Fatal Circle

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Xerxadrea was gone.

She sacrificed herself for me.

I hadn’t known her for long, and though I genuinely liked her, we hadn’t grown very close. Yet all I knew was grief, the tightness in my chest and the profuse flooding of tears. I could think no thoughts. It hurt but letting the emotion out felt right, the release of it felt good. Then came the heat of Menessos’s touch on my arm.

“Come.” He pulled me to my feet. “We must go.”

“Can’t leave her.” She died to save me.

“We cannot take her, either. She will be identified and given to her own.”

I shook my head. “No.” It was cruel to leave her—

“Will the broom allow me to ride it, Persephone?” Goliath asked.

His tone and direct calling of my name snapped me back into myself, and into the realization that we weren’t out of danger yet. What remained of my grief was displaced. “I don’t know,” I said, wiping my face. “What are you thinking?”

“If it will hold me, I can wear the Eldrenne’s cape and fly out, diverting the fairies from you two making a real escape.” He held out his hand for my broom.

I gave it to him. He positioned it, then gingerly lowered his weight onto it. It did not rise, and wouldn’t hold him. He held it out to return it to me. “What do you want me to do, Master?”

“Wait,” I said.

I put my hand beside Goliath’s as he held the broom. “Awaken ye to life, and fly Goliath as he bids this night.” The broom tingled in my grip and the bristle end skittered toward his feet. “Take my cape,” I added, removing it from my shoulders, tugging it free from the velvet sling bag Xerxadrea had given me. “They’ll know they hit her, and the red one may mean more.”

I put it on him, hood up, and spied the opening above. I had an idea. “If I give you the Eldrenne’s robe, do you think you can cover that hole with it?” I pointed at the roofline.

“Why?”

“So the butterflies and birds don’t escape.”

“A waste of time,” he declared.

Menessos added, “This garden can import more birds and butterflies. I cannot as easily replace Goliath.”

“You’re right.” It was true; I conceded.

“Goliath, go up to the second level, stay hidden, and leave only once the police arrive, but before they see you. This will give us time to get into position. Hopefully, you’ll draw most of the fairies away, but I doubt all of them will follow.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Goliath,” I added, “that thing flies on intentions, so intend to go fast.”

He actually grinned and showed fang. “Good to know.”

Menessos and I left the rain forest section of the gardens, passing through the mirrored exit where people made sure no butterflies had landed on them and were in danger of riding out. We did not stop to check.

“What’s your plan?” I insisted.

“We have to get back downtown, where there are no trees to shelter the fairies from the effects of their allergies.”

If the blisters on Aquula had been any indication, their allergies to asphalt were immediately intense. They must have come straight down from the sky into the gardens and the abundance of vegetation there shielded them. Bad thing was, there were trees all over this area. “On foot?”

“No. We’re going to steal a vehicle.”

“There are no vehicles around except those of the response teams.”

“Precisely.”

“You mean we’re stealing a police cruiser?”

“We cannot call a cab.”

“If we could make it down the street a ways—”

Menessos dragged me into the men’s restroom and around the privacy wall. It was pitch-dark except for emergency lighting filtering through the vented bottom of the door. “We cannot risk being under the trees,” he whispered hotly. “The roads in this area are lined with them! We must take whatever is parked conveniently to their doors.”

“That could be a fire truck!”

He shrugged and put a finger to his lips, moving me into the stall. “Stand on the toilet,” he whispered.

My vision had adjusted to the dimness and I complied, sort of. I placed one of the platform boots on the side of the toilet seat. “What are you going to do?” I whispered back.

Menessos shut the stall door. I reached out and reopened it.

“What will you do?” I demanded.

“Whatever is necessary to get us out safely.”

“Menessos. You don’t have to kill an officer.”

He arched a brow poignantly. “Did I say I needed to kill?”

The bathroom door opened and Menessos quickly joined me in the stall. Gripping the upper edge of the partitioning, I hauled myself up, standing on one side of the toilet, and allowed him to do the same on the other side. Squatting down to keep my head out of sight, fighting to keep my balance on the tapered seat—damned boots—and doing it all silently wasn’t easy.

On the plus side, the officer had a flashlight, and the glow of it made it easier for us to see each other.

The stall door opened, and in an instant Menessos had ripped it back and pinned the officer against the painted cinderblocks beyond. He’d also taken the man’s flashlight. Menessos managed to hold him and still keep the beam illuminating both of their faces.

“Hear me, mortal, I will not hurt you. You must merely comply with my orders.”

The man sighed, eyes glassy. “Yes.” His voice slurred and his jaw went slack.

“You will take us out to your car—”

“Others might see,” I interrupted. I’d been recognized a lot tonight already. And without the cape I was showing a lot of skin again.

Without breaking the visual connection, Menessos said, “I must keep him in sight to maintain control. I haven’t the strength to send him on a mission.”

“I do.” I gripped Menessos’s arm and called energy up from the jaspers and out of me, preparing to transfer it to him.

“No,” he said.

“Tell him to bring a patrol car down into the garage, and open the trunk for us there. He must drive us a mile down the road then park somewhere secluded and let us out.”

“It will drain you!”

“It will drain only the jaspers Xerxadrea gave me to wear.” The “only” part was a lie.

“Then you will be unprotected!”

“Not true.” I wagged the chain with Beau’s charm at him. “I can’t mesmerize people. You can.” Before he could protest further, I poured the energy into him.

After we exited the trunk of the police car and the officer drove away, Menessos quickly flagged down a cab. Once we climbed inside, the obvious question came. “Where to?”

“Public Square,” Menessos answered.

The cabbie asked, “You want the Holiday Inn Express or the Hyatt Regency, my lucky friend?”

Menessos gave me the once-over and laughed out loud.

“Just take us to Public Square,” I snapped.

“Oh, yes. Trixie’s late for work,” the accented cabbie grumbled.

Though Menessos had said it was unlikely the fey would follow us in the open city, he inspected the sky through the back window. In spite of the fact that he was still chuckling, I was glad he checked and found the sky satisfyingly fairyless. He settled into the seat and took my hand.

“You and I are going to have a long talk about shoes and what I wear,” I said.

“Whatever you want, Persephone, you shall have.”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “Sensible clothes and sensible shoes.” I was glad he didn’t argue. Due to my energy dump, it felt like I’d been awake for days and had just run a marathon. Yet this night was far from over. I had to talk to Menessos and Johnny, together, about what Beau had said. I’d have to see the Codex, decipher the spell, and prepare. Having Nana around at this moment would have been helpful, and yet I had no desire to inform her of what I was facing now. If I had to guess, soul-sharing was not an idea she’d get behind.

I just needed the support of Johnny and Menessos. If they were both willing we’d have to perform it as soon as possible. The fey and WEC were expecting me to deliver Menessos Sunday morning at dawn.

Xerxadrea’s dead. Her plan is lost. We’re on our own. My insides pinched with grief, but I denied it again.

According to the cab’s clock, it was nearly midnight now. So we had a little more than thirty hours. Thirty hours to prepare and perform the soul-sharing spell, to make plans for the fairies and implement those plans. Some of those precious hours would be spent unproductively sleeping. Being well rested going into a spell like that was simply common sense. But how could I sleep now?

Because I just poured energy into Menessos.

I had something else to add to my endless to-do list: Xerxadrea had said I needed to shut the door between the worlds. I needed to find out how Menessos, Una, and Ninutra opened the door before I could close it. I couldn’t ask Menessos in the cab though. No telling who the cabbie might know.

The fairies were expecting Menessos to be delivered at dawn. The vampires would be, literally, dead to the world. Useless. And the witches were out.

We were going to need the waerewolves.

“Wait.” I sat up and leaned toward the cabbie. “Take us to The Dirty Dog instead.”

In the rearview mirror, he confirmed this new destination with Menessos, who nodded his assent.

“The Dirty Dog it is,” the cabbie replied. He changed lanes and hit the turn signal.

“Do you have my jacket?” Menessos asked as the cab rolled onto a familiar side street and slowed, then stopped. I had forgotten about Xerxadrea’s velvet sling bag, still draped over my shoulder. As I understood that I had something of hers, tears threatened to spill yet again, but I dug into the purse’s silver interior, removed his jacket, and passed it to him.

Producing a money clip from the inside of his suit coat, Menessos provided the cabbie with a hundred-dollar bill and said, “Wait wherever you want, but return to this spot in thirty minutes and I’ll give you another one of those for that ride to Public Square.”

“You got it,” the cabbie said enthusiastically.

We exited the cab. I shivered. Maybe the cold night air would firm my resolve to be tear-free. Menessos draped his jacket around my shoulders. Smiling my thanks, I stuck my arms through the sleeves.

It seemed like much more than a few hours since I’d left Johnny here in the darkened building with a dead body and a pair of men from the pack. Now, every window in the upper floor of the building glowed with light, and cars lined every inch of the street, preventing any hope of nearby parking. Arriving in a cab was the best thing we could have done.

The bar was now open, with light trying valiantly to push beyond the grimy front windows, and the buzz of music rattled the panes. However, the bouncers at the bar door—and the scent of pine as thick as sap in the air—heralded the idea that not all patrons were welcome inside tonight.

So I wasn’t surprised when the nearer of the two—a bald waere with ebony ear gauges—raised his hand in the universal stop gesture. “Private party tonight.”

I walked right up to the Mr. Clean wannabe anyway.

“I’m here to see Johnny Newman.”

“Even dressed to kill and hot as you are, I can’t let you in,” he insisted.

“Then get Todd. I only need a moment.”

He sniffed and knew I wasn’t waere. “Droppin’ names will get you nowhere tonight.”

I was too damned tired for this shit. “I’ll go around back,” I said, and moved away.

The bouncer caught my arm. “You can’t go inside tonight.”

“She must be deaf,” the other bouncer said. While not as tall as Mr. Clean, the wiry Asian guy had arm bulges that were just as impressive. He gripped the other man’s shoulder and plastered on a fake pout. “Ain’t that sad?” His pout evolved into a smirk.

Menessos drew his foot lightly across the sidewalk, making an unsubtle scraping that drew to him the attention of both the Overactor and Mr. Clean. “This lady usually gets what she wants, boys. One of you be a sport and ask the man who signs your checks to get his ass out here, or both of you will be in danger of not getting paid ever again.”

“We won’t get fired over this,” Overactor said.

“Unlike vampires, waeres don’t collect checks after they die,” Menessos clarified.

Both bouncers growled menacingly.

“Does your master reward obedience?” Menessos lifted another hundred. “I do. Now, who’s going to go ask?”

“We don’t fetch for fang-faces,” Overactor said.

“Only pack tonight,” Mr. Clean said.

“There were five members of your pack at my party tonight,” Menessos touted back. “No exclusivity on my part.”

Mr. Clean reevaluated Menessos, perhaps just recognizing him. He crossed his arms. “This is different.”

We didn’t have time for this. “I know Ig’s dead,” I blurted. “Let me speak to Johnny, then we’ll be on our way.”

Mr. Clean and the Overactor exchanged shrugs.

I stomped my boot. “Somebody go ask!”

“This isn’t an issue of permission,” Mr. Clean said. “We’re keeping you out for your own safety.”

“I can handle myself around waeres,” I snarled and pushed past. This time, neither made a move to stop me.

The bar was packed with people laughing, drinking, and dancing—a pair of women were dancing on this end of the bar. One of them could barely stand, and the men around them made no effort to hide the fact that they were staring up their short skirts.

Making my way toward the far end of the bar, I didn’t see Johnny anywhere. The more crowded my path became, the more my pushing lacked courtesy. By the time I’d fought my way to the middle of the room, my patience had run out. The odor of ale and whiskey and pine burned in my nose, ruining that last bit of sympathy I held for their loss.

Do waerewolves always mourn like this? I wondered.

“Witch!” someone shouted.

Stillness abruptly spread across the room. People backed away from me. A man nearby howled approval, but it was cut off by a woman elbowing him hard in the ribs. The jukebox had been silenced.

“Where’s Johnny Newman?” I demanded.

“Witch, witch, witch.” It started as a whisper, but it was soon picked up by many mouths and a chant ensued. The pack crowded close, encircling me but leaving an arm’s length open all around.

They were responding with pack traits: grouping, surrounding, snarling as if to make me cower. I didn’t blame them for reacting with a show of force; a witch has the power to send them all into life-ruining partial changes simply by stirring up energies.

Lucky them, I was too tired to stir any.

Lucky me, they didn’t know that.

Trump card: they were all at least half drunk, and I’d have bet a high percentage of them were well past the halfway mark. It didn’t take much for waeres to get drunk or high or overmedicated. That meant they weren’t likely to be thinking clearly. They might do something stupid.

“You’re Johnny’s witch girlfriend?” came an irritated but lilting voice behind me. Sounded like she wasn’t sure if she was making an accusation or asking a question.

It was one of the women who’d been dancing on the bar. The other dancer clung to her to keep from falling off the bar. As they both faced me, I realized they were twins.

Sammi and Cammi Harding, bank heiresses. They were the ones who had pawed Johnny after Lycanthropia’s set at the Rock Hall showcase. “I didn’t recognize you without your leather pom-poms.”

The one who’d spoken put her arms out and stepped off the bar. The men nearby caught her and made sure she had her feet under her. Her sister toppled down with less grace but the men helped her, as well. The first pushed her way through the crowd and gave me the once-over.

The two of them were identical physically, but they didn’t dress exactly alike and they displayed different personalities. This one was more aggressive and I pegged her as the one who had planted the lip-lock on Johnny.

She exuded only contempt, until she spied the boots. I recognized the covetous gaze of a window-shopper. “Bet you’re almost his height in those.”

Her sister stumbled up behind her. Her mascara was smeared at one end and she could hardly stand. “Oooo. Pretty. Bitch to walk in, aren’t they?”

“Where’s Johnny?” And where is Menessos, for that matter?

The first sister bared her teeth; it was too vicious to be a smile. “Busy.”

I’d read some puppy manuals when Nana got Ares. Maintaining eye contact was always key and using firm, low tones was important for reprimanding inappropriate behavior, so I did both. “Get him for me.”

“Eat shit.”

The bank heiress has a foul mouth? I knew better than to back down. She was trying to assert her dominance over me. “Now.”

“Or you’ll what? Spank me with a newspaper?”

A man in the crowd growled, “I’ll spank you, Cammi.”

She ignored him. So did I.

“Don’t make me rub your nose in it.” Oh, for a waere-safe charm that would make her pee herself right now. If I had known a spell for spontaneous incontinence, one that wouldn’t send her into a partial change, it would have been impossible to resist using it. Pressing her face to this grimy floor would leave no doubt of my dominance. Trouble was, if I did that, the rest of the pack would likely jump on my back and do worse to me. Tactically, I needed to posture more aggressively than she did.

A deep, deep growl erupted beside us. Cammi looked away first, as a huge black wolf leaped onto the bar and stalked down the length of it.

Johnny.

Cheers rose up around the bar. “Hail the Domn Lup!” People held their beverages aloft. The people crowded around me were mostly without their beer cans and shot glasses, so pumped their fists in the air. Johnny lifted his muzzle to the sky and howled loud and long. His cry ended to more drinking, shouting, and fist pumping.

Cammi thrust herself into my personal space and said, “With all that he is, he deserves a pack bitch, a haita catea, not a sange stricata like you . . . blood whore.”

A pair of women nearby heard and gasped, then burst into laughter. They were laughing at me. As I stood in The Dirty Dog, dressed in taped-on clothes and glossy red boots, after everyone saw Menessos drinking from me broadcast on TV and online, did I have any right to be surprised?

Moving forward, pushing into Cammi’s personal space, I put myself nose to nose with her. The move brought an end to the cheers around us as ears strained to hear. I could smell the bourbon on her breath. “He chooses to spend his time with me, so you’re going to have to find another bone to chew—but remember this: ‘all that he is’ has gone unnoticed. You and this pack are only aware of the truth now because he is allowing you to know. And there’s a reason I knew first.”

She tried to slap me. From the bar, Johnny barked and snarled. I caught her wrist and held it. Either I was able to restrain her because she was half drunk or his reaction had stopped her. It didn’t matter which, really; it reminded me that waerewolves only respect the power that dominates them.

“Give me a reason,” I shouted. A challenge.

She jerked free of my grip and in doing so compromised her tenuous balance. She backpedaled. “Don’t threaten this pack!”

With her small retreat, the scales had just tipped in my favor. I took up the distance. “I’m not threatening the pack! I simply came to speak to Johnny and you’re threatening me. I won’t tolerate it.”

She recognized the concession inherent in her move was a mistake and tried to correct it by planting her feet. But it was too late. She’d given ground and I’d taken it. “If you try a spell, witch, you’ll be dead before you can call enough energy to damage us all.”

“I don’t intend to ‘damage’ anybody, but if you don’t get out of my face, whatever the consequence, I guarantee you’ll be a half-formed bitch. You’d probably be more likable that way.”