Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

maneuvered his thin frame between the seats one section closer to his lord. “Do you not want to know why? Do you not want to know if he regrets that decision?”
    “You reveal your true motive: revenge against the one who tore your throat.” At that, Mero expected Giovanni would explode in anger, but he did not.
    Giovanni mounted another step. “Revenge? No. I am merely thinking of the Excelsior’s safety. If Menessos believes his witch is the Lustrata, he will bond with her in order to unite their power. If he’s found her, the Domn Lup won’t be far behind. A triumvirate of power merging the Wolf King, the Witches’ Messiah, and the vampire who could have been Excelsior . . . what will they seek, once they are united, my lord?”
    Mero tried once more to stop the madness. “Your manner suggests guilt, yet you have only minimal facts.” He glanced at the screen again; Heldridge was pounding on the door.
    “They could not have yet recognized their full potential.” Giovanni made a fist as he said, “This trio is yet within your grasp, Excelsior. The shabbubitum are at your beck and call. Do you dare keep your hand at your side?”
    The Excelsior’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.
    Giovanni had won this time. The danger of inaction outweighed the danger of action.
    Bowing low before the Excelsior, Giovanni whispered, “Summon the shabbubitum. Let us have all the secrets Menessos would hide.”

CHAPTER TWO

    T he day’s meager light was nearly gone as I stood enshrouded in fog at Point State Park in Pittsburgh and yanked the white sheath dress over my head. Nana placed a circlet of ivy on my head.
    “The bell sleeves are nice,” said my mother, Eris, as she smoothed my dark hair. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”
    Those words furrowed my brows. “Someday,” I retorted, envisioning Johnny standing before an altar. Then, in my imaginary scene, Menessos stepped up on the other side. What would I do if I had to choose between them? “Maybe.”
    Besides, it wasn’t like I was wearing a silk gown. My attire was simply meant to be symbolic of the maiden aspect of the triple-goddess. This was a plain cotton chemise I bought on eBay from a seamstress who could have independently costumed a Renaissance fair.
    Having always been more tomboy than prom queen, I’d always had an extremely low tolerance for dresses. However, this plain gown was reminiscent of those worn by the women in the art of John William Waterhouse, and for that reason alone, I was thrilled to be wearing it. At least until Eris’s romantic notion spoiled the mood with implied lifetime commitments.
    Shoes were another story. I’d not thought of them when ordering, and by the time I realized my error, it was too late for even overnight shipping.
    My mother supplied me with a close imitation of the appropriate footwear: ladies’ slippers from Isotoner.
    “You’ll be a bride someday soon, I’d bet. I’ve seen how Johnny looks at you.”
    Words like “mom” and “mother” didn’t yet roll off my tongue with any ease, so my reprimand was blatant name-calling. “Eris.”
    “What? Mother said he’s been sharing your bedroom at the farmhouse.”
    Disapproval for Nana’s gossip-mongering darkened my expression. As she presented me with the silver belt I whispered, “Traitor.”
    “And who was it that told her I was trying to quit smoking?” Nana shot back.
    “She has you there,” Eris quipped. “And she’s hoping for great-grandchildren, though she doesn’t want you to . . . how did you say it, Mother?”
    “Don’t put the cart before the horse,” Nana answered.
    “Wæres can’t breed,” I reminded them.
    Nana smiled optimistically. “Yeah, yeah, but with him being the Domn Lup, a lot of those wære rules don’t apply to him.”
    That hadn’t even occurred to me. Fear must have shown in my expression, because they both giggled.
    Irritably, I wrapped the belt around my waist, my glare snapping back and forth between Eris and Nana. “I’m certain the molecular science behind the ‘non-viability’ of wære reproduction is something not even the Domn Lup can defy.”
    My anger, however, was all for Eris. She knew that a calm mind-set was essential pre-ritual, but she’d had to get that crack in. She couldn’t resist exerting some type of control over me.
    I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything else. I’d gone to a lot of effort for this ritual, and I wasn’t going to let her mess it up.
    Part