Vicious Circle

Chapter 19

For further protection, Nana placed empowered sage in each window, with a sprinkling of salt on the sills. She even had Johnny hammer two nails into the wall above my front door and then wired my broom to the nails. For my part, I moved Vivian’s 40 Winks bottle and my baseball bat to the corner closest to the front door.

Beverley wanted to sit with Theo, so she was taking my turn for a while. This was a good thing, because I was too anxious to sit still. I showered and debated over what to wear for the ritual. I sifted through my closet for several minutes, searching. My first thought was to dress formally, to show respect for the religious ceremony I was about to lead. The more the thought rolled around inside my head, however, I realized that would be furthering a witchy stereotype. So, since I didn’t have any flowing and billowing gowns or hooded capes, and since I didn’t need to impress the attendees with such things anyway, I chose clothing that would simply be comfortable: faded old jeans, sneakers, and, for fun, a girly black T-shirt with the Superman symbol on it in blood red. If they wanted to think of me as the Lustrata, then I could wear a hero’s pentagonal symbol to the ritual.

Still filled with nervous energy, I decided to run the sweeper. The floor didn’t need it, but I had to do something. That’s what I was doing when the sun slipped under the horizon. I felt it go, felt its protection leave me, felt the threat of vampires waking up. My imagination, to be sure, but my stress level rose again nonetheless.

After putting the sweeper away, wiping out the sink in the bathroom, and making sure there were clean towels, I was going to check on Theo when, from the living room, I heard Celia ask Nana, “Demeter, would you tell me about the author of that book? I’m curious about her story and the wære she loved.”

There was a pause; then I heard Nana say, “Come. Sit.” I couldn’t see her expression, but it didn’t sound like she was being derogatory. I sat on the top step and listened.

“This story is in this book along with the spells, but I learned it long ago…. At the dawn of civilization, in Uruk, one of the most ancient of cities, the high priestess Una performed her sacred duties with great devotion and was favored by the goddess Ishtar.”

Nana was obviously reciting from memory more than telling the story in her own words.

“One day a foreign magician, Ezreniel, came to Uruk. He served a god previously unknown to its people. A man of great physical stature, strong of eye and voice, he came to the high priestess and she looked upon him with pleasure.

“But Ezreniel insisted the strange and solitary god he worshipped was the only god and that Una must forsake her goddess and all gods. It was customary to honor the gods of other lands, but to insist she reject her own was beyond toleration.

“Una refused to allow Ezreniel further access to her person.

“Ezreniel, however, was not so easily deterred. He bribed his way into the temple where Una lived and served. There, in secret, he watched her. Like his god, he was of an intemperate and jealous nature. He was angered that Una looked upon other men with the favor he had been denied.

“One night when two priests, both her lovers, came to Una, Ezreniel could contain himself no longer. He burst into her chambers, where the three were engaged in full and intimate worship of Ishtar. Both men leapt to defend and protect Una, but they were no match for Ezreniel. One he beat back until the man lay broken and bloody on the floor, whimpering like a starving street mongrel. The other he held in his crushing grasp. Unable to wrench his arms free, the man bit at Ezreniel’s neck, drawing blood before he, too, was cast aside, limp and unconscious.

“Una came to the aid of her lovers as they battled and, with a desperate prayer to Ishtar, she plunged a dagger deep into Ezreniel’s chest.

“For an instant he stilled. Then he looked at his hands—covered with the blood of both men—and laughed. Stunned, unable to move, Una watched as he pulled the dagger from his chest and, wiping it across his palm, cleaned his own blood from its blade. Rubbing his hands together, he mixed the three bloods together, chanting in his foreign tongue.

“He flung his right hand outward at the first man, splattering the red fluid on his brow, saying, ‘I curse thee by the sun.’ He thrust his left hand at the second man. Drops of blood splashed across the man’s chest. ‘I curse thee by the moon.’ He turned to Una, lurched forward, and grabbed her face in his hands. ‘And I curse thee for loving them both and thereby sealing your doom.’

“Ezreniel then collapsed, smearing blood down Una’s face and naked body, saying, ‘The curse of three, sealed by me, by my blood and by my death. The curse of three, sealed by me, the reward of my last breath.’

“In that moment, as the curse was realized, lightning struck the temple, shattering it into falling shards of mud-brick. And although none could know at the time, the fate of the world changed. Ezreniel’s god would gain power and wield it. Ishtar, her temple in ruins and her beloved priestess—”

“There’s a group pulling into the drive,” Erik interrupted. I hadn’t known he was listening too but as I moved down the steps, I realized he had been standing near the opening to the dining room and had a clear view out the front window.

I hurried to the front door and saw an entourage flowing into my driveway. A limousine that—despite the fading light—I’d have guessed to be silver, escorted by four motorcycles, two each at the front and the rear. The motorcyclists cut their engines and put down kickstands, but none removed their helmets or got off their bikes. The limousine’s far rear door opened, and Goliath slid out. His pale hair shimmered; he shot a look toward the house and grinned. The driver, in a neat black suit and cap, jumped out and hurried back to open the door on the near side of the limo. The man who emerged very literally stole my breath.

Longish wavy hair, the color of shelled walnuts, fell around his square face with careless perfection. His beard, trimmed thin on the sides, accented every angle, and he wore it a bit thicker on his pointed chin to balance the squareness of his jaw. A narrow nose above thin lips added to the austere quality of his face. Broad shoulders and a tailored suit enhanced his lean, masculine image.

I was speechless as he approached. But for the modern clothes, he was my Arthur, exactly as I had dreamed him for all the years I’d been enthralled with Camelot.

Closer now, I could see that his eyes—stern and gray like cold, cold steel—were eyes that had seen more horror than happiness. His shirt, open to the fourth button, showed the curve of a muscular chest. As my attention returned to his extraordinary face, I realized he’d seen me counting the open buttonholes. It seemed to please him.

“Persephone Alcmedi.” I expected his voice to have an exotic accent when he spoke, but he said my name without any telltale inflections. He even got the pronunciation right.

“Menessos.” Saying his name forced me to remember he was a vampire, not Arthur.

He made a show of appraising the area. “What a…rural…place you have here.” I wasn’t certain if he was insulting the simplicity of my location and my unpaved driveway or if he was just pointing out that there was no one around for miles to hear our screaming.

I smiled agreeably. “My little piece of the planet.”

With his posture and stance set for intimidating perfection, he said, “You will surrender Vivian Diamond, the book, and the weapon. Do not make yourself a part of our quarrels. Relinquish them now and I give you my solemn word, I will leave you in peace.”

How much was the word of a vampire worth? Less than any other hustler’s word, as far as I was concerned. My expression didn’t feel as hard as I wanted it to be, and I glanced away as I changed it. Goliath, who’d obviously seen me ogling his master, was smirking at me. “I absolutely do not want to interfere in your quarrel—” I began.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” Goliath snickered.

“But”—I glared at him—“I need the book.” I didn’t want to call it the Codex. It might make a difference if he knew that I knew what it was. “At least temporarily.”

Menessos sauntered forward until he was only a few feet away, just beyond my porch rail and at the edge of my ward. His expression said clearly that he found my refusal as utterly predictable as Goliath did. “That book does not belong to you.”

“I know. And I will give it to you, but first I have to undo the damage Goliath caused my friend.”

Menessos squinted. “What do you mean?”

There was no reason I could see not to tell him, so I did. “I’m going to perform a ritual from the book to save her life.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Which ritual?”

“Enhancing moonlight with elemental energy. A complete transformation is the only thing that can save Theo’s life right now. She won’t last until the full moon.”

He considered it. “I know this ritual…are you witch enough to succeed?”

Convincing him was a basic safety requirement, like a hard hat at a construction site, but his challenge to my witchhood was a blow that sent my metaphorical hard hat rolling. Am I witch enough?

Smart-ass comebacks came to me easily, but telling others what I truly thought of myself—and that was what Menessos was really asking—was much harder. Maybe I didn’t think that much of myself. Maybe that was why the whole Lustrata thing made me uneasy.

I hoped Menessos didn’t see the frailty I suddenly felt. I mustered the sound of confidence and firmly said, “We’re going to find out.”

Luckily, that seemed to satisfy him. “I will take you at your word, Persephone. I think we can wait to claim the book in a peaceful manner when you are through.”

“We can’t start until at least three-thirty A.M., when the moon shines through the skylights of her room. We can’t risk moving her.”

He checked his watch and then the sky. I noted his profile. “I’ve heard much about—” He was assessing me and stopped, his eyes lingering on the Superman symbol on my chest. Or maybe he was just staring at my chest because I’d stared at his. He shifted. “You. We will wait, because it is a rare thing for a person to astonish me,” Menessos said. “Very rare.”

“And anyone who does finds themselves on the endangered list, right?”

“Yes,” he answered, expression flat. “But you possess a unique potential. You could leap onto my short list of allies.”

I smiled. “Not sure I want to be in that kind of company.”

He smiled too, a smile as without mirth as my own.

Goliath, who stood flanking his master, glared past me to Johnny. “It’s better than the company you currently keep,” he snarled.

Johnny sneered. I didn’t see it, but I knew it was there by the deep growl I heard. “At least my friends aren’t limited to dark hours.”

“Enough!” Menessos said, surging forward despite my wards and gripping the railing. I could feel the alarms prickling my skin, and my head throbbed like the siren was inside my skull. “Do not threaten me, witch,” he spat. His eyes had gone black and pitiless like a shark’s. “Waiting for you is a courtesy I extend because it amuses me that you would attempt to conduct a ritual from my book. But have no doubt that, should I change my mind—and you’re teetering on the disrespectful edge of forcing me to action right now—I will come into your house despite your paltry wards, the presence of the stake, and your jumentous friends…and I will bring with me destruction such as you have never known.”

I blinked stupidly. Eloquent intimidation has that effect on me.

“I’m hungry,” Menessos muttered as he turned and walked away. “You!” he called to one of the motorcyclists. “What is your name? Vance, is it?”

One of the beholders stepped away from his bike and removed his helmet. “I’m Vinny.”

“Vincent, then. Lower the collar of your jacket.”

The beholder immediately exposed his neck. “How long’s this pain gonna last?”

Menessos didn’t answer, but took a position behind the man and prepared to do what vampires do.

Confused by the beholder’s words, I turned away. “Back to the kitchen,” I said, mostly to Beverley. “We don’t need to see this.”