Wicked Circle

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Why does Deric keep him as Advisor?”

Mero shrugged at Menessos’s question. “He plays the devil’s advocate very well. It is better to keep someone who is that bitter and conniving nearby rather than monitor them from afar.” A long moment later, Mero asked, “Now that your people are searching, will you help me rebind the sisters so they pose no threat?”

“I’ll help you,” Menessos said, “but only if we bind them to me—not you.”

“Bound to you?” Mero was so surprised that he was out of his seat before he realized it. He paced away, then back. “Your haven is lost, the power of your people will be transferred to Goliath and you will not have the means to contain these sisters,” Mero argued.

“Liyliy outwitted you, Mero.”

“It was not as bloody as what she did to you, and still you insult me.”

“It is not my intent to insult you, my friend.”

“But you do, and after I have done all I can to minimize the tragedy here.”

“I am grateful for that,” Menessos said, “but I have spoken truly. She stole the necklace from you. I will bind her sisters more thoroughly. . . .” He sighed. “It is no less than I deserve.”

“Deserve? As a penance?”

Menessos said nothing.

“You can’t mean to make them your own? It would make them stronger!”

“Through the connection forged in the blood exchange, a deeper binding could be placed upon them. One that would ensure their loyalty.”

Mero was incredulous. “Their story is sad and you feature in it more than most know, but this . . . error . . . is not your doing. It is mine. If either of us must suffer that solution, it should be me.” A deep breath could not counter the fearful tightening of his chest that the mere idea inspired. “They would have to accept it, and as they loathe you already they would surely not accept such a binding. Their former master tried as much. You know how that ended.” They had read their former master into madness and death. “I stand a better chance of gaining their acceptance.”

“You cannot risk this, Mero. Your son needs you. If you succeeded, Ailo and Talto would require too much of your time, and I apparently will have plenty . . . without the duties of a Quarterlord to perform. Besides, with Liyliy absent, they cannot conduct the kind of reading that the three of them can do together. And . . .”

“And what?” he demanded. He knew Menessos’s expression indicated fast thinking and serious risks. “What are you thinking?”

“When Giovanni is through with them, they will be tired. If you bring them here, one at a time, I can seduce them into the blood exchange. Then . . . the rest is just binding their flesh.” He paused and lowered his voice. “They need not agree.”

Mero sank onto the edge of the bed. “A black binding? Are you mad? Performing it would corrode your soul—”

“Some souls aren’t affected by the black arts.”

“You’ve made mistakes, but you’re no demon.”

The corner of Menessos’s lips curled. “This will work best if done while the sun is risen.”

Connecting the clues, Mero whispered, “A black binding with the sun up means you and the sisters would be dead flesh, making this black necromancy . . . are you saying you have a demon?”

“I do.”

All magic had an element of danger to it. All bindings were to some extent evil. But this . . . magic used on the unwilling was vile and twisted. Moreover, Menessos was shackling them to him forever. As endless as vampires were, committing centuries to each other was not uncommon. Even millennia could be achieved when the bonds of friendship were strong—Seven and Mark were evidence of that. But Ailo and Talto were wicked, and they hated Menessos.

Mero couldn’t allow him to do this. “This is too dangerous.”

Menessos crossed his arms. “Then suggest something better. Something sure to work.”

Mero had nothing better. He stood and paced away.

On paper from the bedside table, Menessos wrote up a list. He then sent for the Offerling who had tended his wounds, and upon her arrival he gave her the paper. “Bring these items as soon as you can. Then we’ll discuss what I want you to do with them.”

Mero watched her leave and marveled that he had not identified her before—the red irises should have been a giveaway, but demons were rare and red contacts were not.

“She is half-human,” Menessos explained. “Her mother did some very bad things. Her father was one of them.”

Flashing a smile at his Maker’s wit, Mero said, “Risqué has the better half on her exterior. She’s beautiful. No tail.”

“She has a tail, a short one. The ruffles disguise it.”

“Do you truly trust her?”

“Yes. Her mother gave her up at birth. I saw to her upbringing, so I trust her implicitly,” Menessos added.

“You taught her magic?”

“Of course. Demon father, witch mother. It was necessary for everyone’s safety.”

“And she is powerful enough to do what you suggest?”

“If I was not certain, I would not allow her to work magic on my corpse.”

Mero was growing weary with the impending dawn before Giovanni released the sisters from his interrogation. There was no time to discuss what Giovanni might have asked them. Mero asked Menessos, “Where might the two shabbubitum secure their rest?”

“Take my bed for the coming day,” Menessos said to Ailo and Talto. He had risen from his bed an hour prior and slipped into silk sleep pants. Although his movements were stiff and slow, his injury was clearly mending. He gestured to the rear chamber. “Here you will have privacy.”

“We are honored by your gesture,” Ailo said and directed her next words at Mero, “but our sister has not returned.”

“She will,” Mero assured them, patting his chest. He gestured her nearer.

“What if she does not appear by first light?” Ailo asked, verging on tears. Behind her, Menessos led Talto into the back chamber.

Work fast, Menessos. Still touching his chest, Mero closed his eyes, as if he were contacting Liyliy in some manner. He maintained it for as long as he dared, murmuring, “Her chase of the Erus Veneficus carried her far away.” He dragged out his act for another minute, then ended it. “She has found a safe haven for the day already. She will rejoin us come nightfall.”

His performance satisfied Ailo, who wandered toward Menessos’s private chamber. “Ah good,” Menessos said as he opened the door. “I was just coming to get you. Your sister said you would want to hear the history of these antiques. . . .”

Mero inched closer. He heard Ailo’s stifled scream as Menessos attacked. He watched as his Maker drank from her. Ailo struggled. She tried to beat at him with her fists, but Menessos restrained her. She tried to transform, but Menessos tapped the ley line and prohibited her. He drank until she was weak enough to comply. Then he Marked her and put her to bed beside her sister.

Minutes later, Menessos created a magic seal on the shut door and, licking his lips, said to Mero, “It is done.” He sauntered toward the seating in the round. “Mark!”

The door opened. “Yes, Boss?”

“Bring two beds to this outer chamber for the Advisor and myself.”

“I’m on it, Boss.”

“And Mark?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“You’ll have to quit calling me Boss.”

Mark stalled. “Yes.”

Menessos opened the door again within minutes for two burly Offerlings. Mero was glad Menessos did not cling to the coffins many vampires preferred. Instead, the men brought in two modern versions of old-fashioned closed beds, the type with bifolding doors to allow access and provide privacy. Narrow enough to fit through the wide doorway, they were each sized for a single occupant to lie comfortably.

As he climbed into the bed, Menessos said, “If you leave your clothes on the floor, you will find them cleaned and pressed upon waking.”

“Wonderful.” Mero undressed. “Are you not nervous?”

“I die easily, Mero. It is the return that I find difficult.”

“Not for the dawn. I meant, aren’t you nervous about the black binding that will be placed upon your body while you are elsewhere?”

Menessos considered it. “No. I trust Risqué. The only unease I feel stems from not knowing where my Erus Veneficus is.”