Linda Robertson - Shattered Circle

Reaching awkwardly up, her talons snatched hold of Risqué’s arms and she kicked the woman across the room. Risqué slammed into the stools at the kitchen counter, sending them flying like bowling pins.

Ailo staggered into an upright position as her feet reverted to human. She tore the shoe from her side and started forward. “What are you?” There was no one she couldn’t read.

Picking herself up from the floor, Risqué touched her already swollen face, dabbed at one puffy eye. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

Ailo called to the magic that clothed her, shifting the fabric to a short sheath dress, the excess forming silver weapons in her hands, cylinders that fit her grip nicely, with points on either end. “You don’t look like more than a mild daydream to me.”

“Is this better?” Risqué thrust her hands downward with a jerk and flames swirled across her skin. With a toss of her head, her pale ringlets transmuted into a mass of thin, hissing white serpents.

“Daughter of Hell,” Ailo whispered.

Risqué leapt at Ailo.

Diving to the side, Ailo rolled away. Risqué landed on the sofa, knocking it over with her momentum, then setting it aflame with her burning hands. Ailo pounced as she was clambering to her feet, and struck at the half-demon. Risqué threw herself backward, kicking out and knocking the weapon from Ailo’s hand. It clanged to the floor and reverted to quicksilver, which pooled and slithered to rejoin with Ailo.

Risqué crouched behind the burning sofa, her every serpentine appendage hissing.

As smoke filled the room, Ailo changed her weapons into daggers and advanced. As she swiped the blades before her, Risqué blocked with fire so hot, it melted the blades as they passed through the flames.

The fire alarm began clanging. With a scream of frustration, Ailo threw a dagger.

Risqué raised her hands to block it but miscalculated the speed, and it sailed through her defenses. She lurched sideways at the last, and the dagger sheared off the heads of three white serpents. Blood dripped from their severed bodies. The weapon clattered to the floor and dissolved into a pool of liquid.

Ailo magicked another dagger from her quicksilver and launched it. The blade thumped into Risqué’s torso between her lowest ribs. She fell backward. The dagger pooled on her skin, disappearing inside the wound, only to roll around under her skin, making her scream and writhe, before the liquid slithered out of the wound and returned to Ailo.

A scream from her side drew Ailo’s attention.

The child stood holding back the curtain that separated the back half of the room. Her eyes were wide, jumping from the burning couch to Ailo, to Risqué, and back.

Ailo ran to the girl. “I’m here to help you.”

She took a step back. “Did Celia send you?”

Ailo started to agree, then she had a better idea. “No. Persephone did. Come with me.” When the child took her offered hand, Ailo sent the fabric rushing down her arm, encircling the girl’s head, gagging her mouth lest she scream, and wrapping her body in a cocoon of gray satin. It left very little in covering for Ailo, but that was irrelevant. She lifted the girl in her arms and hurried from the room, leaving Risqué gasping for air on the floor.

She heard the sound of many feet rushing across the stage. Leaping from the top of the stairwell, she landed heavily with the extra weight of the girl in her arms. Still, she managed a second long leap, landing behind the door, unseen by those charging in. She slipped into the unlit depths of the backstage and located the service elevator—a minor detail she’d gained from Sil’s mind.

My love, are you recovered?”

I heard the voice in the darkness. A man’s voice. It was close to me. Then I realized my so-heavy eyelids were shut. Little by little, I managed to part them and allow some light to hit my retinas.

The man was lying beside me in this soft bed that smelled of sweet white flowers. Indeed, as I moved I noticed the petals strewn about us. Stephanotis .

“Love?”

I faced him, and my spine stiffened. He was handsome with his dark hair and eyes, but I didn’t recognize him. I chanced to answer. “Yes?”

He smoothed hair from my forehead. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

My eyes widened slightly but I said nothing.

“It’s all right,” he said. “The physician said you might have memory loss for a while.”

“Memory loss?” I made a confused face at him. I was sure that any second now all my thoughts would click into place.

He gave me an unconvinced expression. “Tell me my name.”

So simple a question. And yet I did not know. “I can’t.”

“Your name?”

I don’t know my own name!

I sat up, heart racing—but his hand on my shoulder was reassuring and warm.

“Stay calm,” he said soothingly. “You are safe here. All will be fine.”

“How is it going to be fine when I can’t remember who I am?” My mind raced, searching for details. I could think in sentences, I knew language, I could identify that we were in a bed, but I could not remember myself.

How the hell do I know those are stephanotis flower petals and I don’t know my name?

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. His action was one of familiarity, but it startled me and I flinched. Although he noticed, he didn’t seem bothered by it. “Your memory will return. In the meantime, I will tell you everything you want to know. That is what any good husband would do for his wife, don’t you agree?”

I winced at his words. The confusion and uncertainty in my mind were disturbing, but the sudden suspicion in my heart made me want to flee. “Yes,” I said calmly. “You’re my husband?”

He nodded and offered an easy, charming smile. “I am. For many happy years now.”

His dark hair was thick and hung to his shoulders. His eyes sparkled with kindness. His bare chest and arms were muscular. He seemed a happy, pleasant man; healthy and robust. His demeanor was calm and non-threatening. Still, I felt misgivings I could not justify. “What is your name?”

He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Aidon.”

“And mine?”

He kissed my cheek; this time I didn’t flinch. “When you remember that, we’ll know your memory has returned.” He slid away from me and rose from the bed. He was naked and kept his back turned as he lifted his pants from a seat nearby. “For now, let’s walk around our kingdom and see if anything is familiar.”

Our kingdom?

He turned and flashed me a smile that could melt hearts. He backed away. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

After he’d passed through the doorway, I slid from the bed. Unclothed, I looked myself over. No bruises. I felt my head. There was a bit of a knot near my temple. A glance around the room revealed an armoire with one door open, a lovely dress hanging from a hook on the door. It was made of copper- and bronze-colored fabrics. The off-the-shoulder style had a tight, dropped waist. Thin, gauzy layers created bell sleeves, and the matching skirts mimicked them perfectly. I flipped it around and saw the back dipped low except for a single ribbon that, when tied, kept the shoulders in place.

In moments I donned the dress that had obviously been fitted exactly for me—but tying that ribbon was impossible, unless I knotted it, and then it wouldn’t be the correct tautness. I was sure he—Aidon—would assist me with that detail. I glanced around for a mirror and discovered one on the armoire door.

My face was . . . unfamiliar.

Then I noticed the red marks and the burns on my neck.

What happened to me?

The sounds of movement beyond this room reminded me that Aidon was waiting for me. I found some slippers in the armoire and hurried out of the room.