Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

“blame” Hecate for the close calls during my tests. Though I hadn’t grasped it during the first test—I’d been naïve, but I’d come to understand that danger was to be expected when a deity assessed a mortal.
    “Your devotion and loyalty shine like bright beacons that declare you ready for the more treacherous journey along the deeper path.”
    I cast my eyes toward the island that resembled a spearhead jammed into the middle of the lake. I’d seen the giant steps to Tartarus inside there. I didn’t want to go back.
    “I cannot tell you the answer,” he said softly, “for these things of which I speak are uniquely yours, as will be the manner in which you combine them.”
    “If I have so much, why isn’t the course of action obvious to me?”
    “Being the Lustrata is no simple honor. It will only get harder.”
    Delightful.
    “You have a decision to make, Lustrata: Cor aut mors . I leave you to it.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “My time with you is growing short, Persephone; I feel another totem will soon replace me.”
    That made me sad.
    “Be at peace, Persephone. When things change here, it is evidence of evolution.” Amenemhab trotted away.
    I awakened inside the cargo hold. Not wanting Liyliy to find the wet circle of salt and become suspicious, I wiggled around and hoped it disguised my actions.
    “ Cor aut mors ,” Amenemhab had said. It was Latin for “heart or death.” It meant a choice between the morals and loyalty of the heart, or the insignificance and disgrace of death.
    Of course I would choose “heart.”
    C’mon, Snickers bar, and kick in. I have a karmic suicide to avoid.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

    I n her suite at the Cleveland Renaissance Hotel, Aurelia emerged from the bathroom carrying an empty goblet. She wore a thick terry robe, and her towel-dried hair was combed straight. As she crossed the living room to the table, where an uncorked bottle of wine rested on a bed of ice, she paused to dig a small portable radio from her pocket and place it on the damask-covered fainting couch. She poured herself a second glass of wine and watched the city below.
    Cleveland was nothing like her Bucuresti. Though the cities were nearly the same geographical size, there were far fewer people in Cleveland. Also, this city’s nickname, her research had revealed, was “Forest City”: A motto adopted in the 1830s, it made no sense in the present day. There was no forest here; not now, anyway. It irritated her that the phrase was utterly inaccurate. Continuing to pay homage to an outdated vision, she felt, highlighted the lack of forwardly mobile thinking that would be needed to make this city great and prestigious again.
    Her home was known as “Little Paris,” and with its beautiful architecture, its universities and theaters, cafés, and museums it was, indeed, an eastern version of that grand city. The Dâmbovita River was far more beautiful than the Cuyahoga.
    “What’s he like?” Johnny’s voice emitted from the little radio.
    Aurelia left the window. “Finally.” Since the Domn Lup had fled Cleveland, he and the woman had spoken little. The woman he called Toni had said she needed a nap, and the silence had ensued. Hours of it.
    “He’s all boy,” Toni answered. “He can’t sit still. . . .”
    Setting her goblet on the table, Aurelia lifted the little radio, holding it tightly as she reclined on the fainting couch and listened via the bug she’d planted in the Maserati’s key fob.
    Detective Kurt Miller knew when the Maserati hit I-90 north that the Domn Lup was escorting Toni back to Saranac Lake. His Crown Victoria couldn’t hope to keep up with a car like that, but he didn’t have to now. When he arrived in his hometown just after 2:00 a.m., he drove slowly past Toni’s house. The lights were out. There was no fancy car parked in the driveway, either. He cruised by the area hotels and spotted the sleek vehicle at Gauthier’s Saranac Lake Inn.
    He called in a favor from his old friends at the village police department and had a cruiser sent to stake out the Maserati. The assigned officer was to call him if anyone used that car, then he was to nonchalantly tail it.
    Kurt stretched. He was ready to go home and sleep in his own bed.
    Johnny walked into the lobby area of the hotel. A man with a bushy moustache emerged from the back room. “Hello. Welcome to Gauthier’s. Would you like a queen or a king? I have a suite available.”
    Johnny dropped the