Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

shoulder. They were naked except for the fine, dark dust that used to clothe them. These women exuded erotic formidability. It dripped from the damp ebony curls of their hair and, trailing down their bodies, gathered that dust and created dark, wet lines that drew an onlooker’s gaze away from the hatefulness stabbing outward from the depths of their black eyes.
    In perfect unison, they took a slow, lissome step forward. Displaying feline agility, each shifted her weight to her forward foot and advanced again. Energy blew over Mero as the menace beneath the beauty sought a source of power and found it in the Acropolis ley line.
    He touched his shirt where, beneath, lay the necklace. He was ready to jolt them, but what they drew from the line was minimal.
    Sandals appeared on their feet, straps wrapping up their calves like adoring snakes. Dove gray silk materialized, rippling in a wind as it wrapped around their bodies to swathe them each in unique but elegant garments with teasingly placed patches of sheerness. Quicksilver poured impossibly up their arms, then hardened into jewelry adorning their wrists, necks. The likeness of owls formed repeatedly in the gleaming metal.
    Meroveus stood imperiously as they arrived before him. “Liyliy.”
    She squinted in a manner both guarded and suspicious. “ Vos es incompertus? ” Mistress of many ancient tongues, she questioned him in Latin, the language he had used in the spell to release the sisters.
    “No,” he said. “You do not know me.” He kept his voice smooth, even. “ Venire .” He pointed to his chest and said, “Meroveus.” He walked away from them then, gesturing so they would follow. He led them down the stairs. At the bottom, Zevon was nervously shifting his weight and punching buttons on a control panel. The alarms were silenced. Zevon sighed in relief—at least until he saw the group descending the stairs.
    He jogged to remain ahead of Meroveus and the women as they followed him toward the entrance.
    When Zevon tried to unlock the door, he dropped the key. Meroveus and the others caught up to him. “I need your assistance, my English-speaking friend.”
    Zevon jumped. “Wh-what do you require? I was told I would give no blood.”
    “No blood,” Meroveus assured him. “You need only allow these women to hold your hands.”
    Their young guide’s attention bounced from Meroveus to the trio and back. “No harm to me? I have your word?”
    Harm. Such a relative term. “You will suffer no physical injury. You will bear no visible marks. You will not be mentally damaged. Of this, you have my word.”
    “So specific.” Zevon swallowed hard. “Tell me what I will suffer?”
    “Pain,” Mero said bluntly. “And ten thousand euros for your trouble.”
    Zevon stood straighter, adjusting his suit. After a difficult swallow, he held out his hands.
    Meroveus motioned the trio closer to the guide. “ Perceptum English lingua? ” He then dialed the local VEIN embassy on his cell phone.
    The women converged on Zevon. Two stroked his hair and fawned over him as Liyliy assumed her position. The sisters each wriggled a hand between his and Liyliy’s palms, then laced their fingers behind his neck. Liyliy’s dress slithered down her body to puddle at her feet. Zevon’s sight was locked on the tips of her breasts, and he did not notice the gown reverting to mist. His mouth was open and he was panting hard . . . then the shabbubitum whispered a chant. Their voices rose, and with them, a mistlike tentacle slithered up Zevon’s body and coiled around his neck.
    The air crackled as their power thickened. Mero’s phone burped static and he paced away to tell the assistant on the line to arrange a payment to poor Zevon. When Mero strode back, they had lowered Zevon to lie flat on the floor. He had begun to convulse. His body seized, and foam oozed from his open mouth.
    The shabbubitum hovered over him; Liyliy sat on his chest. The notes they were singing ascended through octave after octave. When their voices had reached a pitch only dogs could hear, it was done. They laughed like delighted little girls.
    Their guide’s trembling eased. He blinked. He gasped.
    Liyliy flicked the foamy drool from his chin. “Zevon,” she whispered. “You are a sweet boy, untried, but with such a dirty mind.” On all fours, her body assumed a position both sexual and predatory. “Oh, what I could do with you. To you.” She kissed him, lightly, then rougher. In an