Hallowed Circle (Persephone Alcmedi 02) Read online

  A.) defeat enemies in battle

  B.) achieve fair, swift justice

  C.) banish an illness

  D.) communicate with the dead

  E.) find favor of the powerful

  And so on.

  I got through it because the inside of my skull buzzed with caffeine.

  Most contestants took one test, had a fifteen-minute break, and then started the next test. My plan, however, had me skipping the breaks and going straight through. My answers would be my answers, period. Being the kind of person who’d rather ride a bike for an hour and get where I’m going than to ride it for three twenty-minute segments, I just wanted to be done.

  The first to complete all the four parts, I was released to go to the holding room—with a much-needed toilet break on the way—to rest until lunch. After lying down and stretching tight muscles to coerce them into relaxing, I shut my eyes and slept. Until quiet crying awakened me, that is.

  It was Holly crying. Considering her, wondering whether I should inquire or let her be, I decided ignoring her would be rude. I sat up. “Hey.”

  She wiped her face with her hand. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  It was a lame question answered with an obvious lie, but asking “What’s wrong?” would have been prying. Truth be told, I didn’t want to know what she was crying about. If she wanted me to know and I didn’t ask, she’d tell me anyway. So. Talk about something else. “Where are you from, Holly?”

  “Wisconsin,” she said.

  All I could think of was cheese. Trying to avoid making some dimwitted remark about dairy products, I said, “I didn’t realize that Cleveland would be such a draw. It surprised me there are twenty-one entrants. And from all over.”

  “You’re the local nominee. Probably stinks to think someone from somewhere else could come in and take it from you, huh?” She seemed apologetic.

  “That doesn’t bother me. I’ve been a solitary witch for so long …” I had to make her think the Eximium was important to me though. “It’s hard to think of me not being solitary. It probably stinks to think someone who doesn’t have a background with vast leadership experience might take it.”

  Clearly confused, she asked, “If you’re solitary, how’d you get nominated?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Long story.”

  “Being a high priestess is all I’ve ever wanted. Since I was a little girl. My mother was the HPS in Madison.” HPS is the standard Wiccan acronym for High Priestess, while HP means High Priest.

  Her drive and ambition became clearer to me.

  She wiped her eyes again. “I know I’m not going to make the cut here. The entrants are all very impressive.”

  “Holly, don’t even think that way.” Goddess help me, I sucked at pep talks. If I was going to parent Beverley, I’d have to get better at this. “Don’t count yourself out before it starts.”

  “I just don’t want to go home, cut in the first round. I want my mother to be proud of me.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then there’s no way you can let her down.” I tried to sound reassuring. “Let me share something with you, maybe it’ll help: I don’t compete with others. If you’re watching others to see what to do, you’ll always see someone doing something you think you can’t top. But if you’re looking inside, you’ll find the will, the drive, to reach the goal the best way you can—regardless of others.”

  Applause from the doorway made us both jerk.

  It was Hunter. “Beautiful. Oh, that was just beautiful, Persephone.” Her blue eyes shifted to Holly. “Honey, this is a competition. So your best has to be better than the others. Period. It’s not all happy-happy, so deal with it. If you want to know what to do to win, just watch me.” She grinned broadly. “Oh, and lunch is being served now.” She stalked from the doorway.

  “It’s noon already?” I grumbled. The nap had helped, though. I did feel refreshed. Holly, however, held her shoulders bunched up with tension. I put my hands on her shoulders, pressed a little until they eased down a bit. “That’s an opinion I don’t share. Don’t let her get to you.”

  “Easier said than done,” Holly said, sniffling but smiling.

  “I know. But that’s her tactic, to dull your confidence and sharpen her chances. If you do the best you can without letting her get to you, then no matter what happens, when you see your mother she’ll be proud of you and you’ll be proud of yourself.”

  Holly glowered. “I hope she didn’t get to finish her test.” She meant Hunter.

  I snickered. “Right. She probably sat there and reread each question to check every answer. She strikes me as being very thorough that way.”

  “You mean anal-retentive?” Holly offered.

  I wouldn’t take the bait. “C’mon,” I said. “I’m starved.”

  “I wonder what her motives are. She’s so aggressive; zapping people, taunting people. I bet she’s sponsored by one of the Elders. If she is, they’ll gear the tests to her strengths and then—”

  “Holly. She’s getting to you.” She may have an inner crouching tiger, but it was a paper tiger.

  “Right.”

  Lunch consisted of small chef salads and turkey sandwiches. I opted for two salads and a bottled tea.

  Hunter continued her twisted version of networking during the meal. In a group, she was bright, cheery, and encouraging. I sat far away, kept my head down and my mouth shut. Except for munching my salad, anyway.

  After eating, three more portions of the test remained. Part five had write-in answers, concerning sigils, alphabets, and symbols. Part six dealt with binding, banishing, alchemy, and elements. The seventh and final portion was essay answers on a myriad of subjects.

  We were not allowed to run through these portions back-to-back. We tested, waited for all to be done and tried not to fall asleep, took the next, and so on. When the last test was turned in, Lydia addressed the group. “You may go now to the holding area. There you will remain until you are called to the announcement of finalists. Dinner will be served afterward. I strongly suggest that you use this time to nap if you can, as the remaining tests will likely take you until the dawn.”

  It was almost four p.m. I wasn’t sure how much good a single hour of sleep would do me, but I’d take what I could get.

  Assembling in the Great Hall at five o’clock, we lined up in front of the dais as before. Morgellen held a paper scroll out to Lydia. “Let the names be read,” she said.

  Lydia took the scroll, and said, “For those whose names are not called, you may retire to the holding room after dinner. You will gather your things and be moved to another holding room, where you may rest and not be disturbed by the comings and goings of the finalists. For those whose names are called, you will return here after dinner.” She lifted the scroll, broke the seal, and unrolled it. “These are the names of the contestants who will progress to the next round, in alphabetical order. …”

  My name was first. Persephone Alcmedi.

  Hunter was in that list, as expected. Holly was announced as the runner-up. She’d made the first cut, and being the youngest of us, that was impressive. I gave her a thumbs-up.

  After a quick, light dinner of soup and sandwiches (I had potato soup and passed on the ham sandwich) we finalists were taken to the Great Hall and again stood before the Elders. “The eleven of you will compete in the second test. Should any of you be disqualified, the runner-up will replace you,” the Eldrenne said. She gestured to her far right and said, “Elspeth.”

  The other Elder with the crescent moons on her lapels leaned forward. Her permanently frowned face pinched up derisively. “Twenty-one there were, now ten plus one there are.” Her words were elongated as if she formed each sound very carefully, but it lent her an air of scheming. “The second test is mine to designate. Now that we have established who among you has the most book knowledge of our ways, you will all submit t
o a formal interview.”

  Damn it! That was the last thing I wanted to do: stand before them, answering their questions, hoping they couldn’t sense my stain.

  “Before these good Elders and the Eldrenne, I will consider whether you are well spoken and judge how you conduct yourself under our ever-watchful eyes. To serve your community as high priestess is to be visible to all and you must exhibit confidence in your demeanor, as well as possess the persona and image that will uphold our standards. Further, you must display an accessibility the media cannot manipulate—and they will try.” She appraised each of us in turn. “We will choose five and a single runner-up to proceed to the next round.”

  Elspeth gestured to the cauldron, then toward the end of the line on her right. “Choose lots. They are numbered one to fifty. You start.”

  Again, Maria approached the cauldron first. When she looked down, she gasped and stepped back.

  “You will draw a lot,” Elspeth commanded.

  “But—”

  “Draw,” the Eldrenne said, “or suffer the consequences.”

  It took Maria a moment, but she gathered herself and stepped up to the cauldron. Sinking to her knees, she stared down into the deep cast-iron pot. She darted her hand inside, gave a squeal and withdrew.

  What was in there?

  “An empty hand will forfeit,” the Eldrenne whispered.

  The woman reached in again and as she retrieved her lot she swiftly stood. Held at arm’s length, her lot squirmed in her grip. I stared; she held a scorpion by its tail.

  “What is the number,” Elspeth asked, “on its belly?”

  “Six.”

  Elspeth turned to the next in line. “Now it is your turn.”

  Maria scanned about for a place to discard the wriggling creature and realized she would have to hold it until this was done. She seemed unsteady as she returned to her spot. The women around me fidgeted nervously.

  Remembering Nana’s advice, I watched the Elders as this process continued. They were forming opinions of us as we reacted to choosing a scorpion from the pot. I determined not to show any fear. When my turn came, however, staring down into that cauldron, seeing their dark insectlike bodies crawling about, I felt fear.

  Still, I watched them, trying to determine movement, to anticipate it.

  A childhood memory of catching crawdads in the stream when Nana took me to a nature preserve flashed through my mind. Like a light breeze through a tunnel, calmness billowed into me and blew away the dust clouding my judgment. I reached into the pot, selected a scorpion, and lifted it. “Thirteen,” I announced.

  After the lottery was reviewed and the critters returned to the cauldron, I found out I was to be interviewed third out of the eleven. Lydia ushered us to the kitchen. “The interviews will begin at seven o’clock. You have free time until then, that is, after you ladies have washed up the evening dishes.”

  “Dishes?” Hunter asked pointedly.

  Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Are you unwilling to wet your hands for the coven you may lead?”

  Hunter’s jaw dropped, then firmly shut.

  “I didn’t think so.” Lydia turned to leave. “Again, the time before and after your interview is also free time and I suggest you sleep if you can. Return to the holding area. I will come for you there when it is your turn to be interviewed.” She left us.

  An awkward moment of silence filled the kitchen. I started opening cupboards hunting for the dish soap, found it.

  “Let me wash my hands first,” Maria said. She scrubbed her hands mercilessly in the sink. “Goddess, I hope there are no more scorpions!” she said and shivered heartily.

  She received a bevy of seconds to her thought. “It’s not like we’ll have to deal with those on a daily basis,” added a woman named Suzanne who spoke with a slight Southern accent.

  Hunter let her crossed arms fall loose. “No, as high priestess, you’ll just have to establish our community platform, state our goals, and implement solid plans to reach them while creating lines not only for outreach but awareness.”

  “Sounds like you memorized a pamphlet,” Maria remarked.

  Hunter didn’t miss a beat in replying, “Trying to institute and apply that level of strategy makes snatching a single scorpion from a pot seem easy.”

  Suzanne squared her shoulders. “That is kind of what I meant. We don’t have to deal with the unsavory image of the mystic medicine woman of centuries past. That kind of thing made us easy targets for superstition and haunts us yet. A high priestess is clergy. Aside from all the public outlets you mentioned, we also have to be available for our coven members, to counsel and teach them, and often deal with the foolish who want power but are clueless about our laws and ignorant in general. We must be vigilant for our cause.”

  I noticed Holly’s head snapped up at that last and she squinted hard at Suzanne, as if the woman had just spoken some secret spy code phrase. Holly’s hands were fisted.

  I cleared my throat and interjected, “Comparatively, doing dishes is worry-free.”

  “If you like menial work,” Hunter answered.

  “I’m not above doing it,” I retorted.

  “But a high priestess has far more important things to worry about, as I’ve just pointed out.” She added, “That’s not conceit or pride, it’s a simple fact.”

  “Are you ready for all that?” Maria asked, rinsing her hands.

  “Are you?” Hunter asked back.

  Maria dried her hands on a towel. “Of course, or I wouldn’t have asked. And I’ve noticed that women who think highly of themselves—as in being too good to do the dishes because it might damage their pretty, fake nails—are easily baited and generally turn the hook around and send it back trying to avoid tough questions.” She tossed her brown and gray braid over her shoulder. “Think you can answer now?”

  Hunter squared her shoulders and took a pose of authority. “Yes, I am ready to be a high priestess, ready for the responsibility and the work of the position. And, if you must know, I have an allergic reaction to most dish, hand, and laundry soaps. I use specialized products at home and I doubt that what they have here is the same.”

  Maria tossed the towel to her. “Then you dry.”

  She caught it and said, “I would be glad to.” She didn’t look glad to.

  Holly spoke up. “No one even mentioned dealing with vampires, waeres, wannabes, frauds, and the fey.”

  “Exactly,” Hunter said triumphantly. “It all makes washing dishes seem”—she looked down at the drying rag with distaste—“absurd.”

  “So you’d rather deal with a vampire than safely wash dishes?” Maria pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever faced an angry vampire?” I asked.

  She spun to me. “I assume you have?”

  “I have,” I agreed. “And you didn’t answer.”

  She realized she was busted again, but didn’t back down. “All I can do is my best. That’s all any of us can do. And when this is over, we’ll know who the best of us is.”

  She still hadn’t answered the question, but had said something that sounded good and leader-ish anyway. Around us, the side-choosing began, some of it mental, some of it outward as women moved to stand nearer Maria and me, or nearer Hunter. Goddess, help me. I hated politics. I wanted no part of it.

  So, I gathered the dishes and started the water, but warily watched the assessment. Maybe I was assessing as well, but I wasn’t choosing teammates as if we were on a reality show. I was wondering who could handle the position. For whom was I planning to pave this road?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lying on my cot, wrestling with the drowsiness that came after eating, I was racking my brain for a way to shield against the Elders that wouldn’t rouse their suspicion. I had to make it through the round. If I had a later interview, I could sleep and perhaps, with a fresher mind, come up with a plan. But that hadn’t been my multilegged lot.

  After the interview, I’d have about two ho
urs to sleep. If I wasn’t cut after this round, that, I thought optimistically, should get me through the night.

  A scream resounded through the stone walls.

  Instantly on my feet, I was the only one up and moving forward. Yanking open the door, my feet had me in the hall before I knew which direction to go. The sound of another door pulled me around to face the restroom end of the hall.

  Mandy backed from the alcove, trembling. One hand covered her mouth, while the other was held before her like a loathsome thing. Footsteps resounded behind me; Lydia was hurrying toward us.

  “Mandy.” I eased toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  The holding room door shut behind me, then shoved open again.

  “Mandy,” I repeated.

  Her frizzy blond head turned to me, her distress evident. She blinked. “Persephone,” she whispered. She held that outstretched hand toward me. Blood was smeared on her fingertips. “She’s dead—she’s—she’s dead.”

  Lydia stopped beside me; I felt the other finalists crowding behind us.

  “Who’s dead?” Lydia asked. “Where?”

  Mandy shivered. “The … the one from Georgia. S-Suzanne.” She began to sob and pointed to the shadowy alcove near the restroom. I could see nothing from where I stood.

  I heard the regular tapping of staffs behind us and turned toward the sound; Morgellen and Elspeth were rounding the turn. “Finalists! Return to the holding room,” Morgellen called. I did not obey quickly. Lydia went to them and they whispered together as they moved forward. “Lydia, take Mandy to the office where she can clean her hands. Call the police immediately. Elspeth and I will wait here to secure the area.”

  The next hour passed in what seemed like only moments.

  The police arrived right away and quickly marked off the area with yellow plastic tape. We were all herded into the holding room while they “secured the scene.” They photographed everything and dusted for fingerprints. From the doorway of the holding room, we watched the body bag roll by on a stretcher. We were all stunned, moved, and frightened. We barely spoke at all.