Linda Robertson - Vicious Circle

“Must have?” Celia choked. “It’s a vampire’s filthy stain, Demeter!”

I winced. Filthy. True, but it still hurt.

Nana said, “If Persephone is the Lustrata, she must have it.”

Now I really, really didn’t want to be the Lustrata.

“Ummm…what’s a ‘lostraduh’?” Theo asked.

“Lus-TRA-ta,” Nana corrected. “She is the one destined to erase the lines drawn between humans and wærewolves, vampires, and witches. The one whose word will be law to the benefit of all.”

“Okay, that’s new,” I mumbled.

“Wait a minute, I’m not following you,” Johnny said. “Why does the Lustrata have to be marked?”

Nana poked at the eggs on her plate. “You know, Persephone, you were named for a goddess.”

I’d been patient with her rambling up until now, but now she was bringing up the meaning of my name? “What does that have to do with being stained?”

“The original Persephone walked in three worlds: the world of the gods, that of humans, and the underworld of the dead. As Lustrata, it is you who must be able to walk between worlds. You are a human and a witch, so you live in this world. You already have a presence in the wære-world through your friends and your column. But you need a mark to have a presence in the vampires’ world. It’s like…like a bus pass.”

My words came slowly, trembling with anger and fear. “I don’t want a presence in their world.”

Hard as nails, the Nana I remembered from my youth said, “What you want has become irrelevant.”

Johnny looked at me as if I had a new horrible disfigurement that revolted him. He left the dining room and stomped through the living room and out my front door. His shadow passed the window as he strode off the porch.

My phone rang. I slid from the seat with coffee mug in hand and went to answer it, fearing it would be the errand boy confirming a time for pickup. The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t one I’d expected. “Hey, Seph. You’re never going to guess what I’m calling about.”

It was Jimmy Martin, my contact at the syndicate that had agreed to try to sell my column. Suddenly, I wondered if he was the errand boy, if he had ties to Menessos, if—wait. He sounded happy; he’d never sounded happy. “What’s up?”

“I just got word that your column has been picked up for syndication by ten major newspapers, including the New York Times, the Washington Post, the LA Times, and the Minneapolis Star-Tribune, among others. I didn’t even know they were sniffing around. We’ve never had anything like this happen before!”

I felt a cold shiver go through me. “That’s…that’s great, Jimmy.”

“Oh, yeah, and there was a message, too. Where’d it go?”

“Message?”

“Yeah. Here it is. Says, ‘You have nothing to fear.’ Cryptic, huh? Like a fortune cookie or something. Just don’t start thinking you’re set, hotshot. Not yet. You do this right, and you can write your own ticket to television. Columns can turn into news segments and then into half-hour shows. And you don’t even blog! This is crazy…”

Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear. “That’s great, Jimmy.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“No, I am. I am. Just surprised. Stunned. Like you said, we didn’t even know they were interested. And right now, I’ve got company here….”

“Oh, sorry. Go share your good news. I got to get back to work myself. Bye.”

“Bye.” I clicked the button on the receiver, but kept hold of it.

Nothing to fear. That was what I’d told Menessos. What was that obviously well-connected jerk up to? Showing me how great he could make my life, only to use that as a means to tighten the screws of control and threaten me with ruining my career? Hell, he could do it, apparently. Without the column, I’d be delivering papers just to support Nana and Beverley.

I hung the phone up. Through the window, I saw Johnny in the backyard, staring out across the stubbly cornfield. His hands in his jeans pockets, his back to the house; his weight was evenly distributed on both legs, and it reminded me of the stance of the black wolf. I left my empty mug by the coffeepot and went out through the garage to the backyard.

That ache remained with me; I was aware of it most when nothing else was distracting me from it. Then Johnny’s body provided an adequate distraction. He made no move to indicate he heard me coming, but being a wære, he couldn’t have not known.

“Johnny.”

“Yeah.”

“I just got an interesting phone call from my syndicate.”

That surprised him enough that he faced me. “What about?”

“Seems my column was just picked up by most every major newspaper in the U.S.”

One brow arched. “Funny timing, that.”

“Yeah. The news came to him with a note for me. Said, ‘You have nothing to fear.’ That’s what I told Menessos: if he helped me with Theo, he’d have nothing to fear because I’d give him Vivian, the book, and the stake.”

At the mention of the stake, Johnny shifted back to face the field.

“He’s telling me the rewards for turning over the stake and forgetting about him will be better than trying anything stupid.”

“It’s an intimidation tactic.”

“I agree. He could pull the plug on my whole career, and I can’t afford that with Nana and Beverley to support now. I bet Goliath made sure to point that out to him and…” I left the argument there. “I just know that we have to give him the stake.”

“Maybe the stain is influencing you to that end.”

I clamped my jaw shut. Could it be? Maybe, but I’d intended to keep my word from the start. “Can’t you just trust me on this?”

“I trust you. I don’t trust him.”

I let my head tip forward and stared at my feet. “I admit I don’t know much about vampires. Can you tell me something that will convince me? I mean, why are you so adamantly against trusting him?” I paused. “Is it because he kissed me?”

“I think the better question would be: Does that kiss have anything to do with why you want to…comply?”

What was I supposed to say? I’d brought it up. “He made a blood oath on the steps, he hurt no one, and—”

“Hurt no one?” Johnny spun and gripped my arms. “Shit, Red! He marked you! He claimed you! Like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant to mark his territory that goddamned vamp marked you!”

He released me and turned away.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was very wrong. Menessos did hurt someone: he hurt you.” I half expected Johnny to deny it, but he didn’t. “That was all it was probably meant to do, too. Menessos doesn’t want me—why would he? I’m nothing but—”

“The Lustrata.” He turned back. “Controlling you would be a very beneficial arrangement.”

That sounded horrible. But I wasn’t convinced I was what he and Nana seemed to want me to be. “Does he know that you guys think that’s what I am?”

“Say it! Say the word. Stop tiptoeing around it.”

“Do you think he knows that you guys think I’m…the Lustrata?”

Johnny grabbed my arms again and stepped closer even as he pulled me to him. “Damn it, Persephone! You are! You are!” His hands were trembling despite his tight grip. It hurt. If he could have fed me the passion of his words and made me believe it, he would have.

Johnny searched for words and apparently found none. He released me. My arms stung. “Does Menessos know?”

“I don’t know.” He turned away and ran a hand through his hair. “If he doesn’t, then it’s something you need to hide from him. But with the mark, I don’t know how or even if you’ll be able to do that.”

“Vivian knew. I’m sure she’s told him. And, Johnny—Nana says the stain is part of being the Lustrata. That it is necessary. If she’s right…”