Wicked Circle

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

As Interim Quarterlord,” Giovanni said, “my first action is to declare Menessos unfit for leadership. I assume control of this haven—”

“That duty has already been assigned to Goliath,” Mero interjected. “I was sent here to conduct this investigation—”

“And as the Interim Quarterlord I am assuming control.”

The tension in the room ramped up. Goliath was shaking with fury. Mero knew that if the situation exploded, irreparable actions would commence. He also knew that his son was a master strategist. He’d given Mero an advantage, if he needed it, and the option to back down if that was what he needed.

Mero put a hand on Goliath’s shoulder and the lanky vampire withdrew to one side. Mero entered the outer chamber. “Since you have declared yourself the Interim Quarterlord, Giovanni, you will of course understand that my rank as Advisor trumps yours. If you cared to be a part of the investigation instead of running off to beg leverage of the Excelsior, you would have already known that I relieved Menessos of his position and bequeathed this haven to Goliath, dubbing it the Cleveland haven. It is no longer a Quarterlord’s haven, so you have no one to command here. However,” he gestured ceremoniously to Goliath, “I trust you will be compliant with the Interim Quarterlord’s requests. Should you have any concerns, I will be available to hear them and mediate without hesitation.”

Goliath bowed his head respectfully.

Mero approached Giovanni. Quietly he said, “Your personal grudge against Menessos is a veil before your eyes. I will not be able to judge your motives kindly if you are not carefully impartial in how you progress from here, Quarterlord.”

Giovanni backed away, making sounds like a vicious dog. “I want the shabbubitum sisters sequestered in an interrogation room. I want to question them immediately.”

“I know just the place to conduct that,” Goliath offered and headed toward the door.

“Ladies, please follow Goliath. Your compliance is expected.” Mero patted his chest as if to remind them the necklace was under his shirt. They followed Goliath out.

Giovanni hesitated long enough to glare, then trailed the group. Mark, who was still on duty at the outer door, shut it after Giovanni. “Mark,” Mero called before it had completely closed. When the man responded, Mero added, “I believe your former master would like a few words with you.”

When Menessos saw Mark, he motioned him close. “Get a search party assembled. Every Beholder and Offerling we can spare needs to be on the streets. I want to know in what direction Persephone flew off. I want them to find witnesses, to report in what they learn from them, then to follow up all leads.”

“What about the harpy? Won’t she bring her in?”

“No. We cannot rely on her. Our people should not confront her; she must be treated with caution. Appoint someone here to coordinate via phone. That way we can combine the efforts if needed and call it off when Persephone’s found.”

“Is the court witch a traitor, Boss?”

“No.”

“It won’t be easy to convince the Beholders and Offerlings of that just now.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just tell them Persephone must be brought in unharmed. Tell them Goliath has been appointed Haven Master and that the order comes from him.”

Mark bowed before leaving.

Mero resumed his bedside seat. “Their continued loyalty is a tribute to you.”

“As is yours. Thank you for trumping Giovanni.”

“It felt good,” Mero said as the door opened.

Goliath rolled a cart bearing a television into the rear chamber. He powered the system on and left.

In a conference room, Giovanni paced. The sisters were seated at a large cherry table. The décor was all dark browns, leather and wood and a few items of deep green. From the aim of the shot, the lens of the camera had to be hidden in the upper corner.

“We saw many things,” Ailo was saying.

“Tell me all of it.”

“What we see is . . . voluminous. We could discuss it for weeks,” Talto explained. “The images convey so much meaning, books’ worth of words into a snippet of memory. And it darkens with time.”

“If you have a specific area to focus your curiosity, ask questions,” Ailo suggested.

“Both the sound and picture are good,” Mero observed.

“Yes,” Menessos said. “The microphone is encased within the scrollwork of the torchiere floor lamp.”

“What of the witch?” Giovanni demanded. “Is she the Lustrata?”

“She is the bearer of the Lustrata’s mantle. Her powers are not yet complete, but she is getting close.”

“Did Menessos willingly accept her hexes?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“She bore his mark, and then that mark was flipped.”

“Flipped?”

“It was overturned and the connection that was once his binding upon her, metamorphosed into her binding upon him.”

“How did she accomplish this?”

“She did not. A goddess did.”

At that, Mero faced Menessos with the question plain in his expression.

“The Lustrata has Hecate’s favor.”

Mero wanted to know more, but the interrogation continued.

“A goddess.” Giovanni crossed his arms. “A goddess.”

“No mortal can sever such a mark. Only divine intervention could have achieved this.” Talto’s tone was utterly serious.

“You do not have to believe or enjoy what we claim to have seen, but you would be a fool to discount our words,” Ailo said. The warning in her tone was not hidden.

“The second hex?” Giovanni prompted.

“He was nearly dead,” Talto said.

Ailo clarified. “She had staked him.”

Again, Mero faced Menessos in disbelief. He whispered, “You covet a mortal woman who drove a stake into your heart and forced a hex upon you?” This intimate revelation declared the complexity of the vampire that had Made him. “Why?”

Menessos remained intent on the screen and made no attempt to answer.

Giovanni, too, was astonished by this. “She staked him in order to hex him,” he repeated. “How did he survive?”

“The stake was extracted.”

“Is Menessos aware of her political intentions?”

“From what was in his mind, she appears to have no aspirations of power and authority.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” the advisor snapped. “The attempted murder of a Quarterlord to secure dominion over him is an act of war in and of itself.” Giovanni began pacing again. “She has used her sway over him to blind him from the truth.”

“That is not true,” Menessos said to Mero. “I placed a small binding upon her, disguised as a bond between her and her lover. It enabled me to see past any personal barriers. There was no trace of what Giovanni suggests.”

“Was,” Mero said to emphasize that was past tense. “When was that and what about now?”

“That small binding has been removed, but you would be wise to not doubt me when it comes to her merits.”

On-screen, Giovanni said, “The Domn Lup cannot be subjected to her magic, as wærewolves cannot abide those energies . . . and that explains why she is his lover. The seduction subdues and sways him.” He paced continually as he considered this news. The sisters sat in silence.

To Mero’s disappointment, Menessos was keeping his face carefully blank. But Mero knew his friend’s thoughts were racing. An enemy was tying together the threads that would enable him to make a case for the elimination of the court witch who had clearly won so much more than Menessos’s admiration.

“Do you want to know what we saw of you in his mind?” Ailo asked conspiratorially.

Shoulders squaring and jaw flexing, Giovanni snapped, “What did you see of me?”

Talto clasped Ailo’s hand. Ailo said, “You were a charismatic captain of men . . . and seven hundred professional soldiers followed you to Constantinople—a mission you undertook only after Menessos recommended it based on the glory you could attain there.” Her voice was enthralling, all dulcet tones and hypnotic inflections.

“She’s using the ley,” Menessos said.

“Bespelling him?” Mero stood. They were about to take action—

Menessos motioned him back into his seat. “I have seen them play this game with non-magic-using vampires before. They do not like him or his questions, so they toy with him.”

“You were defending the wall when a debilitating injury forced you to leave your post,” Ailo said. “Because of your departure, many gave up hope and fled. The enemy observed the panic that beset the guards in your absence. His redoubled efforts conquered the Byzantines. The Queen of Cities fell.”

Color drained from Giovanni until he was pale even for a vampire. He backed up until his spine was against the wall, as if memories were playing out before him—he stared in horror at nothing.

“But your injury was not a mortal wound,” Talto said. Ailo whispered a chant as Talto continued. “A single crossbow bolt and shrapnel from the Ottoman cannon . . . but not as life threatening as initially believed. And yet it was too late. Panic had swarmed the troops and the men had fled. Days later, finding the weakness you had displayed inexcusable when paired with the devastating cost, Menessos took your throat.”

Giovanni’s fingers skimmed over his neck. Talto rose from her seat and, with a gentle touch, caressed his cheek. She took up the whispered chant and let Ailo speak: “It was another vampire, Konstance, who saw in you a mighty captain worth saving. As Menessos protested her actions, she fed you her strong blood and worked the change upon you. Though your death was not averted, she welcomed you into undeath.”

Giovanni blinked and seemed to recover himself from far away. Seeing Talto, who was chanting still, he balled his fist and struck her. She was flung across the room. “Never touch me! Never!”

She screamed and leapt to her feet, crossing half the distance. “For this you hate Menessos?” Talto asked. “You hated yourself for the failure wrought in your absence. You wanted death. He gave it to you. Konstance is the one who brought you back.”

“She loved me!” Giovanni shouted. “And Menessos poisoned her mind against me.”