Shattered Circle

she always did after school to give Beverley time to go see the unicorn. So she rushed into the kitchen and selected a juice box from the refrigerator, then, as Celia situated herself at the table and began pulling folders from her briefcase, Beverley returned to the front door. She opened it, closed it, slipped off her shoes, and carried them as she tiptoed up the steps, being careful to avoid the ones that she knew squeaked.

In Seph’s bedroom, she stood before the dresser and studied the black obelisk. She wondered why her mom had told her to lift it off its base, but she did as she had been instructed. The instant her fingers touched it, an electric jolt made her fingers squeeze around it. She gasped in pain, but the ache had already faded. She sat the obelisk on its side next to the base piece.

Crossing the room, she dropped gently to her knees and slid the slate out from under the bed where she’d left it this morning. She smiled mischievously as she gathered the slate into her arms, placed her shoes on top, and snuck back down the steps. She peeked down the hall and noted that Celia was sitting with her back toward the barns.

Being as quiet as possible, she opened the door again, slipped out, and shut it silently behind her. On the front porch she paused long enough to put on her shoes, then she walked the long way around the house so Celia couldn’t see her through the window. She jogged across the backyard to the cornfield and toward the barns . . . then she slipped into the rows of stalks.

Following the other directions that had been given to her that morning, she walked until she arrived at the trees. She pushed through the bare branches and into the leaf-strewn open center of the grove. She turned in a complete circle, deciding which of the inner trees was the best.

One in particular caught her eye. It was a thick tree, tall and strong-looking. Its roots were bumpy, but spread out wide and high almost like the arms of a chair. Beverley sat, leaning against this tree, her legs stretched before her, slightly bent. She propped the slate on her angled lap.

With her hands poised over the letters, she whispered, “Are you still there, Mommy?” and touched the surface.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Johnny was surprised when the limousine slowed and stopped at a small parking area at the corner of Detroit Avenue and West 25th Street. Jacques exited the vehicle and walked directly toward the big brown door beside the old plaque declaring it the subway entrance. They were going to the underside of the Detroit-Superior Bridge.

Of course they were meeting on a bridge. They were dealing with ODOT. People from the Department of Transportation would know this structure inside and out. The lower level was only opened on special occasions, and apparently a negotiation with w?rewolves qualified as special.

The dry scent of cold concrete mingled with the dank stench of the Cuyahoga River, which snaked under them. This bridge connects the West Side with the East Side, and today the stink of both are collecting here.

Inside, the transportation department reps had taken a position with their backs to the route that the subway cars once traveled. Anything could be hidden in the depths of that darkness behind them.

Breathing deep to sort through all the scents as nonchalantly as possible, Johnny detected more humans than were visible, and a lot of gunpowder and gun oil. Johnny glanced around. This would have to be a position ODOT felt they could defend, one that gave them an advantage. Question was, what advantage did it give them and how could the w?res overcome it if necessary? He shot a glance at Gregor, who nodded.

“Diviza Plympton . . . ” Gregor whispered.

“I smell them, all right, boy,” he whispered back.

“Mediation usually doesn’t include bullying tactics like coming in with an arsenal,” Aurelia said softly.

Plympton chittered a laugh. “We a-walked in with more strength and power in our veins than they will ever know. They have merely made an attempt to even the odds, Mizz Romochka.”

That made Johnny think back to being a new w?re, when he first joined this pack. He’d been taught many things, including how to respond when mundane humans became aggressive.

“The general population thinks guns will protect them from us. When they make a show of force, it is because they fear us and are trying to keep us at bay. We should be flattered that they go to such effort,” he recalled the former pack leader Ignatius telling him. A father figure to Johnny, Ig had bestowed him with wisdom he hadn’t had much use for until recently. “It makes them feel powerful to have that steel in their hands. But you, John, you have something far more potent inside of you.”

Ahead, there were five men, front and center. They stood like mob bosses in a police lineup: shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped before them, wearing nice black suits. Scattered around in flanking positions were over a dozen men in fatigues, grouped in threes. Posed for intimidation, these men wore their guns unhidden and their hands were poised, ready to draw.

“These are not the same guys that have been at the other meetings,” Todd said quietly.

Something had changed drastically for ODOT to be taking it this far. They didn’t intend to lose this negotiation.

The diviza continued. “Let’s walk, people. Walk like we own the place. Don’t hold back. Let their human senses feel what we are, what we can do. Domn Lup, now would be a good time to let some of your sovereignty shine through.” He started forward.

The w?rewolves crossed the distance, letting that “other” about them radiate forth like the cool breeze before a bad storm.

Being outnumbered four to one against a mostly hidden, well-armed enemy, Johnny’s initial reaction was to get angry and offended, but he knew that was surely part of what they wanted. He let that emotion flow into his aura and dared to reach inward and stroke his beast, just one brief, light touch. . . .

The instant he did, it lurched within him like a vicious junkyard dog leaping to the end of its chain.

He felt a wave of heat explode out from him. It drew low growls from those walking with him, and as it hit the humans, they were noticeably affected, responding with either a quick step backward or a head-to-toe shiver.

Johnny focused on maintaining his stride, not faltering in step, and on controlling the wolf inside him.

Off to his left was another man, but this tan-suited fellow was not trying for intimidation. Stout, with thin gray hair, he would not have been able to be convincing as a tough guy anyway. He had already mopped his sweaty forehead a dozen times with a handkerchief, shifted his weight frequently, and twice had switched the briefcase from one hand to the other. “What in Hell was that?” he muttered softly.

While the four male w?rewolves formed a line of their own with Johnny and the diviza in the middle, Aurelia stepped to the forefront. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m Aurelia, assistant to the Domn Lup. May I introduce the diviza, Mr. Plympton.” She gestured toward the bearded man, who nodded once. “And you are?” she asked sweetly.

“Our names aren’t important,” the man in the center said. He wore a bright blue tie.

Johnny took that as a bad sign. They might be legitimate representatives of ODOT, or they might be, literally, hired guns.

“Very well. Are you the mediator?” she asked the nervous man with the briefcase.

“I am.” He inched forward.

She closed the distance to him and shook his hand. “Aurelia.”

“Baker,” he said, soaking in her beauty and kindness. “Scott Baker.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott,” she said warmly. “Usually this kind of thing takes place in an office, around a table. Since we have neither of those here, how do you want to proceed?”

Johnny knew she was charming the man to put him at ease and gain some of his favor for their side. But Scott was obviously not a fool. Caught between w?rewolves and armed “government officials” in a last-minute meeting at a secret locale, he recognized the danger he was in. Johnny wondered if ODOT had bribed him.

“As I understand it,” Scott said, pointing at ODOT’s line of suits, “ODOT wants the Cleveland Cold Storage building and has made an offer which has been declined. You’re here to make a new offer.”

“Correct,” Blue Tie said.