Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

I frowned at him, but he was undeterred.

“Liyliy wants you to unmake the necklace and will restrict your freedom until you do as she wants. You want your mother to change, and you restrict her access to your heart until she does as you want. Are you following me so far?”

“Unhappily, yes.”

“Liyliy refuses to give you access to the item of power, but this complication makes winning your freedom more difficult for you, and because Liyliy does not trust you, this undermines the success of her goal. Care to outline how this is reflected with your mother?”

I crossed my arms, not that a physical show of being “blocked off” would have any effect on a totem animal. “I refuse to let her into my heart, but my standoffishness makes her more stubborn, and because I don’t trust her, all this undermines my chance of eliciting a change in her behavior.”

“See? You do understand.” He flashed the jackal version of a grin. “As Liyliy denies you access to the ley line, she lowers her chances for a satisfying outcome. As you deny your mother your love, you do the same, and it is a shame, for that is the one thing that can change her.”

“Okay, I get it. I see it. Life is wildly synchronous. But I can’t do anything about my mother if I don’t get away from Liyliy. So help me out here. How do I unmake this thing?”

“Why would you?” Amenemhab stood and paced back and forth before me. It was unnerving, since that was exactly what Liyliy had done. Just as I was about to say something about it, his tail dropped down. “Unmaking a spell of this magnitude, which was never part of you in either the making or the receiving, is interference with karmic repercussions. If you do this, you will bear an iron chain. It will have to be abolished if ever you are to reach your destiny, and nullifying it in this lifetime would be very difficult indeed.” He bowed his head.

“Then I have to get the necklace away from her, which will be next to impossible.”

“Is she so fierce?”

“She’s very capable and there, my right arm is injured.”

His snout lifted. “You’ve been tested. Those tests were not given you simply to strengthen you. In passing them you earned power and were afforded privileges and opportunities . . . such as unmaking that which was unjustly wrought upon you. But to balance the success of an opportunity, there comes a challenge.”

My shoulders squared. “So what do I do ?”

He cocked his head. “Have you evaluated where you are in your cycle?”

“You want to talk about my period?”

“No. Your life cycle,” Amenemhab laughed. “Birth. Life. Death.”

I scratched my head. “I’m pretty sure I’m well past the birth part and into the life part, and hopefully none too close to the death part.”

“Each facet of life can also be gauged upon its life cycle. Like a love affair. Some are born quickly, live briefly and die in flames.”

Johnny. My stare dared the totem animal to make that connection.

“It is the way of existence—and your existence as the Lustrata is no different. What is birth?”

“Birth is creation, beginning, initiation.”

“And life?”

“Life is development, growth, progress.”

“It is time to evolve, Persephone. Time to take what you know and all you have earned and unite it.” He held his head high. “Embracing the goddess whose torches light your path and whose grace protects you is easy. Embracing the goddess who would set you aflame, who would drown you and cast your body soaring wingless into the sky . . . is not easy, and yet you embrace Her still. Some would let fear immobilize them, yet you just accept what She asks of you and do it. That sets you apart, Persephone.”

I hadn’t thought to “blame” Hecate for the close calls during my tests. Though I hadn’t grasped it during the first test—I’d been naïve, but I’d come to understand that danger was to be expected when a deity assessed a mortal.

“Your devotion and loyalty shine like bright beacons that declare you ready for the more treacherous journey along the deeper path.”

I cast my eyes toward the island that resembled a spearhead jammed into the middle of the lake. I’d seen the giant steps to Tartarus inside there. I didn’t want to go back.

“I cannot tell you the answer,” he said softly, “for these things of which I speak are uniquely yours, as will be the manner in which you combine them.”

“If I have so much, why isn’t the course of action obvious to me?”

“Being the Lustrata is no simple honor. It will only get harder.”

Delightful.

“You have a decision to make, Lustrata: Cor aut mors . I leave you to it.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “My time with you is growing short, Persephone; I feel another totem will soon replace me.”

That made me sad.

“Be at peace, Persephone. When things change here, it is evidence of evolution.” Amenemhab trotted away.

I awakened inside the cargo hold. Not wanting Liyliy to find the wet circle of salt and become suspicious, I wiggled around and hoped it disguised my actions.

“ Cor aut mors ,” Amenemhab had said. It was Latin for “heart or death.” It meant a choice between the morals and loyalty of the heart, or the insignificance and disgrace of death.

Of course I would choose “heart.”

C’mon, Snickers bar, and kick in. I have a karmic suicide to avoid.

In her suite at the Cleveland Renaissance Hotel, Aurelia emerged from the bathroom carrying an empty goblet. She wore a thick terry robe, and her towel-dried hair was combed straight. As she crossed the living room to the table, where an uncorked bottle of wine rested on a bed of ice, she paused to dig a small portable radio from her pocket and place it on the damask-covered fainting couch. She poured herself a second glass of wine and watched the city below.

Cleveland was nothing like her Bucuresti. Though the cities were nearly the same geographical size, there were far fewer people in Cleveland. Also, this city’s nickname, her research had revealed, was “Forest City”: A motto adopted in the 1830s, it made no sense in the present day. There was no forest here; not now, anyway. It irritated her that the phrase was utterly inaccurate. Continuing to pay homage to an outdated vision, she felt, highlighted the lack of forwardly mobile thinking that would be needed to make this city great and prestigious again.

Her home was known as “Little Paris,” and with its beautiful architecture, its universities and theaters, cafés, and museums it was, indeed, an eastern version of that grand city. The Dâmbovita River was far more beautiful than the Cuyahoga.

“What’s he like?” Johnny’s voice emitted from the little radio.

Aurelia left the window. “Finally.” Since the Domn Lup had fled Cleveland, he and the woman had spoken little. The woman he called Toni had said she needed a nap, and the silence had ensued. Hours of it.

“He’s all boy,” Toni answered. “He can’t sit still. . . .”

Setting her goblet on the table, Aurelia lifted the little radio, holding it tightly as she reclined on the fainting couch and listened via the bug she’d planted in the Maserati’s key fob.

Detective Kurt Miller knew when the Maserati hit I-90 north that the Domn Lup was escorting Toni back to Saranac Lake. His Crown Victoria couldn’t hope to keep up with a car like that, but he didn’t have to now. When he arrived in his hometown just after 2:00 a.m., he drove slowly past Toni’s house. The lights were out. There was no fancy car parked in the driveway, either. He cruised by the area hotels and spotted the sleek vehicle at Gauthier’s Saranac Lake Inn.