Wicked Circle

was shorter than most. Her silver-blond hair—too silver for her age—helped him locate her in the area to the side of the podium, right along the velvet ropes. It was not a prime press spot, but it was obviously the entry and exit for those making the announcements here today.

He had to give her credit; Antonia Brown was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Positioning himself in the crowd about ten feet behind her and away from the podium, he was confident she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of him.

Once the Domn Lup was brought out, however, Kurt was stunned. Tall, lanky, with black wavy hair and a cleft chin—this had to be Elena Hampton’s son, John. He’s the Domn Lup. Change at will? That explains everything. God, tattoos on his eyelids? That had to hurt like a sonofabitch.

After the announcement was made and the pretty speech given, this “Johnny Newman” allowed the reporters to ask questions.

Detective Miller considered what plan Toni might have. She had positioned herself where the Domn Lup would see her, but he hadn’t recognized her on his way out. Then the final question was asked and he claimed he had no memory before eight years ago.

If that’s true, he won’t know you at all, Toni.

Kurt worried that if she acted in some rash and desperate manner, the security here would respond. They couldn’t hurt her in public, but Kurt didn’t trust wærewolves, even when they were being honest about what they were.

When John Newman left the stage, Kurt was relieved the security started to change places with John as they neared Toni’s spot.

Then Toni very nearly leapt forward as she grabbed at the Domn Lup. There were gasps and flashes, and the noise level of the media side rose as they compressed the area, straining for pictures and trying to hear.

In the shuffle, Kurt surged toward Toni. He couldn’t let anything happen to one of his wife’s best friends. He was right behind her when he heard her say, “. . . on a bus.”

It seemed the whole room stilled, like someone had stopped time. Then John Newman said, “Let her through. Bring her with us.”

The brawny security man unhooked the velvet rope and let Toni through, his glare enough to keep anyone else from trying to pass through. He snapped the cordon back in place and followed John Newman out.

Bring her with us. Bring her with us?

Kurt had to get to the parking garage now.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Three limos pulled into the parking lot of the Pilgrim Congregational Church. It was well out of downtown in Tremont, and was the location the wæres often used for meetings they wanted off-site of the den, especially if they wanted to avoid vamps.

Gregor had insisted the old woman not ride in the same vehicle as Johnny. He’d put her into the first car and ridden with her. When Gregor got out, Johnny, who was sitting by the window of the middle car, hit the button to lower the window. “Well?” Johnny asked. “What did you find out?”

“She’s a stubborn woman who is apparently not intimidated by riding in a limo surrounded by wæres,” Gregor announced, clearly frustrated.

“What did she say?” Johnny clarified.

“That she will only talk to you.”

For the entirety of the fifteen-minute ride, Johnny’s emotions had swirled. He wanted to hear what she had to say, and he feared it. Who was that woman? Not my mother, surely! She would have said something different, right? Now he intended to talk to her, and he didn’t want everyone else listening in. He opened the car door. “Then let her talk to me. Send her inside. Alone. And send the rest of the men home.” He approached the church.

“Sire—”

“You heard me.” Johnny kept walking.

He pushed open the great doors, walked into the theatrical interior. Here, there was real Tiffany glass, a dome and columns as well. He sat in a pew near the front and viewed the pulpit.

The answers I sought were locked away. I didn’t know when the phoenix taloned me that it would cost me any chance of that knowledge. Don’t let this be a hoax.

He heard the outer door open again. Momentarily, quiet footsteps entered the chapel. The woman sidestepped into the pew just ahead of his and kept her distance.

He observed her as she stood looking up at the dome then at other architectural details. She didn’t seem nervous; she seemed very much at ease. Her silver-blond hair was short, and she was dressed in a gray pantsuit made of a material that didn’t wrinkle. He recalled her saying she’d ridden five hundred miles on a bus. That would explain the strange mingled scents around her.

Finally, she sat down in the pew, keeping her spine straight, shoulders squared. As she turned to face him, he noticed she’d tried—without complete success—to apply enough makeup under her eyes to hide the dark circles. She didn’t sleep well, he guessed, but she wasn’t as old as he had first thought. The preponderance of silvery white hair on her head belied age—or hardship. She did emit a profound tiredness.

“You certainly picked a beautiful spot to talk,” she said.

“What’s your name?”

“You used to call me Toni.”

He regarded her, repeating the name over and over to himself, but he had not even a hint of recollection. “Do you dislike wæres?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know any. Or I didn’t until now. I liked you well enough before.”

“How do you know me?”

“Indulge an ‘old’ woman for a moment, will you?”

He felt only impatience, having waited eight years already, but he forced the hastiness aside and unclenched the fists he hadn’t consciously made. Gregor had surely insulted her when he’d called her old. Wanting to ease that offense, Johnny deliberately relaxed his shoulders and nodded.

“What is the date of your earliest memory?” she asked.

Suspicion filled him. “Why?”

“Everything else I think I know hinges on this time line.”

“Because you’re a fraud who wants information to twist into your lies?” Johnny sat back with a tired, regretful exhalation. “Tell me what you came here to say, or get out of here,” he whispered.

Toni fixed him with the look that cross mothers wear.

He could force her to tell him. It probably wouldn’t take much to make her talk. A wave of shame rushed through him. What’s wrong with me? He’d lost it last night and he might have lost Persephone forever, but this impulsive carelessness wasn’t him.

Johnny raked fingers over his scalp, as if he could harvest a good idea that way. He stood and paced out into the aisle, ready to leave before the beast inside him did something horrible.

He couldn’t abandon this chance. Staring straight ahead into the darker depths under the choir loft, he was overwhelmed with the need to know and the understanding that this was his chance. Maybe his only chance. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t master himself, sit his ass down and find out.

As he turned back, he felt more in control.

“My first memory is of waking naked in the Cleveland Metroparks. That was actually roughly eight and a half years ago. In June.”

“June,” Toni repeated. She scooted over in the pew. Patting the space she’d just opened, she said, “C’mon.” He sat. “What happened to you then?” The empathy she conveyed wasn’t false.

“I ended up at the hospital. I didn’t know my name and couldn’t remember anything. They called me John Doe but couldn’t find any head injuries. I was released to social services. The police assisted them in a missing persons search. Found nothing. By then I was used to being called Johnny, so I stuck with that, but the name