Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

that befell the woman and her unborn son.
    “This glisten-guy killed his own queen?” Johnny asked. A sinister shiver fluttered down my spine.
    “Neriglissar. He had several wives, all of them ‘queens,’ I suppose. His mystics had told him this particular wife would bear a son who would someday kill his father and take his throne. To avoid the fulfillment of this prophecy, he poisoned his wife as she lay in labor.”
    My mouth gaped open in shock and disgust.
    Menessos told us the sisters had known their mother died in childbirth, and that their little brother had died with her. When Liyliy learned what had truly happened, her rage drove her mad. She struck the old witch and searched the cupboards, meaning to steal the poison. The witch called her by name and the girl was deterred, aware their identities were known.
    The witch told them she knew they were up to no good and she wanted no further guilt. The eldest sister lied and said the poison was truly to destroy vermin.
    The witch was not sure if this was the truth, but she agreed to make them a poison with the warning there would be consequences if they lied.
    “Truth became a part of them when they were Gifted,” Menessos said. “For them to tell lies was like dripping poison on their own souls. But Liyliy lied repeatedly. She lied to cover their actions, to redirect suspicions, and to protect her sisters when they accidentally revealed too much. Every time, it cost her.”
    She again swore to the witch the poison would only be used on the vilest vermin, and she held her sisters’ hands as the witch bound them to their words. The old woman promised the poison would be ready when the sun rose.
    At dawn, they found a basket at the witch’s door. Inside it was a small bottle filled with liquid. The cottage was empty and the witch was gone.
    During the wedding feast, the sisters served their father and new husbands wine. Liyliy poured poison into her father’s cup and her husband’s cup. Her sisters each poisoned their husbands’ wine. The king toasted his new sons-in-law, and all drank.
    The sisters’ lies came to fruition and the witch’s curse descended. A black halo of mist surrounded the sisters as the men died, and by it they were changed. Their beauty was stolen, their bodies transformed. Screeching and terrible, much like the creatures that were later called harpies, they flew away.
    “So you didn’t get to claim them and teach them after all,” Johnny pointed out.
    “Things would be quite different if I had.”
    “They did it to themselves,” I said.
    Menessos added, “It gets worse.”
    There was a price for living with betrayal and vengeance, for doling out death and despair. Bound in magic and curses as they were, the tormenting of others became the outlet for their suffering. No longer was their touch a gentle purloining of information; it evolved into a painful kind of thievery. Those from whom they were taking truths were excruciatingly aware of what was being done. The sisters learned quickly how to make the pain last. That was when they became known as the shabbubitum.
    They were not immortal, but somehow the combination of curse and magic gave them very long lives. Over the span of the centuries they also learned how to change between human and bird forms.
    Eventually, during the Byzantine era, the sisters were employed by a powerful Greek vampire who found it entertaining to let them read her enemies. After a decade of loyal service—and more than a thousand years of countless lies to their victims—they were Made.
    The vampire had no idea what she was Making. The latent power awakened with their Gifting was scarred by their curse. Their lies infused it with madness and instability that made them treacherous . . . and in undeath, their treachery would never cease.
    After they “read” their Maker to death, Menessos was asked to intervene. He chose to anchor their spirits in three of the six caryatids of the famous porch of the Erechtheion on the Acropolis at Athens.
    “Those marble maidens were as lovely as the sisters once were, but I chose them because I felt they would safely exist for as long as mankind.” He paused. “At the time, a friend warned me that someday the shabbubitum would serve me comeuppance.”
    My thoughts centered on the pagan’s Threefold Law: What you do comes back to you in triplicate.
    “Congratulations,” Johnny said, his tone a little too happy. “Someday has arrived.”

CHAPTER