Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

“I’ll cross-reference the symbols tomorrow and see if I can make sense of it then.”

He nodded, pensive. His mood had sunk low. It had been a long, wearying day. Still, I decided to give it one more try.

“As the Lustrata,” I said, moving onto my hands and knees, “I’m supposed to balance the good and the bad.” I crawled closer, until our lips were an inch apart. “It’s important to me to make sure I give you something good, for all the bad you’re dealing with.”

“Well,” he replied, his voice taking that one syllable and letting it trail, growing deeper until he was nearly growling. It was such a male sound, like he was wrapping me in thick velvet with his voice, and when paired with the yearning that took over, it caused the ambiance of the room to change drastically. “In lieu of giving me the name of the person who did this to me, I can think of one other thing you could give me that’s very, very good… .”

With my palms on either side of his hips, I whispered, “Let me guess.”

Later, after Johnny had congratulated me on my “damn good guess,” we lay snuggled together, my head on his shoulder and one leg across his thighs. My fingers trailed over his stomach and my thoughts wandered.

I felt sad for him, now that the memory I’d taken from him was so clear to me. I knew what memory I’d taken from Menessos, and that I’d given him my memory of meeting the Goddess in a cornfield when I was a child—though I’d forgotten it until he recounted it to me. I didn’t know what memories Johnny and Menessos had shared. And I didn’t know what memory Johnny had taken from me. It wasn’t the night I lost my virginity; I could still remember that farce.

So I asked, “During the sorsanimus, I allowed you to have whatever memory you wanted. What one did you take?”

“Whatever I wanted?” One side of his mouth crooked up. “I don’t know if that really applies.” He considered it for a moment. “I guess I wanted a sense of what it was like to have a mother.”

I sat up. “A mother?” No, not my mother. Anything but that. Blood drained from my face. “What did you take?”

He stared at the ceiling, seemingly far away. “I can see you sitting on a cracked vinyl bathroom floor, a dirty bathtub at your back. You’re biting your lip … just like you still do … you’re watching your mom as she puts the curling iron to her hair and checks out the window. She’s on edge. You’re nervous; there’s no sense of the security a child should know. I can feel that you can’t please her, can’t make her smile and you want to so badly. You look at a paper in front of you. You’d made a big red heart and written ‘Mommy’ inside it. You’re so proud of it, the letters are neat, just like the teacher showed you. Your mother checks the window again, catches her breath, and whispers, ‘He came!’ and she’s so happy, so excited and she’s smiling. You want to give her your picture now. She comes and scoops you up in her arms and you feel like everything is safe and good. But she hasn’t seen your picture. You say, ‘Mommy, I drew—’ and she sees it. She sees you used her lipstick to draw it, the metal tube is on the floor, its contents worn down by your drawing. She screams at you, screams that you ruin everything. Her embrace isn’t warm or happy now, she’s squeezing you too tight. You begin to cry. She hurries down the hall with you and throws you into your little bed. Your arm hits hard against the wall and you cry louder. She says … terrible things.”

Though he didn’t tell me what she said, I could hear the echoes of her yelling in my memory. I’ll never have anything and it’s all because of you, you stupid little brat. I should have given you away! Instead I’ve spent eight years suffering, alone.

“There’s a padlock on the outside of your door and she locks you in. From your window, you see down into the apartment building’s parking lot. She gets into a truck with a man and leaves. You’re there alone, locked in your room, crying yourself to sleep.” He took a shaky breath. “You don’t know what to do when smoke fills your room. You can’t breathe, and then firemen kick in your door and take you away.”

His words had brought it all back and my tears wouldn’t be denied. “The curling iron,” I said. “She forgot to unplug it.” I wiped my cheeks. “At least I think she forgot. I’d rather not think that she purposely tried to kill me.”

Unable to reach the tissue box, Johnny offered me the corner of the sheet. “That’s … awful, Red.”

“I remember that night in the hospital, my mom snuck in and woke me up. She took me away without getting me discharged. She left me at Nana’s. They argued and I heard her say, ‘ You didn’t want me to give her up, so you raise her.’ I never saw her again.”

I felt stupid for letting it hurt me so many years later—that was a hell of a memory for him to end up with—but I’d learned to let my emotions flow so they could keep flowing. When more tears sprang, I blotted them on the sheet. “If you wanted a memory with a sense of a mother’s unconditional love, you got cheated.”

“We both did.” Johnny ran his fingers comfortingly over my leg.

My breath caught; we were positioned exactly as Una and Ninurta were in the memory from Menessos.

Johnny mistook my reaction for something else. “C’mere,” Johnny whispered. I scooted down, head on his shoulder again. Moving slowly, he enfolded me in his arms as best he could. My misery drained out as if it had just happened, and I tried not to wonder if our positioning like Menessos’s most-beloved meant anything.

Well before dawn, Johnny was awake. He kissed my cheek on his way out of the bedroom. “I’m off to help with preparations for the memorial. I’ll see you … sometime. Not sure when. Probably after this whole thing is over tonight.”

“You must be feeling better.” I could have slept half the day.

He moved his arms like a fitness guru showing off biceps. “I’m a little stiff.”

“Still? I thought I took care of that last night?”

“Ha!” He used both index fingers to chalk up a whole row of points onto our air scoreboard. His enthusiasm cheered me from my sleepiness. “That you did. I think you have more innuendo points than I do now.” He was brimming with adoration—then his phone beeped and he was all business again as he read the text message. “Either Todd’s decisophobic, or he enjoys tormenting me with the final say-so of every detail.” He drew closer and kissed my cheek again. “I feel like I’m healing up now. That salt did the trick. Good thing, too. The authenticity of my being the Domn Lup would sink if I’m strolling around with my arm in a sling.”

Male pride. I stretched, arching my back. “Should I come with you?” I asked around a yawn.

He bit at my nipples through my shirt. “I love it when you do.”

Laughter chased the yawn away. “Point for you.”

He pulled his arm back at the elbow and said, “Yes! Ow … oooo.” He rubbed at his chest. “Okay, no celebratory arm movements yet.”

“Should I come to the memorial with you?”

“It’d probably be better if you didn’t.”

“Okay. Guess I’ll dig into that rune reading today.”

That won me a third kiss on the cheek and, too soon, Johnny left.

Determined to unravel the meaning of the rune reading and unable to go back to sleep, I got up. Half an hour later, as I sat in the kitchen writing out my notes, I suddenly felt a shriveling sensation, as if I were a balloon filled with water and all of it was gushing out of me, leaving me empty and depleted. It took my breath away.