Linda Robertson - Shattered Circle

Talto was subdued again, and she felt as if she was the one who’d been struck.

Then Menessos drank of her.

It weakened her as much as it strengthened him. Her world became hazy, her knees weakened. She heard Ailo beg for mercy. She heard Ailo say she’d helped Menessos again.

Though someone held a compress to her neck, darkness swirled at the edges of her vision. She fought to keep her feet under her, then gave up and let her full weight pull her down in their grip. For several minutes, she heard the chatter of the men like the buzzing of bees. She heard the clack of typing, she heard the accountant triumphantly announce he’d corrected all her attempted thievery.

The ambiance of the room shifted from tense and angry to relieved. The guards patted the accountant on the back. Through the forest of legs that were moving about before her eyes, Talto realized they were all wearing pants. No gray silk.

Ailo’s gone. She left me. She left me here to die in his wrath. She’s taken the girl.

With a scream of anguish she began to sob. “Ailo’s gone,” she said.

Everyone turned to check the room.

“She made me do this,” Talto wept. “She made me read the accountant. She made me steal from you so there would be a distraction.”

Menessos crouched before her. “Why?”

Talto looked up into his eyes. “So she could steal the girl-child.”

People say water is crisp and refreshing when they are hot and the liquid is cool. I don’t think I’ve ever been that hot. To me, if a drink has the same adjective as, say, a cracker, something is wrong.

But the water in the goblet Hades gave me hit my tongue like a brittle frost. It was so sweet and so cold at once that it hurt. It seeped through my teeth, infused my tongue. It crackled into my jawbone like magic. And I could feel it moving higher.

“What have you done?”

Hades smiled. “You agreed that I might satisfy myself two ways. You are too suspicious, too wary of me, for me to find that satisfaction easily. This”—he indicated the goblet—“will make the transaction smoother for both of us.”

My mind raced. The river. He told the man to fetch the water from the river. “Lethe.”

He nodded.

“You double-crossing bastard.” It was the river of forgetfulness. “This wasn’t part of the deal.” The magic in the water had risen to my temples. It was reaching its arms—no, its tentacles—of static across my cranium, and fingers of fire curled around my eye sockets. I covered my face with my hands. My knees weakened and buckled.

“Don’t take my mind,” I cried. “Not my memories.”

He crouched beside me and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “There’s only about a minute left now. It will be all right. I will care for you.”

He was erasing from my mind all the people I knew and cared for, wiping away what little I knew about being the Lustrata. “You’re stealing who I am!”

“I must be paid, dear Persephone. When I am, I will . . . ” He snapped his fingers and the stone of our deal appeared. He read: “ . . . secure the safety of all those you hold dear, without harming others, and without taking anything from others be they innocent or guilty.” He snapped his fingers and the tablet disappeared. “As promised.”

The world swam before me. I felt like I was floating in a river, bobbing on the surface and feeling the current pulling at my feet. I put my hands down to the ground to steady myself. “They’ll be safe, you swear?” I choked on the words.

“I swear.”

I could tell my torso was leaning this way and that. I was trying to tell which way was up, where my balance was, but I kept overcompensating. I widened my arms and dug my fingers into the ground. “What of my destiny?”

His warm hand cupped my chin. It was stabilizing. I was grateful for it and I loathed him for it all at once. “Who am I to interfere in your grand destiny?”

I held on to his promises as parts of my body numbed. Inside my skull, my brain grew cold. Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision. Consciousness, I knew, was leaving me.

“Hecate,” I whispered. Would I remember Her?

“Hecate cannot help you,” he whispered back. “Our deal is struck.” Hades put his lips to mine and I could not fight, could not speak, could not see.

Despair was the last thing I knew as his kiss pushed me under the surface of Lethe’s oblivion.

Johnny and Plympton arrived at the Akron-Canton Airport shortly before three in the morning. They followed the overhead signs marked LONG-TERM PARKING, and cruised up and down the long rows of parked cars, searching for a white Nissan Altima. Halfway down the third row, they found it. Stopping the Maserati behind it, Johnny cut his engine. He had time to peer inside the front and back seats of the car before Plympton managed to maneuver out of the “low” seat and join him.

“The interior seems empty,” he said.

Plympton patted the trunk. “Check here.”

Johnny put the key into the lock and turned it. It clicked and the lid opened slowly. They stood back as it rose by itself. A light inside flashed on.

Inside the trunk sat five plastic cases. Four were black with opaque tops and gray handles, and sized to hold folders and documents. One was red. It sat nearest the bumper and still had stickers on it indicating the price and the case’s features.

“My situation with her is newest,” Johnny said. “I bet this one is mine.” He flipped the latch and opened the top.

Beside him, Plympton pulled one of the black files closer to him and did the same.

Inside the red case were two dozen files with unmarked tabs. A few in the front sat slightly open and there were pages visible within them. He lifted the front file and glanced through it. It looked like a transcription of his and Toni’s conversation on the way to New York.

The fob was bugged . He glanced up at the fob dangling off the key that was still in the lock of the raised trunk lid.

“Yup. This one’s mine.” He put the file back and pushed the files around inside the case to see if there was anything like a bug or homing device inside there. Finding none, he relatched the top, searched the exterior and bottom of the case, then removed it and sat it in the backseat of the Maserati.

Plympton was standing rigidly at the back of the Altima as Johnny returned. Giving Plympton a little time, he slid the key from the trunk lock and popped the fob apart. He found no microphone inside it. He put it back together. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

The diviza nodded slowly, engrossed in what he was reading.

“Jacques?”

The old man looked up.

“I have to go now. You’ll take this car?”

“Yes.” His eyes slid back to the documents in his hands.

Johnny wanted to hurry off, but something kept his feet planted. The old man had been true to his word. He’d let Johnny keep the information that was clearly pertinent to him. “Hey.”

“Hmmm?” Plympton didn’t stop scanning the paper in hand.

“Diviza.”

The use of his title made him break his focus on the newfound data. “Yes, sire?”

“Let’s get together tomorrow at the den and see what can be done about your situation.”

Plympton shook his head. “Not at the den.”

“Wherever you would like, then,” Johnny said, extending his hand to shake. “I will help you, Jacques.”

The diviza shook his hand. “And I will give the court my account of your beast.”

• • •

Johnny pulled into the driveway at the farmhouse at a quarter ’til four, mentally singing praises for the Maserati’s speed and handling, and the lack of police on the roadways that night.