Shattered Circle c-6 Read online

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Giovanni turned his cell phone over and over in his hand, thinking about what he had heard. The phones he had given to Liyliy were all linked to his own. She might understand the devices of this modern age that she had been suddenly thrust into, but he was counting on her not understanding how they could be manipulated. Or bugged.

  He couldn’t trust her completely; she had the ability to use magic and he did not. He had knowledge and connections that she needed. He was a tool.

  These phones, however, would allow him to hear what she and her sisters discussed and what news they delivered. What Liyliy shared with him would then tell him much about whether or not he should put any trust in her at all.

  He had not exactly anticipated that they would call others on these phones. They had read the minds of several people by now and had learned phone numbers.

  He had heard Ailo say, “What you seek will be found beside the ley line at Mill Stream Run Reservation, but only if you hurry.”

  Mill Stream Run Reservation.

  With his smartphone he’d checked the whereabouts of this location; it was too far for Adam, his driver, to get them there swiftly. He’d have the man check it out tomorrow during the day. Giovanni had to hope the sisters would call each other and discuss this in more detail. He wondered who they had sent to this place; he had not recognized the woman’s voice by her single word: “Hello.”

  • • •

  Following the method Menessos had used in binding the sisters, Mero decided he must empower a choker with which to bind Liyliy. As he prepared, he’d demanded that a guard contact any woman in the haven who owned a choker and have her bring the jewelry to him for inspection.

  Only one woman had come: Risqué.

  She dropped a leather bondage-style choker on the altar before him. There was a small lock on the front closure of it, which was presently open. “Don’t ask.” She put the key into his hand, turned on her heel, and left.

  He grinned. It was perfect.

  But.

  This would be a feat similar to a mouse belling a cat.

  He didn’t actually want to get close to Liyliy. If she touched him, she could invoke a reading of him. Not only could she immobilize him—or worse, slay him—by such means, but she might learn that his connection to the Excelsior ran deeper than their formal titles. He had many secrets he wished to keep from her, but that one was the most dangerous for Deric.

  • • •

  Liyliy left her sisters in the room and entered the hall, faking the limp she’d had before. There were two guards outside the door and, as she walked away from them, one called, “Allow us to escort you.”

  She turned and waited for them to join her. When they neared, she grabbed each man’s arm and, pulling recent memories from their minds, had them on their knees. The memories were of generic haven-living experiences, but in reading the two of them at once the thoughts and images had melded together. They slammed painfully into her mind as a strange mix of déjà vu and double vision. She jerked her hands free and stepped back even as she gripped them by the hair and knocked their skulls together.

  Confident they would not be following, she hurried from the hall—remembering to limp at the last. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she awkwardly climbed up the staircase. Moving was much easier with her sisters’ healing, but letting those here think her handicapped gave her the option of surprising them with quick action. Being underestimated might be her only means to rescue.

  The hallway on the ground level was empty. She hesitated, holding the banister. In case anyone was watching, she panted as if out of breath.

  It’s too easy.

  With extreme control, she progressed toward the main entry with a shambling gait. When she rounded the old ticket booth and had a clear view ahead, she detected a man’s outline against the boards that covered the doors.

  “Where is the necklace?”

  It was Mero’s voice.

  She laughed but limped onward, keeping the wariness she felt from showing.

  “Liyliy.”

  “You will never find it,” she hissed. Ten feet from him she stopped and put her hands on her hips. “What have you come to try to replace it with?”

  “Stay here, Liyliy. Let us work together to heal those scars.”

  Through gritted teeth she said, “They suit me.”

  “No, Liyliy. Your beauty suited you. It can be regained.” He extended his hand toward her.

  Tempted for an instant, she searched his eyes. Not counting all the centuries she had been encased in stone, she had never been able to trust what she saw in anyone’s expression. She never trusted their words, only what she saw when she read someone was real, because she knew only that was true.

  Even her sisters, who had always been honest with her, she could not believe unless she confirmed it with a reading touch.

  But there was pity in Mero’s eyes and she knew it was not fraudulent. He eased a step toward her.

  Fool! That is what you want to see!

  He was your downfall. You wanted to see him, to feel his arms around your body . . . you snuck away, certain that your beauty would win him over.

  But your sisters followed you. All three of you were lured to your doom because you wanted him.

  And all he felt for you was fear—fear so deep he let his Maker bind you into stone. Your sisters warned you. Everyone saw that truth but you. You hadn’t touched him.

  You’d forgotten how to read people with your own eyes.

  Your sisters hadn’t; they knew what was happening. They knew your heart was warming for someone . . . someone oblivious to your fixation on him. They knew it would break your trio apart.

  Menessos had mastered the art of reading people. He knew what you were feeling for Mero. He used it against you.

  “Did you send your messenger boy to fetch me?”

  Mero’s hand dropped down. Confusion, distraction marred his features. “What?”

  “The night my sisters and I were bound in stone. Your messenger came to me.”

  He shook his head. “Liyliy. I never had a messenger boy.”

  With a shout of rage that was steeped in the pain of time, she used her aura as a guide and swung her fist at him. Anger and anguish filled her as she struck him. He backpedaled. Her arms lengthened, sprouted feathers, and she kept delivering blow after blow.

  He blocked her. He slammed energy bolts into her.

  Feathers flew into the air. She screamed at his resistance, but she felt no injury through the agony of her betrayal.

  When the leather collar appeared in his hand, she grabbed his wrist.

  She took him back centuries upon centuries.

  She put him on his knees, searching for the truth.

  On her knees with him, tears pouring from one eye, she learned he was honest. She learned he had been with Menessos that evening; Menessos, who was gathering the last of the supplies for the spell, rehearsing the lines. He had no messenger. He sent no one. He was unaware of her desire for him.

  Liyliy released Mero and remained before him, weeping.

  Only when the collar was shoved toward her neck did she realize minutes had passed and he had recovered.

  She forced a full transformation. The collar would never fit her owlish neck. She snapped at him with her beak and menaced him with her talons, but she did not draw blood. As an owl, her aura was altered, affecting her aim. It took a few swings to master it, then she swatted him hard, knocking him backward into the air. She pulled the transformation back into her human form, and she pushed through the doors with tatters of gray silk trying to cover her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Simply because she has fey blood doesn’t mean you have to gift her.”

  Though Beverley remained unconscious, the memory of her scream was still echoing in my mind and my tone was clipped as I scolded Menessos.

  Several paces away from me, the vampire spread his arms, palms out, assuming the typical
innocence-pleading pose. “Being in the line supercharged her,” he argued. “I couldn’t bring her out with that power uncontrolled and leaking everywhere. I had to funnel it onto one focus . . . for her sake and for ours. We can’t put her or others in danger, Persephone. What if she were to have a paroxysmal episode?”

  He had a point. Any magic-using person in the throes of a violent fit was hazardous to be around, more so if they were untrained. My criticism ratcheted down a notch. “Didn’t you say that gifting didn’t work on magic-bearing humans?”

  “I said it doesn’t often work on them. As with Liyliy and her sisters, the presence of fey blood was more important than the ability to tap into universal energies.”

  I smoothed Beverley’s hair. “What gift did she get?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and wandered a few steps away.

  As silent seconds ticked away, my unease grew until I couldn’t stand it. “Menessos.”

  The vampire’s head dropped slightly and his shoulders rounded.

  “I’m not going to like this answer. I get it. Out with it already.”

  He still didn’t move.

  Zhan stepped up beside me. Our eyes met and it was obvious we were both suspicious of his hesitancy. Instead of making another verbal plea, I reached through the bond he and I shared. It drew his attention like walking up behind him and stroking his arm.

  He spun around as if startled from deep thoughts. His gaze took us in, all of us, but settled on the child in my arms. There was despair in his voice as he said, “She’ll never be safe.”

  Through the bond, my gentle touch turned into a squeezing demand.

  “She is a ward-breaker, Persephone.”

  I blinked, struggling to wrap my head around what this meant. It explained why my defensive protections at home failed. Wards differed from out-and-out spells in that they were purely protective. A spell required a divine and blessed circle in which words were spoken, elements summoned, and, often, gemstones or herbs used as a focus. A ward required only the use, direction, and sealing of energy. It was sorcery.

  My stomach flipped at my thoughts of this poor child tapping a line accidentally, feeling the awful stinging pain initially involved with that action. She probably panicked. Somehow, that led to her being taken.

  I held her tighter. She had the capacity to interrupt or break a flow of energy meant to protect that which it surrounded; any magical barrier set to keep dangerous things out. Softly, I said, “Most wards nowadays are meant to keep the ‘nonsters’ out.”

  “Nonsters” was a media term coined to lump wærewolves, vampires, witches, and fey together in one non-human group. It was inaccurate, as witches were definitely still human, but the term had caught on anyway.

  “She must come with me,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but before the words could form I realized that, until she understood how to restrain this power, I could not protect her. She would destroy any defensive ward I attempted to use to shield her. She was also a danger to wæres . . . and I could not protect them from her, either.

  Unlike vampires, who were down during the day and recognizable on sight, wærewolves could blend into society. Wæres could be working at her school. Her bus might pass some in traffic. We might walk the grocery store aisles with wæres and never know it.

  Tears burned my eyes.

  In a vampire haven, she would be safe, and so would others.

  “Goliath and I will tutor her.” He added reassuringly, “When she learns control she can return to you. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  I winced. “You’re implying that I won’t be at the haven.”

  He squared his shoulders as if his next words required some great amount of resolve. “You know why you must stay away.”

  “Mero.” He wanted to present me to the Excelsior so I could be marked by him. “I don’t want to leave Beverley. When she wakes, she’ll need me. She’ll be confused and scared. You can—”

  “I am no longer Quarterlord. I have no one to command.”

  “Goliath—”

  “—must not tarnish his new position with the blemish of such a choice.”

  I bit my tongue. I couldn’t go to the den or the haven. The witches were torn over the issue of me being the Lustrata, so the Covenstead was also a risk. I had only my own home to run to and it had broken wards. The elementals would protect me, but they had all been through so much already. Inviting trouble to follow me there was selfish.

  “Persephone.”

  When he spoke my name a wave of warmth flowed over me like I’d stepped naked into strong sunlight. It was meant to reassure me, but instead it only pissed me off.

  “Menessos—”

  “Mero will not be turned from this course of action. You must go to the Witch Elders Council.”

  “WEC is divided between those who believe the Lustrata means good things for them and those who feel she brings bad things. I don’t even know who’s on which side of the argument.” I needed to find out. In all my spare time? I shook my head. “No.”

  Undeterred by my anger, Menessos crouched before me. He slid his hands into mine without altering the way my arms held Beverley. “My master, you cannot accept the marks of the Excelsior.”

  Many thoughts flooded my mind. What would Beverley think of this? How would she react? What if she didn’t want to be at the haven? What about school? There were no children at the haven—Stop.

  Menessos was being too nice and too calm about all of this.

  I blinked the moisture from my eyes and searched his face. Why?

  He had quickly evaluated the situation, then skillfully devised a conversation that kept me focused on Beverley and the solution to this new problem.

  What was his verbal maneuvering trying to hide?

  I sat straighter. “What in Hell had a hold of her?”

  He blinked as if to make a denial, saw my expression harden, then sighed. His hands slipped from mine and he stood. “If I had to guess, I would wager it was Nyx.”

  My embrace tightened protectively around Beverley.

  “Nyx?” I asked. “You mean Nyx as in the deified personification of night?”

  Menessos hesitated, then said matter-of-factly, “Yes.”

  Zhan turned on her heel and walked away.

  “Why?”

  “That is what we must figure out.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  The corner of Menessos’s mouth crooked up. “Perhaps there is an Eldrenne or two that could aid you. Their reference library is one of the finest in the world. You could research—”

  “I’m not going to hide behind the Council’s skirts.”

  He was undeterred. “Two birds with one stone, my master.”

  “No.”

  “Then you doom Beverley.”

  “Don’t pull this shit. Not now.”

  “That is such an odd phrase. Why would anyone ‘pull shit’?”

  I smirked at him. “I guess it has something to do with getting your hands dirty in a stupid and pointless way.”

  “I am not needlessly dirtying my hands by trying to protect you while you figure out why Nyx would want a ward-breaker.”

  I frowned, but before I could speak, a car horn honked. Zhan had brought the car as close as she could to us. As I shifted Beverley so I could stand, Menessos deftly removed her from my arms. I asked him, “How did you get here anyway?”

  “After your call I had Risqué gather supplies while I informed Goliath I was leaving. My driver dropped me off.”

  I stood. “I never realized a ley line ran through here.”

  “This area is secluded. If I lost control, the isolation would minimize the wild magic’s impact on others.” He began walking toward the Audi. “I sent my driver some distance away for his own safety. If Zhan can drive us all, I’ll let him know he may head for the haven.”

  He glanced back. “I trust that I will be permitted to ride along?”

 
; CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When Zhan pulled into my driveway I saw Johnny’s Maserati parked behind Celia’s CX-7. While seeing the Maserati made my stomach do a little flip—I’d have to confront Johnny now, no getting out of it—something else worried me more. My house sat unlit in the night and another car had pulled off to the side of my seldom-trafficked road. It seemed to be abandoned, but other than my place, there was nowhere close by to walk to or visit. I had a hard time believing anyone had parked there by coincidence.

  I realized that Zhan had not cut the engine. Of course not. Menessos won’t drive himself to the haven. I glanced back at Beverley, wishing she had awakened so I could talk to her and explain. But that wasn’t meant to be. Without a word, I slid across the seat, kissed Beverley’s forehead, and exited the vehicle.

  The wind was picking up and helped me slam the car door before I stalked around the other vehicles to my porch.

  Inside, I removed my dew-damp boots, sat them aside, and stood there with my back to the open main door, listening, as Zhan drove away. This big farmhouse felt so empty suddenly. One step, then two. I was the only thing alive in here, the only thing making a sound, and I knew where to step to not squeak the old floorboards.

  A tie hung across the handrail of the stairs.

  Johnny’s. He had a key.

  I listened hard. There were no sounds from upstairs, only the roaring of the wind outside.

  My touching the silky smoothness of the fabric raised his scent. I pulled my fingers away, leaving the tie there.

  I glanced into the living room, where my slipcovered couch and framed John William Waterhouse poster prints were hung. The moonlight was dim, but my eyes had adjusted to the dark. Above the fireplace was a genuine Waterhouse painting, but the fancy art light above it was switched off. The slow flash of a tiny red LED seemed more like an eerie blinking eye than the indicator of a security system for that very valuable gift from Menessos.