Wicked Circle

I didn’t follow. Seven was the previous Lustrata. I had so many questions, but I hadn’t had a chance to speak to her since she’d told me her true identity shortly before the battle with the fairies. I switched the grasp on my broom and offered her my hand to shake. “I hope we’ll have a chance to talk again.”

She wrapped her arms around me. “It’s good to have you back,” she whispered.

“Persephone?” Menessos called.

She released me and I joined Menessos at the elevator.

“She likes you,” he said as we rode down.

“I’m glad. I like her too. Would like to know her better.” She was, after all, Cleopatra VII, as in the Cleopatra. Who wouldn’t want to ask her a million questions? But, since she went by the name Seven now, it was easy to assume that she didn’t want to be known for her past.

With that thought, I gained a little insight as to why Menessos didn’t want the world at large to know his own past. He wouldn’t be seen as who he is, but as who he was.

That drew my thoughts to Johnny. I wanted him to be who I knew him to be. But he isn’t himself since we unlocked his tattoos.

Maybe I’d been hasty in getting rid of the in signum amoris.

Am I doubting Hecate?

I followed Menessos from the elevator, down the stairs of the theater, up the ramp and across the stage. I situated my broom to lean against my seat, noting the Beholder on his knees a few feet away from Menessos’s throne. He was wiping what appeared to be a new decorative inset in the floor. Someone called out, “Testing the light,” and a glow rose up from under the stones the man was wiping clean.

Rejoining Menessos, who had waited for me, we wound our way through the backstage area to where our separate rooms were located. I started up the stairwell that led to my rooms directly above his.

“Do you wish to freshen up and then join me? Or may I join you?”

Halfway up, I turned back with a telling sigh. “Promise no funny business?”

“I am not a comedian.”

“But you are who you are.”

“Indeed.”

At least I knew what to expect with him. And after thousands of years, he didn’t bother denying it. As I watched him ascend the stairs I wondered if he’d wrestled with it. I wondered if he’d won. Or if he’d lost and come to terms with it.

I punched in the entry code, Beverley’s birthday, and entered to find my quarters were candlelit and a fire blazed in the double-sided hearth. The warmth that greeted me, the sweet gesture behind it, almost spouted the waterworks again, but I kept the tears in check. Hearing Menessos arrive at the door behind me, I said over my shoulder, “This isn’t a strategizing setup.”

“Just now, you require a soothing environment.”

On my way inside I stripped off my blazer-hoodie combo. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

He appraised my face, my body. “Indeed.”

Noting the double entendre, I clarified. “For the shabbubitum.”

“Them, too.”

I carried my coats toward the bar, intending to hang them across the seat. “Tell me.” Then I noticed how dirty and torn the back of my blazer was. “Shit.” The den rooftop had ruined it.

“I can get you a new jacket. Any kind you like.”

“That won’t gain you the favors you’re after.”

Menessos entered the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator. “It can’t hurt my chances.”

Admittedly, I examined his backside as he leaned down and rambled around a shelf. He had a very nice, round ass. When he stood straight, I inspected the rip on my blazer more studiously. “Tell me your plan.”

“It begins with these.” He held up a bottle of wine and a small plate bearing slices of marbled cheese, salami, and little crackers. Seeing my dubious expression, he added, “Fear not. You do not overindulge, and I am not a lecher, so getting you drunk and taking advantage of you is not part of my plan, though it is a wildly good idea that I have entertained. Tonight, however, your shaking hands belie a need that I am well acquainted with. A drink would help.” He retrieved a glass from the cupboard and set about uncorking the wine.

“Telling me what your plan is not is not telling me your plan.”

“True.” He poured. “You are not materialistic, so pretty things will not sway you, but I will woo you with time, Persephone.” He set the bottle aside and presented me with the glass. “It is the one thing I have that dear John does not.”

Johnny. I did not accept the slender stem. Could I ever trust Johnny again?

I relived the rooftop attack.

After scenting my blood, his beast had conquered his man-mind. But even in human form, he was losing control when we had sex at the den. He’d recovered, but. . . . Do I want to bear the scars—both the emotional and the physical ones—of him relearning his self-control? I had to believe that he could regain control.

“Persephone.” Menessos put power behind the whisper and warmth fluttered down my spine, down my legs, and echoed back up with a fine resonance that hinted at the kind of thrills this vampire could induce. “Drink the wine.”

I drank the wine.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Meroveus Franciscus sat separate from his guests aboard the plane, assessing them. Aware that he would need someone to give the sisters use of a modern language, he’d reviewed the files on their colleagues in Athens on the plane before the dawn had claimed him. He’d wanted someone who was generally naïve, who served with an excessive amount of adoration, and who had more than average debt. Zevon was part of the arrangements that had been made.

In addition to language, the sisters now knew what Zevon knew of the world.

He hadn’t wanted them to know too much. Zevon did not have much use for current events, international politics, or the names or locations of world leaders. It would not bode well for the shabbubitum to know such things. Their reputation indicated they could not resist powerful temptations . . . so, better to shield them from it.

But he could not shield them from the novelty and comfort of a limousine. He could not keep them from seeing the modern city of Athens or the ruins that made them cry. He could not keep them ignorant of the machine that carried them into the air, or the impressive nightscape of New York City as the Gulfstream landed.

He could, however, make them remain on the plane while it refueled.

Mero checked his messages. An assistant had left him a lengthy voice mail about the Zvonul having announced the confirmation of a Domn Lup, and followed it with the public details. Not good for Menessos if Giovanni has his way.

Minutes later, the shabbubitum grew excited as lights streaked toward the plane, and they chattered to themselves seeing that it was another limousine. It was no surprise when the cabin door was opened and Giovanni boarded.

He had to see. Like a child, he must poke at the dead things he has found.

The sisters remained in their seats, attentive but quiet as they considered Giovanni. Ailo and Talto reacted to his exposed scars and warped skin with unmistakable revulsion. Liyliy’s expression revealed only a wary curiosity.

Giovanni visually inspected them as well, obviously noting with predictable male appreciation the curves beneath the gray silk. His gaze lingered on the eldest. “What is your name, my beauty?”

At the sound of his voice, her curious expression fell into a repulsed sneer. She stood. “I am Liyliy.”