Hallowed Circle

Chapter 13

I couldn't move.

The door opened again. Celia came stomping out. I whispered her name to myself and, as Fate would have it, she suddenly looked up and saw me. She stopped. Her mouth moved as she said my name.

That fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. What had Johnny told me? It was part of the sympathetic nervous system? Screw him. He was going to find out there was no longer any sympathetic part of any of my «systems» toward him. Now in flight mode, I could move again. My feet descended the escalator as quick as the people around me allowed, and I headed for the front door and my car. Keys in my pocket, I didn't even wait to retrieve my blazer from the coat check.

Mr. I-Am-Your-Beach evidently had plenty of sand to spread around. Those two girls looked more than happy to trade in their leather pom-poms for sand buckets. Shovel away, Johnny!

I found my Avalon, got in, and slammed the door shut. In minutes, the Rock Hall and Cleveland were in my rearview mirror.

Only then did my cheeks get wet.

That was the longest drive home. Ever.

Just as I pulled into the driveway, my headlights flashed on something skittering away across the edge of the yard. I wanted to think deer but something in my brain said fairy. Spooked, I pulled up as close as possible to the garage—I didn't dare open it, the sound would surely wake Nana—and put myself on the porch in a rush. Even as I put the key into the lock I checked the power on my perimeter wards; they were strong.

I glanced up to make sure the horseshoe was still hanging over it, then quietly opened the door. Just inside, I removed my boots. I could hear Ares growling low in his throat from Beverley's room, so I started whispering his name as I ascended the steps. I opened her door a crack and reached over to his cage. "Good boy," I whispered to him. "It's just me." His tail whipped against the bars as I patted him. "Shhh, don't wake your girl."

Shutting the door, I tiptoed to my room. After undressing, I crawled into bed.

I shouldn't have had sex with Johnny! I knew it.

This was so stupid.

I had to sleep, to get up in a couple hours and be ready for the Eximium. I'd be meeting Elders. I'd be competing. I needed to be at my peak, not rock bottom. The clock said one-forty-eight a.m.

Fluffing the covers, flipping my pillow to the cooler dry side, I rolled over irritably. Thoughts arced through my skull like a plasma-lightning orb, scorching hope and igniting heartache.

By three-thirty, my mind had revisited every high moment of sexual tension, every flirty remark, every shy touch, every kiss, and even the orgasms. I'd analyzed all the postsexual conduct.

Even with my fear factored in, there was no understanding his actions. No logic. I had to chalk it up to male chromosomes, male ego, and—since this seemed to be their big break—a decision to do his best to live up to the rock'n'roll stereotype.

Well, I'd made a decision as well.

I was done with Johnny.

At six a.m., the alarm blared me out of my slumber.

I showered and dressed, towel dried my hair, and sat cross-legged on the floor at the end of my bed. With a silver candle for endurance before me, I took a moment to ground and center. Squeezing a tiger's eye in my receptive left hand, I drew physical energy from the stone. I was going to need some help to get through this day without bottoming out from exhaustion. With tiger's eye and enough coffee, I'd be good.

At six-thirty, I tiptoed from my room. That is, until the light from the kitchen clued me in that being quiet was pointless. Did I go deal with Nana or run out the door and avoid her?

Then I smelled it: she'd made a pot of coffee. My head hung. I'd barely slept; I had to have some.

Slowly, I walked to the kitchen. She sat at the dinette wearing her robe over a flannel gown. The Codex lay open before her. A trio of stubbed-out cigarettes lay in the ashtray like bent and broken little people.

"You're up early," I said.

"Couldn't sleep." Her interest remained on the page as she wrote a line of translation.

I poured a cup of coffee for myself. "Refill?"

"Please."

After filling hers and replacing the pot, I sat across from her with mine. Let her do her worst. I wasn't changing my mind and I had java to back me up if my fatigue made me weak.

"You must have come across something good in there," I said.

"No—well, yes, it's all good, and since I'm up I thought I'd get this wrapped up. The doctor's stopping by this afternoon to go over the translation. But, no," she added, "it wasn't something in here keeping me awake."

I waited.

She was probably going to make me very mad momentarily, then pass the blame onto me with a "you asked" reply, but I walked into her trap regardless. "What is keeping you up, then?"

"My knee."

I hadn't expected that. "You take something for it?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly, still intent on the page before her. "Done me no good."

She sounded frail. Was this a trick? Was she going to try to get me to ditch the Eximium to stay here and take care of her? I scrutinized her face.

Her jaw was set, her mouth a firm narrow line. It wasn't unlike her defiant angry expression, but neither was it the same. Her wrinkles had a new depth. Her bed-messed beehive hair told me she was in enough pain to not care about her appearance. That, and the angle of her shoulders, told me this was real pain.

My Nana was hurting and mere ibuprofen didn't help.

She was old. Eighty-four.

I couldn't make her young again. There was, however, something I could do—with Vivian's money. "How about we remodel the dining room and make it your bedroom? We could put doors on it."

She considered it briefly. "No bath. I'd still have to travel the stairs to bathe."

"We'll add a bath."

She sat her pencil down. "Persephone—"

"It's the right thing to do, Nana. I'll take care of it." Or we'd move. Other than my not wanting to, the downside of moving would include—in all likelihood—a higher mortgage and then dependence on the money Menessos arranged for me by getting my column nationally syndicated. If he decided to «un-arrange» it, we'd be hurting.

For the first time since I entered the kitchen, Nana truly focused on me. She inhaled deeply as she studied me, and when she exhaled, it seemed some of the weight of her pain went with it. "I know you will." She paused. "I've been hard on you. Too hard, maybe. And you always do make things right. You don't stop until they're as they should be." She pulled the cigarette case from her robe pocket. "I need to accept that. You're not your mother."

"What?" My resentment for my mother roused fast, deep and sharp.

"When a situation looks like it's too much to handle, you go meet it head-on. Baseball bat in hand. When things get hard, Persephone, you don't run away." She reached out and took my hand. "You could've slipped out the door without coming in here, knowing I've disagreed with you about this Eximium. Still, you came to face me."

She didn't know that I had run away. I'd fled from Johnny and the Rock Hall like a cat fleeing a junkyard dog.

She said, "You're going to do the right thing today. I know you are."

"Thanks."

"Watch the others, Persephone, the ones around you when you go to the Eximium—and not just the other competitors. Watch the Elders. You are the Lustrata and, like it or not, they will eventually look to you for your service. So watch them, and see who is worthy to have the Lustrata call upon them."