Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

“Is the court witch a traitor, Boss?”

“No.”

“It won’t be easy to convince the Beholders and Offerlings of that just now.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just tell them Persephone must be brought in unharmed. Tell them Goliath has been appointed Haven Master and that the order comes from him.”

Mark bowed before leaving.

Mero resumed his bedside seat. “Their continued loyalty is a tribute to you.”

“As is yours. Thank you for trumping Giovanni.”

“It felt good,” Mero said as the door opened.

Goliath rolled a cart bearing a television into the rear chamber. He powered the system on and left.

In a conference room, Giovanni paced. The sisters were seated at a large cherry table. The décor was all dark browns, leather and wood and a few items of deep green. From the aim of the shot, the lens of the camera had to be hidden in the upper corner.

“We saw many things,” Ailo was saying.

“Tell me all of it.”

“What we see is . . . voluminous. We could discuss it for weeks,” Talto explained. “The images convey so much meaning, books’ worth of words into a snippet of memory. And it darkens with time.”

“If you have a specific area to focus your curiosity, ask questions,” Ailo suggested.

“Both the sound and picture are good,” Mero observed.

“Yes,” Menessos said. “The microphone is encased within the scrollwork of the torchiere floor lamp.”

“What of the witch?” Giovanni demanded. “Is she the Lustrata?”

“She is the bearer of the Lustrata’s mantle. Her powers are not yet complete, but she is getting close.”

“Did Menessos willingly accept her hexes?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“She bore his mark, and then that mark was flipped.”

“Flipped?”

“It was overturned and the connection that was once his binding upon her, metamorphosed into her binding upon him.”

“How did she accomplish this?”

“She did not. A goddess did.”

At that, Mero faced Menessos with the question plain in his expression.

“The Lustrata has Hecate’s favor.”

Mero wanted to know more, but the interrogation continued.

“A goddess.” Giovanni crossed his arms. “A goddess.”

“No mortal can sever such a mark. Only divine intervention could have achieved this.” Talto’s tone was utterly serious.

“You do not have to believe or enjoy what we claim to have seen, but you would be a fool to discount our words,” Ailo said. The warning in her tone was not hidden.

“The second hex?” Giovanni prompted.

“He was nearly dead,” Talto said.

Ailo clarified. “She had staked him.”

Again, Mero faced Menessos in disbelief. He whispered, “You covet a mortal woman who drove a stake into your heart and forced a hex upon you?” This intimate revelation declared the complexity of the vampire that had Made him. “Why?”

Menessos remained intent on the screen and made no attempt to answer.

Giovanni, too, was astonished by this. “She staked him in order to hex him,” he repeated. “How did he survive?”

“The stake was extracted.”

“Is Menessos aware of her political intentions?”

“From what was in his mind, she appears to have no aspirations of power and authority.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” the advisor snapped. “The attempted murder of a Quarterlord to secure dominion over him is an act of war in and of itself.” Giovanni began pacing again. “She has used her sway over him to blind him from the truth.”

“That is not true,” Menessos said to Mero. “I placed a small binding upon her, disguised as a bond between her and her lover. It enabled me to see past any personal barriers. There was no trace of what Giovanni suggests.”

“Was,” Mero said to emphasize that was past tense. “When was that and what about now?”

“That small binding has been removed, but you would be wise to not doubt me when it comes to her merits.”

On-screen, Giovanni said, “The Domn Lup cannot be subjected to her magic, as wærewolves cannot abide those energies . . . and that explains why she is his lover. The seduction subdues and sways him.” He paced continually as he considered this news. The sisters sat in silence.

To Mero’s disappointment, Menessos was keeping his face carefully blank. But Mero knew his friend’s thoughts were racing. An enemy was tying together the threads that would enable him to make a case for the elimination of the court witch who had clearly won so much more than Menessos’s admiration.

“Do you want to know what we saw of you in his mind?” Ailo asked conspiratorially.

Shoulders squaring and jaw flexing, Giovanni snapped, “What did you see of me?”

Talto clasped Ailo’s hand. Ailo said, “You were a charismatic captain of men . . . and seven hundred professional soldiers followed you to Constantinople—a mission you undertook only after Menessos recommended it based on the glory you could attain there.” Her voice was enthralling, all dulcet tones and hypnotic inflections.

“She’s using the ley,” Menessos said.

“Bespelling him?” Mero stood. They were about to take action—

Menessos motioned him back into his seat. “I have seen them play this game with non-magic-using vampires before. They do not like him or his questions, so they toy with him.”

“You were defending the wall when a debilitating injury forced you to leave your post,” Ailo said. “Because of your departure, many gave up hope and fled. The enemy observed the panic that beset the guards in your absence. His redoubled efforts conquered the Byzantines. The Queen of Cities fell.”

Color drained from Giovanni until he was pale even for a vampire. He backed up until his spine was against the wall, as if memories were playing out before him—he stared in horror at nothing.

“But your injury was not a mortal wound,” Talto said. Ailo whispered a chant as Talto continued. “A single crossbow bolt and shrapnel from the Ottoman cannon . . . but not as life threatening as initially believed. And yet it was too late. Panic had swarmed the troops and the men had fled. Days later, finding the weakness you had displayed inexcusable when paired with the devastating cost, Menessos took your throat.”

Giovanni’s fingers skimmed over his neck. Talto rose from her seat and, with a gentle touch, caressed his cheek. She took up the whispered chant and let Ailo speak: “It was another vampire, Konstance, who saw in you a mighty captain worth saving. As Menessos protested her actions, she fed you her strong blood and worked the change upon you. Though your death was not averted, she welcomed you into undeath.”

Giovanni blinked and seemed to recover himself from far away. Seeing Talto, who was chanting still, he balled his fist and struck her. She was flung across the room. “Never touch me! Never!”

She screamed and leapt to her feet, crossing half the distance. “For this you hate Menessos?” Talto asked. “You hated yourself for the failure wrought in your absence. You wanted death. He gave it to you. Konstance is the one who brought you back.”

“She loved me!” Giovanni shouted. “And Menessos poisoned her mind against me.”

Why does Deric keep him as Advisor?”

Mero shrugged at Menessos’s question. “He plays the devil’s advocate very well. It is better to keep someone who is that bitter and conniving nearby rather than monitor them from afar.” A long moment later, Mero asked, “Now that your people are searching, will you help me rebind the sisters so they pose no threat?”

“I’ll help you,” Menessos said, “but only if we bind them to me—not you.”