Linda Robertson - Shattered Circle

Johnny had accepted great power and lost a lifelong dream. Menessos had lost great power and accepted serious personal risk. It didn’t seem fair.

And what about me?

In the last several weeks I’d learned that I was the long-prophesied Lustrata, the Witches’ Messiah, She Who Walks Between Worlds, She Who Will Bring Balance, blah blah blah. As this news spread throughout the non-human communities, some scoffed and some believed. I was fine with the scoffers; it was the believers who were dangerous. They wanted to know if I truly possessed the power that accompanied those titles. Yeah, I was a magnet for nasties who either a) wanted me dead to be sure I didn’t have that power, or b) wanted to try to force me to wield power for their gain.

I guess I’d accepted the endless complications of my status and was well on my way to losing all scraps of naïveté.

At that thought, I stopped pacing. As I stared into the nothingness of a darkened corner, it felt like my innocence had slipped from my grasp and I was watching it skitter across the floor, waiting for it to come to a stop so I could reclaim it.

I wasn’t sure it was worth the effort to look for it. Or perhaps it would be impossible to find if I made the effort. Maybe it had rolled into some crack, never to be seen again.

I heard Johnny breathing through the phone.

It wasn’t Johnny who had rescued me last night. When I defeated Liyliy, Menessos had been there to bring me to the haven. Sure, Menessos had a hand in creating the monster she now was. And it was he who had imprisoned her, creating her need for revenge. But it was me and my marks upon him that had brought her to Cleveland.

When she pursued me from the haven—according to the Offerling I’d spoken to—Menessos had sent everyone out to search for me.

Had Johnny even known I was missing?

It was shitty of me to compare the two men in my life, but I couldn’t help myself.

Though Menessos had drunk my blood numerous times, he hadn’t tried to kill me.

Yes he did! He nearly killed you not long after you first met.

We were strangers then, I argued with myself. Now, we know each other well.

Better, perhaps, than you should. . . .

Defiantly, I ignored my conscience’s scolding. I will not regret what I did last night. During the predawn hours, reeling from my encounter, I’d kissed Menessos.

Fine, but clearly you were able to forgive him.

That was true. Considering this, I felt hope.

I sighed heavily into the phone. My whispered answer was, “In time.”

“There’s so much I need to tell you.” Johnny’s voice was raw, and the rev of an engine punctuated his words.

I wondered where he was going. And I wondered if I should tell him about kissing the vampire.

It hadn’t been a peck.

When our lips had touched, I felt the promise and power of a more intimate union. He’d definitely felt it. It wasn’t only the power of the marks between us that had been kindled.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Johnny said.

His voice drew me out from my memory of a passionate moment with another man. Guilt swelled around my heart . . . but not remorse. What am I going to do?

“I’ll have that figured out by the time I get back to Cleveland,” he said.

That’s why he didn’t come for me! He wasn’t even here. “Where have you been?”

“There’s so much to explain, I don’t want to do it over the phone, Red. Say you’ll see me. I’ll come to you. Anywhere. We have to talk. Face-to-face.”

“What time is good for you tomorrow?”

“No. It’s gotta be today.”

My gut twisted. This wasn’t a conversation to be rushed. “I can’t.”

“This is important.”

He didn’t know what had happened to me or he wouldn’t push like this. But if I didn’t harbor this fear of him now, I wouldn’t mind being pushed. “Johnny.”

“Let’s have an early dinner. Anywhere you want. Someplace fancy like Mallorca, or even a burger joint like Wendy’s. I don’t care. . . . I just have to talk to you.”

It was past two in the afternoon. I’d have some time to prepare. “Okay.”

“Let’s say four o’clock. Where do you want to meet?”

I decided to stack the deck in my favor. I picked a certain coffee shop near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The place employed a few witches I knew. I hoped at least one of them was working today.

Late November in Northeast Ohio can be cool or outright cold. So, after shoving my feet into a pair of comfy boots, I grabbed a blazer and a hoodie from the closet. Adding layers over the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt was the best option.

Then, though ready to leave, I stood at my heavy haven door procrastinating.

I was deep within the building. Between me and the world outside were the backstage area, the main stage, a greatly modified theater house, a long hallway, then three stories’ worth of stairs, followed by a hundred-yard trek to the entrance.

It wasn’t the distance that bothered me. What made me hesitate was the fact that there could be a hundred or more Beholders and Offerlings between me and the doors to the world beyond the haven. Liyliy had made sure to announce to them all that I had twice-marked Menessos—to whom they had pledged their loyalty. Mastering their master was a roundabout way to make them all my servants, and to many it smacked of deviousness and ill intent.

My name was surely not to be found on the favorite-persons list of anyone in the haven.

But if I was to be successful as the Lustrata, I couldn’t cower from Offerlings and Beholders. Regardless of their overwhelming numbers, they were, essentially, mine. Therefore, they wouldn’t dare raise a hand to me.

Right?

I closed my eyes and affirmed to myself that the mantle of the Lustrata rested upon my shoulders. With a turn of the knob, I stepped out.

The door to my room was so heavy, it could have served as the entry to a bank vault in a former life, so, with a push on its significant weight, I shut it and descended the steps. My gaze trailed back. The Offerling on duty was playing Angry Birds on his phone and he glanced at me, expressionless, then returned to his game. My focus skipped past him to the door directly beneath mine . . . the entry to Menessos’s chambers. The vampire was beyond that door, not so far away.

Winding my way through the backstage maze, I found the former theater house was lit only by the sconces on the outer walls. It was enough illumination for me to traverse the room without bumping into tables. The place was, thankfully, empty of people. As I walked, the darkness and silence allowed my mind to revisit my last exit from the haven, fleeing upon my broom.

Near the entrance to the theater I paused to look back, imagining what it must have looked like, me flying out of here, a giant harpy in swift pursuit.

“Going somewhere?” Her heavy Russian accent made the word sound like suhm-vair .

I spun around.

In the doorway stood a tall woman with short, spiky black hair. Muscular shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath, her bulging arms crossed. Her familiar oval face was frowning.

Ivanka.

She’d served as my sentinel until she’d tried to shoot Creepy in the head. He’d broken her forearm like it was a bendy straw.

It didn’t surprise me that her cast was covered in a green wrap that had been marked up to resemble camouflage, or that she wore a black tank top and military fatigues. Her combat boots were untied, with the strings tucked down inside. I was glad her handgun was still holstered on her left hip and not in her hand.