Linda Robertson - Vicious Circle

Beside me, Johnny crossed his arms and took up a mean-bouncer expression.

“I don’t keep liquor, Mr. Kline. How about some water?”

He waved the suggestion off with a sneer like he’d just tasted something very bad. “Well, then, let’s get on with this. Where’s the stake?”

“I thought you were going to tell me about Menessos getting back in the circle.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yes.” He sat forward. “A glass of Scotch would make this a lot easier, though.”

“I still have only water.”

“Not even beer?” He looked Johnny over. “Don’t tell me you don’t keep any beer here.”

Enunciating slowly and loudly, Johnny said, “Waaaa—terrrrrr.”

“Right. Right.” Samson frowned. “It’s simple. Menessos gave up magic when Vivian bested him by creating the stake and keeping it secret from him. He vowed never to use magic again until the stake was destroyed.”

“He broke that oath.”

“Exactly.” Samson grinned lasciviously at me. “Broke it for you.” He sounded like a fifth grader at the lunch table.

“You sure have a way of making people uncomfortable, Mr. Kline.”

“My messages aren’t ever meant to put people at ease. I’m a fire-and-brimstone kind of preacher.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He seemed to take that as a compliment, though I hadn’t meant it that way.

“I’m curious,” I said. “How did you find out about this sensitive subject?”

“That thing that used to be my brother.”

I should have guessed. “Our last talk left me with the impression that you didn’t speak with him anymore.”

“It has its uses.” He glanced around. “Now…that stake?”

I turned for the kitchen and heard Johnny ask, “So what do you get out of this deal?”

Samson must have paused to gauge the wærewolf before answering, because he was just starting to answer as I came back down the hall.

“Do you have any idea who I happen to be?”

Johnny said, “You’re that prick on TV.”

Samson leaned forward, putting his forearms on his knees. His hands rubbed together. “I guess you do.”

“So why are you playing errand boy for a vampire? Isn’t this a new low in your life of hypocrisy?”

“This is my out, son. My—”

“Don’t call me ‘son.’” The darkness in Johnny’s tone sent a shiver down my spine. Made me glad he was on my side.

“My deal is to pick up the stake and destroy it. In return, that bastard Menessos will call off those freaks and wannabes who show up to my every studio sermon.” He grunted. “He sends them down there on purpose with orders that the more fervent and freakish they look, the more they damage my credibility, the more they prove themselves to him. He uses me as a test of loyalty for those wretched jerk-offs.”

“Maybe he’s testing you,” I said from the doorway.

“What?” He straightened. “You don’t mean the Lord—you mean the vampire?”

“Yeah. Maybe if you had the power to get through to those wannabes and change their minds, he would see you as a threat instead of a toy.” I grinned. “Bet you don’t even try, do you? You believe in saving people so much—but just worthy people, right?”

Face flushed, Samson stood, finger wagging and ready to deliver a sermon in my living room. Johnny took a half step forward, a low growl in his throat. “She has a point.”

Samson’s hand fell to his side; his fists were balled tight and his chubby knuckles were white. “You don’t know anything!” he shouted. “You’re filth. You’re all filth.” He gestured to Nana, who hadn’t said anything to him. “And you’ll all rot in Hell.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Nana snapped, rising from the table and coming at him. “Do you think your sparkling life merits any rewards? You’re pathetic.”

“You think I don’t know what you are, you old crone? I’ve suffered too many of you for too damn long!” He held his hand out to me. “Just give me the stake and let me get out of here.”

“I’m glad I don’t have any Scotch,” I said, starting forward. “If I did, you wouldn’t be in a hurry.”

“I can’t expect you to understand my sacred mission. You’re already tainted. Bit into that apple, I hear. Got your mark. You’re well on your way, aren’t you? I knew you wanted to be one of them.” His pious “you-can’t-judge-me” expression—the one that was a cross between an idiot’s blankness and rapture—was set in his wrinkled skin. “The first time I met you, I recognized that gleam in your eyes. It’s the same one worn by all those fools he sends to my studio.”

“I know you’re accustomed to forcing your opinions on others, but save it for the studio, Sam. Everyone here knows what a fraud you are.” I shoved the box at him. “Take it and get out.”

He wrapped his arms lovingly around the box, rubbed his cheek over its upper surface. It was unsettling. “Mark my words, little girl, Menessos is a deceiver. More than any other black-hearted creature ever to walk the creation. But then, we don’t suffer him to live, do we? He’s already dead. And we suffer him yet.”

The door had barely shut when the phone rang.

I jogged to answer it. “Hello?”

“Seph. It’s Nancy. Please don’t hang up.”

She sounded like she was in tears. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

“Would you please, please meet me somewhere? Like in Mansfield? I just have to talk to you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Persephone?”

“I’m here.”

“Please.”

“About what, Nance?” She sniffled in answer, so I added, “I mean, I didn’t like how things went last weekend either, but it kind of felt like it’d been coming for a long time.”

“I didn’t want it to.”

I let her have the silence this time, and I didn’t put in a pathetic sniffle for dramatic effect. Meeting with her would just stir up all the dying-friendship pain again. I understood that she was giving me—her favorite from the group—a second chance, but I didn’t want it. Nancy was good at distorting things; she did it without even thinking. It was second nature for her. Instead of her walking out on us with her head and morals high and leaving it at that, she was feeling guilty and wanted the opportunity to blame me for everything being wrong and to forgive me at the same time.

“What did Olivia and Betsy have to say?”

“I don’t know. I left shortly after you did.” I knew better than to let her wring any gossip out of me. “I think we should just let everything go, Nance. We’ve all grown apart, and those friendships feel like obligations now. That’s not good.”

“Obligations?” Now she sounded hurt. “How long have I been an obligation to you?”

Well, if I was going to be the ruination of it all, I could do that from here and save the gas money and the time. “We’ve grown apart,” I repeated. “Gone separate ways. Only Olivia and Betsy have anything in common anymore.”

“Bar stools and second shift at the factory.”

“Right. If they didn’t have that, they’d have forgotten each other by now.”

“We haven’t forgotten each other.”

“Maybe it’s time to.”

“I have some of your things. I can’t mail them to you. Mr. Jarrod cut my hours and my funds just don’t have any room.”

“What things?”

“A sweater, a few cassette tapes. A book.”

“Keep them.”

“No. Meet me. I’ll give them to you.”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“You have plans?”

“No. I’m just really tired.”

“I see. Too tired for obligations. I’ll bring them all the way to you, then.”

I was sure when I responded that she would know she’d won. “Where do you want to meet?”