Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

“A griffon.”

“You’re shitting me,” the Asian said.

My expression said clearly that I was not. “Right now I have many unusual animals running around here. Don’t shoot any of them.”

“What else can we expect to see?” the blonde asked.

“In the house is a fast-growing Great Dane.” Who, I remembered, wasn’t fond of Beholders. Still barking though the griffon had gone, Ares clearly wasn’t fond of Offerlings either. “Out in the back there’s … the unusual livestock.” I left it vague.

The blonde nodded, conveying that she was an accept-what-you’re-told-and-worry-about-what-it-really-means-later type. That didn’t mean she wasn’t able to think on her feet. I was willing to bet that, if I had claimed to be Mae West and asked her to set my hair on fire for me, this lady—without losing her unshakable and in-control demeanor—would have simply poured something on my head and told me it was flammable while she texted the higher-ups and ordered a psychiatric evaluation for me.

She extended her hand to me. “My lady, I’m Maxine Simmons. This is Zhan Hong. We’ll check the house, then take up our positions for watch.”

I introduced the women to Nana while holding Ares’s collar as he acquainted himself with them. They must have been carrying some residual scent of things undead, because Ares was unimpressed. I shut the garage door before any more griffons found the dog food, and let the behemoth pup help me clean up the kibble while the women satisfied themselves that no one was hiding under my bed, in my pantry, or under the sink.

I left Ares in the garage and joined Nana in the kitchen, where she was watching out the window. The permits from the manila envelope were on the table; she’d been looking them over.

“About those runes.” It was, after all, my intended goal for the day. “That wasn’t exactly a reading, and it wasn’t for me. It was for Johnny.”

“How so?” Her forehead wrinkles deepened.

“I used Great-El’s slate.” My great-great-great-grandmother had been named Elpis, but Nana had always referred to her as Great-El, so I did, too.

“Lord and Lady, I haven’t thought of that eccentric old thing in years.”

I hoped she meant the slate, not Great-El.

“What were you trying to do with it?”

“I wanted the name of whoever gave Johnny his tattoos.”

“I’m sure any tattoo artist can touch up the scars he might end up with. Look up tattoo parlors in the phone book.”

“It’s more than that, Nana.” I moved closer and lowered my voice, not sure I wanted the Offerling-sentinels to hear. “We’ve learned that his power as Domn Lup was magically bound into the art. We have to find the artist and make him unbind it so Johnny can change at will without so much effort.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “And fast.”

“What’s the hurry?”

In whispered tones I told her about the Rege coming on Wednesday. “So I tried Great-El’s slate thinking if I could tap into his subconscious—some part that remembers—and get an answer, we’d know who did this. We could start searching. Instead, I got some cryptic rune reading.”

Nana stood at the end of the dinette and twirled my note page to her. “That changes everything, and yet … the reading isn’t without truth.”

“What?” I asked.

“Because it came out like a reading, indicating reversed meanings and such, you thought of it like a reading. If you think of them like letters, though … this rune, Ansuz, may look like an F, but its alphabetical equivalent is an A. ” Her finger tapped along the row as she mumbled, “Uruz is a U and Mannuz is an M …” Then, more clearly, she announced, “You got your answer, Persephone.” Nana passed me the paper. “You got a name. Arcanum.”

Arcanum?” Theodora Hennessey asked, the warmth of her alto voice coming through the phone. She was one of the wærewolves who kenneled in my cellar during full moons. Her day job was owner and sole employee of Revelations, a service providing background checks on anyone from a possible employee to potential spouses.

“Yes.” I spelled it to make sure there was no miscommunication.

“Male or female?”

“I don’t know.”

She asked more questions and got the same answer. Theo sighed. “I’m good, but honestly, finding someone via a pseudonym, without a full, real name and a birthday is seriously iffy. Finding it without an address or even a confirmed city or state is next to impossible. Do you have anything else?”

“This person is a tattoo artist and probably a witch.” At least I was hoping one person had accomplished this. If we had to track down two …

“Well that’s something. I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

“Thanks, Theo. And hey, Beverley’s birthday is Thursday, will you come for dinner? We’re having a big kid party on Saturday, but I’d like to have all of you who were friends with her mom over on Thursday.” I heard pages shuffling.

“I can do that. Just promise me Johnny is making the cake.”

I grumbled.

“What?”

“I can’t promise that. I doubt he’ll have time to bake. The Rege is coming to meet him on Wednesday.” Over the next few days the whole pack would know, so I didn’t fret about telling her.

“Hell, that was fast. The Rege himself, you say?”

“Yeah.” I had a thought. “What do you know about him?”

“Keep your head down and stay the hell out of his way.”

“What do you mean?”

“You ever see The Godfather ?”

“Yeah.”

“You see The Terminator ?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the Nightmare on Elm Street movies?”

“The scary guy with knives on his fingers? Yeah.”

“Combine them. That’s the Rege.”

The well-drilling team was hard at work in the field when semis and trailers carrying two more backhoes, a crane, and some large sections of concrete were brought in. It seemed someone had quickly decided where the buildings would go and had measured and marked the areas, and the machinery was barreling around the cornfield.

As the first trucks left and the crane began unloading the concrete chunks, another arrived with prefabricated barn sides, trusses for the roof, and more. Some logistic genius was at work here.

All the hubbub was making Nana nervous. She announced that she was going to the store. Though she no longer had a hairdo that required gallons of Aqua Net and regular salon maintenance, she still tied a babushka under her chin before taking my car and fleeing.

Now that the runes had been deciphered, I could get some work done on my column, but I wanted to call Johnny first and tell him about Nana’s interpretation. While my computer booted up, I hit speed dial. Expecting to leave him a message, it surprised me when he answered.

“’Lo?”

“I thought you’d be busy,” I said.

“I am. But I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Aww … Well, thanks to Nana we’re making a little progress on those runes.” I told him the name and he was ecstatic, until I added what Theo had said. “On top of that, even if this person is found, convincing them to undo the binding may take time.”

“We’ll go with the vamp’s backup plan, then. I’ll try to get the forced-change spell scheduled ASAP. It’ll reassure the men if I’m participating with them.” I’d promised to perform a ritual for pack members who had volunteered to fight the fairies. The spell would force a painful and out-of-cycle full transformation on them, but afterward they would be able to retain their human minds whenever the full moon hauled their wolf form to the surface.