Linda Robertson: Arcane Circle

Stunned, afraid, I eased onto a higher step. It felt like I was drowning from the inside, filling up… .

Menessos’s arms snapped out to the side, palms up, shaking. His fingers closed into tight fists. His scream dwindled away. He sank slowly into the hay and lay still except for the rise and fall of his chest.

The sensation of emptiness and the phantom pain were gone.

“Oh, Persephone.” His whisper was raspy and dry.

He knows I’m here.

“For a moment it felt like dying all over again,” he said slowly, seductively, “and then suddenly it was as if one hundred thousand volts of electricity were delivered straight into my heart—a heart prickling with thorns, pierced by your hand, and broken by your love for another—and then it beats effortlessly, as if it never stopped.”

The breath I’d been holding escaped in a rush and I scooted down to the lower stair. My gaze left the kennel for a heartbeat in my repositioning, but when I looked up he stood at the bars and I gasped. This preternatural stealth and speed of vampires still unnerved me.

The wrinkled suit didn’t diminish him. His eyes were gray, dark, and sharklike. A pentacle of dried blood—the evidence of my second hex—was on his brow, peeking from under tendrils of messy hair. “Are you yourself?”

“Who else would I be?”

I smirked, but didn’t stand or move to let him out. “Hungry?”

“Rapaciously.”

The pompous asshole is back. My heart swelled with happiness and a comforted sigh escaped. “We’ve made arrangements.”

“Do tell.”

“Mountain is going to come down in a few minutes. I wanted to assess you first, and tell you that I don’t think he knows what happened exactly. Only that you were covered and brought here, kept from the sun.”

“You didn’t tell him you staked me?”

I shook my head no.

He laughed at me. It wasn’t kind laughter. “Do you feel guilty? Even though I stand before you?”

“I killed you.”

“It was neither an accident nor murder. I offered my life to you, Persephone. You held me to your breast as my life leaked from me.” He made it sound sexual. In the candlelight, I caught a glimpse of fang. “And you made claim to me inside of that darkness. You placed another of your marks upon me.” He scrubbed irritably at his brow, flakes of blood drifting away. “You own me now, my master. You must own what you did to achieve it.”

He was right but I wasn’t going to say that aloud. I stood.

“What happened after? Your eyes are bright, your spirit high. Johnny survived, then?”

“He’s injured but will heal.” I quickly told him what he’d missed, including a little about those who were lost. “I’m sure the painter died as well. He couldn’t have survived that. What was his name?”

“Ross.” He added, “Good for him.”

“Good? His legs were incinerated while he was alive, then the rest of him burned!”

“Your pity is commendable, but unnecessary.”

I clamped my jaw shut, wedging my tongue behind my teeth.

“His story is more than sad and I will not burden you with it. Take comfort in his death, Persephone, for it was what he wanted most of all.”

“I don’t believe that. I watched him flee for his life. He stumbled …”

Menessos’s grip lowered on the bars of the kennel. “Freudian slips are not always a trip of the tongue. How many Beholders did I lose?”

“Twelve, I’m told.”

He nodded, glance flicking to the satellite phone in my hand. “May I make a call? I must have a car sent for me.”

“Of course.” I took a step forward and stopped, still holding the phone close to me. He did have Regional Vampire Lord stuff to do, but now that my guilt was allayed and it was clear he was as “normal,” or, rather, “paranormal,” as I could have hoped for, I had an agenda of my own to pursue. “But first, the elementals that survived are in the grove with Mountain. Will you allow him to stay here?”

“If you wish it, my master, it shall be so.”

“There’s more to it than that. The animals need barns. Mountain suggested that Heldridge’s Beholders could build them, as a kind of test of their loyalty to you.”

Even in the dim candlelight his aversion to this idea was evident. “They should not be anywhere near you. If any of their allegiance to him remains, they may seek to strike at you in retaliation for the task he could not complete.” Heldridge, the local lord, had attempted to kill Menessos using a dagger-throwing performer as his assassin. When that failed, Heldridge had fled. Now his people needed to be dispersed to other havens or taken in by Menessos.

“Regardless, the barns are needed, and quickly. I don’t know who else to ask.”

“As always, I will give you what you want and more, but you are my Erus Veneficus, and your protection is my utmost concern.” Publicly, Menessos and I maintained the ruse that he was the master and I was simply his court witch; very few knew the truth. “Perhaps I could assign some of my most trusted to guard you.”

I already had some personal protection: a charm given to me by Beau, a Bindspoken witch and owner of the magic supply shop called Wolfsbane and Absinthe. The charm would only defend me, though. Guards could protect everyone, including Nana and Beverley, and guards could act offensively if required. “All right,” I said. “But I don’t want Goliath.” Menessos’s second-in-command, among other things, Goliath was also the brother of the spirit housed in the protrepticus. He’d overheard his dead brother’s voice coming from my “cell phone” and questioned me. I’d never supplied an answer.

“It would not be him. He’s been set on another task.”

“Oh?” When Menessos did not answer the question inherent in that single syllable, I added, “This will be good, Menessos. Your Beholders will work with Heldridge’s men, keep tabs on them, and take action if they try anything.”

Menessos rolled his shoulders and used the bars to stretch languorously. A wicked little smile spread across his mouth.

“What?”

“I’ve just decided who to send to protect you.”

“Who?”

“Offerlings. They have many skills, dear Persephone. I know a few females whom it might suit you to have as sentinels.”

“Women?”

“I have found that often it is better to have the protection of women.”

I remembered the one Offerling in particular I’d dealt with at his haven, Risqué. “Tell me you won’t send topless women in ruffly orange short-shorts.”

“Would your live-in wærewolf like that too much?”

“He didn’t seem too fond of Risqué, but that isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?” He licked his lips.

His fangs seemed longer than usual. Or the candlelight was playing tricks. “One, guards need to be fully clothed if they’re here. Nana would have a cow if they’re not, and, well, Beverley doesn’t need to see that. Two, you need to stop treating women like dress-up dolls. Consider the task, then consider the functionality and practicality of the attire you insist that they wear. If you ask me, thigh-high platform boots should be outlawed. ”

He assessed me with lecherous approval. “But seeing you in them stoked my appetite in ways that have yet to be satisfied.”

I held up the satellite phone. “You want to call for a car? Promise me no monkeyshines.”

There was no hesitation as he solemnly said, “This I pledge to you, Persephone, my master: I am dead serious. ”

His words carried a heavy weight, but I was more aware that he’d said my name and no power flowed with it. I wondered if he’d lost the ability to “stroke” me by saying my name, or if it was an “at will” power. I offered him the phone.