Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

it’s any consolation, he did use every opportunity to be completely annoying. As for the distance . . .” I shrugged. “It was a triple binding, involving Xerxadrea. With her death, his spirit should have been freed.”
    “ Should have?”
    “When I open it, the screen stays blank, and yet it’s rung a couple times since. In those instances it lights up and he’s spoken to me. I can’t explain it. I’ve asked him. He won’t explain it.” I tossed the phone to Goliath.
    He caught it, looking confused. When he wasn’t being a sinister badass, Goliath was a handsome man. For a moment, I glimpsed the vampire with whom Lorrie—the mother, now deceased, of my foster daughter, Beverley—had shared a relationship with a few years after her husband had died.
    “You can use magic, Goliath. See if he will talk to you. It was never my intention to extricate him from his afterlife.” I left him standing in my bedroom.
    Samson’s calls since Xerxadrea’s death had all been warnings I desperately needed, so parting with the protrepticus put me ill at ease, but giving the device to Goliath nonetheless felt right—and regardless of Johnny’s opposition, I wasn’t going to give up my way of making such decisions.
    Downstairs, Mountain and Zhan were conspicuously absent. Johnny had built a blaze in the living room fireplace and was playing tug-of-war with Ares and a rope toy. Menessos sat on my couch, his elbow propped on its arm, and his index finger to his temple as he admired the John William Waterhouse painting over the mantel.
    Crossing my arms and leaning against the newel post, I let the scene before me linger undisturbed. Who knew how long the two of them could maintain such contentedness in each other’s presence?
    It was a skill they were going to have to master.
    Encouraged, I said, “I have to admit, I like this.”
    They both turned when I spoke. Johnny released his end of the rope toy, and Ares carried it merrily around the room and thumped down on the floor to chew on it.
    “You look peaceful,” Menessos said. “Finding a little peace before the storm is enviable.”
    Before the storm? I’ve already ridden one today.
    Menessos’s words could have been a sincere compliment, or they could have been a roundabout jibe at Johnny to say I seemed unaffected by our spat. I uncrossed my arms and entered the living room. “You don’t seem like you’re not at ease.”
    “Thank you.” His lips curved slightly. “That bodes well, since I have just decided that come nightfall, I will return to my haven and await the shabbubitum.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

    M y spine stiffened, and any sense of peacefulness I had scurried away. Menessos was going to accept the pain and torment of being read. He was going to accept the risk of judgment.
    He’s going to stay.
    “Why the change of heart?” I asked, keeping my voice as casual as possible.
    “Escaping them is . . . improbable.”
    “And the ramifications you were so concerned about?”
    Menessos extended his arm toward me, palm up. I walked to him and slipped my hand into his. Can’t read my mind anymore, can you?
    “I have been so focused on the negative possibilities, and on escaping them, that I had not considered how I might create an alternative confrontation.”
    “You didn’t instantly envision every potential benefit to you?” Johnny snapped.
    Menessos gripped me tighter. “This is particularly personal, Johnny.”
    I asked, “How so?”
    “First, Heldridge is my son—the only kind I will ever have, anyway. I Made him. I watched him break free of his mortal womb and I raised him in my world. We have had our quarrels, as all fathers and sons do—”
    “Quarrels?” Johnny snarled and pointed at me. “He tried to kill her!”
    “Yes. Even so, it does not mean I love him less.”
    Johnny straightened. “You love him?”
    “I care for all the men and women in my haven. You care for those in your pack, don’t you?”
    Johnny put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I’d profess to love them.”
    Ignoring him, Menessos resumed his explanation. “Heldridge broke away to become his own master and to have his own haven. He interpreted my relocation as an encroachment. Had I not been his Maker, he may not have seen it as a personal insult.” He drew a long breath. “Had I not been his Maker, I would not have assumed his cooperation. I should have consulted him as a courtesy, but at the time my thoughts were not for him.” To me,