Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

The farther we went, the worse it became. I might have to use my broom to clear the way.

The stairs were covered in dust and debris, although the center portion was cleaner from obvious travel—and I could see why people were staying to the center. The walls were black with grime and mildew, the paint and paper peeling like diseased skin. It smelled moldy and musty, and underlying that was the damp odor of rusting metal. This is what abandonment smells like.

The staircase rounded down a quarter turn and a hallway stretched to either side. The ceiling here was as bad as the walls. The tiled floor was dirty, cracked, and broken—furthering the haunted-house atmosphere.

Menessos stopped and looked both ways thoughtfully.

“Are we waiting on ghostly traffic to stop so we can cross?”

The dim light caught the gray of his eyes, making crescent moons of them and the effect transfixed me. He said, “I am just trying to decide which way I should take you.”

Accustomed to Johnny’s innuendos, I found that his words had my mind flashing on various sexual positions. Stop it. He’s not Arthur .

“This way.” He led me to the left, past this level’s boarded-up elevator, and down a longer flight of steps. It, too, curved and was dilapidated in disgusting ways. We emerged into a lobby. Three sets of double doors were spaced along the wall on the far side. The centermost pair stood open with enough light streaming through to illuminate a considerable number of mostly large boxes sitting in the lobby.

Beyond the door, amid the sounds of construction, a female voice shouted, “Damn it! They better be furred out in ten minutes!”

Menessos strode ahead of me toward the open doors, but I guardedly kept three steps behind him. It wasn’t a full moon and if people were furring out—

As I peered around the door frame I saw a room covered in the expected layer of dust, but this was new dust from the renovation that was evidently in full swing here. The area was brightly lit with work lights. The shouting woman stood at a podium near the doors. She was slender and wore a turquoise tank top, black jeans, and work boots. Her black hair was woven into a waist-length braid. Her bare arms were lean but bore obvious muscle tone. Bracelets rounded each wrist.

In front of her, the theater “house” was a study in contrasts. Portions remained dilapidated, but just as much was fresh and new. All the seating in the orchestra level had been removed. Its gradual rake had been leveled and what appeared to be black marble was being installed as flooring. The stage—I could see right under it—was held up by a new framework. There were men under it, grunting and hammering and sweating.

Vampires working and sweating? I realized most of the workers’ shirts actually did show signs of wetness under the armpits. So these aren’t vampires but Beholders. A lot of them. My count topped twenty.

“Did you hear me? Where are those carpenters?” The female voice again.

“They went to get drinks,” came a static-laden reply through a two-way radio on the podium.

The woman grabbed the handset. “Mark,” she replied, no longer shouting. “I don’t care if they take their break early, but they didn’t check with me. I intend to stay ahead of schedule.”

“They checked with me. I meant to tell you.” He sounded apologetic.

After releasing an aggravated sigh toward the ceiling, she continued. “There’s nothing elegant about cinderblock. I want it furred out and I expect to see the drywall hung by dawn.”

“They’ll get that done. It’s this exterior wall I’m worried about.”

They sounded like a married couple disagreeing about which work needed to be done on the house first. He wanted structural issues fixed; she wanted the aesthetics addressed.

“The bricklayers will be here tomorrow,” the woman replied.

The man’s voice came softer, saying, “If I had a dollar for every tomorrow . . .”

“Then you’d be funding this job.”

Speaking of the guy paying for this, I located Menessos to the right of the doorway I still hadn’t passed through. He was only a few feet into the room and no one seemed to have detected him yet.

The man said, “The pyramids couldn’t have seemed as impossible as this, Seven.”

Seven?

“The pyramid builders didn’t have jackhammers or cranes. So I don’t want to hear the word ‘impossible’ again.”

Before she had a chance to speak again, Menessos softly said, “Seven.”

The woman turned. “Menessos!” She approached him with open arms and he accepted her embrace. “I worried when you did not return last night.”

“All is well,” he said.

Not quite mollified, she looked him over to make sure. As she performed her inspection of him, I made an inspection of my own. Her dark hair was pulled back into a single long braid. Her eyes had bright blue irises that darkened at the outer edges. The coloring gave her eyes the impression of glowing. Paired with high cheekbones and perfect proportions, hers was a striking face—even at the thirty-something she was. In this environment it didn’t surprise me that she wore little, if any, makeup. Her lashes couldn’t naturally be that lush and full, could they? The bracelets with bright blue-green stones that matched her tank top, however, did seem odd for a work zone.

She’s definitely a vampire. And from his words, the guy she was talking to, too.

She caressed Menessos’s biceps. “I hope she’s worth all the efforts these men are making. I’m dealing with enormous amounts of whining.”

“I heard that,” the man called from the ceiling opening.

She laughed; it had a melodic and playful quality. Doesn’t seem so dangerous. Maybe this will be okay. My sassy smart-ass self had stood up to Menessos and Goliath as necessary. Perhaps that boldness would serve me well here. Even if I was horribly outnumbered.

Menessos maneuvered her hands into his and held them. “She is definitely worth it.” He gestured to the doorway. “Let me introduce you.”

“She’s here? All I can smell tonight is wood dust and sealant!” She searched for and found me, half hidden behind the door frame. “You’re not timid, are you?” she called with a laugh. It was said without aggression, but the question bore a challenge nonetheless.

That made my feet move. Be bold. Marching forward, I put on my most amiable smile. “No. Just cautious.”

“Persephone, this is Seven.”

“Interesting name,” I said, and I extended my hand and shook hers with as much confidence and strength as she put into it. No limp-fish handshakes here. Cold, definitely, but firm.

“As is yours.” Her hands went to rest on her hips.

She was clearly capable and had taken my usual pose. I gave her a brownie point or two for that. I decided to keep her talking about herself, if I could. “So you’re in charge of the renovation?”

“I am.” She seemed very pleased that I acknowledged her authority in the task. Unfortunately, she wasn’t willing to give me any more details about herself. “Any special requests for your chambers?”

My chambers . I would be staying here, in the midst of this disaster area trying to be brought back to life. “Requests? From what I’ve seen so far, finished would be nice. And clean.” At least it’s not tunnels and rats.

Seven’s reaction was enigmatic. “It’s not finished, but you can give it the once-over. This way.” She was petite, much shorter than I, but despite my longer stride, I had trouble keeping up with her as she walked through the house.

“You’ve done a massive amount of work already,” I commented as I followed her up steps that led up to the left side of the stage. Menessos was right behind me.