Wicked Circle

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Twenty-five minutes away from home, I nearly drove into a ditch because I felt Menessos rise. I wasn’t ready for the intensity of the sudden sensations that rocked me, or the awareness of his painful awakening. At least the sentinels Zhan had ordered to follow me in the Audi stayed off my bumper after that.

Twilight had fallen when I put the Avalon in park in my driveway. The guys in the Audi parked alongside me. With everything that had transpired in the last hour and a half—and now that road safety wasn’t a concern—I wanted a few minutes to just shut everything else out and piece together my thoughts.

Yeah, that would’ve been nice, but I wasn’t going to be that lucky.

Before I was even out of the car, the front door opened and Menessos appeared on my front porch. His hair was still shower-damp, and he had not yet donned his suit jacket.

Leaving the duffel in the passenger seat, I got out and shoved my keys into my pocket, thereby rediscovering how much my hands hurt.

I’m tough. If I focus on getting back to the haven and dealing with the shabbubitum, I can break down later. Just not tonight.

As I stepped onto the porch, Menessos said my name softly. He reached out to touch my cheek and asked, “What’s wrong?”

I don’t know why, but when I’m fighting tears, if someone is kind or empathetic I immediately lose the battle. With Menessos being both kind and empathetic, it instantly dissolved the mental plugs crammed into my tear ducts.

I fell into his arms, sobbing. I didn’t care that I seemed weak. I didn’t care that the men in the Audi could see me. I didn’t even care that Menessos would use this to get his way about something someday. I just had to release some of my grief or I’d explode.

The vampire held me so tenderly, smoothing my hair and patiently letting me cry it all out. In his embrace, each breath seemed easier, the flood of tears tapered to a trickle, and the burden on my hurting heart grew lighter.

When I finally stopped, the world was darker. Colder. And his curls were dry.

“Oh, Persephone.”

I met his eyes.

This was his time, the night. This was when the life vampires knew was regained, and his gentle embrace imparted to me a piece of the promise inherent in his preternatural existence: You will carry on.

I accepted that quiet strength. “Thanks.”

He kept one arm around my shoulders, guiding me as he reached for the screen door. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm, shall we?”

In the living room he saw me to the couch, then stood awkwardly nearby as I wiped my cheeks. He said nothing, so I asked, “Where’s Mountain and Ivanka?”

“Still at the ER, I’m afraid. Ivanka is having surgery. Screw, plates, and whatnot.” Seeing my shock and concern, he added, “She will be fine.”

“Zhan?”

“I sent her to lie down.”

He fed from her.

He sat next to me. “I’d offer to make you coffee, but I must confess I do not know how.”

I tried to smile for him. It was a weak and watered-down version. His attempt to express contentedness was much more successful. He stroked my hair and tucked a lock behind my ear. “As an alternative, may I pour you a drink?”

I shook my head. “Not a good time to start drinking.”

“Au contraire.” He gave a little tug on my hair. “I know what you need.”

“Let’s just get to the haven, okay? You drive.” I offered him the keys.

He waved me off. “I don’t drive much.”

I thought back. He’d always been chauffeured in a limo or a cab. Or he walked. “You don’t know how.”

He sat straighter. “I do so.”

My stare remained steady.

“You are simply more experienced,” he said reasonably. “And we have little time.”

Right. Break down later. “Fine.” I stood. “But while I’m behind the wheel you’re not allowed to ask me what happened.”

He stood too. “I did not intend to ask, dear master. You may tell me when you want me to know. Or not.”

On I-71, I set the cruise control at a modest seventy-two miles per hour.

Menessos busily sent and received messages on his satellite phone. He seemed calm, but I didn’t recall any other time when he’d been so enamored with messaging. I wasn’t surprised he had things to take care of, but I wondered why he didn’t just make calls. Then it hit me: I had already shown him I’d been pushed to the edge of breaking down. Whatever he didn’t want me to overhear must have been info that would have added to my anxiety.

My line of reasoning added to it anyway. My stomach was in knots by the time he was finally finished texting. Directing my thoughts away from the mind-rape he was going to endure, I said, “So. Who was the creepy dude you sent to the house?”

He fidgeted but didn’t answer.

“Menessos.” My firm tone had some effect, but not the kind that won me an answer.

“What did you think of him?”

After being too stubborn to answer, his question was far too casual. “What part of ‘creepy’ didn’t convey what I thought of him?”

Menessos gave a short laugh. “Well, I was hoping you might go into detail.”

“Funny, I was hoping the same thing.”

We sat in silence while two mile markers passed.

I broke. “At least give me a name.”

“Creepy is more fitting than you know.”

“Then what is he? He freaking dematerialized himself.”

“Really? That’s quite interesting.”

My voice was low and my lips hardly moved as I said, “Menessos.”

He shivered. “Zhan told me what he did to the dragon, and how Ivanka’s arm was broken.”

“Yeah, and your note said you would send help. Ivanka could have avoided her injury if the person you chose to send possessed less apparent stalkerishness and more tact.” I waited for him to offer something. He didn’t.

Johnny’s attack had just royally screwed up my ability to trust him, and now Menessos was withholding important information. So my next tactic was a low blow. “Well, at least the shabbubitum will figure out what the big secret about this is. I hope I get to hear it from them.”

“Persephone.”

Apprehension sucked. Anger felt much better, so I went with it. “Drop the difficult act and tell me who the creep you sent to my house was!”

“I cannot.”

“You mean will not.”

“No. I cannot.”

“Riiight.” I could justify my antagonism because it felt like it was accomplishing something, which I preferred to the sedentary and stagnant nature of worrying.

“I know in my heart who he is, and yet his name evades me. He’s bound me against it. My tongue cannot speak his name, my hand cannot write it, and I daresay even the shabbubitum will not be able to draw it out of me, as I cannot even think it. Though they would surely find great pleasure in the pain I would suffer as they tried.” He paused. “I cannot even describe him. I would doubt my sanity if not for my certainty that he bound me against this knowledge. Can you even imagine it, Persephone?”

That was a seriously intense kind of binding, but then Creepy had displayed great wizardry skill. He’d even teleported himself from one end of my house to the other. “Wait a minute. This guy put a binding upon you, my dear vampire? I don’t think I believe that. I’d have noticed something.”

“The binding was placed during my awakening this evening.”

“Oh.” I had almost put the car into a ditch. “Okay, I did feel that, but are you saying you don’t object to some weirdo binding you from telling me his name as he offers to help?”

“I thought the assistance of strangers equaled some assurance of their quality.”

“Maybe for a random stranger. Someone you send isn’t in the same category. And what about the spiel you preached at me over not binding ourselves to those with higher rank or not of our own kind? This creep is sooo not a vampire.”

“This is an exception to that rule.”

“Menessos.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a second or two. “Must you know the name of everyone who offers you aid?”

I considered it and groaned exasperatedly. “No. I understand he has some reason to hide his identity, but that doesn’t inspire my trust.”

“People trusted Superman without knowing his true identity.”

Stunned, I stared at him, then broke away only because I could tell the Avalon was drifting into the adjacent lane. “One, I can’t believe you just referenced a comic book superhero. Two, that was fiction. And three, Superman earned the trust of those who witnessed his actions. Creepy’s actions included trespassing, personal assault, and the poisoning of my pet.”

“Ivanka will heal, and the protection I sought for you and your property was granted in the conversion of the dragon. Besides, my note said I was getting help. Since I sent him and told you, the claim of trespassing is excessive.”

I ground my teeth. “Strangers on my property, crossing my wards without invoking them, can expect to be considered enemies. Even if they drop your name.”

“Under normal circumstances, a wise approach, but our circumstances are far from normal. And speaking of the unusual, you did bring your broom tonight?”

“It’s in the trunk.” My fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel, and more grinding of teeth ensued. He wasn’t able to give up answers, so he was opting for a subject change. But I wasn’t giving up. Maybe I could pry some clues out of him. “Maybe, as the Lustrata, I should be greatly offended by this binding upon my Offerling. I’ll work on severing it ASAP.”

“Unnecessary.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He gently stroked my arm. “Persephone. Do not attempt to sever this binding.”

Thinking of what I’d done in my meditation world, I felt confident I could find a way to disengage the binding, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to visit either Menessos’s or Creepy’s meditation worlds. “Don’t worry. I’m experienced at removing binding spells.”

“I don’t doubt you. I just want you to leave it alone.”

“Oh, well, that’s different,” I said sarcastically. “He said he could help me more than I could imagine. With your endorsement, I guess next time I’ll just ask Mr. Exception-to-the-Rule to move in and set up shop.”

“Persephone!” he said exasperatedly.

His power tingled through me, but inside I gave a little cheer.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I presently have need of aid as well,” Menessos grumbled. His expression was that of a gambler suckered into a game of Russian roulette. “Assistance of his caliber comes with a price. That binding was part of the terms.”

My inner cheer turned into an aggravated scream. Anyone who was willing to help Menessos in exchange for keeping their real identity a secret from me was someone whose help I had to be wary of. I knew Menessos was desperate . . . but what had he done, and what would it cost us?