Shattered Circle c-6 Page 14

  Feigning shock, Ailo apologized profusely and indicated her shoes. “We didn’t have high heels in the era I am from. They are gorgeous, and I am trying to adapt, but they are still awkward. Even with vampire reflexes, stilettos require some getting used to.”

  The woman scowled at her, noted a rip in her own blouse, and stalked up the steps muttering that she would have to change.

  Ailo smiled down at her palm.

  The Offerling she had chosen was more perfect than she could have hoped for. Her name was Silhouette. She was currently Goliath’s lover and had wanted to spend some time with him . . . but he’d told her that he had to prepare. He and Menessos were going to be busy for a while this evening.

  Mero’s out of the haven. Goliath and Menessos will be busy.

  That means Talto and I are free to push our plan forward . . . well, my plan, that is.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  What in Hell are you doing interrupting my meditation?”

  I hadn’t moved and Creepy kept his body pressed tight against my backside. With the floor fracturing around me, I was afraid to step away. The way he was breathing in my ear, I figured facing him would create a new set of worries.

  “Questions, questions,” he whispered. “With you it is always questions.” He spoke without rushing, each syllable a loitering sound, emerging from his lips flavored with both virtue and venom. His hands rested on my shoulders, light but warm. “Always so curious.” His hands slid downward with agonizing slowness. “And so beautiful.”

  I repeated, “Why are you in my meditation?”

  “Am I? Or has my dream come true and you’re in mine?”

  “What?” I asked sharply over my shoulder.

  He nuzzled against my cheek, chuckling with an easy finesse that sounded classy and sensual at the same time. It distracted me enough that I didn’t notice his hands were on the move until they had wrapped around my waist.

  “You entered your meditation in search of aid, did you not?”

  “Advice,” I clarified.

  “Ask me, my curious girl.” He swayed, pulling me with him as if we were slow dancing. “The questions are free.”

  The implications made my heart thud in my chest. “And the answers?”

  “Ah, now those . . . those have a price.”

  When I once questioned Menessos about Creepy he had told me as much. I pushed at the hands restraining me. “I am not playing games with you.”

  He did not let go.

  I kept pushing at his grip. My arms lacked the strength to force him to release me. “Let me go.”

  “Go? Where will you go? Back to your empty farmhouse? Back to your confusion and doubt? Back to a wearying world of multiplying responsibilities? Back to a challenging life that with each passing day promises only greater risks and deeper losses? Is that truly where you want to be?”

  My throat was tight as I swallowed down a sudden discontentment. “Now who’s asking questions?” I made it an accusation.

  He threw his head back and laughed out loud. His voice filled the decaying space, echoing back from the roof high over our heads and bringing flaky, ashen debris with it. When his laughter faded, he rubbed his cheek against my hair and brought his mouth to my ear again. “Do you really want to go?” His voice was low, his breath warm.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’ve not even asked your question yet.”

  “Your price is too high.”

  “I cannot determine my price until I hear the question.”

  True. I snorted. “Still. I can tell.”

  “You want something for nothing.” His embrace ended. “Go. Return to your privation and ambiguity.” He pushed me forward.

  “No!” I cried. Time slowed even as I teetered headlong, afraid to step, knowing that I’d fall through the floor. Twisting, hoping he wouldn’t let me plummet, I reached for him.

  His hand caught mine.

  I fell another few inches before our arms snapped taut. My weight and momentum didn’t affect his stance or balance at all, as if I were no more than a feather.

  With a sigh of relief, I dangled before him like we’d just finished a dance. For the first time since his arrival, I was able to really see him. He was imperious in a black suit with black shirt and black tie. His dark eyes, straight, shoulder-length black hair, and trim beard made him look austere. The only splash of color was a slim line of crimson, a silk hanky in his breast pocket. When my gaze saw the color, my heartbeat increased.

  With an easy tug he hauled me up and into his arms. “No? You do not wish to leave me?”

  “Not like that.” The breathlessness of my words made me sound inordinately enthusiastic.

  A complacent smile curved his lips. “What kind of departure would suit you, then? A simple one? An easy one that costs you nothing?”

  I squinted, uncertain if I believed what I was hearing. Leaving a meditation didn’t have a price . . . but I usually did have an exchange with my totem animal. During those exchanges I guess I did concede information or at least admit to being troubled, and then I received advice. That was how totems worked. Creepy was different; definitely not a totem. He existed in the real world—or he had when he visited my house. That corporality, I reasoned, meant an exchange with him could cost me something of physical substance.

  I hadn’t come here to him purposely. However, my meditation world had a way of taking me to where the answers I needed could be found. My error in forgetting the protective rhyme kept me suspicious. “I thought you made a deal with Menessos to help protect me.”

  “I am protecting you. Who knows where else you might have ended up . . . and I excel at giving advice and answers as well.”

  According to the unspoken vibe Menessos had emitted about this guy, he was not trustworthy. I clamped my mouth shut.

  He leaned to my ear and, after inhaling deeply, whispered, “You were nearly murdered tonight. The sweet perfume of death lingers around you.”

  “I wasn’t that close,” I countered, but couldn’t help sniffing the air. I detected a heady white floral scent. It was tenacious in an exotic way, sexy, but there was a dirty undernote. Something earthy and almost cigarish.

  “You’ve been seconds from death many times lately. The redolence that remains beckons me.” He stood straight and smoothed my hair. “And here we are. Together. You linger when you could have gone.”

  “Sure, if I wanted to fall through the floor and awaken in my kitchen with broken legs.”

  His thumb rubbed my cheek lovingly. “Then ask what you would of me, beautiful Persephone.”

  There was no other way out. I had to ask something. Then he’d name his price for the answer. Doubtlessly, I wouldn’t like his price, but I had to come up with a question specifically for him.

  Suddenly I understood why I was here.

  I knew how I wanted to deal with the Excelsior’s interest in me, and I knew exactly what I needed to accomplish that. Creepy was uniquely capable of performing the most dangerous part of the process—and likely with a minimum of repercussions, if any at all.

  As the question formed in my mind, a lump formed in my throat. It kept the words from tumbling into spoken reality. Swallowing down the fear, I asked something else. “First of all, asking doesn’t obligate me to pay your price, does it? I mean, we discuss that after I ask, right?”

  His eyes sparkled. In a tone that conveyed sinister confidence, he said, “We will negotiate, Persephone. I promise you.”

  A chill tickled up my spine, as if racing to the spot on my neck where Creepy’s touch lingered.

  It took three deep cleansing breaths for me to find my voice.

  “Would you be willing to materialize in the private chambers of the Excelsior?”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “You would have me kill the Excelsior for you?”

  “No, I would have you bring me a spoonful of the earth from his dirt bag.” Vampires did keep small pouches of their home ground in their pillows.

&
nbsp; “Ahhh.” His touch drifted along my collarbone. “What spell are you casting, witch?”

  My mouth clamped shut again. The less he knew the better. Besides, that could be something I needed in the negotiations.

  “If you will not tell me, I will have to guess.”

  I lowered my chin, and then stared up at him resolutely. Even making a solid endeavor to remain blank, my seriousness was probably like a billboard in bold type.

  He was silent for a long minute, scrutinizing my expression. Then his index finger traced a line downward and his eyes followed it. I felt as if he was staring into me. His hand pressed above my heart. I could not blink, could not breathe, and another chill swept over me. I shuddered as he spoke.

  “Despite all the weightless mercy in your heart, a shadow of guilt burdens you. You seek to do no harm, to be a good witch, a light-bringer and ringer of bells, but your path is treacherous. Sometimes steep, sometimes a struggling bare-handed climb. But your noble motivation is only to protect yourself so that you may continue defending those you love.”

  His hand rose away from my heart and I could breathe again.

  His touch was fever warm as he lifted my chin. That warmth spread reassurance through me. “You can create a stake to deter the Excelsior like the one Vivian created to repel Menessos, but it will not stop the Supreme Vampire.”

  It was my turn to stare.

  “I can help you create this weapon if that is what you truly want, but I could do much more to aid you by other means.”

  Of course he could. This was the nature of Creepy’s game. This was the reason that even Menessos—who had mastered the nuances of manipulation—was wary of this guy. Creepy’s version of the game was played with exponentially raised stakes.

  “Like?”

  His lips crooked up on one side.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Johnny’s hands shot out, reaching for Aurelia’s neck. His beast slavered, anxious for a kill—but he stopped himself before he touched her. No. I will not end her life.

  He pulled himself back.

  “Do it!” she cried.

  “No. I won’t be a murderer.”

  “You already are! You killed Ignatius Tierney!”

  Johnny snorted as if she’d kicked him in the gut. “That was different.” Ig had been having strokes and while his cyclical changes corrected the defects, the strokes were recurring earlier and earlier in each cycle. Ig was pitiful. He was going to die anyway. Johnny’s taking his throat had given him the release he wanted as well as the knowledge that Johnny would ascend to Domn Lup. It was what Ig wanted. “It wasn’t murder.”

  “Because it was a release from his torment?” Aurelia demanded.

  “Yes,” Johnny answered softly, his hands coming to rest in his lap. “Yes.”

  “John . . . you have to kill me.”

  He stared at the side of her head in the harsh dome light. She still hadn’t moved. A bitter thought chilled his stomach.

  “Please. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t move my arms.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t leave me like this.”

  She’d figured it out already and had been baiting him, taunting him into finishing her off. But he couldn’t kill her in cold blood. He wouldn’t.

  He wasn’t sure what Doc Lincoln could do for her like this. Surely an animal in this condition would simply be put down.

  Put down. People who love their pets do that. They do what’s best for the pet. And they stay with them while they die.

  He looked at his hands.

  No. Johnny slid out of the seat.

  Inside the wreckage, Aurelia began sobbing. “I can’t live like this! Not as an invalid.”

  He backed away from the car. I can’t do it under these circumstances, either.

  She coughed again and it sounded like blood came up. He turned away. He’d made two steps before he heard, “John. Please. Wait.”

  He stopped.

  She was breathing fast, so pale. Yet there was sweat on her brow. “You have to go to my hotel. The Renaissance Cleveland. Get my purse. Take my room key. It’s the Presidential Suite.” She coughed again, spat. “In my suitcase, wedged in the bottom left corner, is a key to a public locker at the Greyhound station on Chester Avenue. It’s not even a mile from the hotel.”

  He knew downtown well enough that she didn’t have to tell him this, but he refrained from interrupting her.

  “Take the key. Get the stuff inside it . . . in the next twenty-four hours.” Another cough. “Do it before he gets it. Do it and your son will be safe.”

  Johnny stepped back to the car. “ ‘He’ who?”

  She swallowed, spat. “Take it,” she whispered. “Get the key.”

  Johnny sat and reached for her purse, which lay on her feet. As he pulled it away his stomach turned over inside him. Beneath the purse, her right foot was twisted to the side and an inch of leg bone protruded from it. Blood was dripping fast, pooling on the tan floor.

  If he had doubted the truth of her claim to not feeling anything, that sealed it. He brought the purse up onto the console between them and unzipped the top.

  “Who?” he asked again.

  Abruptly, Aurelia screamed. “My feet. Oh my God, my feet! John, do you see that!”

  Brusquely, he said, “I saw it.”

  “I . . . I can’t feel any of that. God, please, don’t leave me like this.”

  Johnny’s fingers closed around the hotel key card. He zipped the purse up and replaced it gently, hoping she would calm down once she couldn’t see her feet again.

  “Help me,” she begged.

  Not trusting his voice to not break, he whispered, “I cannot kill you.”

  Shallow jerky breaths overcame her and she sobbed again.

  Lights flashed down the road. Four sets. Johnny got out of the car.

  When the vehicles neared he recognized the three black Chevrolet Tahoes that the Omori had been using, and the last he recognized as Doc Lincoln’s pickup truck. They parked behind his car on the road and started unloading.

  Johnny headed directly for Gregor. “Let the doc in first,” he ordered, pointing at the truck and the plain man who climbed out of it with a large medical bag in hand. Once Doc Lincoln approached Aurelia’s car, Johnny pulled Gregor to the side. “I need you to go to Saranac Lake, New York.”

  Gregor nodded. “What may I do for you there?”

  “Get my son and bring him to Cleveland.”

  The Omori captain blinked twice, showing more surprise than Johnny had expected he would. “Would you repeat that, sire?”

  • • •

  Johnny sat in his car and called Antonia Brown. “I’m sorry, Toni. I know it’s late—”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m sending a man to Saranac Lake.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ve learned that someone bugged the key fob to my car. They know about Evan. They know I have a son.”

  “ ‘They’ who?”

  Johnny’s free hand scratched through his hair. He flashed a look at the car in the field. The Omori had taken one of the Chevys into the field. It sat running with the high beams shining into the BMW while Doc Lincoln was checking Aurelia. “I don’t know exactly.”

  “John.”

  The question in her voice was clear. “I trust the man I’m sending.”

  “He’ll protect us?”

  “Yes. He is to bring you and Evan here. Pack only what you need, we’ll send for the rest or replace it.”

  “You don’t seriously think it’s that simple to uproot our lives, do you?” she snapped.

  Johnny wasn’t sure how to delicately say what he wanted to say. “Don’t you have your affairs in order?” When she’d tracked Johnny down, she’d told him she was dying. She had about six months.

  Toni sighed resignedly. “What if I want to die in my home?”

  “I will do everything you ask of me, Toni, but I want Evan with me. I want him here with guards I trust around
him. I would not ask this of you unless I was convinced Evan’s life depended on it.” He respected her resilience and tenacity. She had struggled on when her husband died suddenly. She had struggled on when her teen daughter, Frankie, wound up pregnant by a boy who disappeared before she could even tell him about the child. She had struggled on when Frankie was killed by a drunk driver. She had raised Evan alone for five years. She’d done what needed to be done, her way. He wanted her to be able to die her way, but he had to protect his son. “You will have every bit of medical care that you want. No more, no less.”

  Silence.

  “Toni?”

  “I will hold you to that.”

  “I expect nothing else from you.” Another moment passed. “I’m going to send a picture to your phone of the man I’m sending. His name is Gregor.”

  “Okay.”

  Movement outside caught his attention. “I need to go now, Toni. Call me if you need anything.” He ended the call as he exited the vehicle.

  Dr. Geoffrey Lincoln had left the BMW and was coming back toward his truck. What bothered Johnny was the doc wasn’t hurrying.

  “Doc?”

  He stopped in his tracks. He removed his glasses and began cleaning them on the tail of his shirt.

  Johnny’s pace increased. “Doc?”

  “I’m sorry, John.”

  Johnny’s heartbeat was loud in his ears as he pulled up short in front of Geoffrey, not wanting to believe what he knew was true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Creepy gazed into my eyes with the kind of adoring sincerity that was meant to make women swoon. I fought against the sensation of free-falling.

  “Are you saying you want my increased assistance?” Creepy asked.

  “No,” I replied, “I’m saying I want to know by what means it is that you think you can aid me more, so I can consider whether I want that extra assistance or not.”

  His voice dropped to a low whisper. “There’s a price for that information.”

  I crossed my arms and snorted, frustrated with both the predicament and the sensuality brimming in his voice—which had sunk into a captivating tone, melodic and soothing.