Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

“Precisely.”

“You mean we’re stealing a police cruiser?”

“We cannot call a cab.”

“If we could make it down the street a ways—”

Menessos dragged me into the men’s restroom and around the privacy wall. It was pitch-dark except for emergency lighting filtering through the vented bottom of the door. “We cannot risk being under the trees,” he whispered hotly. “The roads in this area are lined with them! We must take whatever is parked conveniently to their doors.”

“That could be a fire truck!”

He shrugged and put a finger to his lips, moving me into the stall. “Stand on the toilet,” he whispered.

My vision had adjusted to the dimness and I complied, sort of. I placed one of the platform boots on the side of the toilet seat. “What are you going to do?” I whispered back.

Menessos shut the stall door. I reached out and reopened it.

“What will you do?” I demanded.

“Whatever is necessary to get us out safely.”

“Menessos. You don’t have to kill an officer.”

He arched a brow poignantly. “Did I say I needed to kill?”

The bathroom door opened and Menessos quickly joined me in the stall. Gripping the upper edge of the partitioning, I hauled myself up, standing on one side of the toilet, and allowed him to do the same on the other side. Squatting down to keep my head out of sight, fighting to keep my balance on the tapered seat—damned boots—and doing it all silently wasn’t easy.

On the plus side, the officer had a flashlight, and the glow of it made it easier for us to see each other.

The stall door opened, and in an instant Menessos had ripped it back and pinned the officer against the painted cinderblocks beyond. He’d also taken the man’s flashlight. Menessos managed to hold him and still keep the beam illuminating both of their faces.

“Hear me, mortal, I will not hurt you. You must merely comply with my orders.”

The man sighed, eyes glassy. “Yes.” His voice slurred and his jaw went slack.

“You will take us out to your car—”

“Others might see,” I interrupted. I’d been recognized a lot tonight already. And without the cape I was showing a lot of skin again.

Without breaking the visual connection, Menessos said, “I must keep him in sight to maintain control. I haven’t the strength to send him on a mission.”

“I do.” I gripped Menessos’s arm and called energy up from the jaspers and out of me, preparing to transfer it to him.

“No,” he said.

“Tell him to bring a patrol car down into the garage, and open the trunk for us there. He must drive us a mile down the road then park somewhere secluded and let us out.”

“It will drain you!”

“It will drain only the jaspers Xerxadrea gave me to wear.” The “only” part was a lie.

“Then you will be unprotected!”

“Not true.” I wagged the chain with Beau’s charm at him. “I can’t mesmerize people. You can.” Before he could protest further, I poured the energy into him.

After we exited the trunk of the police car and the officer drove away, Menessos quickly flagged down a cab. Once we climbed inside, the obvious question came. “Where to?”

“Public Square,” Menessos answered.

The cabbie asked, “You want the Holiday Inn Express or the Hyatt Regency, my lucky friend?”

Menessos gave me the once-over and laughed out loud.

“Just take us to Public Square,” I snapped.

“Oh, yes. Trixie’s late for work,” the accented cabbie grumbled.

Though Menessos had said it was unlikely the fey would follow us in the open city, he inspected the sky through the back window. In spite of the fact that he was still chuckling, I was glad he checked and found the sky satisfyingly fairyless. He settled into the seat and took my hand.

“You and I are going to have a long talk about shoes and what I wear,” I said.

“Whatever you want, Persephone, you shall have.”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “Sensible clothes and sensible shoes.” I was glad he didn’t argue. Due to my energy dump, it felt like I’d been awake for days and had just run a marathon. Yet this night was far from over. I had to talk to Menessos and Johnny, together, about what Beau had said. I’d have to see the Codex, decipher the spell, and prepare. Having Nana around at this moment would have been helpful, and yet I had no desire to inform her of what I was facing now. If I had to guess, soul-sharing was not an idea she’d get behind.

I just needed the support of Johnny and Menessos. If they were both willing we’d have to perform it as soon as possible. The fey and WEC were expecting me to deliver Menessos Sunday morning at dawn.

Xerxadrea’s dead. Her plan is lost. We’re on our own. My insides pinched with grief, but I denied it again.

According to the cab’s clock, it was nearly midnight now. So we had a little more than thirty hours. Thirty hours to prepare and perform the soul-sharing spell, to make plans for the fairies and implement those plans. Some of those precious hours would be spent unproductively sleeping. Being well rested going into a spell like that was simply common sense. But how could I sleep now?

Because I just poured energy into Menessos.

I had something else to add to my endless to-do list: Xerxadrea had said I needed to shut the door between the worlds. I needed to find out how Menessos, Una, and Ninutra opened the door before I could close it. I couldn’t ask Menessos in the cab though. No telling who the cabbie might know.

The fairies were expecting Menessos to be delivered at dawn. The vampires would be, literally, dead to the world. Useless. And the witches were out.

We were going to need the waerewolves.

“Wait.” I sat up and leaned toward the cabbie. “Take us to The Dirty Dog instead.”

In the rearview mirror, he confirmed this new destination with Menessos, who nodded his assent.

“The Dirty Dog it is,” the cabbie replied. He changed lanes and hit the turn signal.

“Do you have my jacket?” Menessos asked as the cab rolled onto a familiar side street and slowed, then stopped. I had forgotten about Xerxadrea’s velvet sling bag, still draped over my shoulder. As I understood that I had something of hers, tears threatened to spill yet again, but I dug into the purse’s silver interior, removed his jacket, and passed it to him.

Producing a money clip from the inside of his suit coat, Menessos provided the cabbie with a hundred-dollar bill and said, “Wait wherever you want, but return to this spot in thirty minutes and I’ll give you another one of those for that ride to Public Square.”

“You got it,” the cabbie said enthusiastically.

We exited the cab. I shivered. Maybe the cold night air would firm my resolve to be tear-free. Menessos draped his jacket around my shoulders. Smiling my thanks, I stuck my arms through the sleeves.

It seemed like much more than a few hours since I’d left Johnny here in the darkened building with a dead body and a pair of men from the pack. Now, every window in the upper floor of the building glowed with light, and cars lined every inch of the street, preventing any hope of nearby parking. Arriving in a cab was the best thing we could have done.

The bar was now open, with light trying valiantly to push beyond the grimy front windows, and the buzz of music rattled the panes. However, the bouncers at the bar door—and the scent of pine as thick as sap in the air—heralded the idea that not all patrons were welcome inside tonight.

So I wasn’t surprised when the nearer of the two—a bald waere with ebony ear gauges—raised his hand in the universal stop gesture. “Private party tonight.”

I walked right up to the Mr. Clean wannabe anyway.