Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

Mountain came across the cornfield shouting directions for the Beholders to form lines in a certain area for a head count. Menessos’s men were dressed in work clothes and heavy-duty boots. They were prepared for a day of hard, dirty work.

Heldridge’s men, however, looked more like thugs. Some wore gold chains and rings. Some sported dark sunglasses or bandannas. All of them were wearing clothes that branded them a bunch of badasses while also screaming, “I’ve got money,” because the crisp, clean, new clothes were undeniably designer labels.

Though I was excited that a barnraising was about to commence, I realized that running out here in the midst of that excitement might have been hasty. We weren’t certain whose side these human vampire servants were on. My pace increased as I headed to intercept Mountain.

The forklift barreled over to remove a skid from the first semi. Someone pushed a delivery list into Mountain’s hands and he skimmed it, flipping pages and nodding. When he looked up, Mountain saw me and waved. Strands of his überlong ponytail lifted in the chilly morning breeze.

“It’s cold,” I said, stepping up beside him. “Did the tent keep you warm enough to sleep well?”

His head bobbed. “It did.” The bus driver left his vehicle idling and strolled over with a drive-thru bag and a large coffee that he passed to Mountain, who shoved the delivery list under his arm. “Thanks, Derek,” he said as the man walked away. “Hold this?” He offered me the coffee and I held it while he dug a sausage biscuit from the bag. “Mind if I eat?”

“Not at all,” I answered. I watched the line of Beholders, Menessos’s warning at the forefront of my thoughts.

He bit, chewed, mmm -ed. “Speaking of eating, the griffons caught a pair of deer last night.”

“Oh?” I shot a glance toward the animals; they had all moved into the grove itself. Phoenixes perched in branches, and while the unicorns’ alabaster coats were plainly visible amid the tree trunks, the griffons were barely discernable. I couldn’t see the dragons, but I heard their distinctive warbling. It seemed they would all stay clear of the Beholders. Good.

“So they’re fed. The project list shows delivery of food for the others is pending. Should be here within the hour.” He was also watching the Beholders, who had lined up as bidden, though they had taken it upon themselves to separate their line into two groups.

Mountain must have noticed me eyeballing the Beholders. “Heldridge’s men are in for a rude awakening today,” he said. “There’s going to be a lot of sore backs and blistered hands tonight.”

“Do you think you’ll have a problem with them?”

“When a haven dissolves, everyone wants to go to a master with a reputation for treating his people well, but generally the vampires who step up to take on the extras are the ones who tend to break their toys, if you know what I mean.”

“What reputation does Menessos have?”

“That he won’t tolerate disrespect and is exceedingly harsh on anyone who opposes his rules, but otherwise safe. They’ll behave. Besides, the boss is sending sentinels for you.”

“Yeah, we talked about that.” I wrinkled my nose. He promised no monkeyshines.

“They should’ve been here first. Before Heldridge’s Beholders anyway—wait—there they are.” He pointed with his pinky as he pushed the last of the biscuit into his mouth.

A sleek black car rolled past the semis and up my gravel driveway.

“Oooo. Audi A8,” Mountain mumbled. He readjusted the coffee, dug in the bag again, and promptly bit into another biscuit.

“They won’t know I’m out here,” I said to Mountain. “It’s probably best not to have them accosted by my Nana first thing.”

He waved me on. “Don’t worry about us out here. I’ve got this under control.”

“I believe you do.” I patted his enormous upper arm. “Thanks, Mountain.”

“No. Thank you. The boss let me stay because you asked and … I’m glad to have this task.”

I jogged away feeling that having him here—in addition to my gratefulness for having someone with farm knowledge in charge of the new livestock—was giving him part of his heritage back. A positive contrast to all those lives that had been lost on my account.

As I rounded the house enough to gain a clear view of the driveway, I saw a pair of women dressed like federal agents. Each had taken a position behind open car doors, holding handguns aimed into my garage.

Sweet Goddess, what’s Nana done now?

Stop!” I shouted.

The woman nearest me kept her weapon aimed into the garage as she shouted to me, “You are the Erus Veneficus? Persephone Alcmedi?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t imagine what kind of exchange Nana had instigated to provoke these women, but my Great Dane pup, Ares, was barking his head off inside. “Put your guns away.”

“My lady, there’s a creature in your garage.”

A creature? My jog accelerated into a sprint. The woman who’d shouted at me abandoned her position behind her car door and for a moment it seemed she intended to tackle me to keep me safely back. “Whoa,” I commanded, hand up and out to stop my well-meaning defender. She pulled up short but spread her arms to block me. I demanded, “Let me see,” even as I thrust past her to where I could view the trunk of my Avalon in the garage.

A feathered tiger’s tail swished at the front edge of my car.

At least it’s not Nana causing the ruckus.

“Do not shoot,” I commanded them. “Put your weapons away and stay back.” Walking slowly into my garage, I saw the injured griffon with his beak in the big plastic bin where Ares’s dog food was kept. He’d overturned the bin to get it open. His blind side was toward me. “Hey there …” I said softly from inside the garage.

His head shot up, neck feathers fluffing menacingly. His wings rose as much as the garage would allow. He opened his beak and made a noise like the rumble of distant thunder. It was the griffon version of a growl. “Whoa, there, Thunderbird,” I said softly. “Didn’t you get any deer last night?” I eased forward. His wings lowered a little and he moved to keep the Avalon between us. To the women outside I said, “Get into your car. If he leaves, let him.”

They unhappily obeyed.

For each of my slow steps toward the hood of the Avalon the griffon countered, hobbling to the trunk. When he was clear, he took to the air. I hurried outside to watch; he went back to the grove.

They were sentient creatures of magic. While they couldn’t speak, I was certain they were able to reason and think in ways that typical animals could not. Therefore, I wasn’t worried that the griffons would fly off and eat little children, but I was concerned that they might migrate to a ley line in a warmer state.

Sounds of car doors shutting brought my thoughts back to the sentinels in their Audi that Mountain thought was so terrific. The women were approaching me. The one that had been ready to tackle me was a platinum blonde; the other a lovely Asian woman with dark hair.

Being gorgeous was a requirement to be an Offerling, but they had toned that down with the stern effects of their tightly bound hair. The brunette wore her hair in a low ponytail. I was delighted that she was dressed in a suit of battleship gray with a black silk blouse and sensible shoes. She settled her gun into a shoulder holster. The blonde wore a camel-colored double-breasted suit with a black turtleneck. Her pale hair was in a prim bun.

No Menessos monkeyshines. Yay!

As the blonde walked, she lifted the jacket to put her gun into a waist clip holster. “What the hell was that thing?”