Shattered Circle
Persephone Alcmedi
Linda Robertson
Mass Market Paperback:
384 pages
Publisher: Pocket Books
ISBN-10: 1451648936
ISBN-13: 978-1451648935
JUST YOUR AVERAGE
MEGA-WITCH. . . .
It’s tough being a
modern woman, but Persephone Alcmedi has it worse than most. Being the
prophesied Lustrata has kicked her career as a witch into high gear, and
juggling a wærewolf boyfriend who is about to become king of his kind and a
seductive vampire who bears her magical Mark isn’t easy either.
Still, Seph’s beloved
foster daughter, Beverley, is causing more trouble than these two men put
together. The young girl’s been playing with a magical artifact that’s far more
dangerous than she realizes. Now Seph must summon help from a mystical being so
potent that even vampires fear him . . . and the cost of his aid may be more
than she’s willing to pay. Seph, Johnny, and Menessos face threats from all
sides—and a few from within. Will the forces of destiny cement their tenuous
supernatural union, or shatter it forever?
The main door opened
and Meroveus, Advisor to the Excelsior and currently their esteemed guest,
entered the suite. “She is back?” he asked.
“That is what I’m
told,” Goliath answered. “If you’re referring to Ms. Alcmedi, that is.”
“I am. Is she here?”
Leaning on one elbow,
Goliath reclined. “She required a shower.” He wanted to give his nose a quick
pinch to indicate she’d reeked of the scummy edges of Lake Erie, but he
refrained. He was a Master now; taunting disdain was no longer acceptable.
Mero headed for the
iron-studded door. Goliath cleared his throat.
In mid-reach for the
knob, Mero stopped. His hand fell to his side and he turned on his heel. “I
have been disrespectful. Forgive me, Haven Master.”
His sardonic grin
flashed fang. “Does urgency always make you thoughtless?”
“I assumed that
Menessos was still lord of these chambers, and that she was with him in the
rear chamber.”
Goliath sat up,
placed his elbows on his knees, and clapped his hands together. “Hear me,
Advisor Meroveus, and do not forget my words: The former Haven Master may have
extended you many courtesies, but barging into his private chamber—especially
if you think Ms. Alcmedi may be attending him—would be particularly dangerous.”
Mero glanced at the
main door as if he would leave, but there was uncertainty in his expression.
“To be honest,”
Goliath added as he stood, “I have not yet made claim to these rooms, and, as
you have assumed, the former Quarterlord is in the rear chamber. However, my Erus Veneficus has
her own suite.” He used the formal title of the court witch for impact.
Mero blinked.
It seemed to Goliath
that the other vampire had not considered that in declaring this the Cleveland
haven and Goliath the master of it, Persephone would by default become
Goliath’s court witch. Her services were now his to command.
--------------
There were many
prophesies concerning the Lustrata. The one that the vampires were most
concerned with claimed she was incredibly valuable to them. Because of this,
they could not dare to kill her. But they could do much without killing her.
The question was: What would interfere with her destiny, and what wouldn’t?
Menessos would know
the most about it, so Goliath resolved to follow his Maker’s lead. “Dabbling in
the destiny that Menessos, the witch, and the Domn Lup share is a hazardous
pastime, Mero. I strongly suggest you stay the hell out of their way.”
Mero quoted the
prophesy:
“Lustrata walks,
unspoiled into the light.
Sickle in hand,
she stalks through the night
wearing naught but her mark and silver
blade.
The moonchild of ruin, she becomes
Wolfsbane.
“According to my
interpretation,” Mero concluded, “she must be marked.”
Menessos breathed
deep. Releasing it, he said, “Your interpretation is bullshit.”
Mero’s brows rose in
surprise.
Goliath struggled to
keep a laugh from getting out.
“The Witch Elders
Council will not stand for their Lustrata to be marked by the Excelsior,”
Menessos said. “Would you risk a war?”
--------------------
Opening the closet
there, Beverley dug straight to the back where the item she wanted was stored.
Her little hands grasped the cold sides of the rock-board and she pulled. It
was heavy and the cast on her arm made the task more difficult. She lost her
grip on the slate—the bottom edge dropped onto the top of her foot.
Stifling her yelp of
pain, she regained her grasp and silently laid it flat on the floor before
shutting the closet door. Crouching between the bed and the wall so she couldn’t
be seen from the doorway, she studied all the strange symbols painted across
the surface. She’d heard Seph and Celia talking about this. Great El’s
slate.
They’d said that a
person could talk to ghosts with this . . . and that Seph had used it to find her
mother.
But how does
it work?
Beverley ran her
hands over the surface. Her fingers traced the lines of a symbol here, there.
They tingled like the fine lines of her fingerprint weren’t so fine after all.
She studied her index
finger, then compared it to her other hand’s index finger. If one tingles
. . . what does two do? She picked two symbols she liked that were side by side
and put her fingertips to the slate. Carefully, slowly, she traced both. The
tingling began immediately and resonated through her hands and into her wrists.
Suddenly, some force grabbed her hands. She gasped and tried to pull away, but
it just squeezed tighter.
It dragged her
fingers along to one symbol, then on to another. She watched in horror as all
her fingers were pulled across the board, each finger moving independently. The
more symbols she traced, the more the tingling increased. It became like a fire
inside her skin, swelling up through her thin arms, crackling through the broken
bone.
It hurt. It hurt so bad. She drew a breath
to scream—
—and then it felt
good.
It wasn’t hot, merely
warm. It wasn’t warmth like summer, though, not something a thermometer would
show. This was warmth of another kind. The kind only a heart could feel. She
felt so . . .
Loved.
A shimmer flashed
across the surface of the board.
She whispered,
“Mommy?”
---------------
Excerpt from
SHATTERED CIRCLE:
Liyliy, a
vampire-harpy, had tried to kill me a few hours ago, and the struggle left me
exhausted and sore. That was the reason I was still abed at nearly two in the
afternoon. When my satellite phone blared the opening riffs of Ozzy Osbourne’s
“Bark at the Moon,” it startled me, instantly reminding me about all the sore
muscles I had.
Mid-reach, I stopped.
That was Johnny’s ringtone.
He had tried to kill
me, too.
My hand shook as my
finger jabbed the Answer button.
“Hello?”
“Red . . . I’m so
sorry.” Johnny’s voice was barely audible.
I sat up and
deliberated whether to play deaf and repeat my “hello” as if I hadn’t heard
him. I considered being a jerk and hanging up. I even contemplated ripping him
a new one.
Instead, I remained
silent.
Two days before,
minutes after I’d performed the forced-change spell on him and his loyal pack
mates, Johnny had attacked me. He’d always retained his manmind while
transformed, but that last time he didn’t—he’d been pure animal. The only
reason I was still among the living was because I’d pumped ley line energy into
him like a human Taser.
“Red?”
He’d frightened me to
my core. The unshakeable faith I’d had in him had been shattered by an
emotional earthquake. Damage was done. My fear felt like betrayal.
But . . .
Could going
through the forced-change spell repeatedly have an undesired effect?
No. I was sure the
whole terrible incident could be pinned on the fact that my mother, Eris, had
revoked the tattooed bindings she’d placed upon Johnny eight years ago. He
suddenly had access to all the power and potential she’d locked away from him.
That was surely a disorienting, difficult situation.
I’d helped him dig up
the clues, helped him achieve that goal. Hell, I’d even been a part of the
reversal spell. So some responsibility for the consequences was mine to bear.
“Persephone?”
He rarely used my
full given name; he usually called me Red, as in Little Red Riding Hood to his
Big Bad Wolf. Or Seph like nearly everyone else. I had to respond.
“I’m here.”
“Then say something.”
Pushing back the
covers, I stood and began to pace. “I don’t know what to say.”
He paused. “Can you
forgive me?”
I wasn’t sure.
Part of me said I
couldn’t allow his attack to be a personal issue because of the fateful trio
that Johnny, Menessos, and I forged by binding ourselves magically. The other
part argued that no matter the circumstances, attempted murder was very damn
personal.
It all happened
because Johnny had surrendered to his destiny. His unique ability to transform
at will made him the Domn Lup—king of the wærewolves. It was a position with
power, prestige, and perks such as a Maserati Quattroporte. Johnny knew his
royal place was unavoidable, but he’d fought it and hid from it a long time.
He’d finally pushed forward because it was beneficial to our triple union, but
kinghood was costing him his dream of being a rock star.
It had been my fear
that he’d lose who he was in the course of this alliance of ours. More than
ever, it seemed this fear was being borne out.
On the other corner
of our triangle was Menessos. He now bore two witches marks—mine, of course.
That made him my servant. When Heldridge, his former right-hand man, learned of
my authority over Menessos, he tattled to the highest vampire authority, the
Excelsior. To protect us against the personal grudge of the truthseeing
vampire-harpies sent by VEIN to make formal inquiry, Menessos had allied
himself at great personal expense with someone dangerous—a “nameless” guy I had
aptly dubbed Creepy.
The secrets he’d
wanted to hide from VEIN—secrets even I didn’t know—were apparently safe, but
our little who-marked-whom secret was out. Menessos lost his haven and his
status as Northeastern Quarterlord. Johnny had accepted great power and lost a
lifelong dream. Menessos had lost great power and accepted serious personal
risk. It didn’t seem fair.
And what about
me?
In the last several
weeks I’d learned that I was the longprophesied Lustrata, the Witches’ Messiah,
She Who Walks Between Worlds, She Who Will Bring Balance, blah blah blah. As
this news spread throughout the nonhuman communities, some scoffed and some believed.
I was fine with the scoffers; it was the believers who were dangerous. They
wanted to know if I truly possessed the power that accompanied those titles.
Yeah, I was a magnet for nasties who either a) wanted me dead to be sure I didn’t have that power, or
b) wanted to try to force me to wield power for their gain.
I guess I’d accepted
the endless complications of my status and was well on my way to losing all
scraps of naïveté.
At that thought, I
stopped pacing. As I stared into the nothingness of a darkened corner, it felt
like my innocence had slipped from my grasp and I was watching it skitter
across the floor, waiting for it to come to a stop so I could reclaim it.
I wasn’t sure it was
worth the effort to look for it. Or perhaps it would be impossible to find if I
made the effort. Maybe it had rolled into some crack, never to be seen again.
I heard Johnny
breathing through the phone.
It wasn’t Johnny who
had rescued me last night.
When I defeated
Liyliy, Menessos had been there to bring me to the haven. Sure, Menessos had a
hand in creating the monster she now was. And it was he who had imprisoned her,
creating her need for revenge. But it was me and my marks upon him that had
brought her to Cleveland. When she pursued me from the haven—according to the
Offerling I’d spoken to—Menessos had sent everyone out to search for me.
Had Johnny
even known I was missing?
It was shitty of me
to compare the two men in my life, but I couldn’t help myself. Though Menessos
had drunk my blood numerous times, he hadn’t tried to kill me.
Yes he did! He
nearly killed you not long after you first met.
We were
strangers then, I argued with myself. Now, we know each other well.
Better,
perhaps, than you should. . . .
Defiantly, I ignored
my conscience’s scolding. I will not regret what I did last night. During the predawn
hours, reeling from my encounter, I’d kissed Menessos.
Fine, but
clearly you were able to forgive him.
That was true.
Considering this, I felt hope. I sighed heavily into the phone. My whispered
answer was, “In time.”
“There’s so much I
need to tell you.” Johnny’s voice was raw, and the rev of an engine punctuated
his words. I wondered where he was going. And I wondered if I should tell him
about kissing the vampire.
It hadn’t been a
peck.
When our lips had
touched, I felt the promise and power of a more intimate union. He’d definitely
felt it. It wasn’t only the power of the marks between us that had been
kindled.
“I don’t know where
to begin,” Johnny said.
His voice drew me out
from my memory of a passionate moment with another man. Guilt swelled around my
heart . . . but not remorse. What am I going to do?
About
the Author
Linda Robertson is the mother of four wonderful
boys, owns three electric guitars, and is followed around by a big dog named
after Bela Lugosi. Once upon a time she was a lead guitarist in a heavy metal
cover band and has worked as a graphic artist. She still composes and creates
art, when time permits. Linda currently writes and rocks in northeast Ohio.
Visit her at AuthorLindaRobertson.com and @authorLinda
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