Fatal Circle

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Johnny didn’t say a word as he passed Beau, he just flew by, threw open the door, and stormed up the sidewalk to the Night Train, straddled it, and turned the ignition. My feet were planted on the sidewalk. I didn’t know what to say to him, but I wasn’t getting on the bike with him yet.

He understood and shut it off.

His hands left the grips and rested on his thighs. His head fell back, as if the sunlight might burn away his misery and pain. The bright rays kissed his skin, gleamed in his hair, and glistened on the earrings and brow rings. He still hadn’t shaved, but the extra scruff suited him.

I waited.

“The first time I changed, Ig was there. He’d crossed my path at a deli, scented me. He didn’t recognize me, so he knew I was either a new waere in the area breaking the law by not registering with the pack, or I was flat-out a brand-new waere. He had me followed.” Johnny brought his skyward face down and his countenance was tight with emotion. “After the park, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was . . . but I knew who I wanted to be. I chose the name Newman because I was a new man. And then I found out I was infected. Whether or not I was a waere before the park, I may never know. But I had to deal with it like it was new. Ig was there for me. He’s been like a father to me.”

Someday, he would have to reveal to the waere community that he was Domn Lup. But not today. Today he was reeling because his father figure was dying. “C’mon,” I said, swinging my leg over the bike to sit behind him. My arms circled his waist and I laid my head against his shoulder.

He gripped the handlebars. “Where to?”

Last night we’d just cuddled, I’d needed rest. Today, I thought I might know the answer he needed. “Let’s just ride.”

Surveying the theater, I had another awe-filled reaction. The large display screens were now wired into the upstage framework and a logo like the one on the gray-primer door floated around in each screen, spinning and flipping. The marble floor was now finished.

A large circular dais covered with thick black carpeting was now situated downstage center. A big chair was centered on the dais. Accented by ornately carved wood, it had a thronelike appearance, but the padded seat, back, and arms made it look comfortable, as well. An angled beam of amber light focused on the chair shifted slightly. I glanced up. Someone was adjusting the stage lights above us.

We moved farther into the room. When the workers observed us they stopped and stared at us. One of them, a giant of a man whose height and girth would top even Hector’s, was carrying a divan all by himself across the stage. He wore a Cleveland Browns football jersey and dark blue jeans. He became aware of the quiet, saw us, and set the long piece of furniture down and stood like the rest.

Johnny took one of the pair of steps situated at either side of the proscenium to stage level. As we crossed the stage, we neared the colossal-sized man who’d single-handedly carried the divan. When I glanced back, he was following us off stage.

If we continued on into the little alcove, we’d be vulnerable. And trapped. I tapped Johnny on the shoulder. “We’re being followed.”

Johnny turned. “You need something?” Johnny’s shoulders squared.

The big man had eyes as black as pitch, but his round face and thick arms were tanned to what Nana would call “brown as a biscuit.” He used one massive hand to lift his shirt a little to reach into his rear jeans pocket. Then, he offered me a cream-colored envelope, a little larger than four-by-six inches. My name was written in black with calligraphic flair on the front. The back flap was bordered with gold. Its elegance was somewhat lessened by squashed corners and a slight bend. “Boss said to give you this.” He spoke slowly and his inflections hinted at southern locales. It made his deep voice pleasant to hear.

I accepted the envelope. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Mountain.”

“Thank you, Mountain. You’re certainly getting the renovations done fast. It’s really amazing.”

He bowed his head and backed away. “Thank you, Ms. Witch.” Before he disappeared through the doorway to go back to work, I saw a straggly ponytail of black hair that fell past the ends of his long shirt.

Ms. Witch?

I opened the envelope and handed it to Johnny. A gold-bordered correspondence card bore the engraved letter M, also in gold, at the top. Below it, in the same beautiful penmanship, was written:

I handed the note to Johnny as we climbed up the stairs. He read it, smirking, until, at the upper landing, we discovered brown paper bags sitting atop a large cooler. “The groceries,” I said.

We put the food away. I was happy with the pasta and frozen vegetable selections, but Johnny mumbled about needing more than salt and pepper for spices.

There were still questions from earlier rolling around my brain. “Can I ask you something?”

“Just did.”

I hit his arm with the box of spaghetti. “Beau said he hadn’t seen you in years. Is he not normally around?”

“If things are still like they used to be, he has a shop, but keeps odd hours there. When he’s not at the shop, he’s at the bar.” Johnny headed for the door to get the cooler. “It’s me who hasn’t been around in years.”

Ig had used the words “come back,” hadn’t he? “Why? If Ig’s like a father to you . . .”

“Like most fathers and sons, Ig and I had our words. He’s wanted me to be his second since he met me. He wanted me to learn how it works, to be ready to, one day, take full authority. But I wanted to front a rock band. We butted heads.” He set the cooler down at the end of the bar and took a deep, deep breath. “He’s still adamant that I lead his pack. Only now, I can’t just assume the role through rank, I’d have to kill him for it.”

I was only a little stunned to have this bit of waere culture confirmed. “How does murder fit into the equation? Wolf packs in the wild don’t work that way, do they?”

“No. But people are people.” He transferred lunch meats and cheeses to the refrigerator. “Strength leads. If one will yield, the fight is over. But that doesn’t happen much.”

“And Ig won’t yield because he wants to die.”

Johnny nodded. We finished up the chore in silence.

Then I couldn’t help it anymore and had to ask. “Why hasn’t this Todd killed him for it?”

“Everyone loves Ig. Anyone who killed him for power would be hated by the rest of the pack. Who would want to rule where everyone hated him?”

I leaned on the counter. “But you can wait, then fight Todd?”

“I don’t want it.”

I showed him a soft and patient countenance. He’d have to take his place of power eventually. Just like I would, too.

“What I do want,” he purred, coming toward me, “is a kiss.”

I quickly jumped up to sit on the counter. “Just a kiss? I still feel cheated from last night.”

He unashamedly assessed the height of the counter, put on a thoughtful expression, tapped his chin, and reevaluated the distance before nodding approval.

“Come here.” I put emphasis on the words so they wouldn’t sound like a dog command but like a lover’s suggestion. It won me the boyish smile I adored.

When he neared, I hooked my ankles behind him. “You’re trapped.”

“That’s what you think.” Johnny backed up, hauling me to the edge of the counter. I threw my arms around his neck to keep from falling. His hands cupped my bottom and he asked, “Who’s got who?”

“You win,” I said, punctuating it with a victory kiss. “You have me.”

He put me back on the countertop and changed the victory kiss into the passionate kind, beginning to—

His fingers brushed the bandage on my neck and, immediately, he broke away. “Yeah. Just a kiss.”

“Johnny.” My heels hit the cabinetry with a dull thud. He was heading for the door. “You’re just locking that, right?”

“Nope.” His voice had just a hint of tightness.

“Where are you going?”

“To see if the Beholders will award me any brownie points for helping out.” The door shut behind him.

Sigh.

It made sense to make friends with the vampire’s underlings, build camaraderie and all. But that subtle tension in his voice suggested Johnny had some emotional stuff he intended to sweat out. I still thought my idea was the better one, but that implied tender emotions. He wasn’t able to accept my affection until he had released the angry emotions roiling inside him, and for that, he needed to perform sweaty man work. There weren’t any trees to cut down and chop up for firewood here, but there were plenty of hammers to swing and nails to pound.

Bored and meandering around the room, I pulled my laptop out of my backpack and placed it on the desk. Columnist work.

For over an hour, next week’s column was my center of attention. No more being late. It was number four in the series on waere parents, and my thoughts kept drifting to Ig and Johnny. I’d already roughed out the basic article, but added a new slant: how the waere community can come together like a family to protect the newly—or unknowingly—infected, and thereby protect the community at large. I couldn’t send it to Jimmy Martin, my editor, yet, but I needed to take a break and then read it with fresh eyes, so I made notes for the following week’s column and checked email.

Out of habit I checked the local weather hoping Beverley had remembered her jacket this morning. The link was the Channel 43 page, which also gave me area headlines in bullet points. The line “Vampire Court Growing; Bad News for Local Family” caught my eye. In seconds the video loaded and I hit play.

After the channel’s news intro, the screen filled with footage of Nana standing on our front porch, leaning on the rail. Not surprisingly, a cigarette burned between her fingers. She was in need of a visit to the hair salon. The snow-white beehive had to go. It aged her in the worst way.

Back before Hallowe’en, Beverley had commented that if Nana would dye her hair black and put a buckle belt around her head, she wouldn’t even need a witch hat. That one comment had said more than I could have in weeks of pointing out older celebrities on TV and saying, “That style would be good on you.”

The camera zoomed in on Nana, but the reporter’s voice-over was talking about Menessos moving his haven to Cleveland, saying, “While that’s good news for the local economy, it is bad news for one family in particular.” The station’s logo and DEMETER ALCMEDI appeared underneath her and the reporter went on. “Today you learned that your granddaughter is set to become the Court Witch of the Regional Vampire Executive, Menessos. The Vampire Executive International Network public relations people tell me the position is one of prestige and power, an honor. Conversely, the Witch Elders Council PR department tells me it is a misuse of power and a position of shame. What is your reaction?” The reporter’s microphone shot into frame, in Nana’s face.

“Persephone has always been strong-willed, always made her own decisions. But this one . . . I can’t abide. She’s abandoned me, like her mother did.”

Like my mother? My chest tightened with actual pain.

“She’s gone to gallivant with bloodsuckers, to use her power in service to the undead. Witches should respect the life of their power more than that. She, most of all.”

“‘She most of all’? Why do you say that, Ms. Alcmedi?”

Nana put the cigarette to her lips, then blew smoke into the wind. Her hands were shaking.

“Ms. Alcmedi?” the reporter prompted.

She didn’t acknowledge him, but her voice came small and thin when she spoke. “That Hallowe’en Ball the other night, up at the Covenstead . . . that was her smashing that guitar on stage. That was my Persephone! I taught her better than to squander her gifts on the whims of a gods-be-damned vampire.” They beeped her words out, but I knew what she said. She stubbed out the cigarette on the porch rail and then fixed the reporter with grim resolve. “She better never come back here.” She measured him up and down with a sneer as deep as the Grand Canyon. “Same goes for you.” She shuffled inside and shut the door.

Oh, my Nana is sooo good!

“Like her mother” was probably the single most-convincing thing she could have said. And it was accurate, except that when my mother left me with her, I was a little younger than Beverley.

I indulgently watched it twice more—the report ended with a triple replay of the most important seconds of the fairy-smashing video—then I made myself stop. This was doing nothing but hurting my heart and there was no way I could work on the column now. Johnny’s idea of working off the emotional turmoil appealed to me. The place was spic and span. No need for cleaning and scrubbing yet. So, I shut off almost all the lights and went out the door. I may not have waere strength, but there had to be something I could do to help.

In the main hall, some were cleaning the floor, and others were arranging tables on the side already clean. As soon as I appeared, however, all working stopped in waves as they became aware of me. Even Johnny stopped. He glanced around, but remained quiet. Guess, like me, he was waiting to see what would happen next. The seconds ticked by. I couldn’t stand it. “Mountain,” I called.

Mountain had been single-handedly carrying a green futon couch onto the stage. He set it down gently, as if it weighed no more than a folding chair.

“I would speak with you.”

He bowed his head and came forward.

Not sure what I wanted to ask, I hesitated.

“Where they cannot hear, Ms. Witch?” he suggested.

“Yes.”

“This way.” He led me back into the green room and shut the door behind us. “They can’t hear us here.”

“Why do they stop working when I show up?”

“You’re going to be EV and that’s how they show respect. They face you so you can see their eyes.”

I liked the way he shortened the title and made it sound like a name. “And if I want them to continue?”

“You say ‘continue,’ ” Mountain answered.

“And if I want to help?”

He chuckled. “The EV doesn’t labor.”

“What if I want to—”

From behind me, near the stairs, Menessos laughed. “Do not tease him.”

I turned just as the lower door, the one beneath mine and Johnny’s door, clicked shut. Mountain turned for a quick retreat. “Mountain,” Menessos called.

“Boss?”

“My newest prize. Yes?”

“Of course, Boss.” Mountain left.

My anger stirred. “I was not teasing him.”

“I know.” Caught in a lie, the vampire seemed embarrassed.

“Is that my blood flushing your cheeks?”

“It is.” In a blur he climbed the stairs and stopped before the door to my room. He glanced over the railing, then started punching in the code. “Join me?”

“I prefer we not be alone in my room again.”

“Very well.” Menessos opened my door. “You can stay out here.” He proceeded inside.

Of course I followed, shoving the door open and marching quickly into my nearly dark chambers. Emerging from behind the door, Menessos slammed it shut and restrained me in a crushing embrace.

“Let go.”

“I just wanted to remind you that of the two of us, I am the stronger.”

“Duh. Let go.”

“Oh, Persephone! Do you so loathe my arms around you?” He danced me around the entryway. “Bliss still doesn’t have to be a difficult thing to find.”

Sparring with Johnny, I’d been restrained in a similar fashion, minus the dancing. It had made me feel like I’d failed. My new goal was to keep from being caught in this position ever again. I went rigid in his grip. “Take your bliss and shove it.”

“I refuse to believe you mean that.”

“And I refuse to put a lot of faith in your words.”

His confining embrace loosened a fraction. “Why?”

My mouth clamped shut. I wasn’t going to offer anything to him freely.

He leaned in—I flinched—and whispered, “It is most fun when you are difficult.”

I feigned a swoon. “Dear Diary, the top three least attractive qualities in a man are: patronizing me, the use of intimidation tactics, and conceitedness.”

“Tell me why your faith in my words is lacking.”

Like this, I couldn’t break free. He had control over my body, but not my mind. It seemed like a Freudian reversal. So, the chances of him letting go were less if I didn’t cooperate. “You said you’d explain how I’d bonded with Johnny. But you didn’t. What you did was lure me in to get me alone so you could feed.”

“You say that as if it is a reprehensible thing.”

“Manipulating me is a reprehensible thing.”

Again, he laughed. “I meant the word ‘feed,’ dear Persephone. I am a vampire. Separating people from pints of their blood is how I survive.”

I refused to make eye contact. I had answered; he should have let go or loosened more or something.

“Do not be angry at things that must be so. And ponder not how to alter such things.”

Through my clenched teeth I growled, “Release me.”

The glow of the task lighting glinted in his steel-gray gaze as he whispered “Command me, Persephone. If you can.”