Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

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Even magic can't solve everything. . . .
After facing down the forces of Fairy in mortal combat, Persephone Alcmedi still must deal with the aftermath. Not only does Seph now possess deadly secrets she must hide from the arcane and mundane world alike, but the dozens of magical creatures who've taken up residence behind her cornfield need food and shelter, and there's still her foster daughter Beverly's tenth birthday party to plan.
And that's not all. . . . Seph's boyfriend Johnny has revealed himself as the wærewolf Domn Lup, and the ruler of the wære world is en route from Romania to make sure Johnny really is the 'king' he claims to be. But Johnny's hiding a dangerous secret: his magic is locked in his mysterious tattoos. He and Seph must find a way for him to reclaim it - fast - despite those who have no intention of letting Johnny gain his full powers. Seph knows that, in the arcane world, strength is always a necessity and power must be constantly proven, but how far is she willing to go to succeed . . . and at what cost?

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He noted the distance at which I kept myself. “Trust me so little?”

“Just cautious.”

He reached for the phone, but his eyes remained steadily on mine. As a show of trust, I stretched forward an extra inch. His grasp curled around my fingers and the phone—but nothing more. He didn’t yank me to him; he didn’t do anything except touch me.

But that was enough.

A swift memory flashed to the forefront of my mind, invading my vision. I saw Menessos, walking through hallways unfamiliar to me, but obviously familiar to him. It was as if I were in his mind with him, and he definitely knew where he was going… .

The music of hollow drums and flutes, of gently plucked strings drifted after him down long stone hallways, and whispered up a wide stairwell. He glanced out a window; below, donkeys pulled carts and people filled the marketplace.

His hair was longer, well past his shoulders and bound loosely. Shirtless, his skin was bronzed. He wore a pleated skirt secured with a belt, and sandals.

The afternoon was hot, the air dry, and he was thirsty. He’d been at his duties since dawn and now wanted some honeyed wine. As he approached a certain doorway, a sense of relief filled him, a sense of home and family. He entered quietly, eager, and shut the door silently. The echoing music was lost, replaced by a woman’s soft laughter. He smiled to himself and parted the curtain only enough to peer into the next chamber. There, a man and a woman lay cuddling upon a bed.

They did not know he was watching.

The young man in the bed had lean but muscular limbs, and he lay on his back. The woman was sitting up, propped by one hand while the other toyed with the man’s brown hair. One of her legs lay across his abdomen, and he idly stroked up and down her thigh.

She was thin and elegant, her every motion conveyed the tender grace of love. Her hair cascaded to her waist and was dark like the deepest night. Menessos could tell it had been braided until recently, but now it fanned out over her shoulders with wide waves where it had been plaited.

Their nakedness made obvious what they had been doing. Yet Menessos felt no pang of jealousy or awkward interruption. He watched them adoring each other, and true joy filled him.

His throat rumbled softly as he cleared it. Both looked up at once, and each smiled warmly at him. The woman called his name and gestured him forward.

“Una,” was his whispered reply. “Ninurta.” He joined them, heart swelling to know that he was loved unconditionally by both… .

I blinked, and saw only the vampire before me in the candlelit cellar talking into the satellite phone, completely unaware that his memory had overtaken me.

Johnny, Menessos, and I had traded pieces of our souls, pieces bound in strong memories. We did this in order to protect me from being Bindspoken by the Witch Elders Council for breaking—out of necessity—a few of their rules. As the Lustrata, I couldn’t risk having my aura sealed and being rendered magically impotent forever.

What I’d just seen was the memory Menessos gave me in that sorsanimus spell. I wanted to see it again, to study these legendary people once more, but the memory’s strength had fled.

Menessos shut the phone off. “A car was already on its way. The driver should arrive in fifteen minutes.” His tongue ran over those long, sharp teeth. “Is Mountain nearby?”

“Yes. But you fed from him this morning. Will you be able to stop?”

“I have been a vampire for thousands of years, Persephone,” he scolded me, irritation seasoning his tone.

“Being undead is new.”

“I do not feel different in any way that should alarm you.”

It implied that he did feel different in other ways. I would have questioned him further, but his aura of starving-animal impatience warned me not to delay. In the little time we had, however, there was one more thing I had to hammer out. “Johnny’s asked me to search his mind via the sorsanimus link to find what I can about whoever locked up his tattoos. I have an idea of what to do, and how, but I don’t want to waste time on the trial and error method. Do you know anything that can help?”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“A bit.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but, again, we had little time.

“He shouldn’t be able to change at all,” I babbled, “because of how his powers are locked up, but he can. It’s difficult, but the fact that he can surpass it attests to his power—”

“No. It attests to yours.”

“Huh?”

“The spell that forcibly transformed Theo included Johnny and the others. It did more than save her life, did it not?”

I nodded. Though they had all transformed as usual during the last full moon, each of them retained their man-minds while in wolf form.

“Had he been able to transform any part of himself prior to that?”

“Only his hands.”

“And afterward, the Domn Lup proved himself and fully transformed. You are supposed to repeat that particular spell for the wærewolves who fought at the beach, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Perhaps if you include Johnny again, it will further weaken those locks.”

The logic was sound; I’d present the option to Johnny. It might be enough, for now.

Menessos offered the phone to me through the bars. I stepped closer to retrieve it. Both of his hands shot forward and grabbed my wrist. As fast as it happened, my first impulse was to jerk away, but I didn’t give in to fear. I stood unmoving, unresisting.

At his lingering touch, the underside of my sternum heated. It was some kind of bonus born of the first hex between us and he could stir this reaction in me by simply saying my name. He called it “kindling my flesh,” and he could make it very pleasurable. Now that he bore my second hex, perhaps simply saying my name didn’t have the same power, but he showed me how much more thorough a second hex could conduct the kindling: a warm kiss blew onto the nape of my neck, setting my spine afire, burning like a slow fuse.

It wasn’t clear if Menessos felt it; he did not react. He did nothing but hold me and stare into my eyes. “You kissed me, before you killed me,” he whispered. “The memory of you willingly pressing your lips to mine is one I will treasure. Forever.” He released me and the flame on the fuse died away.

Oh no. This is going to be tougher to resist.

Leaving him, I pushed the cellar door open and a gust of chilled November air instantly curled cold fingers around me. This airstream dragged me up from the underground as if desperate to separate me from the vampire.

Mountain stood a few yards away, the kennel keys in his fist. I touched his arm. “You gave blood once today and have been busy with the elementals ever since. A driver will be here in a few minutes, let him donate instead.”

I watched from my living room window as a limousine pulled into my driveway. The driver got out, his steps scrunching on the limestone, and opened a door. Menessos got in without so much as a backward glance toward the house. When the red taillights streaked up the road, a fraction of the completeness I felt in his presence bled away from me.

Retreating from the window, I saw Johnny descending the stairs, barefoot. Every step he took revealed his exhaustion. His hair was damp and he wore a skull-patterned button-down shirt. He balanced a pizza box on one hand, an empty two-liter Dr Pepper bottle wobbling dangerously atop it. His other hand, limp and empty, dangled from the arm supported by the guitar-strap sling.

“Let me take those.” I intercepted him before he’d reached the bottom of the stairs and relieved him of the cardboard and plastic. “Should you be up?”

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