Shattered Circle

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

I pulled away from Aidon’s kiss, breathless and content. Well, mostly content. I wanted him to touch me more. I wanted him to take my clothes off and make love to me while this magic fire burned around us. Yet even though my body was all need and desire, my mind . . . or perhaps my heart . . . was clouded with confusion. Being with Aidon felt so good, but, at the same time, there was something not “right” about it.

Out of nowhere, an old woman burst through the flames. She sliced the flaming curtain with a single stroke of a huge sickle and let the momentum of the blade draw her toward us, swinging the blade up for another strike.

Instinctively, I dived off the dais, sliding across the floor and rolling, coming up on my knees. The long, gauzy dress impeded my ability to stand and I stumbled, stepping on the skirt and hearing the fabric rip.

Beside me, Aidon rose to meet the threat. He twisted to the side, and the blade missed his chest by a hairbreadth even as his hands rose to snatch hold of the weapon’s long handle.

He laughed at the old woman. “Hecate’s scythe in the hands of a mortal?”

The old woman’s face was set in determination. “Persephone, come with me now!”

She was looking at me. “Who are you?”

Her focus shot back to Aidon. “You cannot have my granddaughter.”

He jerked the handle, pulling her forward and off balance. She cried out in pain. Aidon leaned down until his nose was practically pressed against hers.

As he spoke, I saw a man with dark wavy hair and thick markings around his eyes appear behind the old woman. Aidon couldn’t have seen him or have known that the man gripped the end of the handle. But the old woman knew.

Aidon growled, “I don’t need your blessing, you old hag, and I don’t want your consent.”

“Or, apparently, Persephone’s, you immortal ass.”

• • •

Squinting into the intense light, Johnny could barely see the action unfolding within it, but was determined to watch every moment, even if it blinded him.

He saw Persephone retreat as Demeter wielded the scythe. He saw the man rise and foil her effort. He saw the older woman, despite her resolve, about to fail. Knowing damn well he was shattering the circle, Johnny maneuvered Lydia away from his body and onto the floor, breaking the conduit of ley energy running through him. He knew this was a bad thing to do, and he hoped the remaining witches could reforge the circle around him—they were a High Priestess and an Elder, after all—but he simply could not risk doing nothing.

He shoved the ley energy to either side, ramming it into Hunter and Vilna. The force of it made them both stagger a step.

Free of the circuitous energy, Johnny stepped forward into the light. In that split second, he bent and grasped the lower end of the scythe. Twisting it to angle the blade into a horizontal position behind the man, he yanked with all his might.

The scythe carved deep into the man’s back.

Red screamed. Demeter stumbled and fell to the side. He tried to catch her but couldn’t. The man was pitching toward him, across a wide lounge seat.

Behind the man, Red was racing forward, her expression full of confusion and concern. . . .

Concern for the fallen man?

Suddenly, Johnny was suffering the consequences of his actions. Waves of energy coursed through him. Feeling like he had shoved his finger into a light socket, he lurched backward and fell, half in and half out of the lighted core of the circle. All the air was propelled from his lungs by the brusque landing; he fought for the breath to scream, but even as he did, the cry shifted into a howl. Fur sprouted across his body only to retract and sprout again, retract and sprout, until his skin was raw. He writhed and convulsed, unable to escape the clutches of this power riding him.

Stupid thing to do. Stupid. Stupid.

Vilna-Daluca stood over the part of him that was out of the light. She was shouting mightily. Though his vision altered repeatedly from the transformations, he saw Vilna transfer her orb and candle to Demeter, who was sitting on the floor. Pain was evident in Demeter’s expression.

Did I fuck everything up? Oh, Red. I’m so sorry.

The next thing he knew Vilna was sitting on his stomach with one hand on his chest and one raised over her head—the lifted hand flickered and gave off lighted shards like an Independence Day sparkler.

For interminable minutes, she pulled power out of him, discharging it into the circle as Demeter and Hunter channeled it back into the ley. When finally the bright inner circle had faded and only the normal realm of the farmhouse kitchen remained, his transformations ceased. He lay with his eyes shut and listened as the witches shut down the connection to the ley line and took up the circle.

When it was done he lay still panting and not moving. Hunter helped the old witch climb off him and stand. When Vilna had her feet under her, Hunter kept hold of her arm and moved her away from him toward a chair. Vilna paused.

“You okay, Vil?” Hunter asked.

“Yes,” the old witch grumbled, then she kicked Johnny in the ribs.

“Ow!”

Hunter dragged Vilna away from him.

“Serves you right,” she called back. “You know better than to break a circle! And a circle drawing on the ley, no less. Fool! You could have killed us all!”

Johnny tried to sit up, and decided leaning on one elbow made breathing easier. Vilna settled into a dining room chair where she could still see him.

“You may be the Domn Lup,” she grumbled, “but when there’s magic being done, you damn well better respect those who are working it! It may seem like a flick of the wrist and a twitch of the wand, but that’s the exterior. Calling the power, holding the power, shaping it and releasing it safely, properly, and with the right focus and direction takes skill. Takes energy. And the kind of power that is called up from a ley—hell, boy. You don’t want to take the chance on loosing that kind of power.”

She paused to breathe deep, and in that moment of silence heard a cough from behind him near the sink. Remembering Lydia and Demeter were both down, he rolled onto his other side.

Lydia lay unconscious to the left.

Demeter was on the right, scooting herself along the floor . . . to where Persephone lay, throwing up.