Wicked Circle

CHAPTER FIFTY

Mero awoke with an agonized groan. If he remained completely still, the pain would subside faster. However, a few feet away, Menessos screamed his way into life.

Mero opened the door of his bed and climbed out. A servant had lit candles around the room, and, as promised, his clothing had been cleaned. He tugged the elastic band from his long hair, finger-combed his dark curls and regathered the ponytail.

Menessos was still panting from the pain of transfer, so Mero tried to be quiet as he dressed. For all the torment I experience, torment he never warned me about, there is no comfort in knowing his is worse.

When Menessos emerged from his bed, he was still panting. “Have they found Persephone?”

“I don’t know,” Mero answered. “How are your legs?”

Menessos ignored his question and pointed at the altar near the main door to his chambers. “The table. Is there a note upon it?”

Mero stepped closer to inspect. “Four bottles, a few candles, no note.”

“Damn it!”

The mournfulness of his words struck Mero. “If she is the Lustrata, my friend, she will be fine.”

“I have taken a risk, Mero. A terrible risk. But it had to be done.”

“What did you do?”

Menessos stared at the floor. “There was no other way.”

“Menessos?”

“I exposed her to . . . to someone far more dangerous than Liyliy.”

“Who?”

A cry resounded from the rearmost chamber. The sisters had awoken as well, and were quite unhappy about something.

“I cannot say.” Menessos moved somewhat stiffly, but he managed to dress quickly. His legs were obviously well on their way to being healed. Bestowing two of the bottles on Mero, he carried the other two and walked to the wide door at the rear chamber. He spoke a chant to nullify his spell. Mero followed him inside; this room also had candles already lit. The sisters were seated on the bed.

When they entered, Ailo stood and demanded, “What are these ugly things?” The mist that became clothing for them was a vapor lingering around her neck, trying to slither between the necklace and her skin, but power radiated like a breath from the links of the chain, and the mist could not waft close.

Menessos offered Ailo one of the corked bottles. She snatched it away. There was no pride in Menessos’s voice as he said, “The power Meroveus once held over you now belongs to me.”

“Betrayer!” Talto cried, spitting at Mero as he tried to offer her one of the bottles.

Menessos, whispering, made a fist and squeezed it so tight his hand shook with the effort.

Talto collapsed in pain and curled like a fetus as she cried. Ailo thrust the bottle back into Menessos’s arms, forcing him to release his magic. She wrapped her arms around Talto. Though she glared at Menessos, she said nothing.

“I would have you consider your words more carefully, Talto. Meroveus is our guest, and he bears your dinner.”

Talto continued to cry, and Menessos set the bottles on the mantel and drew close to them. “You were both weak and tired after your long interrogation last night. I drank of you and let you drink of me . . . do you remember?”

Ailo frowned as she thought back. “You mesmerized us! You made claim to us!”

“I did.”

Talto wailed. “We did not want this,” Ailo said.

“You are mine now. I will protect and provide for you. Be obedient and you will find that I am a just master.”

“Our sister will come for us!” Talto cried defiantly.

Menessos sat on the edge of the bed. Mero was surprised by the calm reassurance of his manner. “Your sister stole Mero’s means of binding you three, and she has not returned, Talto. Because of her thievery, you were re-bound to me. Liyliy is a thief who stole her freedom and yours, and fled. She has abandoned you. In her stead I have made the pledge to care for you. If you call anyone ‘betrayer,’ it must be Liyliy.”

Talto’s sobs shook the room.

Mero sat on the leather seating in the round. The enclosed beds had been taken to the rear chamber, and all of them had fed. Though electric lights provided illumination, a few bergamot-scented candles were burning. The citrusy scent had been Seven’s suggestion, an attempt to instill the sisters with calmness and peace via aromatherapy. Presently, Mero listened as Seven gave Menessos a report.

“The Interim Quarterlord is unaccustomed to the actual duties connected to the job that has just been bestowed upon him. And it seems that the Columbus and Cincinnati havens are disputing territory in Dayton. Remember, we thought their feud was just achy evidence of old wounds? Apparently the ailment is a disease that is no longer in remission. He’s finding it difficult to deal with the phone calls.”

“Seven,” Menessos said with dismay. “I’ve managed to keep them at the negotiating table for weeks, and that has not been easily achieved. What have you done?”

She put a hand on the back of the couch and leaned in. “I want that man out of my haven and out of Cleveland.”

“Seven.”

“They intend to fight, so let them—while he’s in charge. Let him show his leadership skills if he has any. It will keep him busy.”

“He won’t tolerate their squabbling and he won’t consider their havens should he supply an active resolution.”

“Exactly.” She stood straight and crossed her arms. “Leonard of the Columbus haven will go over this Interim Quarterlord’s head in a heartbeat.” She shot a pointed glare at Mero. “And I’m sure the Excelsior will be delighted to have to intervene.”

“Seven,” Menessos said again. This time his voice was tight enough to snap.

She uncrossed her arms and let her soft touch drop onto his shoulder. “You have other matters that require your attention. Allow me to handle this.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she sternly added, “I know how to handle petty men with their eyes on power that is not their own.” Her expression dared him to argue that fact.

Menessos conceded. “What of our search for Persephone?”

“Everyone we have has been out all day searching, and they plan to take shifts throughout the night, but they have to rest, so there won’t be much getting done here on the nightclub.”

“She must be found!” he whispered. He clutched his stomach, as if he were in pain. Seven noticed, and she seemed about to inquire, but Menessos said, “Go on.”

“Ivanka said she was hounded by calls from the Domn Lup until three o’clock—at which time his press conference began. She hasn’t heard from him since. The event was recorded and I have it cued up if you would like to see it.” She offered her master an open laptop.

“Later,” Menessos waved it away. “Are they searching for her too?”

“The den claims they do not have her and are not looking for her, but I suspect something is going on. They would not let me speak directly with the Domn Lup.”

Menessos considered it. “Send Zhan. She and Kirk have an understanding.”

“Zhan is at the farmhouse assisting Mountain. It will be an hour before she can get there, but I’ll convey your order.” Seven paused at the door. “Anything else?”

“Just find her.”

“We will, Boss.”

Though Mero hung on their every word, he wasn’t lax in his observation of the sisters, who sat huddled together in the corner, whispering and crying.

From the relative safety of her sister’s arms, Talto spoke. “The witch mastered you. Why do you agonize over her disappearance? If she is not here, she cannot be your puppeteer.”

Menessos rose and proceeded to the corner. Talto made to cower, but he sat on the floor with them. “Is that the way your former master treated you, Talto?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “Read this one, torture that one. Night after night after night. So much horror and despair. We wanted to be free of it. We killed Rouma, and I bear no regret.”

The threat and warning in her tone were not hidden. Mero thought that Menessos would surely wield his power and double her over in pain again. But he didn’t. He simply said, “Rouma? I meant Liyliy.”