Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

Relieved and assured that Menessos was not changed for the long years since they had last spoken, he reached for the chair, then froze and assessed its nearby mate. “Are these—?”

Menessos nodded. “The castle in Caernarvonshire.”

“I heard they had sold everything a few years back.” Mero gaped at the high-backed William and Mary seats.

“I had them reupholstered. Come.”

“Amazing.” He carefully lifted the antique, carried it to the bedside and sat. That Menessos cared to hold on to trinkets from the past was another sign that encouraged Mero. “I hope whatever you have in mind is worth the damage you just took.”

Menessos affected a calm demeanor. “I relinquish my status.”

“A new Quarterlord will be appointed.”

“Goliath will have my haven.”

“He is too young—!”

“I’m not saying he will be Quarterlord, but he will have my people. This will become the Cleveland haven and Goliath will become the haven master. Whoever the Excelsior appoints as Quarterlord can move their haven to Chicago. My old building remains empty.”

Mero shook his head and sat forward. “You know what will happen. Goliath will be challenged by older vamps who long for such status.”

“He can take it.”

His old friend seemed to have it all worked out. Yet he had the distinct feeling this conversation was being steered as well. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

Mero sat back. “I will do what I can.”

“How did you secure the release of the shabbubitum?”

Without giving Menessos the exact details, he answered, “I filtered their souls through apples and amber, trapping a piece of each in the gemstones. Via the stones, I can exert my will.”

Menessos considered that. “Was it your idea to release them?”

“No. Heldridge requested it.”

“Damn that fool.” Menessos rubbed his temple. “Deric went for it on his word?”

“Not his. A clever bit of vengeful redirection swayed him.”

Menessos was silent, then said, “Giovanni.”

“His grudge is as ugly and as permanent as his scars.”

“He should be dead. That he is not should make him grateful enough to get over it.”

“Time does not heal all wounds.”

Silence followed, then Menessos broke it by casually asking, “So your son did not send you here with a stake in addition to that scroll?”

Mero shook his head side to side. “No stake.”

“And what of my witch?”

Mero tilted his head, curious. The underlying intensity in those words made him think this was the point they’d been coming to all along. “That is more difficult to say.”

“Call Liyliy back.” It was not a request.

“I cannot.”

The air crackled between them and Mero felt the other vampire tap the ley. Menessos leaned forward, sneering. “If Persephone is harmed, the scope of my wrath will surmount any torment you’ve ever known.”

The threat was frightening, but it was equally telling. “She’s more than just the Lustrata to you.”

“Mero.” Menessos’s voice was like a taut string, ready to snap. “I heard you tell Liyliy to bring her back. You did not specify ‘alive.’ Call. Her. Back.”

“It is not that I am unwilling to call her back, I am unable.” Mero stood, paced away. “On her way out, Liyliy stole from me the necklace bearing the amber.”

“You fool!” Menessos threw the sheet back.

Before he could get up, Mero placed a restraining hand on Menessos’s shoulder. He said, “Stop,” but Menessos threw him off and thrust his legs over the side of the bed. Spreading smears of red appeared on the bandages. “Stop!” Mero shouted. “You’re not ready to be up yet.”

The door opened and Goliath stood there waiting for his master to give a signal.

“Your wounds are deep,” Mero said. “She practically cut you to the bone.” Feeding on his Offerlings would accelerate the healing process, but it was not instantaneous. If Menessos was able to walk around without ripping his stitches before the dawn, he’d be very lucky. “Please, sit back and allow me to explain,” Mero said.

A tense moment passed before Menessos gestured at Goliath, who demonstrated his reluctance in the slowness with which he shut the door.

As Menessos reclaimed his former position, Mero sank into the seat. He rose again to retrieve the silken sheet that had slithered to the floor when tossed aside. “Your witch is in no danger,” he said, spreading it over Menessos’s lower half. “Liyliy has the necklace in her possession. She’s just going to flee. It is the confinement of her sisters we must worry about. They don’t yet know the necklace is gone.”

“You don’t know Liyliy,” Menessos argued. “She won’t simply run, encumbered with the safekeeping of that necklace. She’ll want the thing destroyed, and she knows that Persephone—if caught—will be in a bind herself. She’ll use that leverage to make my witch destroy it.” Menessos shook his head. “You worry about rebinding the sisters. I want my people out searching.”

Mero saw the other vampire’s hands clench. He knew Menessos wanted to be out searching personally.

A commotion in the outer room had Mero heading for the door. Goliath and Mark blocked the doorway, then he heard Giovanni’s voice saying, “I am an Advisor to the Excelsior, and as such, I demand you let me pass!”

“What do you want, Giovanni?” Mero asked.

“I have news.”

Mero asked, “What news?”

“I’ve spoken with our Excelsior.” His grin was as malignant as his tone. “He’s named me the Interim Quarterlord.” Snickering, he added, “The documentation to prove it is on its way.”

Iflew between the blades of the hundred-and-fifty-foot-tall turbine. Liyliy was so focused on me that she must have misgauged the rotation of the huge blade. I heard her cry out as it came down on her head.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, I sped around the south side of the Cleveland Browns Stadium.

Seconds later, Liyliy still wasn’t behind me.

Just as I released a sigh of relief she dived from the opening in the upper section of the southwest corner. Apparently being smacked by the giant metal blade of a wind turbine wasn’t enough to hurt her.

I intentioned for speed, and Liyliy’s talons raked through the broom’s straw. It caused the top of the broomstick to point up and I was carried once again into the sky. Below, Liyliy hit the ground but immediately flopped and flapped to gain altitude.

Though my heart was racing, the cold wind was becoming more than a mere annoyance. This gown had zero warmth, but I had to escape. With a thought, I hit the open air and asked the broom for sixty miles per hour. Seventy. Eighty.

The wind was such that I found myself again wishing for a pair of goggles like I’d seen other—albeit older —witches wear. My eyes were watering and forced shut. I managed a forward peek every few seconds to ensure that I wasn’t about to fly into a cell tower or something that might sneak up on me, though I was relatively certain that that wasn’t going to be a problem while skimming the shoreline of Lake Erie.

The harpy was far in the distance, but not giving up.

Ninety. A hundred.

The skirt of my dress was flapping so hard that I heard it begin to rip. The sheer outer layer couldn’t withstand this kind of abuse. Neither could my skin; I was so cold. My body ached with exhaustion again.

Cedar Point Amusement Park appeared when I was peeking. Behind me, I saw nothing of the owlish figure, so I dropped low and slowed, halting on the far side of the Sky Ride.

I was panting like I’d run a race, but I hadn’t. I was just so tired. Ready to blame it on an adrenaline rush bottoming out, I thought of something that I hadn’t considered before: How does a broom fly? It’s a magical item with the specific capability of flying, but what fuels it once it’s in the air?