Wicked Circle

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I carried the scroll, a roll of thick parchment sealed in its coil by a fat daub of scarlet wax, which was embossed with a seal: an E with a single fang stabbing through the uppermost horizontal line. I offered it to Menessos.

He accepted it without averting his attention from the advisor. He certainly had perfected every aspect of the mien of a haven master: command and carriage, the promise of power, and the threat of his wrath.

Goliath, on Menessos’s right, sat silent and still but nonetheless exuded intimidation. I could feel the rage vibrating in his aura, and see the rigidity of muscles tense and ready to spring upon prey. It was Goliath being a perfect Alter Imperator, but it also had a quality that, just then, reminded me of Johnny.

The predator within wants out.

As I sat again, I heard the wax seal crack as Menessos broke it. He sniffed as the page unrolled. The writing, what I could see of it, was in a beautiful script, in a language unfamiliar to me, and the author had used a red-brown ink. I understood why the vampire had scented the page. It’s written in blood.

Menessos handed the scroll to Goliath, who stood and read aloud, translating.

By order of the Excelsior, the vampire Menessos, Quarterlord of the Northeastern United States, is hereby required to submit to the shabbubitum for a truth-reading, that it may be determined if this Master Vampire has been bound not simply to his Erus Veneficus, but . . .

There, Goliath faltered. He faced me with all the vehemence and hatred he could express.

“Read on, Goliath,” Menessos said gently.

“Master?”

“Read on.”

. . . that it may be determined if this Master Vampire has been bound not simply to his Erus Veneficus but by her.

Audible gasps were heard. A giggle emanated from one of the three women that had accompanied this Meroveus Franciscus. Introductions weren’t necessary; I could guess who they were.

“Let the shabbubitum ascend the stage,” Menessos said.

The three women strode up the ramp with all the pomp and circumstance they had, and they had a lot. Every eye in the room was on them as they strutted in perfect unison. Their similarly styled dresses of gray silk flowed like quicksilver as they moved. Either this trio was as well rehearsed as any Top-40 girl group, or they were just naturally ethereal.

Halfway up the ramp, their gowns became mist. Pieces fluttered away to form globes around every light. What was bright grew dim; what was already dim lost all illumination. The formal court ambience of the room disintegrated.

As the stage fell into murky shadows, the women’s clothes re-formed. Their chins lowered, warriors marching into battle, mouths opened to show threatening, bared teeth, and dark eyes glittering with the promise of bloodshed.

By the time they reached the stage, the front-most of them was dressed to kill—if she’d been going to the Dragonslayer’s Ball, that is. Her tight leather jacket was darkest gray and had spikes protruding from the outer forearms. Her pants were poured-on leather, and her heeled boots had silver embellishments on the shins, like owl heads with their wings wrapping around the back of the boot. It was beautiful, except for the fact that the owls’ hooked beaks protruded as spikes. Chains draped the top of her foot and ankles, securing spurs shaped to mimic very pointy owl talons.

The pair behind were attired much the same.

Mero asked Menessos, “Do you willingly submit to this as your Excelsior commands you, Quarterlord?”

For a tense moment, Menessos said nothing.

The air in the haven was too thick to breathe. His people were here, on edge with the dramatics, and ready to act should he give the word. I had no doubt that they would all fight for him and attack a vampire wizard without showing any fear.

He would never ask that of them.

I wanted him to run. But I knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

This had to be done.

“That is,” Menessos finally said, “exactly how I wanted it to be.” He stood and stepped off the dais, setting his feet upon the newly inlaid circle, a pattern of yellow sphene, bright green emerald and the blue-purple tones of fluorite. It was lit from beneath, and the glow brightened as he spread his arms wide. I was sure Creepy’s advice had something to do with this newly added embellishment.

“I am ashamed of nothing,” he said. “Come, Liyliy, cursed daughter of a foolish father. Bring your sisters and your vengeance, and let this be done.”

A voice lifted from the back of the hall and cried, “Wait!”