Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

For one perfect moment, my awareness was redefined as a gentle light that surrounded me, as heavy as a knight’s armor yet nebulous as a cloud. It permeated my skin and my aura. It pulsed with energy like a venous system filled with a lifetime of flowing memories rather than blood. All that made me the person I was, created this synthesis.

My soul!

The revelation was astounding, amazing, and so vivid that—

I blinked and it severed me from this place.

No! I’m not done—

I was free-falling, rushing back into myself with break-the-sound-barrier speed.

I wanted Menessos to have my first memory of the Goddess. So he would know why I was in that cornfield, why I was running. And so he would know the comfort and solace that found me and changed my life forever . . .

A piece of my soul was torn from me.

The ache that claimed me was deeper than the heartbreak of my mother abandoning me, sharper than the rejection suffered when Michael and I broke up, and more miserable than the still-fresh grief of Xerxadrea’s death. Sorrow engulfed me and I choked on uncontrollable sobs.

I wanted Johnny to have his desire.

Another piece ripped loose. As it left me, I forgot what it was.

I felt emptier than I ever had. This was complete misery and despair. This was utter depression. This was hopelessness so absolute that life was not worth living anymore—

And then, where the pieces were torn away, pieces were added like a soothing balm.

My emptiness was gone. My despair subsided. My hopelessness faded away.

As master of the vampire, I had chosen what he would get and what I would take. As equal of the Domn Lup, I allowed him to choose what to take, and what to give. And when it was done, I collapsed into their strong arms.

I awoke.

There were voices, but not close by. I was in the dark. Waiting, I listened.

“. . . they’ll come in from the lake,” Menessos said.

The lake. The tunnel. Hecate. I sat up. The voices continued:

“You could make use of the sand. His people go out, lie down, and cover up with tarps then sand. The last one makes sure the others aren’t obvious.”

“What if the fey are watching the beach tonight?”

“Of course they are. We are.”

“Is there any means of magically detecting them?” I recognized Johnny’s voice saying this.

“It would have to be done prior to the arrival of your people. By the time the waeres arrived the situation could change. The fey might be monitoring it for magic and that action might give them cause to inspect.”

I didn’t recognize all of the voices. But I knew both Menessos and Johnny were nearby. I identified the big iron-studded door across from me as the one to Menessos’s private chamber. That meant I was in Menessos’s bed.

Black silk. The cinnamon smell of him was all over the bed. Invigorated by it, warmed from the inside out, I breathed it deep again and again. Mine .

My mind flashed on a memory. Something new and unclear. A whisper of music—plucked strings, hollow drums, a flute—I’d never heard before; the murmur of a male voice, the soft laughter of a woman. I tried to hold on to that remembrance, to relive it and know—

The studded door swung farther open. “You’ve roused. Join us.” Menessos gestured to the room beyond.

The recollection was gone. I rose from the bed, put on my boots, and followed him into the front chamber where Johnny, Goliath, Seven, and Mark were gathered around the altar table where we’d performed the ritual. Johnny mimicked my smile of greeting. My mind flashed on another new memory—a howl of profound aloneness—and I tripped, but recovered, seeing Mark steadying Johnny.

“Are you two all right?” Seven asked.

“They are fine,” Menessos affirmed, taking my arm to escort me the rest of the way.

Seven wasn’t convinced. She asked me directly, “What did you do?”

She’d already made it clear she wanted me to honor Menessos more than Johnny. From what she’d told me it was easy to see she believed her mistake as Lustrata was not giving the vampire enough of herself. Perhaps telling her—in private—of the soul-sharing would reassure her.

“What do you mean?” I hoped that, despite my embarrassment-warmed cheeks, I conveyed innocence.

“We need to update Persephone on our strategizing,” Menessos redirected.

“Our plan is simple: kill the fire fairy and the earth fairy.” Mark pointed to the table, indicating a spot on a map spread out on it. “This is Headlands Dunes. We are relatively certain the fairies will come in from Lake Erie, as it is less offensive to their allergies than the land. When they appear, Menessos must call them to him, as if to guard a circle. They will be drawn to him and, from the lighthouse here, the waerewolf sniper—safely away from the magic—uses iron-tipped bullets to kill the earth fairy. Menessos kills the other himself.”

“And what do I do?” I was supposed to be right there with Menessos.

Mark said, “Stay out of the way.”

“Hold on,” I said to Menessos. “They are bound to you and it hurt you when I killed Cerebrosus, it hurt you when Aquula died. What will happen to you if the remaining two are killed at once?”

“It will hurt,” he said plainly.

I made an irritated face at him that Seven copied. “If the sniper takes out the earth fairy, will you be able to take the fire fairy? I think you’d better plan on me”— even as the words left my mouth, I was stunned to hear myself saying them—“taking her out. She might compromise you if, at a critical time, the sniper acts.”

The weight of the stares directed at me made my heart race.

“You’re right,” Menessos conceded.

“How will you combat the effect of these two deaths?” Seven asked him.

“Mountain volunteered to fight. His bulk will be hard to hide, so let’s plan to have him nearby, ready when I need to feed.”

Everyone nodded. I added, “Okay, but this whole battle is all about them stopping you from calling them ever again. I may be supposedly delivering you to them, but they will anticipate you might use your summoning power. They will be ready for that.”

“Yes, I expect they will be.”

The calm in his voice bothered me. “You’re betting your life on the ability of a sniper to take out a fairy before they can strike.”

“Kirk’s the shooter,” Johnny said. “You met him last night, bouncer out front of The Dirty Dog.”

“The Mr. Clean wannabe?”

“No, the Asian guy.”

“The wiry overactor?”

Johnny nodded happily. “Yeah, him. He’s ex-military. Expert marksman. He can make the shot.”

“Do you fully trust him not to shoot Menessos?”

Johnny’s positive demeanor faded and he crossed his arms defensively, but I thought it was a legitimate question. “I do. He will shoot as instructed.”

“How many waeres do you have?”

“Twenty.”

I was able to stop myself before I blurted, “That’s all?” and changed it to an even, “Okay.” Twenty waeres were about as formidable as fifty or so men, I reminded myself. I addressed Menessos next. “You’re the master of the fairies. There’s some compulsion in that bonding, right? Will you be able to strike them?”

“Servants bear something of a benevolent compulsion toward their masters—”

I snickered, but he continued on, unaffected.

“—more so than masters feel toward them. Consequently, it is much easier for a master to strike a servant.”

Good to know. I guess. “How many Beholders will you bring, Menessos?”

“Forty-five. Fifteen will remain here as guardians.”

So we had less than seventy people to bring to this war. Kind of downgrades it to a battle, huh? With the war coming after, if we lose. Seventy people didn’t sound like much, but it was better than two. Technically Menessos and I were the only ones supposed to show up. “Any idea how many fairies will come?”