Linda Robertson - Hallowed Circle

Though I'm a happy vegetarian, I know waeres need red meat. "I knew something was up with all that meat."

"If you want to know about the meat that's up—" Johnny whispered.

"I don't need to hear about your kielbasa."

"Okay, so rather than an oral description, you'd prefer actual hands-on experience with my 'ball-sa. I'm good with that."

Even after a few weeks of this kind of innuendo, I still marveled at how quickly he could invent it. No clever reply came to mind. I went for the mundane. "How was practice? Got 'Debauchery' worked out?"

"Yup. So much so, we headed out to an open jam night at Peabody's." Johnny slipped half the stalks from my grip. We started walking around to the front of the house.

"What did the crowd think?"

"Kicked ass!" Erik said.

Approaching the porch, I pulled the lengths of twine I'd pre-cut from my pocket. Johnny passed his portion of fodder-shocks off to Erik so he could assist in the tying. Of course he had to put his front to my back and reach around me to «properly» bind the stalks to the porch posts. His body and his hands were very warm against mine.

"I didn't know you were familiar with Hecate," I said.

"Any goddess with a fondness for big black dogs is one I like," he replied.

I directed his rearranging of the few pumpkins I had, making sure I got a good view of Johnny's backside as I did, then announced, "All right. We can head inside now."

"What if I want to put more than my head inside?" Johnny asked, his voice lowering.

"Will you two just get a room already?" Erik complained, pushing past us with a groan.

Johnny laughed at him; I blushed and started to follow but Johnny held me back.

"Erik, there's ointments in the upper cabinet of the bathroom," I called, indicating the half-bath under the stairs. "Something there will be good for spider bites."

While Erik went to review my supplies, Johnny leaned in, saying, "That's a good idea he has there, you know," and gave me a soft kiss.

"That's eighty-three to go," I said. I'd promised him a hundred kisses, so I was keeping count.

"I thought I had eighty-seven left?" He opened the door and we strolled toward the kitchen.

"Nope. Eighty-three."

Nana was still upstairs with Beverley. I dropped my flannel overshirt on the bench back and slid in at the dinette; I expected Johnny to go for the food. Instead, he slid in beside me, forcing me to scoot over to accommodate him.

"You're full of surprises," he said, wiggling his eyebrows and putting his arm on the back of the bench nonchalantly. He was so comfortable in his own skin. I envied that. He dipped his chin down and managed to make it seem as if he was looking up at me. It was very male, very sexual, and I knew another sexual allusion was coming. "Your running impressed me tonight, and I must confess," his voice dropped low again, "knowing you have such strong thighs and a penchant for moving fast makes me very excited."

It took an effort to keep from visually checking his groin to see just how excited.

He sat up straight. "But that" — he pointed at my face—"we have to work on."

"Huh?"

"Everything you think shows on your face. To be the Lustrata, you're going to have to hide those thoughts, disguise those doubts, and show no emotion."

My forehead bunched up.

"See? Again, you react to my words. It's not like I don't want you to react to my words, but if you're facing an enemy, they'll play you like a violin, just by seeing your expressions."

"Then I'll wear a mask. Like Zorro. My secret identity will be safe."

"I'm serious."

Okay, so this must be Lesson One in filling the Lustrata's shoes. "I understand, I just think hiding my emotions might become a habit that wouldn't be good."

"As time goes on, you'll probably end up with fewer wrinkles."

I hit him in the ribs.

He chuckled. "I'm kidding." He reached up and smoothed my hair. "Nothing, not even time, will mar your beauty in my eyes."

It was easy to shut down inside my own conflict. Giving in would complicate so many things. We had trust issues already. What about our separate expectations? I wasn't sure what mine were, let alone his. And there was Beverley to consider. I was a role model for her now. My life was challenging enough already; adding to those worries unnecessarily was selfish. I needed to take care of Beverley and Nana, to get things in order for them before I opened myself to something selfish.

"That's my girl," Johnny whispered. A wry twist took his lips and a wistful tilt of his head made him seem sad. "I knew your expression would go blank if I mentioned how your beauty affects me."

He was taking it all wrong! "Johnny…"

"What?" he asked. Practicing what he preached, he did not allow a single expectation to show in his expression. He was right. I did shut down if he complimented me.

"Beverley needs me to be receptive to her. She'll think I'm mad all the time if I show her nothing but blankness." That had been my experience with Nana anyway.

"First of all, Bev's not an enemy. With her, don't worry about it. And second, when she becomes a teenager, this ability will be your best ally. Trust me."

I shut my eyes when he said that word. "Trust." His fingertips, callused from years of playing the guitar, slid over my bare arm. I smelled metal again. Winter could sleep away months. Spring could sprout everything anew, but my stain would never diminish. Nothing would ever be the same. How could I tell him the truth without losing him?

My eyelids parted slightly and I nodded, watching his fingers work their way to my wrist.

"We need to start some fight training too."

My spine stiffened and I met his Wedjat gaze seriously. "I can fight."

The white-gold hoops caught the light as he arched his brow dubiously. One was still missing from where Menessos had torn it out.

"I've done my share of fighting," I assured him.

"Got a punching bag with my picture on it somewhere?"

"Not yet," I retorted. "In college."

"Oooo. Rough dates?"

This was bringing up some memories I wasn't particularly fond of, but he might as well know. "In college, I dated a man named Michael. His younger brother, Chris, was inadvertently turned waerewolf by a girlfriend he was trying to kennel. Chris was targeted by waere-haters and Michael resolved to do something about it. He enlisted my help. I used divination to evaluate risks and determine the best way to proceed, and I did the occasional spell to send negativity back to its human originator. Basically, we bullied the bullies back and they left Chris alone. It was all they would understand."

Johnny's head bobbed up and down. "That's been my experience with bullies."

"Word got around. Soon, we had all the campus waeres training together for self-defense—methods that took waere strength into consideration and made sure they wouldn't severely hurt mere humans."

"Yeah, wasn't that about the time that famous actor was outed as a waere when he defended himself a little too aggressively against the paparazzi?"

"Right. That actor ended up serving time for manslaughter. Anyway," I continued, "we even persuaded Ohio University to designate a dorm specifically for waere students and convinced those students that it was in their best interests to be together."

"But you aren't waere…"

"I took the self-defense classes along with them and I even acquired some conflict experience."

"Conflict experience?" He almost chuckled. "Sounds like a code phrase girls use for slumber parties or brownie points earned for returning home alive after shopping on Black Friday."

I poked him in the ribs again. "That's sexist."

"No, that's witty. Was this before Celia and Erik were turned?" Celia had been my roommate in college. Later, after they were married, Erik had started drumming for Johnny. That connection was how Johnny had originally started kenneling at my place.