Wicked Circle

“Not with the aid I have secured.”

“What did it cost you?” My arms crossed over my chest. Again, it felt way better to argue about this than to accept the anxiety over the idea of talking to Johnny.

“Much. But less than it would without his assistance.”

“Menessos—”

“Shhh.” His finger touched my lips. “I have already torn my soul and given my life for you, Persephone. Comparatively, what Creepy asked is a small price to pay.”

I uncrossed my arms, batting away his gentle touch, and then scooted around on the sectional in a huff. With my feet on the floor, I glared.

“What?”

“My mother is already using what she’s lost in an effort to control me. I don’t need you doing it too.”

Menessos blinked, rose from the couch, and left without a word.

I remained where I was, feeling like an ass.

The guilt wasn’t enough to keep me from sleeping, however. Or maybe the drowsiness was a result of the wine. Whatever the case, Risqué woke me hours later, banging and kicking on my door. When I opened it, the red-eyed whatever-she-was stood there pout-frowning at me. She wore a pink tank top and matching ruffled boy- shorts with her clear platform heels. Not unexpectedly, she was toting a garment bag. “Boss says it’s time to play dress-up.”

Privately, I worried. Menessos had less than practical tastes in clothing for me. With him leaving pissed off, I was sure there would be little to the outfit and that it would have matching shoes with heels ridiculously high.

I motioned her inside. “Show me.”

Risqué set her makeup case down and draped the garment bag along the couch. She unzipped it and held up the gown. It was white satin covered by an outer layer of something crimson and sheer and meant for bedroom clothes. The style was elegant, and though the dress was empire-waisted, the length was tight through the hips, with a very, very high slit on one side.

I grimaced.

“Your garter must show. It is the symbol of your status in the haven. Get used to the high slit.”

“And the shoes?”

She laid the gown over the back of the couch, rambled in the garment bag bottom, and presented me with a pair of shiny patent-leather shoes that resembled scarlet ballerina toe shoes—if toe shoes had five-inch spike heels thinner than pencils. “What do you think?”

“I think that purchasing those should include a three-day wait period in which time changes are made to the phrasing of the accidental death clause of the wearer’s life insurance policy.”

“Boss said you’d say something to that effect.” She dropped the shoes aside. She reached into the bottom of the bag again and produced a pair of standard, peep-toe crimson pumps with a sturdier three-inch heel. In a bored tone she asked, “Will these do?”

“Absolutely.”

I showered so that Risqué could perform her salon magic on my clean hair. My injuries had not healed completely, so I warned her about my scalp wound mostly so she would be gentle—as if! —and partially because washing it had reopened that wound and I was bleeding in a vampire haven.

She inspected my scalp and told me that there were three cuts on the lump, but only one of them needed stitches. I wondered how bad they had been before the kindling. As it turned out, minor medical care was another painful service she offered. I tried not to be alarmed she had such supplies in her cosmetics kit.

Risqué put the final touches on my makeup and hair, and promptly gathered up her cosmetics while I dressed. She zipped me up and headed for the door, golden curls bouncing. Girl-chat was not something we could pull off. “When it is time, Mark will usher you to the stage.”

“Thank you.”

She snorted and the door closed behind her.

In my bathroom, I flipped on the lights and regarded myself. It was not to inspect what Risqué had done. She was an expert beautician and loyal to her “boss.” My purpose here was to affirm to myself, “I can make the call.”

Trembling, I dialed Johnny’s number.

“Hello?”

It wasn’t his voice. “Beau? Is that you?”

“Yeah, doll, it’s me. Thank you. I can’t say it enough! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, silly dame. I’m delighted! My son is wholly a wolf. In the morning, I know he’ll be a whole man again. I’ll have him back. And it’s all because of you, doll. I have my boy back.”

“You’re welcome, Beau. Where’s Johnny?”

“Oh. He’s still furry.”

He hasn’t reverted yet? I clamped my jaw against the tears and fought them back by telling myself how pissed Risqué would be if she had to come back and touch up the makeup.

“Gave Hector and the boys some grief getting him into a kennel, but a side of beef did the trick. Why are you calling? Something up?”

My boyfriend was eating raw meat and chewing on cow bones. I felt nauseated. He could change back if he wanted. If he was man enough to know what he wanted. “Beau, I have to tell you something. Johnny is going to have a bout of severe pain tonight.”

“Because of the spell?”

“No, no. It’s nothing to do with the spell. It’s something else.”

“I’m leaving here shortly and I won’t be back until morning. You better talk to Hector.”

I heard the phone being shifted around, then Hector said, “Hello?”

“Hi, Hector. I need to let you guys know that Johnny’s going to have a fit of pain tonight. He may writhe and howl and carry on, but there’s no need to worry. It shouldn’t last long, less than twenty minutes.”

“What’s all this about?” His suspicion was thick.

“I can’t tell you more than I have, Hector. Please understand.”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Softer, as if he didn’t want others nearby to hear, he asked, “Is it a side effect of the spell?”

“No. This is something only Johnny will experience. Whether he is in wolf-form or human-form. The others won’t feel it at all. Just don’t be alarmed. Like I said, it shouldn’t last long, and he’ll be fine when it’s over.”

“So he knows about this?”

If I said no, then the wærewolves could see it as a strike, just like the vampires saw my hexing Menessos as a strike. Did I trust Johnny to have my back when his man-mind did return? “Yes,” I lied. “He knows.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Mero and the shabbubitum gracefully emerged from the limousine. The people on the sidewalk were few. They held back and paused, curious. Some lingered across the street to watch. The limo drove away. Mero firmed his grip on the round leather case that contained the Excelsior’s formal document commanding Menessos to submit to being read by the shabbubitum.

With their arms linked, the women surveyed the scene of the Cleveland Public Square with awe, murmuring to each other. As Mero brought up the rear, he noted the May Company building that housed the haven. Prime real estate in the heart of the city; it was very Menessos.

He hoped the location and grandeur were indications that Menessos had not changed.