Wicked Circle

“What about Zhan?”

“I’m sure Kirk escorted her to The Dirty Dog. We show our faces for a drink or two and then the three of us can head to the haven, okay?”

“Sure.” I didn’t actually want to go to The Dirty Dog. My last visit hadn’t gone well . . . although Cammi wasn’t here and no one else seemed too upset about my arrival. Cammi was jealous of my relationship with Johnny. Gregor had given her orders to never speak to Johnny again, so I hoped that she’d stay away and maybe I’d have a more pleasant visit to the bar tonight.

I wondered if Zhan’s Offerling status was impeding her having fun at The Dirty Dog.

Johnny drew the keys from his pocket and hit a button. The lone car ahead of us chirped.

Then it hit me: “You have a car! Oooo, it’s awesome-looking!” My knowledge of cars was minimal, but I was surprised he had a four-door. “I like the triton emblem. Very Poseidon-like.”

“This is a Maserati Quattroporte GT S.”

“Sounds fast.”

“It is very fast.” He opened the door for me.

I didn’t need a crystal ball to predict that he’d have to show me just how fast. “Mmmm. New car smell,” I said as he shut the door. The car was unfamiliar to me and the dome lights hadn’t lit up, so I felt a little lost groping about for my seat belt. When Johnny eased into the driver’s seat, I patted the raised block separating us. “Is this a console or a chaperone?”

“I can still reach you,” he said and put the key in the ignition. Then he sniffed. He sniffed again and twisted to see the backseat.

So I mimicked him.

Someone in a charcoal gray suit was sitting with his legs stretched across the backseat. He held a thick spiral-bound notebook open across his lap. “Hello, lovebirds.”

Menessos.

I glared at him. He contentedly flipped a page as if he could see perfectly in the dark. Maybe he could.

“This is very good stuff, John.”

Despite the surprise appearance, it made me feel good to have them both with me. Especially with Menessos being complimentary to Johnny.

Then Johnny snatched the art pad away, shut it and tossed it on the dashboard, effectively ruining my happy moment.

“How did you get in my car without setting off the alarm?”

“How?” Menessos repeated, considering. He shrugged. “Magic.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“The Excelsior’s people are swift, they could be here already. If they’re searching for me, the last place they’d check is in the Domn Lup’s new car. Nice choice, by the way. I do like Maseratis, although I’ve always been more fond of Aston Martins myself.”

“So you’re hiding,” Johnny said.

In one lithe motion, Menessos swiveled in the seat, put his feet to the floor and resettled himself into the center. He leaned forward, focusing on me. “I am here to secure the safety of those dearest to me.” He shifted his gaze to Johnny. “You make coupling that with self-preservation sound disgraceful. And speaking of coupling. . . .” He sniffed the air as Johnny had done a second ago, and his tone lowered. “The two of you are ready to concentrate on our mutual well-being now that your lusts are sated, yes?”

Johnny and I shared disgruntled head shakes.

Menessos sat back, hands behind his head in a satisfied pose. “Ah . . . l’amour.”

Johnny revved the engine and backed out of the parking spot.

When he pulled out onto the road, Menessos asked, “Where are we off to?”

“The Dirty Dog,” Johnny replied.

“It’s a bad time for a social call just now,” the vampire said.

Johnny slammed the brakes, squealing the tires. My seat belt restrained me, but I protested with a distressed “Hey!” just as Menessos crashed into the backs of our seats.

“I’m not your chauffeur,” Johnny growled. “If you don’t like where your hiding spot is headed, get out.”

Menessos righted himself and smoothed his suit jacket. “Touché, John. That practically hurt. I commend you for surprising me. From now on, I’ll expect your quick temper.” He made no effort to leave the car. “However, I can’t imagine Persephone enjoyed being thrust around like that.”

“She enjoys my thrusting just fine.”

My teeth ground together. The two of them embarked on a stare down.

I counted to ten. Twenty. Thirty. And I thought they’d been getting chummy. Guess not. “Guys. Enough.”

“You want the protection of my vehicle, vamp? It’s yours as long as you keep your mouth shut.” Johnny resumed driving.

I’d honestly never seen Johnny this . . . testy.

Not soon enough we were at the bar that served as a second home to the wærewolves. If the local fire chief wanted to enforce maximum occupancy rules tonight, this would be the place to start. The whole block was lined with cars. Johnny couldn’t park anywhere near The Dirty Dog.

“You’d think they’d leave you of all people a convenient spot,” Menessos mused. “Or is this a surprise visit?”

I gave Mr. I’m-Picking-a-Fight the stink-eye. He winked at me.

Johnny parked two blocks away in a residential area. “I’ll wait here,” I told him, “but don’t rush because of it. Do what you have to do. Menessos will keep me company.” After a toe-curling kiss, Johnny left.

His kisses were always wonderful, but that one had had a sense of “nanny-nanny-boo-boo” to it, as if the divine depth and scope of that lip-lock had been meant to incite both my pleasure and Menessos’s pain.

Men.

My gaze lingered on Johnny as he jogged up the street. At six-two his body was lean and long, but it didn’t make him awkward. He was graceful no matter what he did. My breath escaped in a soft sigh.

“How is your mother doing?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I had the urge to lecture Menessos sternly about the in signum amoris thing, but in fine female fashion, I decided to save that scolding for another time. “Skip the small talk and tell me what we’re facing here.”

He slid into the seat kitty-corner to me so we could see each other more easily, but he stared at his palms. “The shabbubitum.”

“Gesundheit.”

“Sha-buh-BYE-tum,” he said slower.

“And that’s what?”

“They are unique. The best description I’ve heard is vampire-harpies.”

My stomach did a flip. “Delightful,” I said morosely. In Greek myth, harpies were hideous sisters, part hag and part vulture, who were in charge of carrying souls to Hades. “What do you think they’ll do?”

“They are truth-seers. They will . . . reveal . . . the truth.”

He made it sound like torture. Maybe these shabbubitum were more like the Siberian myth of the alkonost. Similar to harpies, alkonost lived in the land of the dead and tormented the souls of the damned. “Is it as painful as you make it seem?”

“Imagine a stranger’s fingers tearing through your mind with the same hurried zeal as a thief ransacking an office while hunting for a specific file.”

“Ouch.”