Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

“Seven, is it possible to give him something less like a sissy dog bed?”

She lingered atop a new set of red-carpeted steps leading from center stage down to the house. “I have a large black pillow of wormy silk, if you would rather . . .”

Johnny would prefer black. “If you’d exchange them, I’d be grateful.”

“Consider it done,” Seven said tersely, then led me down the steps onto more red carpeting. It made an eight-foot-wide crimson aisle that reached through the center of the black marble-tiled area and extended to the doors to the auditorium. The marble floor was now set with tables decked in black cloths and black candles in gold-crackled globes. The chairs were wrought iron and I wondered if they would scratch the high-gloss marble. Glossy and slick. Although the ever graceful vampires would have no problem with it, the marble could be dangerous for a mortal in the wrong shoes.

That reminded me of the Hallowe’en costume Menessos had sent me. While I’d worn the top, I’d replaced the skirt and stilettos with pants and boots. I hoped he hadn’t included similar shoes for tonight.

She took me through the lobby area. The walls were covered in gathered silk. Gold wall sconces may have been original, but had been cleaned and restored to working order. “It’s lovely.”

Seven stopped at a hallway leading off the lobby. Pushing back a bit of the fabric on the wall, Seven revealed new particle board beneath, and staples hidden under the fabric to make it pleat. “You’re amazing,” I said.

Seven let the fabric fall back into place. “And here I thought you were the amazing one.” Her words had an edge of dryness, as if there were sarcasm in there.

“Why me?”

“The Boss has kept few court witches. He is so powerful himself, it was not necessary.”

In case she was one of those concerned about his power—and something had her in a snit—it would be better not to feed any suspicions. “A vampire executive must have many responsibilities. I guess he decided that it suits him to allow another to help carry this aspect of court life.”

“He once enjoyed the magic, displaying his power before us all and for other vampire executives .” She said the last word with distaste.

“Maybe he’s impressed everyone he cared to impress. My nana used to collect snow globes—you know, the ones with water in them you shake to make the fake snow swirl? But when I was in high school she stopped. Then, while I was away at college, she gave the whole collection away. She’d just lost interest in them. Maybe he’s done everything magically he ever wanted to do and now it’s lost its thrill for him.”

Proceeding down the hall, she gave a backward glance at me. “He’s lost something. I’ll agree with that.”

Oh, hell. Change the subject. “Have you been with him long?”

“Centuries.”

“Vivian had quite a long life because of her mark. Do you know who preceded her?”

“The last witch before her was in the sixteen hundreds. I do not remember her name.”

Perhaps Menessos’s mention of court witches and their apprentices meant other vampires customarily kept them, but not him. “That is a long lapse, I guess.”

“Here we are,” she said, and opened the door for me.

I preceded her inside. It was a wood-paneled room, with a door on the opposite end. Rose-scented candles ringed a wide claw-footed tub in the center. Petals floated on the water, red roses, deep purple violets, and white daisies.

Behind me, Seven shut the door and locked it. “Now, it’s just you and me.” She took my arm and squeezed hard enough to take my blood pressure. Her tone was harsh as she continued, “I may not be privy to whatever arrangement you and Menessos have concerning the handsome waerewolf, but your skin reeks of your pet.” She spat that last word.

Reeks?

“You’ve used soaps you must have brought with you.”

“I did. I like Ivory. It floats.” Damn. And I thought she liked me yesterday. “I didn’t know it was a big deal.”

Her fingers squeezed tighter; I resolved not to wince or whine as long as I could fight it. “While here, you will use what is provided you. We’re not naïve; we know and expect that your pet is more than a servant, but to flaunt your pleasure and parade around smelling of your coupling as you did earlier is unwise. It creates an undercurrent of disrespect toward Menessos. And that I will not abide.”

“I didn’t know.”

“So I’m telling you. If you have any questions, ask them now.”

The pain in my arm had harnessed my focus and I couldn’t think of any questions though I was sure I had several. I said, “There really needs to be a textbook for Erus Veneficus etiquette.”

“There isn’t. But I hear you’re a journalist. I expect you’ll keep fine notes and write one for whoever will follow you.” It was an unsubtle reminder that Menessos was timeless and I wasn’t.

“Can I get a rain check and ask some later?”

“How about you take some advice: make certain you ‘pet’ the wolf in private. Never show him affection in front of another member of this haven. They must all see that you are utterly loyal to Menessos. There must be no flaws in their perception of this.” She released me with a shove; her vampire strength put me back three steps. “He has given you a position of honor, and I will not watch you make him a laughing stock before his own court. I will not allow you to destroy what he’s built. Even if it costs me my place.” Her lip curled enough that I saw fangs.

“Your pointed threat is understood.” I couldn’t begrudge her wanting to protect those she cared for; Seven was a lot like me in many ways. In other ways, of course, we weren’t at all similar. Like the fangs. “The mistakes I’m making are out of ignorance, Seven. How can I keep from breaking rules I don’t know exist? Who can? He won’t tell me. Or can’t or . . . I don’t know. Every time I ask, it results in a show of power. I learn a single lesson in the time that he could have told me a long list of rules.”

“A show of power?” Her tone remained sharp. “Do you not see the obvious?”

I didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t guess what answer would satisfy her. I couldn’t tell her we were struggling for dominance and defining our roles. I couldn’t explain about being the Lustrata. The risks kept me from confiding in anyone. I longed to talk to Xerxadrea. Or even Nana.

“Get your bath. I’ll be in that room waiting when you are finished.” She left. After the door shut, I heard her mutter, “Foolish woman!”

My skin was scented with rose soap, and my body and hair were wrapped in two of the softest, thickest towels I’d ever touched. The necklace had come off while I soaked, but it was around my neck again, charm under the top of the towel. I didn’t want to take any chances. This evening was the public ceremony and WEC might try something.

I exited the bathing area by the same door Seven had used. The room beyond was candlelit, with a single beauty-salon-style chair centered in a Uof granite countertops. To either side sat vases of roses and scented candles. Long garment bags hung from hooks to the right of the door.

Seven sat in that salon seat facing me. As I was clad only in a towel with my hair turbaned up in another, my entire bare neck was on display—fang marks and all. Her eyes were neon bright, focused on the puncture marks. She made small circles with the wine glass in her hand. Dark red fluid swirled in its bowl. “I know what you are,” she said plainly. “And I know why you are being made EV.”

Claiming she knew and actually knowing were two different things. And Seven was shrewd. I was determined not to give up any information, but I decided not to play dumb, either. “And?”