Wicked Circle

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

We weren’t too far from home when I called my best friend since college, Celia. She was caring for my foster daughter, Beverley, while I attended my mother in Pittsburgh. After perfunctory greetings, a brief catch-up on what Beverley was doing in school, and my reiteration of how much I appreciated Celia stepping in and stepping up so the kiddo could keep her schedule mostly normal, I spilled the reason for my call. “I wanted you to know I’m back a few days early, but that Beverley should continue to stay with you until next week like we’d planned.”

“What’s happening now?” she asked drily.

“Menessos. Johnny. Lustrata stuff.”

“The usual.”

“Yeah.”

“I have no problem with her staying. We’ve been working on the science project and I’d like to finish it with her anyway.”

In the background I heard, “That’s Seph? Can I talk to her?”

“Is that Beverley?” I checked the clock; it was only one fifteen. School wasn’t out yet.

“Yes.” Celia was quiet.

“And?”

“I wanted to hear what was up with you before telling you this. I picked her up from school today. She, uh . . .”

I heard Beverley say, “Let me tell her, please, please?”

“I’ll let her tell you. But don’t freak out, okay? Everything’s fine.”

That was a terrible thing to say. I was freaking out.

There was a rustling static, then Beverley’s voice filled my ear. “Hi, Seph! Guess what?”

“What?”

“I fell off the merry-go-round and broke my arm! At the emergency room they let me see the X-ray and everything.”

“Oh my gosh! You have a cast?”

“Yeah. You’ll sign it, won’t you?”

She sounded like it was no big deal. I relaxed some. “Sure. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, but they gave me some medicine for that.”

I spent a few minutes listening as she told me how that morning the whole class had aced their spelling test so the teacher gave them an extra fifteen-minute recess and then Bobby, the boy in her class who she had a crush on, got the merry-go-round going faster than ever before and she got so dizzy she thought she was going to throw up and when she tried to get off so she didn’t “get yucky stuff on the other kids,” she fell.

Finally she gave the phone back to Celia. “Is it bad?” I asked.

“No. It’s actually just a crack, but technically still a fracture.” She snorted into the phone and added in a whisper, “The worst of it is her mouth is running like a race car.”

Relief washed over me and I fully relaxed into my seat, aware only then of how rigid I’d become. “The school called you?”

“Yeah. They couldn’t get an answer on your house phone. I’m listed as your backup. The bones weren’t displaced or anything, but they knew she was hurt by the amount of pain she was having. They said she needed to be checked out, so I took her. The hospital accepted that temporary guardian form you left. They asked about insurance but happily accepted the credit card you gave me for emergencies—guess this really was one.”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with it. Did you have to cancel client appointments?” Celia was a Realtor. The market wasn’t doing so well lately, so I hoped this hadn’t cost her a sale or anything.

“Oh, no! Not at all. It got me out of phone duty at the office.”

In the background I heard Beverley say, “I’m hungry.”

An idea hit me. “Hey, why don’t you two meet me at the house. I’ll fix lunch. I’d like to see her for a little while—and you, of course.” I didn’t have time for it, but I’d make time. I wanted to see Beverley.

“Is that okay? No danger?”

“The danger isn’t supposed to roll in until tonight.” What if something happened to me? Who would Beverley go to? I was her legal guardian, but I hadn’t adopted her. She’d go into the system . . . though I was sure Celia and Erik would step up, I should talk to them about it. Another detail to fret over.

“Good to know,” Celia said. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay?”

“Perfect.” I hung up and told Ivanka, “Pull in at the gas station ahead.” I hadn’t been home in about a week and hadn’t meant to be gone this long. Any bread that remained at the house wouldn’t be good for sandwiches now.

Celia and Beverley arrived just as we did.

I saw no sign of the perimeter guards, so they were still camouflaged well. The sentinels also made themselves scarce, and my friend and I set about making sandwiches while Beverley sat at the table with her vocabulary book out. Celia had suggested she do a little homework so she didn’t get behind. I knew it was an attempt to keep the motormouth to a minimum.

Dressed as impeccably fashionably as always, Celia tucked her blond hair behind her ears and rolled up her cashmere sleeves, then opened the bread. “I know Theo helped you find the tattoo parlor owned by your mother, and what happened after you arrived in Pittsburgh, but how did you know to hunt for ‘Arcanum’?” She dropped two slices into the toaster.

“Great El’s slate.”

“That Ouija board type thing in your closet?”

“Yeah.” I dropped the bologna into the frying pan, where it sizzled and a delicious aroma wafted up.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Celia said, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter.

“What?”

“Former vegetarian eating fried bologna.”

I shrugged. “It’s good.”

Celia gave me a sly, sidelong glance. “Talking to ghosts on that slate led you to your mother. And a half brother you didn’t know existed. Ever think of searching for your father?”

It wasn’t exactly ghosts, so I skipped that part and addressed the question. “Like I don’t have enough going on already?” She didn’t even know the half of it.

“Yeah, what am I thinking? You never take on more than you can manage.”

“Just so you know, when I used the slate, I focused it through Johnny. I wasn’t after a personal goal. I was after his goal, so I had some distance.” I flipped the bologna over. “With my father, all I have are my feelings about who I’d like him to be. My lack of objectivity would muddy up the magic, maybe even seek someone who fit the bill of what I wanted him to be and not actually find him. I do have some more photos now.”

Celia was adding mayonnaise to the toast. “Wouldn’t an image be enough?”

“It would be stronger with at least one concrete fact to link it with.”

“Your mom has to remember his name.”

Under the Father section of my birth certificate was typed UNKNOWN in all capitals to make it glaringly evident I was an illegitimate child. That wasn’t a question I intended to ask Eris. She was already so possessive of me that if she thought she might have to share, she’d “forget” his name anyway.

From my dining room desk I retrieved the photo album Lance had so rudely provided. I opened it as I returned to the kitchen. In the first clear sleeve was a copy of the picture I already had of my father, only in this one, the side with my mother hadn’t been ripped off. She looked so young. . . .

My father’s Egyptian heritage was evident in his dark skin, black hair, and bright brown eyes. Sometimes I thought that was a happy gleam; other times I thought it was mysterious, dangerous. He had high cheekbones, and the elevated tilt of his chin suggested cultured sophistication. It was an enigma, his expression—about to erupt in joyous laughter or tumble into fury. I rubbed my finger over the amulet of Anubis he wore.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to find him. Here.” I offered the little book to Celia. “Little brother gave me this.”

Celia put the knife down, dropped more bread in the toaster, then took the book.

I plucked the toast away from her and put the bologna onto it, cut it in half and delivered the sandwich to Beverley, who promptly put her schoolbook away.

After assembling the last sandwich, I poured us all some milk and moved everything—including a black marker—to the dinette. “May I?” I asked the kiddo.

She grinned and pushed the purple cast toward me. I signed Seph on it and drew a stick-figure unicorn.

“Awesome!” Beverley drank, intent on the barns. I knew she was hoping for a glimpse of Errol, a young unicorn she’d had the privilege of riding a few times.

It set me at ease to know that she was more concerned about seeing him than about the thick purple cast wrapped around her little arm.

My satellite phone rang. I jerked it from my pocket. The screen showed the call was from Nana. “Hello?”

“Johnny’s picture is plastered on every news channel.”

“Yeah. The new Rege confirmed him last night.”

“Is that why you left?”

“No, I didn’t know about that until I arrived.”

“They say there will be a press conference at three o’clock tomorrow at the Cleveland Trust Bank.”

“That’s news to me.”

“Well, that prissy reporter just announced it.”

“I believe you, Nana. I just didn’t know.”

Beverley spun from the window. “That’s Demeter? Lemme tell her about my arm!”

I passed the phone to the kiddo. While Beverley recounted her tale, I brushed bread crumbs from the counter into a paper towel, then threw it away. I put the mayo in the refrigerator and switched the bread to the other end of the counter.

Beverley shifted the satellite phone into the crook of her neck and examined her purple cast, running her fingers over my name as she told Nana that I’d drawn a little unicorn for her. Then Beverley’s words tapered off midsentence. She lowered her cast. “Hold on, Demeter.” She put the phone to her chest and twisted toward me. “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing out the window.

I checked, expecting to see one of the perimeter guards on patrol. What I saw was a thin figure that had just emerged from the cornfield. The person was wearing a long black robe and the hood was up, hiding his or her features.

“Zhan!”

Ivanka appeared in the doorway. “Zhan showering. How may I serve?”

“Are the perimeter guards wearing black cloaks?”

“No. Camouflage.”

“Then who’s that?” I pointed.

Inspecting, Ivanka checked outside the window. “Hide yourselves,” she said and then raced through the house, galloping up the staircase.

Hijacking the phone from Beverley, I said quickly, “Call you back soon, Nana. Bye.” I ended the call and immediately hit the direct dial number for Mountain before grasping Beverley by her unbroken arm. “C’mon.”

Celia was peering out the window. “I thought you said the bad guys wouldn’t get here until tonight?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“What do we do?”

“You get to your car and get yourself and Beverley out of here.” I checked again and the figure had traveled only a few deliberate paces into my yard. Slow is good.

Celia snatched her purse. I pulled Beverley from the seat; she dragged her book bag with her. “You gotta move fast, kiddo. Like in a fire drill.” I led her toward the front door, where I yanked her coat off the peg and carried it with us rather than pause to have her put it on.

“What about you?” Beverley cried.

Mountain finally answered his phone. “What’s up?”

“Someone’s in the backyard,” I said, hating the panic in my voice. “The perimeter guards don’t appear to be doing anything about it.”

“On my way.”

I hung up. “I can take care of this, but you need to go,” I said, wanting both Beverley and Celia to believe me. “You have to be safe.” I hugged Beverley quickly and shuffled out the door with her. I saw them to the CX-7, made sure no one was hiding inside and hurried back to the porch. Celia’s tires threw gravel as she backed out of the driveway.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and hauled me into the house. “Stay shielded,” Ivanka scolded. The engine roared as the CX-7 rocketed up the road. I twisted out of the sentinel’s viselike grip and ran for the kitchen, noting that Zhan was descending the stairs with wet hair.

The robed figure was about two-thirds of the way up my yard now. Bad thing was, whoever it was had decided to go around the west side of the house—increasing the distance Mountain would have to travel to intercept.

Then it hit me: The doors to the cellar were on the west side. The only way to get to Menessos’s secret hiding spot was through the cellar.

Mine to protect.

Though Mountain was on his way, for all the brute size he possessed, running was not an option for him.

Because there was no window in the pantry, I had no view of the cellar entrance from inside the house. I scurried through Nana’s new bedroom to the bath we’d added and climbed onto her sink, peering out the transom window that capped her mirror. I still wasn’t able to see the metal door.

But I might be able to see someone standing there opening it.

I pressed my nose to the glass.

Don’t open the cellar doors. Don’t be after Menessos.

The robed trespasser stepped into sight. Closer, I could see by the way the robe lay flat against the figure’s chest that this person was male.

Not shabbubitum. Menessos specifically said they were sisters.

I scolded myself for having thought it might be one of the shabbubitum.

Menessos said they were vampires. They’d be dead now anyway.

The path the robed man chose led him around the house. Though relieved, I left the window and clambered into the tub. On tiptoe to see out the window, I hoped the guy wouldn’t see me. As he rounded the corner, keeping close to the house, he idly stroked the wall where I stood.

I shuddered, feeling about as violated as I would have felt if he’d touched me. My fear shrank away and anger swelled to fill the void.

Pushing past Ivanka, I hurried through the bedroom and into the living room, my gait faltering as the intruder made his unhurried way past my picture window.

Zhan, her hair wet and dressed in a short silk bathrobe, was positioned between me and the door. Ivanka was occupying a spot right at the door, but out of sight. I stood there stupefied at how my heart was racing.

Maybe it’s just some freak with a leftover Hallowe’en costume. No. Some simple freak with a costume wouldn’t get past the perimeter guards.

Additionally, I had wards. Wards that would keep most people away from the house. Wards I’d been warned to amp up—advice I’d foolishly put off for Johnny’s task and my impromptu lunch date.

A shadow fell across the glass of my door.

I held my breath.

And my doorbell rang.