Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

But it wasn’t my flesh that had been drained … it was my soul.

The sun had risen; Menessos had died.

With each gasp of air I gulped, I recovered and the withering and abandoned feeling receded. I resumed writing out my notes.

Soon, the floor above me creaked. The sound signaled that Nana and Beverley had roused and it was time to start breakfast. I started coffee, popped some bread in the toaster, and boiled water for oatmeal. With such uncommon events occurring lately, these ordinary household chores held greater meaning to me. I needed to cling to these moments when I could.

Nana shuffled in, took a cup of coffee, and sat in my spot at the dinette. “Johnny’s gone early today. Heard my car coughing down the road.” The rusty Chrysler LeBaron did need a tune-up.

“Pack things to attend to.”

“Sounds like I’ve got car things to attend to.” She lit a cigarette. “What’s this?” She tapped the paper with my notes.

“Runes.”

“Shit, Persephone, I can see that, ” Nana croaked. She scanned the drawn runes and the notes I’d made about which were reversed.

Before I could reply, Beverley and Ares bounded down the stairs sounding like a small herd of cattle. I got sidetracked serving the kiddo her oatmeal with brown sugar, and forgot to answer Nana. While Beverley ate, I made her lunch. After affixing a sticky note with a joke written on it to her sandwich bag, I zipped up the lunchbox and tucked it in her book bag.

The party invitations for her classmates were already stashed in the front pocket. I’d promised her a big birthday party. Though she would officially become ten on Thursday, we were inviting her whole class over on Saturday. And I had secret plans for some docile ponies to attend, too.

Ares was sitting by his bowl, tail skimming over the floor in rhythm with his hungry whining, so I fed him.

After finishing my own bowl of oatmeal, I tidied up the kitchen and let the puppy out to do his business. Nana remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout all of this, studying the runes I hadn’t explained. When Beverley and I headed out the door for the bus stop, Nana was still scowling at the paper.

As my Toyota Avalon rolled into the driveway, a white delivery van turned in behind me. It had followed me most of the way back from the bus stop. So, curious and concerned, I stopped the car halfway up the drive, put it in park, and got out, ready to go on the offensive if need be. When I saw INCOMPARABLE DELIVERIES, LTD on the van’s side, however, I relaxed.

A deliveryman in dark blue coveralls and matching cap stepped out. At Hallowe’en, this same man had delivered a costume from Menessos. “You?” My surprise got ahead of my manners. “Good morning.” I saw the name embroidered on his coveralls, and added an awkward “David.”

“Good morning to you, too, miss.” He offered me a manila envelope then headed back to the van and left.

Inside the envelope was proof of Menessos’s ability to swiftly pull political strings. I now had official permits for building two barns and a chicken coop, adding a bedroom-and-bath addition to the house, “site improvement” to and placement of a mobile home, and to dig a second well on my property.

Tossing this onto the seat, I put the Avalon in the garage. Nana opened the door from the kitchen before I’d even cut the engine. The toe of her pink fuzzy slipper was impatiently tapping. Her new, softer hairdo did nothing to diminish the supreme authority she could convey. Guess it wasn’t just the outdated beehive.

As soon as I opened the car door she demanded, “Are you planning to move into that vampire’s haven?”

“No!” Her question stunned me. “I may have to show up once in a while, though.” I slammed the door a little harder than was necessary and clomped up the steps carrying my purse and the manila envelope. “What makes you think that?”

Nana harrumphed as she shuffled into the kitchen and resumed her place at the table. “Your rune reading.”

Deciphering that was my whole purpose this morning, so I was eager for her input. “I’m better with Tarot than runes. So explain.”

“What pattern were you using for this seven-rune spread?”

“No pattern. That’s just how it ended up.” I filled my favorite coffee mug; it had Waterhouse’s Lady of Shalott on it. I joined her at the dinette after dropping my insulated flannel on the chair back.

“Typically, a seven-rune reading divides into four parts. The first two define the problem, the second two reveal the past factors that have brought about this situation, and the third pair give advice. The final rune tells you what to expect if you take that advice.”

“Okay.” With the powerful irritation Nana was radiating, I didn’t dare try to retrieve my notes from her and assess them according to that premise. I’d see what she had to say then tell her the circumstances under which I’d actually gotten this list of runes.

“Well, according to these, the problem stems from someone who wanted what was best for them and that caused you to have to change your plans. Sounds like the vampire making you his court witch.”

She had a point—if the reading had been about me, which it wasn’t. Moreover, Nana didn’t know about the sorsanimus ritual. I was able to do this reading for Johnny because we now shared souls. No way was I going to explain all that to Nana right now.

“And the next two say that your poor judgment and the chance encounter with that vampire brought this all on you.”

I nodded without comment. She was seeing what she wanted to see in the reading. If there truly was a dual reading at work here, then maybe it pointed to my meeting with Beauregard, the Bindspoken witch who owned the witch supply shop Wolfsbane and Absinthe. Because he gave me the spell components to do the sorsanimus ritual, I owed him a favor. More likely, though, all this referred to how Johnny was brought into the situation where he was given the tattoos.

“In the next pair, Nauthiz cautions you to think twice before taking action, while Uruz, to me, represents very masculine forces—so you should think twice where any men are concerned.”

“Okay.” Except that was probably Johnny dealing with other men, like maybe the Rege who would be here in a few days. “And the last one?”

“Tells you to take good advice. Like mine. And I say: Stay home and leave the vampire alone.”

My mouth opened, ready to tell her it was Johnny’s reading and the “separation” inherent in the last rune was more of a warning against letting any difficulties interfere with or cause a separation between him and the root of his spiritual strength. Before I could make a sound, though, she added, “Let the mundane humans buy all that romantic crap about vampires, but a witch should know better.” She thumped the table with her fist for emphasis.

That was when a semitrailer truck bounced past the house, as in, in my yard, and headed through the cornfield along the path of the trodden-down stalks.

For a moment, Nana and I just gaped. Then my feet had me hurrying out the door. Nana called my name, stopping me long enough for her to toss the flannel to me. “Can’t have you catching cold.”

I donned the jacket as I rushed outside—I’d forgotten to shut the overhead garage door because of Nana—and jogged after the semi.

Those hand-delivered building permits had arrived just in time.

Before I reached the pathway, a second truck was crossing my yard, and I got out of its way. A third with a flatbed trailer stopped on the road to unload a backhoe and a forklift. A small bus rolled to a stop behind it. The bus doors opened and dozens of men streamed out. Or, more accurately, dozens of Beholders.