Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

“Yes, it’s quite an undertaking, but not impossible .” She smiled as she stressed the last word.

Crossing the brightly lit stage, Menessos gestured at an open framework slightly upstage. “I thought the screens were going up tonight?”

“They are. They’re over there,” Seven said, pointing at a row of boxes that, according to the labels, held large flat-screen display monitors. “The rest of the crew has gone to the Blood Culture. They should be back any minute.”

The Blood Culture was a bar for vampires, and its owner, Heldridge, could’ve been the poster boy for the “Vampire Executive” PR campaign. I’d met him at the Eximuim and he definitely had the bloodsucking-lawyer-type persona.

As I understood it, the blood bars paid cash to donors. Around here, many of the donors were nurses and staff from the Cleveland Clinic and University Hospitals—who enjoyed the supplemental income. The bar then resold the blood like any other retail operation.

Seven guided us into the stage-right offstage wing and through a maze of stacked lumber, stage lights, and other material. She opened a door in a cinderblock wall that opened into a rectangular space. The far wall soared up two stories. Two doors pierced it. One at floor level, the other opened onto a small landing atop a flight of metal stairs.

“This area was used as the green room when they did live shows here.” Seven indicated the space around us. The room was gray. Floor and walls. She started up the stairs to the upper door. We followed. “I know, it’s not green. That’s just the theatrical term for any room used by the performers as a sort of lounge area close to the stage.

“Here we are,” she said from the landing. She tapped in numbers for the keyless electronic lock and opened the plain steel door, went in and hit the light switch.

The first thing I saw was a broad stone fireplace centered in the finished room. Finished. I almost cheered. Seven had said “not finished”; she’d meant “not furnished.” The walls were solid, the ceiling and floor complete. I allowed a small sigh of relief to escape my lips. Seven could take it for appreciation.

The stacked stone rose up fifteen feet, like a giant support column. The bottom was open to the front and back. To the right of it, a black-granite-topped bar separated a small kitchen with stainless steel appliances and pale cabinetry from the rest of the space. The opposite side, except for a pair of dark mahogany tables and wrought-iron lamps, was empty. There were black-lacquered doors in the wall to my left, leading, I guessed, to a bathroom and a closet.

Small spotlights focused on a large empty steel security frame attached to the leathery brown, textured wall. A perfect location for Ariadne. Too perfect.

How long does he think I’m staying here?

The floor throughout was pale oak. Glossy black molding gleamed at the top and bottom of the walls. The ceiling was painted a soft wheat. I moved further into the room and noticed a circular portion of the ceiling behind the fireplace was recessed. Intrigued, I drew closer. After leaning my broom against the stone fireplace column, I discovered the interior was a dome painted like a night sky with wispy clouds.

Not a hovel at all. So much more than a hotel room. My “chambers” were a very comfortable apartment.

Beside me, Seven flipped another switch. Pinpoints of light began to glow in the dome “sky,” little fiber optics twinkling like stars. “Wow.”

“I was thinking this for the furniture,” Seven said, offering me a design board she’d picked up off the kitchen bar. Pictures of furniture, swatches of fabric, and a pair of professional sketches suggesting layout were all fastened to the board. A large black four-poster bed would be placed under the dome, with sheer black curtains hung around it. Curtains of a heavy opaque fabric would hang from burnished brass rods running from the side walls to the centered stone stack of the fireplace, effectively dividing a sitting area with two chairs and a black leather sectional angled around an entertainment center. She’d accented the black and brown theme with blues that would rival her eyes for brightness.

“What do you think?” She leaned subtly into my personal space and inhaled deeply. She was trying to “taste” my mortal scent.

Determined not to be annoyed, I smiled and said, “I love it. Everything is so dark, but I know it will feel cozy.” Now if we could just move it to a building that wouldn’t be crawling with vampires . . .

“This area used to be six dressing rooms, a bathroom, and a hallway.” She circled me, pointing. “I had it gutted and completely remade. These walls, the floor, and the ceiling have been reinforced with steel arcs, cinderblock, and concrete. No creature is coming in here, unless you open the door.”

“And the fireplace flue?”

“Asphalt on the roof, iron grille at the exterior top. Any antifey wards between, you do yourself.” She circled me like a shark, her slow, predatory vampire grace indicating a change I didn’t like. “The door is the only way in or out of this room—it’s set in a reinforced frame and is made of solid steel.”

“We can post guards, if you would like, but I doubt it will be necessary,” Menessos said. He’d held back, but now he moved in, intimately close. His nearness caressed my aura, but he hadn’t evoked his usual heated response from me. “Everyone inside the building is loyal to me. Still, some may express jealousy for the attention you will receive.”

His fingers wrapped loosely around my arm and his thumb pressed to the bend of my elbow, on the vein. He leaned close enough that his beard brushed my cheek.

Seven was watching with a level of intensity that made me even more uncomfortable.

Menessos nuzzled close to my ear, near the veins in my neck, and whispered, “With your living blood so warm . . . the interest is unavoidable, but no one would dare harm you, for none would risk my wrath.”

His voice was like warm silk on my skin. Even without his metaphysical push toward desire, I was enticed. Still, he did not provoke that lust heat through my body. And he could have.

Meanwhile, Seven still circled.

It was this kind of shit that made me nervous to be in the company of vampires. So nervous, in fact, that the first idea that struck me made my mouth open. “Then why bother with guards?” I asked. “Nobody wants the boring duty of standing outside a door, right? Your people will think I’m weak and afraid.”

“Aren’t you?” Seven asked coolly.

Her glowing irises were neon bright, but I’d counseled myself to be bold. “Don’t mistake my caution for fear. I am mortal, yes, but Menessos just said there’s no reason to be afraid.”

Seven’s stalking ceased and she announced, “Your witch may survive after all.”

“Not only is she brave and quick to assess others,” Menessos replied as his hand trailed down my arm, “she is beautiful and powerful, as well.” He threaded his fingers with mine. Finally, warmth rushed through me.

Seven must have sensed it and took it as a cue. She moved toward the door. “I hear the crew coming in. By your leave, Boss?”

“Of course.”

I hadn’t heard anything before, but as Seven left, laughter drifted through the open door as did the sound of many footfalls. When Seven shut the door, Menessos stroked my cheek, gently aligning my face with his. Our lips were so close. “You are so captivating.”

He stared at me as if he could see all the way through me, to the burning desire in my very core . . . burning for him.

“Your very presence here soothes me and invigorates me. Your voice and your eyes are, to me, the bright reassurance that a summer day is to you.” His thumb stroked my neck. “In your company I feel as if the world is warm and bountiful.”