Hallowed Circle (Persephone Alcmedi 02) Read online

  Lydia returned to the end of the dais.

  “If your name was not called, please return now to the holding room. Mandy will take you to the secondary holding room where you can rest.”

  Five women stepped away from our line and retreated from the Great Hall. We who remained looked at each other and closed ranks a little. I smiled at Lehana, who stood to my left. She grinned back and grabbed my pale hand in her dark one, then reached to take Hunter’s hand on her left. To my right was Maria with the broomstick skirt, and I slid my hand into hers and nodded. In turn, Maria took Amber’s hand and she took Holly’s.

  I considered Holly; she’d made it through the second round. Surely her mother would be proud. Surely she was proud of herself. But as runner-up again …

  The six of us faced the Elders and, I felt, tried to convey that we were ready for the next test.

  Desdemona smiled broadly, showing she was missing her bicuspids. She scooted forward on her throne and her hands shook as she excitedly rubbed gnarled fingers together. She spoke in verse with her strange, high voice and sounded completely insane.

  “We have seen you take a written test.

  You have plans for the coven, but what comes next

  Is my test and in it, we will discover

  If you can think on your feet … and if you can govern.”

  She stopped there, cocked her head at us, and bit her lip. An odd mannerism. It made me wary.

  Her arms shot out, extended to either side, palms open. I felt the static chill of power being called before me, felt it dancing from the dais as she said,

  “Although we be a mourning choir

  For the one who has expired

  Know that all of thee are liars

  But only one in guilt is mired.

  And thus the contest we so desire

  Shall continue as required

  And next my test will transpire

  I bid thee now enter, vampires!”

  Power spiraled across the Great Hall. As she fisted her hands and jerked them close to her chest, the eastern and western double doors burst open. In the dark of each open entry stood a figure.

  From the smell of decay riding the wind that gusted into the hall, Desdemona hadn’t been lying. Vampires.

  The Covenstead was protected, like most buildings, with the metaphysical barrier that kept out those with the curse of undeath. The soulless undead couldn’t pass through unless invited in.

  Desdemona had made the invitation.

  My attention bounced back and forth, completely intent on the as-yet-unrecognizable figures in the doorway. Although obscured, their stature and wide shoulders showed both to be male.

  Please don’t be Menessos and Goliath.

  The figures stepped from the shadows to the dim interior … and I was relieved to see both were unfamiliar. Of course, this could be even worse: they might sense the stain upon me and not have any qualms about revealing such information to one and all.

  The vampires strode toward the dais. They were handsome men wearing fashionable clothing that combined I’m-hot-and-I-know-it with I’m-going-clubbing-to-find-a-piece-of-ass-worthy-of-me. Not that design and style could say all that alone; it was inherent in the very fabric of their beings. From their squared shoulders to the self-assurance of their gait—everything about them radiated confidence.

  They looked us over with what elsewhere would be taken as lascivious intent. One exuded conceit with the lift of his chin and the firm set of his unimpressed mouth. The other made me think of a delighted frat boy who’d just strolled unnoticed into the ladies’ locker room.

  Although no one else seemed to be bothered by it, the stench of rotting leaves made me gag. They could have at least tried to cover it with cologne.

  “Eldrenne, Madam Elders,” said the unimpressed one. His voice was deep. Tall and muscular, he had the disproportionate chiseled features of a comic book hero. Even his blond hair, trimmed business short on the sides, was styled so that three perfect tendrils of the longer top fell forward in a trademark rugged way. He did not bow his head, but rather turned it sideways a fraction while cocking his head. It might be construed as a slight bow, but vampires were not ones to show obeisance to any mortal. “I am Heldridge and am pleased to participate in your Eximium.” He signaled the other vampire.

  “I’m Sever.” He flashed them each a flirty smile, but didn’t bother to offer them any pretty words that probably weren’t true. Sever had golden brown curls that hung past his shoulders.

  “Welcome,” Desdemona said to them. To us, she said, “The test will entail the—”

  The other Elders all reacted to her sudden stop, sitting straighter as their notice drifted beyond our contestant line.

  A trembling resonance began low on my spine then fluttered upward like fingernails scraping over each vertebra. The fine vibration slid around each rib only to rejoin in my sternum, where heat began to build between my breasts. My mind flashed on images of the darkened living room, of Johnny’s face before me while our bodies were entwined. My nipples hardened.

  I blinked hard, willing the images to stop, willing this reaction to stop, but the heat dropped down, gliding under my skin to my navel and lower, between my legs. A rush of desire swept through my body—

  The southern doors burst open behind me. Without looking, I knew who was there.

  “Ladies—and my fellow vampires—please permit me to interpose myself.” As the contestants around me turned, I did, too, and saw Menessos come striding in, projecting his innate patrician polish. “My presence may not have been solicited, but I trust it is not unwelcome.” His walnut-colored waves brushed his shoulders as he moved. The thin beard, trimmed to balance his square jaw, perfected his image as a manifestation of Arthur Pendragon, the warrior from centuries past and my dreams. However, the elegantly cut modern suit that draped from his strong, broad shoulders and the white shirt—sans tie and fashionably unbuttoned—branded him as a New Age warrior, the Lord Executive of the Boardroom. In my eyes, he was a time-transcending champion, cunning and adaptable, trained to win at any cost. A man to be wary of.

  From the dais, I heard a sharp intake of breath and the Eldrenne whispered, “Menessos.”

  That made me turn back to the dais. The other Elders exchanged glances. The Eldrenne flicked her fingers and her staff shot into her grip. She stood. Behind her, on the throne’s high back, the raven spread its wings and cawed.

  The other Elders came to their feet as well, staves in hand, eyes bright, ready.

  The Eldrenne’s mouth curved deeply downward, as if she could embody scornful contempt. “You were not invited.”

  Menessos laughed quietly, but continued into the hall toward us. “I have said as much, dear Eldrenne. I assure you, austere Elders, I have come only to be a participant in the Eximium, as vampires often do for such events. Would you banish me from the proceedings?”

  She hesitated. “Local vampires are customary.”

  He gestured at Sever and Heldridge. “This territory falls under my jurisdiction.”

  She stamped her staff on the dais floor; it cracked like thunder and the orb atop it began to glow with a white light. “Why have you come?”

  “It is my right to attend.” Menessos stopped perhaps ten feet from our contestant line. “Do you yet begrudge me the past, Eldrenne? Will your bitterness never cease?”

  They had history between them. Curious.

  “You give me no cause for anything but bitterness, Menessos.” She spat his name.

  “What benefit could I seek in aggravating the wounds of decades past, Eldrenne?”

  “Your motives are ever your own. To guess at them is to relinquish myself to thoughts just as depraved and selfish. I will not sully myself to venture there.”

  “Your words sting me, Xerxadrea.”

  The other Elders gasped in unison; he’d addressed her by name. WEC had only a handful of Eldrennes and once they became Eldrenne, that was their name in public.

 
“Good,” she replied. “It may not be the stabbing vehement agony you deserve, but a sting implies pain and if I have hurt you even a little, then I will relish it.”

  Menessos took three steps forward, hand out, palms open in a show of nonaggression. “If my pain pleases you, Xerxadrea, if you delight in hearing of it, then come down from your dais, witch. Come down and make me bleed of your own hand, that you may be happy once more.”

  Before I could even turn back to her, the Eldrenne glided past me to accept his offer.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Blood Oath!” Desdemona whispered. The other Elders took up the words and repeated them until they had a soft chant, each hammering their staff when they said “oath.”

  Menessos lifted his arm and bared his wrist.

  The Eldrenne took his hand in both of hers. With a cry of victory, she shoved it upward as her raven swooped in. The bird beat its wings and hovered in the air, talons raking his skin over and over.

  “By my blood,” he said, standing calmly while the bird tore his flesh open. “I am here to harm none. I am here to participate fairly in your Eximium. And I am here to give you this moment, Xerxadrea. Let your bitterness be gone.”

  When the bird flew away and returned to rest on the high back of her throne, the Eldrenne pulled a black handkerchief from the folds of her robes and covered his forearm with it. She whispered and chanted words I could not make out. When she was done, she said over her shoulder, “Contestants to the kitchen to wait. You will be called shortly for the next lottery.”

  I was so glad for the chance to remove myself from Menessos’s presence I had to force myself to keep to a sedate pace and not to run to the stairs and out of the hall.

  The six of us had to grope most of our way to the kitchen in the dark. The candles in the wall geodes had either burned out or were unlit. We had only the fluorescent glow from the open kitchen door to guide us. I wondered where the police—and the portable lights they’d brought in to illuminate the alcove—had gone.

  Between the walk in the dark, the scene we’d just witnessed, and the insecurity aroused by the combination of death, drama, and vampire presence, the six of us seemed somewhat shell-shocked.

  Holly was the first to speak. She opened the refrigerator and, seeing apples, asked if anyone else wanted one. No one took her up on it.

  “Coffee?” I asked. That’s what I wanted.

  “Good idea,” Maria said, and came to help me while the others took seats at one of the long tables.

  “Damn, but that was intense,” said Lehana, sinking onto a folding chair. She spoke with an accent more pronounced than Suzanne’s.

  “Is that Jamaican?” Holly asked. I turned, thinking she was inquiring about the coffee I was spooning into the filter, but saw she was intent on Lehana.

  “No. Haitian.”

  Holly rummaged in the drawer for a knife and took it to the table where she began neatly slicing her apple. Maybe she was too young to understand the glory of good coffee. Then I realized she had just armed herself with a sharp knife. Again.

  “So what flavor is your witchcraft?” Hunter asked.

  “Why do you ask?” Lehana asked back, her manner cool but her eyes darkly serious.

  Maria and I exchanged wary glances.

  Hunter shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Lehana stood and peered down at Hunter, who sat across from her. “You think I am a Vodoun, a priestess of Santeria, and you have a problem with this?”

  Amber, at the head of the table, wordlessly rose and went nonchalantly to the refrigerator. If I’d been sitting with them, I’d have retreated too.

  “I didn’t say that,” Hunter replied. She crossed her legs and draped one arm across the back of the adjacent vacant seat, all with an unruffled, you-can’t-make-me-uneasy expression.

  I noted her sense of ease, her body language. It reinforced her just-curious response; any other pose might have disqualified her defense.

  Lehana’s eyes slitted. “You want to find out what flavor my magic is? Come with me somewhere private and I’ll give you a taste.”

  “Can’t just tell me here?” Hunter tsked. “Secrets, hmmm? Afraid to expose yourself? Worried someone might pick up on the power-stone you’re faking your way through this with?” Hunter stood abruptly. “I notice a lot of things, Lehana. Like your hand going to your pocket often during the tests. I noticed you holding something in your hand when you chose your scorpion—even caught a quick glimpse of it. A vinculum isn’t easy to come by. I have to wonder, which Elder gave it to you?”

  The fluorescent lights overhead flashed and went out.

  Plunged into darkness, the underground kitchen became a blackened cave. Someone squealed. Someone else swore in a mutter.

  “Does this mean bad things have happened in the Great Hall?” Amber’s voice came from my left.

  “Maybe it’s just the lower level circuit or just the kitchen,” Maria offered from my right.

  Hunter said, “I’ll go find out.”

  Remembering the dark hallway, I said, “Shout for the police. They’ve got to be somewhere out there and they will have flashlights.”

  I heard Hunter groping along the wall. “Door should be here somewhere.” Crack! “Ow!”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Door’s open, I walked into it!” A second later she shouted into the hallway, “Hello?” Her voice echoed down the corridor.

  “If bad things are happening in the Great Hall,” Amber pressed, “is announcing our exact location a good idea?”

  “If the vampires wanted to find us,” I said, “they wouldn’t have any trouble locating us in the dark even if we were silent.”

  “Thanks. I feel much better now,” Maria added sarcastically.

  “Don’t worry,” Hunter said from the doorway. “An Eximium massacre would ensure bad PR, and neither VEIN nor WEC would sabotage the other politically. They may have their rivalries, but they understand that if they give mundanes a reason to turn against one group, the others will shortly suffer the same fate.” She didn’t pause before her voice resounded down the corridor again, “Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Vein?” Maria asked.

  “The Vampire Executive International Network—VEIN,” Hunter said.

  “Of course. What else could it be?” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter. The solidity of it was nice in the dark.

  “I see a light,” Hunter said.

  “Hello? This is Officer Moore. Who’s calling?”

  “The contestants!” Hunter answered. “We’re in the kitchen. What’s going on?”

  “Not sure. The electric’s out all over the building.” His voice was closer now. “Everyone okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I could see the faint blue glow of an outline on Hunter and knew the officer was getting close.

  “I’m sure the emergency candles are here somewhere,” Hunter said, “we just aren’t familiar with where they’d be.” She backed into the room as Officer Moore entered with a flashlight held over his head.

  “Well, we’ll find them,” he said and moved toward the cabinets, flashing the light around to take in the room. “Oh my God!” He rushed to the tables. “No one move. Everyone stay right where you are!”

  In the glow of his flashlight, I saw Lehana in a chair, eyes wide and vacant. A large dark stain covered her chest.

  *

  Lehana was dead.

  Holly, and the knife she’d been cutting her apple with, were missing.

  She had evidently killed twice. Giving her the presumption of innocence when she was missing just wasn’t logical. But neither was killing to get ahead in a competition, then disappearing and not being able to compete anyway. It made no sense! Except, she had exhibited some signs of militant extremism. Maybe she wasn’t here to win either, but to ensure the placement of a certain kind of priestess. We might actually be after the same thing—but with decidedly different ways of achieving our go
als.

  I paced, angry and hoping Morgellen would poke her head into the room for just a moment. She’d pressured the officer to let us continue, and she might have even used magic unethically to ensure his cooperation. And another life had been lost.

  The lights had not come back on, but Lydia had appeared with Officer Detrick and a flashlight and located the candles. While Detrick briefly questioned us—I think he took my pacing for nervous energy—by candlelight in the kitchen, Lydia and Moore disappeared into the hall. I could hear Moore on the radio calling for backup. And I heard the beginning of the reply, “Negative.”

  When our statements had been taken, Moore called Detrick to the hall while Lydia joined us. “I’ve replaced and lit the candles in the hall’s geodes,” she said. “We’re going to take you back to the holding room. It has only one entrance, so you’ll be safe there. The officers are insisting we lock you in for your own safety. One of them will remain posted outside the door.” Seeing I was about to protest, she added, “It will be brief, I promise.”

  The halls seemed colder as we returned to the holding room, and the shadows that had at first seemed like appropriate ambiance had become frightening areas demanding scrutiny.

  When we arrived, Officer Detrick went in first and quickly searched the room. Declaring it secure, he gestured for us to enter. We wordlessly gathered inside the door and watched it swing shut, then heard the crisp metallic sound of the bolt sliding shut.

  The sound had a finality to it. Something all prisoners must feel when they hear a lock engage.

  While I was glad our safety was taking precedence, I’d already decided that if I had to, I would call on the ley line and force that door open. I silently started plotting a spell-rhyme.

  Maria, Hunter, and Amber sat on adjoining cots, each holding a candle. Another flickered near the door. I sat on my cot with my own candle. In the wavering shadows, I could just make out the pillow on the head of Holly’s empty cot next to mine.

  Maria and Amber were murmuring to each other. Hunter stood and crossed the short distance to my cot and sat next to me.