He nodded, panting. “I will ask.”
“You will not threaten Johnny again.”
“I will not.”
“And you will not harm him.”
His lips pressed together.
“You will not harm him!” I unkinked the cord.
Menessos shouted, “I will not!”
I shut down the power flow between us.
Menessos caught the couch with his arm and managed to keep from falling over.
I stomped closer. “Did you feel that, Menessos? Did you see and believe that?”
“You are a marvelous quick study,” he said between breaths.
Someone knocked on the door.
Feeling absolutely invigorated, I went to answer it and pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”
Mountain’s voice replied, “I’ve brought the prize.”
Menessos climbed onto the couch and whispered, “Stall, if you will.”
“Just a minute,” I said into the speaker, but did not move. When Menessos nodded at me I opened the door.
Mountain entered with a paper-covered painting. “Shall I hang it, Boss?”
“Please do.” Menessos sounded normal.
Striding to the wall, Mountain placed the wrapped frame against the end of the couch, and reached up to the steel framework on the wall and turned it. The metal screeched intolerably for an instant, then the security frame was vertical.
It’s not Ariadne then.
He unwrapped the package but the face of the frame was covered with white gauze. Mountain hung the picture, adjusted it straight, then set about connecting wires under the lip of the security frame. “Five . . . four . . . three . . .” he whispered, then jerked the gauze down, just as a field of blue static buzzed in front of the painting and dissolved.
“The Charmer?” I asked, gaping at Menessos.
“You do like Waterhouse, correct?”
Mountain flipped the switch for the accent lighting and left us. Portrayed in oil, a woman sat on the edge of a pond with a harp. At her feet, fish were swimming near to hear her play and sing. Her hair was dark, her skin pale, and her dress was a blue that matched the accent colors Seven had chosen to trim the room.
I couldn’t look away from it, but my mind was racing.
Menessos—with his infinite wisdom—had been trying to weave this juncture to highlight his authority, then punctuate it with this extravagant gift. His ability to provide a valuable work of art as a decorating accent was supposed to make me feel indebted.
Johnny insisted the vampire gained his greatest advantage with his expert use of manipulation; Xerxadrea claimed Menessos’s ability to weave events to meet his desired eventual outcome was his best—and most dangerous—talent.
My arms crossed over my chest. He hadn’t exploited me this time. I had risen—grown up?—and somehow proved myself the stronger. He was probably regretting having hung the “prize” here. I turned away from the painting to see if there was a sign he was conceding this point.
Damn him.
Xerxadrea was right. He was nothing but smug—as if he had just lavishly rewarded my forced growth.
Menessos left shortly after Mountain, saying his people were rising. That was fine by me.
I figured the Beholders would work Johnny hard while they had him, so I decided to fix some dinner. No one would see my little rebellious act of self-sufficiency, but it made me feel better. With a pot of water on to boil for pasta, I rinsed the green peppers.
The protrepticus rang. Gounod’s “Funeral March of a Marionette”—the Alfred Hitchcock Presents theme song.
“Hello?”
“Got a call from Xerxadrea coming in,” Samson said.
“No insult, tonight?”
“Of course not, my lady,” he said sweetly.
My lady? Not “little girl”? That piqued all my intuitive warnings.
“Hello?” Xerxadrea said.
“Hello. Can I speak freely?”
“As freely as you dare.”
We’re not the only two listening . . . Crap. I need to set up a time and place to strategize.
“I trust you now understand that what has transpired had to be, Persephone?”
“I’m going to be made EV tomorrow evening, so yeah.” I took some broccoli and celery out of the refrigerator.
“Have you seen the news?”
“Yeah. You, too, I suppose.” I wasn’t about to let her and who-knows-who-else know our side of things. I separated the celery stalks and rinsed them off.
“For what it is worth, I am sorry things have had to go so far, Persephone. But we can still rectify this. I am certain you can repair that relationship if you put things right.”
“I am becoming his Erus Veneficus.”
“I have news that may change your mind. WEC made contact with the fairies.”
“And?”
“Their demands are simple: they want Menessos dead. No negotiation.”
We knew that. I shook the vegetables over the sink and placed them on the cutting board with the pepper. “What was WEC’s response?” I picked up the knife.
“They agreed.”
“What?” I put the knife down. No sense taking extra risk of spilling my blood in the haven, huh? “How can they agree to that?” I gave her the easy argument and cited the Rede: “An’ it harm none.”
“An’ it harm some, do as ye must,” she replied. “He’s already dead. What else are they supposed to do? They have nothing to bargain with. An all-out war means both sides lose.”
If I’d had any doubt about others listening, that sealed it. She knew he was yet alive. “Since both sides would lose, that means they’re bluffing. WEC should call their bluff.”
“The red fairy is not bluffing. I fear she has gone mad.”
I took a deep breath. My uneasy emotions were building, casting a shadow that darkened my view of the situation. Too much of that lately. What was happening between WEC and the fey was necessary. Both sides were posturing and saying what must be said. “So WEC is buying time to prepare?”
“As are the fairies.”
“So why are you calling me?”
“To convince you to deliver him.”
“Riiight.”
“We know that as a pending Erus Veneficus, you are already bound to him, and that such a task will be difficult. However, you are also unique in strength. We are confident you will have the opportunity to seize control, and we expect that when opportunity arises you will take advantage of it. Officially, you are hereby duly notified: WEC commands you to deliver the vampire Menessos to the location known as Headlands Dunes on Lake Erie at dawn this coming Sunday.”
That was way east of Cleveland. “And what do I get out of it?”
“They will count compliance with this command as proof that you are the Lustrata.”
“And if I refuse? Perhaps it’s in my best interest to not give them such proof. Even without the Erus Veneficus business, they wouldn’t all be on my side.”
“That’s very true. If that is your decision, the Council are deliberating, weighing the risks of angering the Vampire Executive International Network by taking him themselves.”
As if they could. “Sounds like avoiding one war only to start another.”
“WEC can negotiate with the vampires more easily.”
“With blood.”
“Exactly. That does seem to render the least harm. The fey will take many lives in a war, or a single life to avert it. If the latter comes to pass, it may cost WEC some blood, but our blood can be regenerated.”
“So basically you’re saying that the Witches Council has already sold me out, and that the vampires will likely do the same to him—if there’s a benefit in it for them.”
“Yes.”
So we’re screwed. “The only way I can actually benefit here is if I save WEC the hassle of those negotiations, and deliver Menessos for them, thereby saving them their blood.”