Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

She inspected my scalp and told me that there were three cuts on the lump, but only one of them needed stitches. I wondered how bad they had been before the kindling. As it turned out, minor medical care was another painful service she offered. I tried not to be alarmed she had such supplies in her cosmetics kit.

Risqué put the final touches on my makeup and hair, and promptly gathered up her cosmetics while I dressed. She zipped me up and headed for the door, golden curls bouncing. Girl-chat was not something we could pull off. “When it is time, Mark will usher you to the stage.”

“Thank you.”

She snorted and the door closed behind her.

In my bathroom, I flipped on the lights and regarded myself. It was not to inspect what Risqué had done. She was an expert beautician and loyal to her “boss.” My purpose here was to affirm to myself, “I can make the call.”

Trembling, I dialed Johnny’s number.

“Hello?”

It wasn’t his voice. “Beau? Is that you?”

“Yeah, doll, it’s me. Thank you. I can’t say it enough! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, silly dame. I’m delighted! My son is wholly a wolf. In the morning, I know he’ll be a whole man again. I’ll have him back. And it’s all because of you, doll. I have my boy back.”

“You’re welcome, Beau. Where’s Johnny?”

“Oh. He’s still furry.”

He hasn’t reverted yet? I clamped my jaw against the tears and fought them back by telling myself how pissed Risqué would be if she had to come back and touch up the makeup.

“Gave Hector and the boys some grief getting him into a kennel, but a side of beef did the trick. Why are you calling? Something up?”

My boyfriend was eating raw meat and chewing on cow bones. I felt nauseated. He could change back if he wanted. If he was man enough to know what he wanted. “Beau, I have to tell you something. Johnny is going to have a bout of severe pain tonight.”

“Because of the spell?”

“No, no. It’s nothing to do with the spell. It’s something else.”

“I’m leaving here shortly and I won’t be back until morning. You better talk to Hector.”

I heard the phone being shifted around, then Hector said, “Hello?”

“Hi, Hector. I need to let you guys know that Johnny’s going to have a fit of pain tonight. He may writhe and howl and carry on, but there’s no need to worry. It shouldn’t last long, less than twenty minutes.”

“What’s all this about?” His suspicion was thick.

“I can’t tell you more than I have, Hector. Please understand.”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Softer, as if he didn’t want others nearby to hear, he asked, “Is it a side effect of the spell?”

“No. This is something only Johnny will experience. Whether he is in wolf-form or human-form. The others won’t feel it at all. Just don’t be alarmed. Like I said, it shouldn’t last long, and he’ll be fine when it’s over.”

“So he knows about this?”

If I said no, then the wærewolves could see it as a strike, just like the vampires saw my hexing Menessos as a strike. Did I trust Johnny to have my back when his man-mind did return? “Yes,” I lied. “He knows.”

Mero and the shabbubitum gracefully emerged from the limousine. The people on the sidewalk were few. They held back and paused, curious. Some lingered across the street to watch. The limo drove away. Mero firmed his grip on the round leather case that contained the Excelsior’s formal document commanding Menessos to submit to being read by the shabbubitum.

With their arms linked, the women surveyed the scene of the Cleveland Public Square with awe, murmuring to each other. As Mero brought up the rear, he noted the May Company building that housed the haven. Prime real estate in the heart of the city; it was very Menessos.

He hoped the location and grandeur were indications that Menessos had not changed.

Inside, there was a cherrywood kiosk in the middle of the room, a ticket booth from ages past. To either side of this wooden structure, velvet ropes blocked passage. Just behind the ropes, two guards waited with their hands clasped before them.

Inside the booth stood a vampire with golden brown hair secured in a curly ponytail. He left the booth with the air of an undergraduate who’d rather be playing drinking games at a frat house than playing the part of the haven concierge. “Meroveus Franciscus, Advisor to the Excelsior, and party, welcome to the haven of the Northeastern Quarterlord. I’m Sever. We’ve been expecting you,” he said. “If you will follow Sergei?” He gestured to one of the guards and unhooked the velvet rope to allow them through.

Mero detected the true life around Sergei; an Offerling. He led them to an area out of sight of the main doors and to some fine leather seating near the elevators. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Your escort will join you shortly.” The guard excused himself to a position politely far away, but kept them in sight.

Mero sat on one of the leather chairs with the case upon his lap while the women discussed Sergei’s and Sever’s merits. The modern world had them enthralled, as did nearly every male their eyes beheld, but Mero was wary. He could not allow himself to think he could anticipate their behavior, or expect their compliance.

Also weighing on his mind was Menessos. It had been a long time since they had last seen each other. The world was so different. From the recent reports to VEIN, he had reason to think Menessos was perhaps very different as well. Mero did not want to make an enemy of him, yet with the duty set before him, it seemed impossible to avoid.

The elevator gears hummed. The bell dinged to announce its arrival and the doors opened. A raven-haired woman with stunning blue eyes strolled out. A beaded teal dress clung to her every curve, and he could not fail to recognize Seven. She assessed the group as she neared. Mero stood. She bowed her head. “Greetings, Meroveus Franciscus and honored guests. Welcome to the Quarterlord’s haven. I am Seven and will accompany you to our Lord.”

He knew she knew him, but she introduced herself just the same. Perhaps because he did not greet her by name on sight. Better to play this cool and distant. “Of course.”

Seven walked toward the stairwell and said, “If you will follow me.”

Following Seven, Mero led his group down the grand stairwell. Behind him he heard the light footfalls of the shabbubitum, the heavier tread of Sergei. When they arrived at the great doors, Seven brought them forward.

Directly around him was a railed reception area with a DJ station. Music was playing softly, but at a signal from Seven, the DJ lowered the volume even more.

Before him, stairs led down to the expanse of a theater house that was no longer sloped and filled with rows of seats, but level and filled—like a nightclub or restaurant—with tables and gilt chairs. Mero noted that, modern clichés created by famous authors notwithstanding, Menessos had managed to find and convert an underground theater into an elegant new haven, one that brilliantly, dramatically, unquestionably reflected Menessos.

And there he was. Menessos sat enthroned onstage under flattering lights. Goliath Kline sat to his right, and the E.V. to his left. To either side, the fanged symbol of the haven floated across a series of large screens.

The house lighting lowered. A spotlight illuminated Seven where she stood just in front of them. “Meroveus Franciscus, Advisor to the Excelsior . . . and party,” she announced. She stepped out of the light, allowing Mero and the shabbubitum to replace her in the glow and on the screens placed to either side of the stage.