Shattered Circle

approaching on the sidewalk ahead. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and huddled into the leather as the wind brought their scents to his nostrils. Sweat. Beer. Pot. Cheeseburgers. They were loud, laughing, and moved like they thought they were tough.

The muscles in his arms tensed, loosened. He was ready.

They passed by, talking among themselves as if he weren’t even there.

He sighed, relieved.

What was wrong with him?

His collar had come up because he’d expected them to either recognize him or start something. It didn’t bruise his ego that they didn’t know him, but it did make him feel like an arrogant ass for fretting about it.

He proceeded across Superior, angling left onto West Prospect. Beyond the parking deck for Terminal City he could see the Renaissance Cleveland Hotel. He didn’t want to go in the main entrance, though. He kept walking, passing an alley, then the Tower City Center valet parking service.

When he’d walked with Ig, he was just another face in the crowd, another punk on the city streets. Now, his face had been flashed all over the national news. He’d craved fame via the band, but he had not craved this. This was clearly a sporadic kind of recognition, which was okay, but the potential for less fame and more notoriety—if ODOT had their way—made this brand of celebrity even less desirable.

He scolded himself. All this suspiciousness wasn’t like him and it was taking a toll. There were plenty of people he could trust.

Trust.

By the time he was approaching the Higbee Building, he’d figured out that that was what was wrong with him. He’d lost his trust for people in general. He’d always had a healthy sense of caution and while he only let a few people get close to him, he’d felt confident that most of the people he had to interact with were open about their motives. Promoters and groupies, guitarists and fellow employees at the music store and the small guitar-making facility—he knew what to expect with all of them. They wanted music from him, in one way or another.

But they had all passed out of his life to be replaced almost entirely with pack.

Aurelia had been right. He’d kept this family at arm’s length.

Prospect curved slightly, then he made the turn onto Ontario, his eyes lingering on the blue awnings of the Ragin’ Cajun restaurant across the street.

He knew Todd wanted to rule. He knew Cammi—one of the dominant females of the pack—wanted to be on the arm of someone ruling. They had always been that way. While Kirk and Hector had always treated him well, they hadn’t gone out of their way to aid him until it was clear what he was. Those in management-supportive positions in the pack were definitely obedient and proficient in his brief experience, but were they always as on the ball for Ig, or were they hoping to make an impression on the Domn Lup? What about the Omori? Gregor had befriended him, but how much of that, truly, could be chalked up to Gregor doing his job?

Everyone he had to deal with lately made demands on him. Not the usual requests like “level these frets” or “change out my DiMarzio pickups for these Bare Knuckle ones” or “which do you like best, Charvel or B.C. Rich?” Those entreaties had clear solutions he was confident he could handle. He missed that certainty.

Out of necessity and the achievement of power, his mind-set was changing and his faith in others—in their honesty, integrity, and sincerity—was dying.

Erik had been his best friend for years. He’d lost that friendship essentially because of his power. From afar, he’d counted on Ig as his father figure. Ig was dead; he’d given the life he was losing anyway to put Johnny into power. Red was new to his life, but he had attacked her because he’d lost control of his beast, then his assistant had tried to murder her because she saw Red as a threat to his power.

Since he’d accepted his fate as Domn Lup, his relationships with the few people he did trust had been shattered.

He was going to have to find a way to fix things with Red and with Erik. He needed to have a few people he could still confide in, who’d give him advice without being affected by the politics of his position. Also, he was going to have to stop the suspicious paranoia, and let his faith return.

He turned off Ontario onto South Roadway and walked past the impressive ionic columns and huge arched windows of Tower City Center. Ahead was the Renaissance Cleveland Hotel.

When he passed through the revolving door and neared the lobby, the opulence stunned him. Vaulted ceilings with huge chandeliers harkened back to a bygone era. He actually stopped and did a full circle to see it all. Then he noticed that the concierge was watching him closely. He wondered if the man was simply doing his job, or if Aurelia had paid him to be her eyes and ears. Johnny made sure to approach the elevators with the key card visible in his hand. It would show that he belonged here. When he stepped into the elevator car he stared at the floor until the doors had almost shut. At the last second he shoved his hand between them, forcing them to reopen.

He expected the concierge to have grabbed the phone and alerted someone to his arrival . . . but the man had simply let his gaze trail over to the television where a rerun of M*A*S*H was playing.

Johnny felt foolish. He couldn’t be paranoid like this.

He punched the button for the top floor and had to insert Aurelia’s card.

The elevator rose swiftly and deposited him in a small lobby with a placard indicating the direction of the various suites. He followed the arrow to the left and promptly arrived at the proper door. He slid the key into the lock and saw the little handle light flash green as he pulled it out.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open on a darkened room.

Immediately, he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Hello, John,” Plympton’s voice trilled. “I’ve been expecting you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Hyperventilating was not something I wanted to do, but damn, keeping my breathing even was nearly impossible.

Menessos had not been able to say Creepy’s true name to me, but now that I had heard it, his identity was beyond obvious. With all he could do, I should have seen it or guessed who he was.

How did I miss it?

He was carrying me into the darkness, descending deeper and deeper into the tunnel. As the pathway grew more treacherous, the light he’d thrown ahead of us faded into what would have been a tragically unhelpful dimness. Regardless, he proceeded at the same pace, as if he knew his way so well he could have made this journey in the dark.

If he was taking me where I thought he was, he probably could travel it in total darkness.

I didn’t want to come with him before, but I really, really didn’t want to now.

I weighed my options.

There would be no escaping from him. What I had was the realization of who he was and I could let him know I knew that now, or later. But where we would end up would make it obvious and it might gain me something to not be that dense.

“Would you prefer Aidon, Aidoneus, or Hades?”

His only reaction was a sly smile.

“Well?”

“In truth, I quite like Hades.”

Ahead, the light stopped before a wide-arched wooden door. When we arrived before it, he put me on my feet. As he stepped closer to the door I realized it had no knob. He stood there whispering words I didn’t understand while a 10-watt light glowed like a nimbus around his head. As he spoke the light shifted from white to violet, and the royal-colored illumination edged him with a mystical quality deserving of a god. Then the beguiling imagery faded and the door opened.

“Come.”

I hesitated only a second before leaving the darkened tunnel and stepping into a surprise.