Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

Meroveus Franciscus knew Liyliy was transforming to pursue the Erus Veneficus. “Bring her to me,” he commanded. Her answer was a scream as her body warped. Her nose elongated and curved sharply down like a beak. Her pouting pink lips grew thin and faded to white, becoming a crooked line with drooping ends. It was nauseating to see her skin swell and sag, beset with wrinkles, as that cracked topography replaced her lovely face with sunken ravines and bruised slopes. When the feathers burst forth, she screeched again, revealing two rows of little pointed teeth in her hideous mouth.

As the eldest of the sisters took flight, her wing brushed his chest and a gust of wind hit him hard enough to force him a single step backward. He visually followed her departure, but as soon as she was out of sight, he realized, The most dangerous of the three just slipped away.

Perhaps I should call her back.

He reached to his chest to touch the necklace—and discovered it was gone. Instantly, his jaw clamped hard and his hand curled into a fist. So clever! She’s stolen the only means I have of controlling them—but her sisters do not know that. He collected himself and smoothly flattened his fingers on his chest as if merely smoothing his shirt.

Movement on the stage drew his attention. Giovanni shoved the Alter Imperator off of him and lurched onto his feet. “You idiot!” he shouted at Goliath. “You let her get away!”

Slowly, and with some graceless difficulty, Goliath got his feet under him. He shook his head, dazed.

“Liyliy will bring her back,” Mero said calmly. With the necklace gone, however, he was sure Liyliy wouldn’t bother chasing the Erus Veneficus. She would simply flee, but no one else knew she had that option.

Giovanni stared down at Menessos, who was in shock and bleeding profusely. Liyliy’s sisters were lapping at the blood on his thighs. “Damn, this is sweet,” Giovanni said as he crouched. “You’re ruined. And now the Excelsior’s wrath is yours. Let’s drain him dry, ladies.” He dropped to his knees, and, mouth wide, fangs gleaming, aimed for Menessos’s throat.

Goliath ran forward and kicked Giovanni in the head. The blow had enough force to send Giovanni sprawling backward. His nose gushed blood. Across the theater, Sever was heard emitting a triumphant, “Yes!”

Giovanni threw his arms up and trembled with rage, screaming as he gathered himself to stand.

Goliath straddled his wounded master and glowered at the sisters, who scurried away to sit at Meroveus’s feet like dogs.

“You dare!” Giovanni bellowed. “You dare strike me? You’re in league with him! Has she marked you as well?” Giovanni spun to Mero. “Tell them to read him!”

Meroveus shrugged. “When Liyliy returns. Perhaps.”

“Mero!” Giovanni shouted.

“Unless I am presented with a sealed document of kill-authorization from the Excelsior,” Goliath said through gritted teeth, “none of you bastards will touch my master.”

“I bear no such document,” Mero said. He knew his son would not sign such. “Do you, Giovanni?”

The other advisor’s answer was a wordless growl. He stomped from the stage and away toward the theater entrance.

Mero wandered closer and scrutinized the Quarterlord. He had seen Menessos at his best; this had to be his worst. It pained him to know that he had delivered this trouble to the great Menessos. “Call your Offerlings to the stage,” he said softly.

The Quarterlord’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“Offerlings! Attend your master!” Goliath’s voice boomed into the stunned silence of the theater. People rushed up the ramp. Offerling blood was imbued with the essence of their master, twice the amount Beholders had. Drinking of them provided him sustenance greater than the blood of the unmarked.

Twenty minutes later, Goliath instructed Beholders to bring a stretcher. They conveyed their master offstage to his personal quarters. Mero followed. Goliath blocked him from entering. “You will let me by,” Mero said.

Goliath shook his head. “No. I won’t.” Behind him, Seven and Mark hurried into the back chamber. A woman with blond ringlets and red eyes directed the Beholders as they carried Menessos in after the pair.

“As senior officer representing the Excelsior, I could have denied him the sustenance of his people and kept him virtually incapacitated while my investigation continued.”

“It was your bitch who did this to him.” Goliath’s features hardened. The corner of his mouth crooked up and the mask of a criminal contemplating wickedness was complete. “So your token gesture means shit to me.”

“Goliath!” Menessos’s voice wafted from deep in the chamber. “Bring him to me.”

The Beholders emerged from the back room, leaving with the stretcher. One of them said, “Risqué asked that you give her a few minutes before bringing the guest in.” Goliath allowed the Beholders out, then he gestured Mero and the two women begrudgingly toward the seating area in the front room.

Mero ordered Ailo and Talto to sit at the leather in-the-round couches, and the three of them waited until the Offerling had tended her master’s legs. Carrying the remains of his torn pants, she left. Goliath, Seven, and Mark remained with him.

Through the door the Offerling had failed to close, Mero heard Menessos saying, “You need to go, to keep the others calm. Assure them I am fine, that all will be well.”

“But—” Seven began.

“Do as I ask. Do it now.”

She and Mark departed, the former casting a worried glance at Mero on her way out. Mark called out, “I’m on door duty, Goliath.”

When the outer door shut, Mero stood, anticipating that he would now be allowed to see Menessos. As he neared the entry, Goliath asked, “When did she mark you? How?”

Mero stepped into view. Menessos was on the bed, covered by a sheet, but he was sitting up and in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. “Perhaps it is best if he not answer,” Mero said.

Goliath spun and gave him a scathing scowl.

“The less you know, the better it will be for you.”

“You don’t scare me.” Goliath’s voice was low, like a warning.

Menessos pulled his arms from the suit shirt casually, but the note of his voice was urgent as he said, “Goliath, the Advisor and I must speak privately.”

The Alter Imperator’s struggle with this request was obvious, but Goliath bowed slightly and said, “As you wish, my master.”

“Entertain the ladies for me,” Mero said as he passed.

Goliath did not answer, but shut the door behind him.

“His loyalty to you is impressive.” Mero appraised the room’s size, the stones of the wall broken only by a thick, rough-hewn mahogany mantel that encircled the room at chest level. Trinkets were set upon it here and there. Furniture was sparse, and a large mahogany poster-bed swathed in black silk dominated the area.

“Indeed.” Menessos tossed the shirt to the floor. “It has been too long.”

“I wish the circumstances were better.”

“I wish you had left the shabbubitum in their stones.” He groaned and rolled each shoulder as if to loosen stiff muscles. Under the sheet that covered him, his legs stretched, testing. “Their inquiry hurts like hell.”

“Sorry about Liyliy’s boots.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Mero spread his arms slightly. “I figured interrupting her at that point might be dangerous. My concern might have been misconstrued.”

Menessos conceded both points with a tip of his head. “All things considered, I am glad you remembered our old game. Bring the chair.” He gestured toward the far corner.