Linda Robertson - Hallowed Circle

She faded back into a mist. With a low pop, the bubble burst. The smell and sound of the ocean faded. While the fleeting raindrops pressed the mist back into the earth, the branches overhead shielded me.

I sat in the grove thinking. Vivian's stake had been destroyed by my hand. Menessos owed me. Acceptable repayment, as far as I was concerned, would simply be him staying the hell away from me. But if his enemies were going to think of me as a tool to be used for retaliating against him, maybe I needed to call in the favor he owed me.

I started back into the rows of cornstalks to make my way back to the house; it was barely sprinkling now. A few steps in, I heard a twig snap elsewhere in the field.

I stopped.

Probably a deer… unless it was one of Menessos's loyal beholders. If he commanded, any of those vampire-wannabe-muscleboys would keep an eye on me for him.

This was my land, my twenty acres, damn it! I should feel safe taking a walk here, not paranoid.

Of course, if it were the fey already making their move…

Or… Menessos himself had told me of his enemies searching for ways to manipulate him via the connections he made…

A breath caught in my throat.

As I started moving slowly through the field toward the house, distant steps mimicked the rhythm of my own, attempting to disguise their presence. My hearing was definitely improved by the damnable stain I'd received, but I was far from grateful for that or any other «enhancements» it granted.

I came to an abrupt stop to avoid walking face-first into the broad web of a corn spider, then heard a snap behind me. Silence.

Stay calm. Think.

Gauging the last sound, I guessed my pursuer was about fifty feet behind me.

Adrenaline flooding my system, my flight instinct screaming, I bolted under the web and forward, using the biochemical boost to run for my backyard as fast as I could, swatting stalks out of my path. Though running blindly, I knew my steps were swifter than ever before.

Another bonus from the stain.

Air flowed more easily and deeply into my lungs, oxygen and adrenaline passed quicker into my muscles. My body was functioning like a new and improved machine, every component of the whole working more efficiently and smoothly, as if some residue that had always impeded the higher level of operation had finally been cleaned away. Like a long overdue oil change.

Was that residue my humanity? My soul?

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Another huge corn spider, black and yellow, hovered in the center of a dazzling web less than an inch from my nose.

Dropping to my knees, I fought to control and quiet my breathing and crawled underneath and beyond the web. I could hear steps approaching, following, but cautiously. Still, I'd be found. It was only a matter of time.

It was close. I sensed it.

I shot up and ran. Behind me I heard squealing, swearing, flailing. A big spider and its web across your face can elicit a startled reaction even from the toughest. But it wouldn't stop whoever it was for long.

I took off again, sprinting through the crackling stalks, feet sure under me even on the rain-slicked soil. I pushed for more speed, telling myself this was a race, not a chase. And I ran, ran for the clearing ahead, ran for home.

My mind flashed on a different cornfield in my memory, reminding me of how as a child I'd fled like this on an equally dark night. Then, I was running away from all the fear and uncertainty in my life. My mother had gone, left me with Nana. I felt so unloved and everything was terrible. Instead of walking to Nana's apartment after school, I left the little town behind, tromped through woods, crossed a wheat field, a dirt road, and pushed into a cornfield. I never considered going back. Not even when night set in. I grew cold and scared, but instead of stopping, I literally began to run.

I collapsed that night, exhausted and sobbing, between the rows. The Goddess came to me there. The memory reminded me of Her comfort. That was something to hold on to, something to be inspired by.

I'll make it. I will!

My pursuer was gaining ground behind me, panting breaths like a locomotive rhythm in my ears. I suddenly felt exposed, like playing «It» and I so hated that game. It is just behind me… if it catches me, I'll be It! I could no longer trick myself into thinking this was just a race. Fear kicked in and a different chemical flooded into my bloodstream and seemed to soak up my energy. My breaths didn't do enough. My legs felt like lead.

Call on the ley! But I couldn't think of a spell-rhyme.

"Persephone!"

"Johnny!" Expending the oxygen to call out cost me. I could feel my pace slow.

My pursuer was right behind me. I felt fingers grasping at my back, reaching for my flannel shirt.

"Persephone!"

Johnny was closer now. Thank the Goddess!

I burst from the cornfield and slammed right

into Johnny. I think he tried to hold on to me, but I fell. Breathing hard, all I could smell was the grass in my face. My heart thudded against my rib cage like a Bumble Ball.

"Someone's out there." I rolled onto my back.

"I know, I can smell 'em. Erik." He nodded at Erik—the drummer for Johnny's band Lycanthropia—whom I hadn't noticed until then. The stalks rustled as Erik stormed into the field.

"Are you all right?" Johnny crouched beside me.

"Yeah."

He grinned and said, "Yeah! The way you came across that field—holy shit! I didn't know you were a speed-demon. I bet you could outrun a waere. Does the U.S. Olympic Committee know about you?"

Fighting to catch my breath, I couldn't laugh at Johnny's wisecrack. Besides, all I could think was: the speed, the hearing, that extra sense—Goddess knew what else—were undeniably «gifts» of Menessos's stain.

"Hey, what's with the frown? You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Just catching my breath."

"Frowns always happen for a reason," he said. Straightening up from his crouching position, he stared down at me and crossed his arms. "Fess up."

"Just winded and scared." I sat up, in the damp grass, still breathing hard. "It's nothing."

That wasn't true. There was plenty to frown about. Johnny didn't realize I still carried Menessos's stain. He thought the stain had been burned away by the pain and consequent empowerment the stake had brought me. Johnny was partially right: I could have been unstained, but the vampire's bonding had fused itself to pieces of me I didn't want to part with.

Johnny didn't know the stain was now integral to my being. I could not be free of it without losing too much of my self.

I hadn't told him because he was still licking his wounds over his fight with Menessos. While I knew Johnny genuinely cared for me, he wasn't fond of the flowers and art and not-so-small fortune's worth of other gifts that the master vampire sent me after I destroyed the stake rather than use it to end Menessos's existence.

How could I say to him, "By the way, Johnny, I can still feel Menessos in the marrow of my bones"?

Maybe if I understood more about this Lustrata thing… but all I had were questions and no answers. Nana said the Lustrata was supposed to have a stain in order to have a reason to be a part of the vampire's world. Maybe Johnny thought I'd just pick one up from a more agreeable vampire later.

"C'mon, tell me what's causing that furrow in your brow or I won't help you up." Johnny stood over me, somehow combining his teasing smile with stubborn concern as only he could. His eyes, tattooed with the markings of the ancient Egyptian god Horus—the Wedjat—twinkled in the light that came from the house. He wore tight black jeans and an unbuttoned black-on-black shirt, flat black with stripes that were just a bit shinier. Under it, a white tank clung to his lean body, revealing the curve of pectorals, the dip under the sternum, the wave of abs. In the near-dark, it was all just levels of shadow, but those contours made me yearn to touch him, to rip off the shirt and reveal the myriad tattoos underneath so I could trace them with my fingers, with my tongue. The tight jeans with their pocket accent chains and scarlet wolf's-head patches paired with the leather biker boots completed Johnny's bad-boy rocker style. Oh. Yeah.