Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

“Wait’ll you see what it does during an eclipse.”

I was going to have to check my almanac. “Beau, I want to be clear. Are you giving me this or am I borrowing it?”

“It’s a little thing the Lustrata ought to have about her neck, doll. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. There is, however, one more thing you must do.”

“I’m listening.”

“No charm is infallible, not even one as powerful as this. Any token can be removed from you. Though I’d hate to think the Lustrata might let that happen, if you’re wise you’ll do something more permanent.”

“Like what?”

“Displace a few pieces of your soul.”

“What?” On my feet, I stared down at Beau, incredulous.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“N-not as bad as it sounds? Not as bad? What the hell, Beau? It’s—”

“It’s a binding ritual.”

“Fuck,” I whispered, plopping back into the metal chair. Noticing Beau’s questioning look, I added, “I’ve dealt with enough binding issues lately.” Sarcasm helped make my point. I thought.

Beau seemed unimpressed. “Suck it up, Lustrata.”

I sat straighter, took a deep breath, and readied to give him a speech he’d not soon forget.

He beat me to the punch line. “Do you want to fulfill . . . and survive . . . this destiny of yours, or not?”

My lungs deflated. “Of course.”

“Then you have to pay the price. It’s gotten worse with each incarnation. Each time the stakes are higher, and the enemy’s investment has grown stronger. If you fail, it will be worse for the next one.”

“How do you even know that?”

He gauged me steadily; I maintained an air of firm expectation. I wanted an answer. Finally he said, “I had cause to do an enormous amount of research.”

“What cause?”

“We’ll discuss that before the next full moon.”

I hated being inveigled. “You were researching the Lustrata?”

“I researched everything. I help you solve your problem, and you’ll help me solve mine. That’s fair, isn’t it? Balanced enough for you, O Bringer of Justice?”

I could do without the sarcasm and with a lot more information. “I’d like to know what you want me to do to help you.”

“For now, protect yourself. Don’t let them seal your magic in. Place a piece of your soul with someone else, and take a piece of someone else’s soul into you.”

“How do I do that?” I demanded. “And how does that help?”

“Menessos knows how. It’s in that old book of his.”

My breath caught. “Menessos sent me to you to find out how to do whatever it is I have to do. Wait—you know about—?”

“The Trivium Codex? Yes, I know of it. And he sent you to me so I could tell you what you didn’t want to hear or wouldn’t have believed if he told you. It’s all in the book.”

“You’re telling me to give a piece of my soul to the vampire?”

“No, I’m telling you to give up two pieces, and to receive two pieces.”

“I need to give him two pieces of—”

“No, give two people each one piece.”

I blinked.

“Catching on, doll? The trade-off must be done at one time—the three of you together. Convincing Johnny will be thorny at best.”

“Johnny’s a waerewolf. No magic.”

“Johnny’s Domn Lup, doll. He is magic.”

“What?” Magic? And how does he know Johnny’s Domn Lup?

“Those tattoos. Someone figured out what he was long ago. And whoever it was had him tattooed as a . . .” He struggled for the right words. “It’s not so dissimilar from being Bindspoken.” He leaned back in the chair a moment. Closed his eyes. Opened them and spoke rapidly, as if he’d found what he wanted to say in some mental dictionary. “Instead of outside forces permanently hardening and sealing your aura to sever you from the energies of the universe as with Bindspeaking, this is more like convincing your magic to relinquish its power into the art and colors of the tattoos. It has the perk of being reversible. Johnny has to persuade the tattoo artist who locked the power up to unlock it.”

“You never told him this!”

Beau shrugged. “He can’t remember where he came from, let alone when or where the tattoos were given him, or by whom, so there’s no point in saying, ‘Hey, you’re powerful but someone kind of imprisoned you in your own skin,’ is there?” There was no remorse in his posture or expression. “I know what that’s like. It’s hell. Better he not know . . . until such time as his path crosses that of someone who can fix it. Like the Lustrata.”

“What have I got to do with this?”

“All he does know is that he was prepared for you. He told you that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You must give pieces of your soul to each of them,” Beau said. “And take a piece in return in order to maintain the soul balance within yourself. Then you can block WEC from Bindspeaking you. You can also unshackle what’s been imprisoned deep inside of Johnny, and—” He shut the briefcase and locked it. “Oh yeah, doll, you can save the world and yourself to boot.” He was smiling, but I knew this was no joke.

I just sat there, stunned by his words.

Beau stood. “Come on.” He limped through the door. Somehow I managed to stand and follow.

Out in the store, he busily rifled around the shelves. He selected a small, wide-mouthed bottle with clear liquid in it. Uncorking it, he added a peach pit. Scrutinizing the larger jars of herbs, he took down three. By their labels, they were willow, moss, and orchid. He took a pinch from the first two jars, and three dry petals from the orchid jar. After hurriedly replacing those jars, he chose another, took out three holly leaves, and placed them in a small box.

The bells on the door jingled.

“Hi, Maury,” Beau called. He recorked the bottle and gave it a shake, then shoved the items into a bag and pushed it to me. “Go now.” He ducked back behind the curtain.

Someone knocked on the door of my room at the haven. I opened it expecting to see Johnny. Instead, I found Seven smiling at me. “It’s time to get you ready, my lady.”

“C’mon in.”

“No, for the ceremony you will be entering from the rear of the auditorium. We have a dressing room prepared for you off the lobby. You can dress there and be ready for your entrance. Menessos has provided you a gown and accessories.”

“What about Johnny?”

“Please advise him to shower and be ready. Mark will deliver his attire in half an hour.”

“Johnny’s not here.” After Mountain had escorted me back, I’d paced and thought. Beau’s charm was on a long, thin gold chain around my neck, but hidden under my clothes. I needed to talk to Johnny and Menessos about what Beau had told me— before the ceremony.

“Where is your pet?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. He went to work. Was supposed to get off at six.” It was six forty-five now. The ceremony would begin at eight.

“I’m sure he is simply stuck in Friday-evening traffic.”

She was probably right. He normally rode his motorcycle and doubtlessly weaved illegally through traffic as needed, but today he’d taken my car.

The new heavy red velvet stage curtains were drawn in far enough to frame an opening in the center the width of the black dais. Three steps up from stage level, the dais was set with three regal chairs: the ornate, high-backed one I’d seen earlier was flanked by a similar but smaller chair to its right and a feminine divan to its left. Beside the divan was a large red velvet pillow. For Johnny to sit on, like a pet on the floor.