heels. “You probably shouldn’t be out here, Bev.”

“I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t convince me.

Mountain had finished the painting and returned to his mobile home. We went there and told him what was going on.

“Good idea,” he said. “They’ll like that.” I gave him a signal indicating Beverley; he understood. “Would you come and help me feed the unicorns and make sure they have water in their buckets?”

“Absolutely!”

While the two of them walked over to the unicorn barn, I called Geoff on his phone and told him to let the goats go free. Then I caught up to the others. The unicorns had spent the day grazing on the grass around the grove and soaking up sunshine, so their stalls were empty. Mountain was instructing Beverley in how many scoops of grain to put into each unicorn’s feed bin. He rolled out a hose to fill the water buckets.

I walked into the rear where the griffons gathered. A lion-and-eagle male rose and took a position at the edge of their space.

“Who’s this?” I asked Mountain, confident he’d named them all by now.

“That’s Eagle Eye. He watches everything.”

Mountain followed me as I crouched near the nest where Thunderbird had curled up. Gingerly, I petted his neck. “Hey, you,” I said softly. “Wake up. It’s time to go hunt.”

It took a few more strokes, but finally he stirred. A moment later he stretched. He lifted his head, weakly, and craned his neck to see me. He cocked his head and gave a soft version of his thundering cry.

“There’s meat outside,” I said.

The other griffons had already smelled prey and wandered out of the barn. I stepped away from Thunderbird to watch. As they cleared the barn doors their mighty wings spread and they took gracefully to the sky. I couldn’t help following the last one out and taking in the sight of the majestic creatures circling the cornfield.

One swooped down in a lithe, plummeting attack so swift the goat never knew what hit it. I was grateful the kill was quick. Another and another made their kills.

Thunderbird limped up beside me, butting his shoulder into my hip the way a cat rubs itself on someone’s leg as it passes. I stroked down his neck again. “Go on.”

He hobbled out, occasionally putting weight on his injured foreleg, as if testing it. Geoff had apparently walked the goats to the field, removed their collars, and walked away. He was approaching on the newly graveled driveway and together we watched the griffons. Just as Thunderbird neared the edge of the cornfield, Eagle Eye landed before him and dropped the carcass of a goat, then backed away, bowing his head.

The doc and I shared a glance.

Thunderbird reached out with his injured foreleg, gripping at the goat. He had no talons left to make the grip a sure one. So, carefully, he switched, putting his weight on that one, and gripped the carcass firmly with the talons on the other. Voicing a thunderous call to the air, he tore into the kill and began to eat.

That evening, Kirk dropped Johnny off just before seven. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night, but he kissed me and launched himself up the stairs to take a quick shower and shave. The usual suspects showed up just after him. The diverse crowd was certainly atypical of a kid’s birthday party. Not only was the birthday girl the only child, she was the only mundane human among us.

When Johnny joined us, dinner was served and the party officially began, but Beverley and Ares were both already wearing birthday hats and, remarkably, the huge puppy tolerated it.

Nana had made chicken nuggets and cheesy potatoes as our guest of honor had requested. I ate two of the nuggets and more of the potatoes than I should have. After dinner, I presented the cake with ten pink candles. It set the room aglow. Johnny sang her a rocked-out version of “Happy Birthday.” Theo took pictures for me.

Beverley blew out the candles and the celebratory dessert was consumed while we passed Beverley’s joke book around and read random jokes aloud. Then it was on to the gift opening.

Theo’s BlackBerry beeped. She snapped another photograph, handed me the camera, and checked her phone. A moment later, she tapped me on the shoulder. “My source got a hit,” she whispered. “Can I use your computer?”

“Sure.” It had been returned to its usual spot after Nana’s room was finished.

Beverley was delighted with the iPod, digital camera, and clothes she received, but it was the electronic photo frame we’d all chipped in to get her that stole the show. Celia had preloaded it with pictures of Beverley’s mom, Lorrie. The images faded in and out, continually cycling through the files. We shared a tearful moment, Beverley hugging Celia tight.

When the party was over and Beverley was happily carrying her presents upstairs, Theo motioned Johnny and me over. “This is the Web site of a tattoo shop called the Arcane Ink Emporium.”

“Okay.” Not unlike the frame Beverley had just received, the site had a slideshow cycling through images of happy customers sporting their tattoos.

Theo clicked on the link to the staff page, scrolled down. The artists were listed with their photo and name to the left, and a paragraph about them to the right. At the bottom, an emoticon wearing dark sunglasses rested above the name Arcanum. The biography stated:

The elusive Arcanum has been tattooing professionally for nearly a decade and the edgy, innovative ideas of this artist won AIE the coveted Badass Needle Award and that national recognition made AIE one of the top-ten tat shops in the Continental USA. Five years running, our name has been in the top five.

If you want to wear the stimulating colors of this artist’s imagination in your flesh, you’ll have to be patient. Arcanum personally evaluates each potential client and the art they desire; applications available during regular business hours.

No guarantees are made about Arcanum’s availability or willingness to undertake your project.

Theo tapped her fingers irritably on the desktop. “It doesn’t even indicate whether Arcanum is male or female.”

“Where is this shop?” I asked.

Theo clicked the contact/directions link. “Pittsburgh.”

“Print that page. It’s got the address and the hours,” Johnny said. “Pittsburgh is only a few hours away. We can go tomorrow, arrive by eleven, and if all goes well we could be back in time for dinner.” He acknowledged Nana and added, “That is, if you can get Beverley from school and cook again.”

Nana frowned. “You’re supposed to move me into my new room!”

“I’ll do the bulk of that tonight, and the rest I’ll do when we get back. Lickety-split.” He grinned at Erik. “Remind me of that word later. I’ve got a new song forming even now.”

“I’m sure it’s not dirty, either,” Theo said.

“I need to talk to you, John,” Erik said. Without waiting he headed through the living room and continued on to the front porch. Johnny wiggled his tongue at us before joining Erik outside.

I focused on Theo. “Tell me you’ve found something on this SSTIX task force.”

“You’re not an easy customer, you know?” Her complaint was given in a light tone. “Government agents … their stuff is sealed and buried. I’m still working on it.”

Zhan was helping Mountain with cleanup. Celia joined Theo and me at the big dining table where they discussed the housing market—Theo was tired of her apartment and interested in buying a small home while the market was in the buyer’s favor. Nana was putting leftovers away so I went and started the dishes. Beverley must have heard the water and hurried down to help.

“You may have the night off from chores, birthday girl.”

She drew closer and whispered, “What are Johnny and Erik arguing about?”

“They’re arguing?”

“Outside. I heard ’em on my way down.”

Pulling away from her I said, “I’ll find out.” Without making any kind of announcement to the others, I crossed the dining room to the living room and neared the window overlooking the porch. The two wæres had stepped farther out into the yard, making their voices hard to hear, but they were definitely using unhappy tones. Thinking about the extras I’d picked up in being master to a twice-marked vampire, I listened harder.

“Yes I can!” Johnny stressed.

“How can you be a Domn Lup and a touring rock star, man?”

“Why do you presume there’s a line dividing those two roles?”

Erik muttered, “Common sense, maybe.”

“The Rege wants me to make the rounds with pretty pro-wære speeches. The two agendas can work together! I’ll just give those speeches in whatever town our show is in.”

“Our show? We don’t even have a contract, let alone a professional studio disc. I’m wasting my time, John, pissing away my shot by pinning it on someone who can’t do the job.”

“I can do the job.”

“Not both.”

“Stop it, all right? Don’t you get it? You’re telling me how the lines you’re drawing around me mean your failure. You just have to stop drawing those lines and let me prove it.”

“Prove what? We still don’t have a contract.”

“We had one from the vampire.”

Erik paused. “You’re not fucking serious?”

“If you’re not comfortable with that either, you big pussy, then maybe you’d feel better knowing that the Zvonul have to provide the Domn Lup with personal funds. Who says we can’t produce our own disc, shoot a video or two, and buy distribution from a midlevel label? Then we tour and make a name for ourselves.”

“And what name are we making? Lycanthropia: The pet project of the Domn Lup. That’d be as embarrassing as Paris Hilton making another album.” He paused. “And what would your justice-minded girlfriend think of you extorting funds from your higher-ups?”

“It wouldn’t be extortion. They want me to go out there and be the face of wærewolves today. What better way than through music?”

“Sure. Hard, rockin’ goth-industrial music that the majority of the population considers junk noise. The Zvonul will definitely want to promote that as the new wærewolf image.” Erik’s sarcasm held low, angry tones.

“I’ve said everything I can to convince you, Erik. Nothing’s good enough.”

“Go be the poster boy for the Packs and Allied Wæres, John. I won’t be the timekeeper of a politico-façade band.”

“Won’t? Won’t?”

“I’m done, man. I’m out. Feral’s with me.” Feral was the nickname of Phil Jones, their bassist.

“You two discussed this already?”

“Yeah. We did.”

A long silent moment passed before Johnny said, “Well then, good luck in your next project.” The shushing of grass told me he was walking away.

“Tell Celia I’m ready to go,” Erik called.

I moved away from the window and headed back to the kitchen. Beverley was doing dishes. “Hey, you’re supposed to be having a free night.” I playfully pushed her away from the sink and took the sudsy plate and rag from her.

“I know.” She dried her hands. “What did you hear?”

“Hear about what?” Nana asked.

I gave Beverley a now-you’ve-done-it look. “Not much.”

That was when Johnny entered the front door. “Celia, Erik’s waiting for you in the car,” he called.

Celia asked for and got hugs from Beverley. Theo got one also and in the minutes that followed, both departed. Mountain left for his apartment and Zhan unrolled her sleeping bag on the couch. Johnny hefted every piece of furniture—except the bed—from Nana’s old room. I helped him maneuver the chest of drawers through the door, then he carried it down the stairs. He didn’t act as if anything was upsetting him, but his silence said enough.

By the time Beverley and Nana were ready to retire for the night, all that remained in Nana’s room was her bed and the clothes in her closet. Johnny and I each took an armload—his encompassed everything I couldn’t carry—and made the last trip down the stairs, around and into the new room. We dropped the clothes onto the new area rug and I set about resituating the items on their hangers and organizing them into some semblance of order. Not that it would matter to Nana.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you go watch TV?” I asked.

Johnny passed me the hanger with Nana’s cabbage rose shirt on it. “Don’t want to disturb Zhan.”

“I thought disturbing people was a personal goal for you.”

“Just on stage.” After the words were spoken, he sighed.

Hands on hips, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Erik’s mad. Real mad. We have a rehearsal scheduled for tomorrow, and I assured him despite the Zvonul being around I’d make it to the practice studio. I clean forgot about it when I realized we might be able to go to Pittsburgh and find this Arcanum.” He spent the next thirty minutes or so letting me drag out of him what I already knew about Erik. “I know I screwed up. But he won’t let me make amends. It’s not like him. It makes me think this is about something other than the band.” We had moved on to Nana’s laundry, most of which I’d hung up. We were nearly done.

“What else could it be about?”

“If I knew, I’d be doing something about it.”

As I peered down into the laundry basket, all that remained were underwear and bras. “You going to help me fold her bloomers?” I held up a pair.

Johnny blinked. I’d seen him fight the Rege and the Omori, but wave an old woman’s underpants at him and it left him aghast with fear.

“How’d it go with Todd and Kirk?”

“I called Beau like you said; he drove over.” Johnny shook his head. “He brought a bottle of bourbon with him.”

“Ah ha. No wonder you didn’t come back all night.”

“You miss me?”

“Of course. But …”

“But what?”

I lifted my hair to let him see my neck. I wasn’t keeping secrets. “Maxine’s death taxed the vampire.”

He took a moment to hedge his reaction. “Did he behave himself?”

“He tried not to, but I insisted. He didn’t stay long.”

His jaw flexed, relaxed. “Good. Is he going to send another sentinel?”

I shrugged. “What’d you guys come up with, besides hangovers?”

“The Zvonul have to fund the Domn Lup. They won’t want me to have a day job. The guitar store will be able to replace me, but Strictly 7 will soon be out a painter and tech and that’s not a position that’s easy to fill.”

“Are you okay with that?”

He shrugged. “I’m not quitting until I’ve got someone trained. I won’t do that to them.”

My satellite phone rang. It was Theo. “Hello?”

“I did some digging on the Arcane Ink Emporium. Just a general query, how long they’ve had their licenses, whether they’re current, that sort of thing.”

“And?”

“This is too weird. It must be coincidence, but …”

“But what?”

“The licenses are in the name of AIE, but there’s no lease on file for the building. It’s privately owned, but the tat shop isn’t listed as the owner.”

“Who is?”

“Someone whose last name is Alcmedi. An Eris Alcmedi.”