Shattered Circle

Late November in Northeast Ohio can be cool or outright cold. So, after shoving my feet into a pair of comfy boots, I grabbed a blazer and a hoodie from the closet. Adding layers over the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt was the best option.

Then, though ready to leave, I stood at my heavy haven door procrastinating.

I was deep within the building. Between me and the world outside were the backstage area, the main stage, a greatly modified theater house, a long hallway, then three stories’ worth of stairs, followed by a hundred-yard trek to the entrance.

It wasn’t the distance that bothered me. What made me hesitate was the fact that there could be a hundred or more Beholders and Offerlings between me and the doors to the world beyond the haven. Liyliy had made sure to announce to them all that I had twice-marked Menessos—to whom they had pledged their loyalty. Mastering their master was a roundabout way to make them all my servants, and to many it smacked of deviousness and ill intent.

My name was surely not to be found on the favorite-persons list of anyone in the haven.

But if I was to be successful as the Lustrata, I couldn’t cower from Offerlings and Beholders. Regardless of their overwhelming numbers, they were, essentially, mine. Therefore, they wouldn’t dare raise a hand to me.

Right?

I closed my eyes and affirmed to myself that the mantle of the Lustrata rested upon my shoulders. With a turn of the knob, I stepped out.

The door to my room was so heavy, it could have served as the entry to a bank vault in a former life, so, with a push on its significant weight, I shut it and descended the steps. My gaze trailed back. The Offerling on duty was playing Angry Birds on his phone and he glanced at me, expressionless, then returned to his game. My focus skipped past him to the door directly beneath mine . . . the entry to Menessos’s chambers. The vampire was beyond that door, not so far away.

Winding my way through the backstage maze, I found the former theater house was lit only by the sconces on the outer walls. It was enough illumination for me to traverse the room without bumping into tables. The place was, thankfully, empty of people. As I walked, the darkness and silence allowed my mind to revisit my last exit from the haven, fleeing upon my broom.

Near the entrance to the theater I paused to look back, imagining what it must have looked like, me flying out of here, a giant harpy in swift pursuit.

“Going somewhere?” Her heavy Russian accent made the word sound like suhm- vair.

I spun around.

In the doorway stood a tall woman with short, spiky black hair. Muscular shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath, her bulging arms crossed. Her familiar oval face was frowning.

Ivanka.

She’d served as my sentinel until she’d tried to shoot Creepy in the head. He’d broken her forearm like it was a bendy straw.

It didn’t surprise me that her cast was covered in a green wrap that had been marked up to resemble camouflage, or that she wore a black tank top and military fatigues. Her combat boots were untied, with the strings tucked down inside. I was glad her handgun was still holstered on her left hip and not in her hand.

“Yes. I have a meeting in”—I checked my watch—“about twenty minutes.”

“You must stay.”

“Why?”

“It is order of Haven Master. Erus Veneficus is not to leave premises.”

“Menessos said I couldn’t leave?”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed angrily. “Because of you, Menessos is our master no more.”

Right. Suspicious, I asked, “And who is?”

“Goliath.”

A sudden fear gripped me. If he had made claim to the people of the haven, then maybe they weren’t “essentially” mine at all. I thought it through. Goliath belonged to Menessos, so unless they had done some kind of separation, he was mine as well. By default, things should still be kind of the same as I had expected.

I moved to step around her.

She blocked me.

“I have to go, Ivanka. I’ll come straight back afterward.”

“Return to your quarters.”

Setting my stance and unlocking my knees, I said, “Make me, if you dare.” I lifted one hand and wiggled my fingers. “But be warned: I set the Domn Lup of the w?rewolves on his ass with my hands. I defeated Liyliy with my hands. You”—I looked her up and down—“don’t stand a chance. Not even with a gun.”

Her mouth opened, then shut.

“Move aside.”

She retreated one step, out of reach, but angled into my path. “I wish to not lose rank.”

“You won’t.” I brushed past her. She wisely didn’t try to stop me. As I climbed the steps and headed for the entrance, however, she was right behind me.

“I go with you, to ensure your return.”

“Not necessary.”

“I go anyway.”

I stopped and spun. “No. This is private.”

“Menessos would not want you outside of haven unprotected.”

I wiggled my fingers at her again. “I’ll be okay.”

Being assertive like this was a double checkmark in the plus column. One, because it made me feel good about myself. Two, because affirming my power to someone else reinforced it to me.

As I rounded the turn near the old ticket booth across the lobby from the entrance, an older man with a cane rammed through the plywood-covered door.

Beau. His eyes locked on me and he barreled right toward me. This Bindspoken witch was the owner of Wolfsbane and Absinthe, the local pagan supply shop. He wore his trademark plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up to expose the white thermal underwear beneath. The cigar perched at the corner of his mouth was also typical of him. However, his hurried, irritated gait and the lowered position of his bushy white eyebrows weren’t.

He pointed at me. “It’s all your fault!”

The anger in his accusation hit me like a slap. “What’s my fault?”

He stomped faster in my direction, but was still slow because of his prosthetic leg.

Even so, I had to fight the instinct to back up. “What’s wrong?”

He shouted, “William is catatonic!”

William was his son, and also a w?rewolf. Somehow, he’d gotten too close to a witch doing magic and it caused him to go into a partial shift. He’d been stuck that way for a long time, housed and cared for in the upper floors of the local pack’s den. When I’d done the forced-change spell for Johnny and his men, Beau had asked that William be included.

Since Beau had given me a powerful charm that had saved my life, I owed him a favor. I’d agreed to have William in the spell. Someone from the den had sedated the wild, half-formed creature in order to move him and keep him still during the spell. He’d transformed fully into a wolf like everyone else. The fact that he had been drugged beforehand meant that when he did not regain consciousness after the transformation, I wasn’t alarmed.

“I thought that spell was supposed to give them their man-minds,” Beau growled, still advancing, “but somehow it took his away!” He wasn’t slowing down to just verbally confront me. He was a freight train about to run me over.

Suddenly, Ivanka shot forward, grabbed his arm, and thumped her cast across his chest in restraint. “Keep back.”

“The man-mind doesn’t come until the next regular cyclical change,” I explained. That was how it worked with the others. But then the others hadn’t been mindless beasts for years prior to the spell.

Beau struggled with Ivanka and drew his cane up as if to cudgel her. Even with a broken arm, she was