Wicked Circle

Embarrassed that he would act this way in front of his grandmother, Eris shoved the cards into a pile, disregarding that they weren’t all facing the same direction. “I pushed him hard. He’s way ahead of his peers, in college at only seventeen. Some days he doesn’t appreciate that.”

Demeter sat back and propped her leg on the chair adjacent to her. “You abandoned Persephone—”

Eris stood abruptly, her chair squealing on the floor. “Mom. Not now.”

“If not now, when?”

Eris stomped over and switched the television off. It was awkward working the remote with her left hand. I didn’t ask for this.

“Never? If that’s your answer, that’s too late.”

“Fine. You want to do this to me now? Have at it.” Eris flopped down on the couch. The force of the action resonated up into her sore shoulder and she tried to keep the pain from showing.

“That is exactly what I’m talking about. If ‘I want to do this to you now.’ Do you think I’m out to get you?”

“Feels like it.”

Demeter hobbled over to the opposite couch. Again, she propped up her leg, using the length of the cushions. “All this self-pity you’re wallowing in—”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Nana shouted. “And you’re pressuring Persephone, trying to guilt her into loving you. She doesn’t love you, Eris. You’ve given her nothing but abandonment, and followed that with a guilt trip.”

That’s ridiculous. “I’m her mother. And I saved her boyfriend’s life!” She had expected her actions would buy her daughter’s love. That her sacrifice hadn’t simply filled Persephone with compassion and devotion pointed out a flaw in Persephone’s character. Eris had begged Frigg, the Norse goddess of motherhood, to prod Persephone into recognizing that fact . . . but it seemed Frigg was not inclined to aid her.

“Yes. You saved his life,” Demeter said. “And you could have saved your arm if you had gone to the hospital with the medics.”

At those words, Eris’s stomach formed a molten ball. I didn’t ask for this! But Eris knew in her heart that she had. No one knew about the countless times she had thought to herself, I’d give my right arm for another chance. . . . “The spell needed finishing.”

“It could have waited. You were impatient for the benefit, eager for Seph to see you as not giving up. You chose not to go. You chose to threaten Zhan’s life in order to stay and finish. Did you think that would erase the past? Do you think Persephone owes you now for those choices you freely made?”

Yes. The word almost slipped out, but Eris bit her tongue. Demeter was twisting it all around just like—“You’ve been scrying!” That’s where the opals had gone. Her mother had always been perceptive; her scrying ability was unmatched. Growing up with her had been a nightmare. Demeter could use the magical properties of opals to combine scrying with a form of astral projection. This was a skill Eris had never completely understood, but it busted her in lies, skipping school, underage smoking . . . so much more. Demeter could use it to pick up information that was, for lack of a better term, psychic. She knows. Frigg help me, she knows.

Demeter didn’t deny it. She put her leg down and sat forward. “You saved a life, Eris. You’re a hero. So act like a hero. Not a martyr.”

Tears welled up and fell before Eris could think to fight them. Demeter sank onto the couch next to her. She squeezed Eris’s hand. “There’s a boy in there who loves you and needs you, and he’s afraid he’s losing you to a sister who’s never been a part of your lives until now.”

Eris sniffled. “He told you that? Or did you scry that up too?”

“Neither. It’s written all over him. You’re not seeing it because you’re so wrapped up in Persephone. I know your daughter. She won’t be pressured or pushed into your life. Focus on Lance now and let her go. I promise she’ll come back.”

Risqué worked by candlelight at the altar table in Menessos’s private rooms. She was unperturbed by the fact that his corpse and Meroveus’s lay in closed beds nearby. Her makeup case was on the floor at her feet. Another case, similar in size but filled with magical miscellanea, was beside it.

Her master had inspected the items she’d brought to fulfill his list. He’d explained what he wanted her to do with them. It was a difficult task, brilliantly plotted and full of risks.

Risks. Perfect for me.

She began,

Necklaces two, I now make,

With spell-work meant never to break.

With carnelians and malachites,

The wearers are stable in their human hides.

Birch, iron, and silver wire,

This spell will never expire!

Iron lockets open wide,

These I now place inside:

Dragon’s Blood, powdered fine,

Mandrake root, and turpentine.

One dark hair from the Lustrata’s head,

This binding you can never shed.

Vampire wizard’s blood—two drops!

Now this binding cannot be stopped.

Sealed with fire, hot as the sun,

This binding cannot be undone.

Each necklace was placed into a basket. She laid the jewelry carefully, as one link in the chain of each was yet open. Carrying the basket and a bucket with welding supplies, Risqué stepped to the back chamber door. She declared her mortality and opened it without trouble from the spell her master had placed upon it. Still, she felt the compulsion he’d placed. The seal would not keep an immortal from leaving, but it would cause him or her to linger within.

Risqué lit candles around the bed where the two dead shabbubitum lay, then called a circle encompassing Menessos’s large bed.

Crawling onto the bed, Risqué sat straddling Ailo’s corpse. She lifted Ailo’s head, put the necklace under her neck and replaced her head on the pillow. Laying a heavy welder’s glove across Ailo’s throat, Risqué hooked the open link atop the glove, satisfied that it was a tight fit. Donning protective goggles, the half-demon fired up the small torch. Clasping the link with long-nosed pliers in one hand, the torch in the other, she chanted, “I bind you Ailo to Menessos and Persephone.”

When the link was secure, she did the same to Talto. By the time she had taken up the circle, the iron was cool enough that she could retrieve the gloves that had protected the sisters’ necks. She removed also a few hairs from each of their heads.

Crawling onto the bed between them, she tied the strands together in knots, chanting, “Ailo and Talto, you are henceforth bound to Menessos and Persephone.” When the hairs were well knotted, she dropped them into a thin cotton pouch. She clipped the sisters’ fingernails and toenails and added these trimmings to the pouch. After she cut a fingertip of each and squeezed out blood to stain the sides of the pouch, Risqué left the rear chamber.

She let the candles continue burning; the undead liked to awaken with a dim light waiting.

Returning to the altar, she burned the pouch on charcoal, then gathered the ashes. She put half in a glass vial. The other half she stirred into a lotion she’d made with oil, beeswax, a few drops of water, orrisroot and buckthorn bark.

After lighting candles all around the outer chamber, she opened the door to Menessos’s closed bed. She