Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

was adding mayonnaise to the toast. “Wouldn’t an image be enough?”
    “It would be stronger with at least one concrete fact to link it with.”
    “Your mom has to remember his name.”
    Under the Father section of my birth certificate was typed UNKNOWN in all capitals to make it glaringly evident I was an illegitimate child. That wasn’t a question I intended to ask Eris. She was already so possessive of me that if she thought she might have to share, she’d “forget” his name anyway.
    From my dining room desk I retrieved the photo album Lance had so rudely provided. I opened it as I returned to the kitchen. In the first clear sleeve was a copy of the picture I already had of my father, only in this one, the side with my mother hadn’t been ripped off. She looked so young. . . .
    My father’s Egyptian heritage was evident in his dark skin, black hair, and bright brown eyes. Sometimes I thought that was a happy gleam; other times I thought it was mysterious, dangerous. He had high cheekbones, and the elevated tilt of his chin suggested cultured sophistication. It was an enigma, his expression—about to erupt in joyous laughter or tumble into fury. I rubbed my finger over the amulet of Anubis he wore.
    “I don’t know if I’m ready to find him. Here.” I offered the little book to Celia. “Little brother gave me this.”
    Celia put the knife down, dropped more bread in the toaster, then took the book.
    I plucked the toast away from her and put the bologna onto it, cut it in half and delivered the sandwich to Beverley, who promptly put her schoolbook away.
    After assembling the last sandwich, I poured us all some milk and moved everything—including a black marker—to the dinette. “May I?” I asked the kiddo.
    She grinned and pushed the purple cast toward me. I signed Seph on it and drew a stick-figure unicorn.
    “Awesome!” Beverley drank, intent on the barns. I knew she was hoping for a glimpse of Errol, a young unicorn she’d had the privilege of riding a few times.
    It set me at ease to know that she was more concerned about seeing him than about the thick purple cast wrapped around her little arm.
    My satellite phone rang. I jerked it from my pocket. The screen showed the call was from Nana. “Hello?”
    “Johnny’s picture is plastered on every news channel.”
    “Yeah. The new Rege confirmed him last night.”
    “Is that why you left?”
    “No, I didn’t know about that until I arrived.”
    “They say there will be a press conference at three o’clock tomorrow at the Cleveland Trust Bank.”
    “That’s news to me.”
    “Well, that prissy reporter just announced it.”
    “I believe you, Nana. I just didn’t know.”
    Beverley spun from the window. “That’s Demeter? Lemme tell her about my arm!”
    I passed the phone to the kiddo. While Beverley recounted her tale, I brushed bread crumbs from the counter into a paper towel, then threw it away. I put the mayo in the refrigerator and switched the bread to the other end of the counter.
    Beverley shifted the satellite phone into the crook of her neck and examined her purple cast, running her fingers over my name as she told Nana that I’d drawn a little unicorn for her. Then Beverley’s words tapered off midsentence. She lowered her cast. “Hold on, Demeter.” She put the phone to her chest and twisted toward me. “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing out the window.
    I checked, expecting to see one of the perimeter guards on patrol. What I saw was a thin figure that had just emerged from the cornfield. The person was wearing a long black robe and the hood was up, hiding his or her features.
    “Zhan!”
    Ivanka appeared in the doorway. “Zhan showering. How may I serve?”
    “Are the perimeter guards wearing black cloaks?”
    “No. Camouflage.”
    “Then who’s that?” I pointed.
    Inspecting, Ivanka checked outside the window. “Hide yourselves,” she said and then raced through the house, galloping up the staircase.
    Hijacking the phone from Beverley, I said quickly, “Call you back soon, Nana. Bye.” I ended the call and immediately hit the direct dial number for Mountain before grasping Beverley by her unbroken arm. “C’mon.”
    Celia was peering out the window. “I thought you said the bad guys wouldn’t get here until tonight?”
    “That’s what I was told.”
    “What do we do?”
    “You get to your car and get yourself and Beverley out of here.” I checked again and the figure had traveled