Vicious Circle c-1 Page 5

  He hesitated. “I’m not complaining, Red. I’ll play fetch with you. But why aren’t you doing it, if you’re just going to be home?”

  “I’ll explain when you arrive. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said brightly. “It’ll be about five-thirty or six by the time I make it through traffic and get to your place, so I’ll just go ahead and pick up something for us to eat. See you then.” He hung up before I could protest.

  Chapter 6

  After I dug more change out of my purse, I checked the planner again and dialed up another wære. “Good afternoon,” a warm, alto voice said in a formal business tone. “You’ve reached Revelations. I’m Theodora. How may I help you?”

  “Theo, it’s Persephone.”

  Silence, then: “I know about Lorrie,” she said.

  “Yeah. I heard too.” I couldn’t rush into the reason for my call; it would be too callous. “Did Celia call you?”

  “She called every wære in the county, I think.”

  “Is there reason to think more wæres will be targeted?” According to Vivian, that was a no, but how were the wæres taking this?

  “It does appear to be a hate crime, so I guess, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I know people, Seph. Wæres take care of their own, and they’ve already hit dead ends on the info trail. I don’t think they’ll be able to do much with this one, and it really makes me mad. Lorrie was…my friend.” She sounded like she was going to cry and, for tough Theo, that meant something. “Thanks for calling, Seph.”

  I knew she wanted to end the conversation and dry her eyes, but I had a reason for calling other than what she thought. “Theo, actually, I called to hire you.” She co-owned a business that performed background checks on people.

  “Oh? What can I do for you?” She’d relaxed into the friend voice.

  “I need you to check the name ‘Goliath Kline’ for me. Whatever you can find. Address, history, membership in clubs, anything at all.”

  I heard her typing in the background. “Is that a K or a C?”

  “Not sure.” Vivian had spoken it, not written it.

  “Any aka’s?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Birthday?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Hmmm. I usually need a birth date to clarify that I have the right person, but I’m willing to bet there’s not many guys named Goliath running around.”

  “I’m with you on that one.”

  “Soooo…should I tell Johnny to watch out ’cause he’s got some competition?”

  “No! It’s nothing like that. It’s…it’s for work.”

  “You dropping names in your column now?” she teased.

  “No. I just need some info on this guy…for another, uh, job.”

  “Is he a local fella?”

  An assassin wouldn’t root himself anywhere long enough to be a local, would he? But this guy was connected to WEC. Since there were only five U.S. groves (they officially call their groups “groves” as opposed to “covens” because they like to think of their authority as lofty, like tree branches), and Ohio was part of the Chicago grove, I answered, “I doubt it. Probably has connections in Chicago.” What was I going to say if she got enough info to guess at his profession? Damn, I didn’t want to start having to make up lies. “Bill me?”

  “Sure. I know where you live.” Her throaty laugh came in a series of little barks.

  “How long does this take, usually?”

  “Mmmm, well, since I’m such an overachiever,” she said sarcastically, because I had accused her of such on more than one occasion, “my afternoon work was done this morning, so I’ll probably have it tonight or tomorrow. Depends on whether his non-localness gives me problems. What’s your time frame for this? You want me to snail-mail it, e-mail it, or bring it out next moon?”

  “Can you call me with details as soon as you can? If you have time, that is.”

  “Well, since you’re my friend and all, I suppose I can make an exception.” We both giggled.

  I considered the wæres my friends, but I didn’t feel truly close to any of them except Celia, because she and I had roomed together in college. To hear Theo call me her friend gave me a warm feeling inside. This day was making me feel quite fragile when it came to personal relationships. “Thanks, Theo.”

  “Any time.”

  Back in the Avalon with a newly filled tank, I drove on to a little strip mall. I took my time picking out some bread and cheese in the mini-mart, then added a can of tomato soup. Dinner for both Nana and me was easy and cost less than six bucks.

  * * *

  While cooking, I started thinking about my meditation. Totems were always giving cryptic answers. It was important not to think too intensely about it right away; I tended to “read into” it if I didn’t get a little distance and reflect on the information slowly. The longer I stood there considering what Amenemhab had said, the more I realized that he’d left me with questions I hadn’t had before I meditated. I mean, hell, was he saying I had a Rede-breaker in my family tree, or an assassin? Or both?

  That thought caused me to burn the first toasted cheese sandwich.

  “I hate the smell of burnt toast,” Nana said, coming into the kitchen fanning at the smoke and coughing. She never coughed from cigarette smoke.

  Of course when I saw her and that beehive hairdo, I almost laughed. Despite the totem’s allusion, there was no assassin blood in me. Had to be a Rede-breaker. But I wondered what Nana could have done to break the Rede. My nana was many things, but she took her witchcraft very seriously. I doubted she had ever broken the Rede. Though my ancestry boasted a long, traceable line of impressive witch heritage, I didn’t know much about any specific ancestors. I might have to investigate. The Rede-breaker was probably my mother.

  Through the Styrofoam sound insulation that Celia and I had inexpertly installed in the cellar ceiling, I could hear the pup barking.

  “Sorry,” I said to Nana.

  “Just make another.” She reached for the loaf of bread.

  “No, Nana. I’m sorry I got angry about Poopsie.”

  Hope filled her eyes. “I can keep him?”

  “I guess. He has to take obedience training, though. He’s going to be huge.”

  She sighed dramatically. “I’m sure he’s almost fully grown.”

  “Nana.” I put the spatula down. “He’s a Great Dane. He’ll be this high at the shoulder.” I showed her again.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not exaggerating, are you?”

  “No.”

  “As big as a wærewolf?”

  I nodded. “But a little leaner and with sleeker fur.”

  She went to the dinette table and backed into the chair she’d decided was hers. “I thought you were exaggerating. Before, in the living room.” Her old fingers curled the place mat. “I didn’t realize he’d be so big, Seph. I…I can’t take him back. They’re moving away.”

  “I didn’t ask you to take him back.” “They” must’ve been desperate to let an old lady take such a soon-to-be-behemoth dog.

  The toasted cheese sandwiches got made in silence, except for the sound of the microwave dinging when the tomato soup finished heating. I sat on the bench across from Nana, and we ate. She flipped through the mail I’d brought in. “This one’s for you. You had classes with her, didn’t you?”

  I checked the return address. My high school friend Nancy Malcovich.

  “Yeah. Great.” My lack of enthusiasm made my sarcasm glisten.

  “What?”

  “This means she doesn’t trust a live phone conversation.” I put the envelope down, determined to let it wait until I’d had my dinner. It’s easy to decide to ignore letters when you’re sure they’re bad, like bills you don’t have the funds to pay. But, as with bills you don’t have the funds to pay, you can’t resist opening a letter and seeing how bad it is. I ripped the envelope and pulled out the smooth, slightly marbled tan paper. The cross desi
gn printed on the letterhead didn’t surprise me. Nancy had found Jesus and been “saved” a year ago.

  Dear Persephone,

  I’m writing to you because I think you, more than Olivia and Betsy, are capable of understanding me, of appreciating what I’m trying to do even if you don’t agree with me. I’ve truly changed. It’s not an act like Olivia says. I realized today, after Olivia called me, that no one else in this group has changed since high school. I don’t think they ever will.

  At least I wasn’t alone in thinking that.

  That is ludicrous too. The whole world has changed so much, but our little clique of girls hasn’t? Do you remember when we were kids? Before all the nightmares decided to let the world know they were real? Do you remember what it was like before the horrors became real?

  I hadn’t known she was so scared. Her getting saved suddenly made sense.

  Sometimes I just want to grab Olivia and shake her and demand that she wake up, that she acknowledge how much her words hurt me. How much her stagnation hurts her. But I think it would take more than shaking to get through to her.

  Definitely, I thought. Like a decade of hypnotherapy…though a bottle of Smirnoff might work in the short term.

  I kept reading.

  She hates me, I’m sure of it. I represent something she fears, so she tries to hurt me to keep dominion over me and subdue me.

  And of course Nancy couldn’t see that she was having exactly the same unjustified reaction where wæres were concerned.

  Maintaining a friendship with you and Betsy exclusive of her would be unfair to ask, and likely impossible. I hope you don’t hate me. You’re the one who listened to me, who didn’t snub me immediately when I announced that I’d gotten saved. But I saw the snubbing in Olivia’s eyes. I heard her words encourage Betsy’s snubbing. You’ve always stood alone. I’ve always admired you for that.

  I’m coming to our luncheon this weekend, but I’m afraid it will be the last time. I can’t deny who I’ve become just to ease Olivia’s conscience. Or yours, my friend. The world has become a frightening place. Inhumanity is everywhere! Who can be trusted anymore? There should be required testing for everyone. The public has a right to know. God didn’t make those abominations.

  But I digress. I don’t know why I think you can do something about this dying quartet of ours. I’m not even sure I want you to. But maybe you can. Maybe we can all stay friends if you do. If I knew what words to say to Olivia, I would say them. But I don’t. You’re the editor-person. If any of us knows the right words, it’s you.

  Nancy

  I was supposed to try to save her from Olivia’s opinions? Her own were pretty harsh. And scattered. But of course, she wouldn’t see it that way. Her way, similar to so many on her path, was the only right way. And I was so tired of being in the middle.

  “Must be bad news,” Nana mumbled.

  “Hmmm?”

  “You’re frowning hard enough to make your hair grow.”

  I snorted an awkward laugh. It was better than crying. Losing friends sucked, no matter how the death of friendship came about. So I went the other direction, toward a new friend. “Let’s go get Poopsie some food and a new collar.” I stood and cleared the table. “When we get back, we’ll bring him up out of the cellar.”

  Nana’s grin could have lit up the night, but then suddenly it faded like a bright idea shorting out. “Your wolf friends don’t leave their fleas in the cellar, do they?”

  * * *

  Poopsie had all a puppy could want, including a cushy dog bed in Nana’s room. It wouldn’t fit him for long, but I hoped it would get him through the whining stage.

  After locking the doors for the night, I stood perfectly still just inside my door and concentrated. Closing my eyes and flicking that switch to hit alpha, I reached out with a part of me that was not tangible. Stretching across the acreage as if it were no more than a coffee table, my spirit self could touch the power of the ley line that ran across the rear of my property.

  Ley lines are a pure “source” of power. As I understand it, if you visualize the planet’s surface lined with geodesic triangles with all the lines carrying flowing power, the intersecting points are like power stations. An intersection, called a nucleus, has power that is available in increased amounts, like water in a deep aquifer.

  As a witch, I can tap into a ley line and draw on that power, but it can be very dangerous. Ley lines are volatile. As power flows—affected by moon phases and astrological correspondences—it can swirl and eddy dangerously.

  My line ran from the Serpent Mound to Indian Point Park. I was relatively close to a nucleus, so the current stayed strong here. Putting my metaphysical hand near it, I sensed its speed and level in the thrumming pulse of its flow. Using just my fingertips, I redirected a minuscule portion along the path I chose, guiding it to refill the wards that kept my windows and entries safe. Problem was, even the tiny touch of power was like sticking my hand in boiling water and, as it gushed through me, every nerve felt scalded. I quickly released the line and emptied all of it into the wards, retaining none for myself.

  No electronic security system on the market could rival my metaphysical one.

  That done, I flicked off the last light and headed up the creaky oak steps, deciding halfway up that I’d be stuffing cotton into my ears to block the dog noise out.

  The phone rang.

  I turned and went back down to find the cordless phone ringing on the coffee table. I picked it up and hit the button even as I turned back for the steps. “Hello?”

  “Boy, do you know how to pick ’em.” It was Theo.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This Goliath guy. Better than a drama on Lifetime.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “Well, I just dropped the printouts and photocopies in the mail to you. There’s way too much to go over this time of night but, in a nutshell, he was born in Texas, seemed to have a normal life for a while, then became a sensation when he got a perfect score on the SAT at age ten. Forty-eight hours later, he was kidnapped. Taken from his bed in the night.”

  My stomach tightened. I didn’t watch Lifetime because of stuff like this.

  “And now he’s what?” I asked. “Twenty? Thirty?”

  “Now he’s undead.”

  “What?” I froze at the top of the steps. “A child vampire?”

  “No. They let him grow up before they turned him. And coincidentally, his younger brother, who witnessed the kidnapping, grew up to be the now-notorious Reverend Samson D. Kline.” She paused. “Do I hear whining?”

  Wæres have such good hearing. “Yeah. Nana got a puppy.”

  Her throaty laugh erupted again. “You could’ve asked Johnny to move in. He doesn’t whine or shit on the floor.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  She cackled.

  I sat down on the bed in my room and changed the subject back. “Samson D. Kline. You mean that guy videotaped in the hotel room with—”

  “That’s the one.”

  The soft glow of my bedside lamp on the pale butter-yellow walls could not soothe away the panic starting to form inside me. My target wasn’t a rogue council Elder. He was a damned vampire. Vivian hadn’t mentioned that.

  I hate vampires. Anal-retentive know-it-alls, the lot of them. They smell like the bottom of a pile of raked leaves after a three-day rain and are probably just as buggy. I suppressed a shiver. Every vampire I’d ever met spiked my creep-o-meter.

  I would just call Vivian and tell her the deal was off. Another call would stop Johnny—or stop him from making the trip, anyway. Nothing short of a strong chastity spell would stop his flirtatious personality.

  “Persephone? You got quiet on me.”

  “I just didn’t expect that.”

  “What? That his brother is a fundamentalist hypocrite?”

  “No, that Goliath Kline is a vampire.” I stood, slipped out of my jeans, and tossed them onto the wicker chair in the corner. “
Any idea where he keeps his dirt bag?” Vampires really did have to sleep on a pillow of their home earth. I always envisioned it as a place for the worms to go when they’d eaten their fill from the inside. Yuck.

  “The word on the street is that he’s got a major position with a master vampire.”

  “‘Word on the street.’ Listen to you.” The implications of what she’d just said didn’t matter to me. I was not messing with vampires. A creepy human stalker was one thing. This was totally another. One: The undead aren’t easily tricked—stupid people aren’t allowed in their exclusive club. Two: You can’t sneak up on the undead—unless they’re distracted by, like, a hundred automatic machine guns firing at them at once or something equally bad like, say, the sun. And three: The undead aren’t easily…stopped. I say “stopped” instead of “killed” because they’re technically already dead.

  “You’re the journalist. You have contacts of the lying-low kind, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but you’re like a human resources specialist in a well-decorated office uptown. Not where the lowlifes tend to come to gossip.”

  “I said lying-low, not lowlife. Big difference. All work and no play sucks.” Her voice dropped low. “My contacts and I play in the same hidden sandbox. I like it. And speaking of that, I’m going to be late.”

  I walked to the bathroom and started prepping my toothbrush. “Hey, I didn’t mean any insult.”

  “None taken.”

  “Thanks, Theo…don’t get sand in your undies.”

  She cackled again. “Okay. I’ll make sure to take them off first.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good-bye, Theo.” I put the phone down, did my dental duties, then found some cotton balls and stuffed them into my ears.

  Back in my room, I opened the pajama drawer on the big white dresser and chose a tank top with the Lady of Shalott silk-screened on it. After changing, I jerked the covers down and sat on the bed, reaching automatically for the little chain to click off the light on the bedside table. My hand, however, stopped, and I stared at one of my prized possessions, a three-by-five photo of the man my mother had claimed was my father. The picture had once been a five-by-seven, but I’d trashed the half with Mom in it.