Linda Robertson - Vicious Circle

Johnny was much more than I had given him credit for possibly being.

“We’ll be back soon,” she said, and left.

Alone, I stood at the end of the bed watching Theodora, and the weight of my actions hit home like a stake in my heart. Here was a life before me, and the thread of this life was in the Fates’ hands. Were they twining it thicker, or were their scissors ready to sever it? I stared at my hands. Could I intentionally sever such a thread?

I shut my eyes and let the tears fall.

All I could do was cry for Theo and pray for her. With careful attention not to invoke any power that might affect Theo, I said,

“Goddess hear my humble appeal,

Grant Theo strength enough to heal.

Restore her body; give grace to her.

Make her aches and pains fewer.

With perfect love, make her new.

Right this wrong, I beseech you.”

After repeating it thrice, I ended with the standard, “As I will, so mote it be.”

Johnny’s boots sounded on the steps; a soft creak came as he leaned on the door frame.

“Your grandma is such a cool old lady.”

I snorted. “I never knew she had a split personality.”

“Huh?”

“She likes you. I’ve always been a burden.”

He came forward a step. “But she’s staying with you, right? Not vice versa.”

“Tables have turned, I guess, but she doesn’t want to acknowledge it.”

“Old people never like things to change. It’s like when they can’t move fast anymore, they can feel the world moving past them more and more. They’re afraid of being left behind.” He paused, easing further into the room. “I want to stay and help too, if you’ll let me.” He put his hands up innocently. “I’ll behave. I swear.”

“Of course.” I shifted to face Theo.

He stepped closer. “Red? What’s with the cash?”

I turned back with my eyebrows high and my mouth open. No words came out, though. Just a sigh that thought about turning into a maniacal giggle.

I couldn’t just casually say, “Oh, it’s money for an assassination hit on a vampire.” He’d never believe me. He’d laugh and ask for the truth. I shut my mouth and turned back to Theo without answering. My arms folded over my chest.

All threads and all guilt aside, what had I been thinking, agreeing to a hit on a vampire? I’d decided to do it for Beverley, for that sweet little suffering girl, but noble ideas weren’t good enough here. I am an idiot. Goliath had tried to kill someone who had only researched him a little.

My gut was so cold and I was so mad at myself.

“I guess I shouldn’t have left it on the bike,” Johnny said, joining me at the foot of the bed. “I figured it was like Avon or something.”

It took me a heartbeat to grasp that he was still talking about the duffel.

“I thought if I left it out there, you’d walk me out to the bike to get it when I left. I was hoping to steal a good-night kiss while we were out there.”

I spun around, ready to give him a big-worded lecture about unacceptable times for come-on lines. With his lupine speed, though, he grabbed my arms and moved in. “If you’re in trouble, Red, be honest with me,” he said. “I will help you.”

“I’m not in trouble, J-Johnny,” I stammered, wondering what he would categorize under the heading of “In Trouble.” The cedar and sage smell of him was strong. His grip was tight. I wanted to feel his arms around me and hear him tell me everything would be okay, that I hadn’t fucked everything up. But in order to take any comfort, I’d have to tell him everything. That was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

“If you’re laundering it, and you’ve spent more than your take, that’ll get you in serious trouble.”

I laughed nervously. As I looked up at him—this close—his stern, fearsome eyes peered right through me. “I’m not laundering money.” That would have been so much easier and safer than what I was doing.

“Then what?”

I wanted him to let go of me. And I didn’t. “I can’t tell you.”

He snorted. “I knew you’d say that.” He released me and brusquely turned to leave. He stopped at the door. “If things change, my offer stands.”

Sitting at my dining room desk, the unused oak dining set behind me, I typed the title of my column—Wære Are You. I wondered how many people got the pun. Probably not as many as I hoped. I should ask the editors how many letters and emails they were getting from furious English teachers thinking I couldn’t spell.

By Circe Muirwood. My pen name. To protect the innocent me.

Profile of a Wære-parent: Part One

It’s a well-known and well-publicized fact that wæres cannot have children. However, there’s a segment of this once-human populace made up of people who were already parents when infected. Yes—normal, everyday people with real jobs and families can be wæres in secret. Maybe that’s why your best friend and her husband didn’t double-date with you and your honey last weekend—your best friend’s husband was furry and kenneled securely.

What I’m getting at is this: They’re people. Furry or fanged, they were once normal human beings like you. If you’re a single mom with an ex-husband who is a deadbeat dad who ran and pays no child support, think what it’d be like if you added the concern of monthly furriness to your list of worries. It’s not just painful in the physical sense of changing bodily, it’s painful because you find out so many things…who your friends are, who you can and can’t trust, who will ridicule and harass you, who will help you hide…

I saved it and shut the laptop down. I began massaging my temples, not sure I could use any of it. Maybe it was stupid to think I could write a lucid column with all this going on.

I heard Celia and Erik come in the front door. Erik started quietly up the steps, but Celia stepped into the living room and followed the light to where I sat, still rubbing my temples.

“Headache?” Celia asked, coming in. “I’ll get your ibuprofen.”

“No. Thanks.” I stretched as she passed me en route to the kitchen. “Just had to get some thoughts out. You get all your stuff?”

“Yeah.” She’d traded her New England-chic outfit for a more relaxed jogging suit. It was sage green and matched her eyes. “Erik’s setting up your air mattress in the spare bedroom now.” She paused. “He wants to take the late watch with her tonight, so if I stay on watch until ten in the morning, and then Johnny is on watch until four—that’ll clear him up for cooking dinner. If you’ll take four until ten at night, Erik will take over after you.”

“Glad someone among us can think up a workable shift plan.” I hadn’t given it any thought and would’ve just winged it.

She smoothed her hair, obviously tired. “I brought a clipboard and made up a medicine schedule so we know when she gets what and how much and who gave it. We have to be organized. We can’t afford a mistake.” Her eyes welled up with tears.

That she was unsure made me unsure. I didn’t like it. In denial of that thought, I said, “She’s gonna make it.”

“I don’t know, Seph,” she said softly, leaning against the door frame. “Twenty-five days is a long time in this little half-assed hospital we’ve had to construct.”

Firming my voice, I said, “She’s a wærewolf and—like you did, Celia—she’ll pull through. We just need to keep her as comfortable as possible for now.”

Celia wiped her eyes.

“So what’s this about Johnny cooking?” I asked.

A laugh burst from her, as I’d hoped it would. “I can’t figure him out. Looks like this Goth prince, sings like a siren”—she came in and sat in a chair so she was across from me—“and there’s nothing he can’t do…except, apparently, woo you.”