Menessos stood on stage and extended his hand. “I present to you Persephone Isis Alcmedi!”
At my name, Seven zoomed in on me.
“Henceforth,” Menessos continued, “she is Erus Veneficus of this haven.”
I turned toward the stage and carefully made my way up the steps. Reaching the stage I took the vampire’s hand. Menessos twirled me around in a pirouette. That was a move Risqué had not prepared me for; I barely stayed on my feet.
From stage left, Mountain came forward with a large wooden chest. While he held it, Menessos opened the lid. Drawing a blood-red velvet cape from within, he placed it upon my shoulders and adjusted the hood before once again reaching into the chest. This time he held up a much smaller item. Mountain backed away.
“Shall I, Master?” Goliath asked. The others called him Boss, but Goliath always used “Master.”
“No. I will display to her, and to you all, the honor I feel at having her here. I will place it upon her myself.” With that he crouched before me, carefully not going down on one knee. Still, a few gasps were heard. He held the elaborate red garter open and ready. I lifted my foot, somehow retaining my balance on one leg, and he deftly maneuvered the symbol over the boot and up my leg to mid-thigh.
The garter was a symbol of power among witches, and in some traditions it marked the high priestess in a coven. I was certain the symbolism was not lost on the vampires, or at least not on Menessos.
He came to his feet and took me into his arms, dancing me merrily around in a circle. I caught a glimpse of a close-up of our faces in the big television screens. Grinning splendidly, he called out, “Let us celebrate!”
The houselights came up and the music kicked in again but this was not orchestrated. Now, the beat thudded from the speakers like that of a dance club. Waitstaff offered stemmed glasses on trays to the vampires and placed red pillar candles around the room. “My sincerest thanks to Heldridge for providing the beverages,” Menessos announced. Cheers filled the theater.
He led me to the divan on his throne’s left. When I sat, he gestured to Goliath. After Goliath had taken his place in the smaller chair, Menessos sat in the center.
Risqué climbed the steps—her golden ringlets and shiny orange rear end were probably quite a sight as she ascended—carrying a tray with three glasses. She offered the tray to Menessos first, then Goliath who pinched her bottom. When she offered me the tray, she said, “Yours is strawberry wine.”
I scanned the auditorium again. Still no sign of Johnny.
The doors I’d entered through swung open and a body flew through, rolling and twisting in what seemed a gymnast’s nightmare, only to leap, arcing up and out, and into a series of spectacular backflips along most of the length of the red-carpeted aisle. When the figure came to stand upright, he hesitated only until polite applause began, then threw his arms out and whips shot up with a crack. He went into a routine I thought might snap the leather lashes across the bodies of the vampires, but none reacted. The crackling sounds worked with the music and I was impressed with how this performer was emphasizing the beat through dance and whip.
He worked his way amid the tables, expertly minding his whips and flicking out the candle flames on the red pillars the staff had just placed.
Rapt, several minutes had passed when I felt a sharp coldness in the pit of my stomach. I felt fine, just cold. Cold enough to be distracted from the show. I looked for Johnny again.
Menessos put his hand on mine. “Eyes ahead,” he whispered. His voice was tight, though his expression was pleased. “And smile.”
I did as he said. “What’s going on?”
“I will explain later.”
The performer dropped the whips and drew daggers from his belt. Tossing them high into the air, he began to juggle.
Menessos’s grip on my hand tightened. The coldness in my stomach grew. Something was wrong.
He lifted my hand and drew me toward him. “Come,” he whispered. “Into my lap.”
In private, I would have argued, but this was not the place. In an instant, he had me draped across his throne and his lap as if I were a rag doll. He was trembling.
Something bad had happened.
I covered his hands with my own. He needed blood from his master to balance whatever was happening to him. I stroked my throat as if offering it to him, letting him know I understood and that it was all right.
His mouth lowered to my neck, lips gentle on my skin, moving the thin gold chains out of the way. His beard tickled a little, in a way that made me tingle with urgency. My eyes shut, waiting . . . waiting. “The stones,” he whispered.
Right! The jasper wouldn’t have stopped any vampire from feeding, let alone one caught in bloodlust, but they were protective of me. They were pulsing, drawing mystical energy off me and storing it inside them where they would hold it like a reservoir for me to tap. That, while protecting me, would keep him from getting what he needed. Concentrating, I shoved the protective shielding back within the stones. I held Beau’s charm in my palm and envisioned an orb shield momentarily containing its protection, too. It’s okay.
Menessos’s tongue drew across the bumps caressing my flesh. “I would not take from you again so soon . . .” His voice was barely a breath in my ear. “But they are killing her. It pains me to the core.” His embrace became a vise. His fangs stabbed into me. My eyes shot open, time slowed.
Killing her? Killing who? They?
Vampires had left their seats and gathered at the edge of the stage to watch their Master drink. Camera flashes twinkled in the distance. And a gleaming line of steel zoomed toward me.
A dagger.
All my protections were disabled.
Goliath’s body shot in front of us. I heard the clang of metal on the floor as he deflected the knife. The music stopped. There were gasps and a few screams. Goliath rolled down the three dais stairs and shot up, running. His voice boomed a command across the room.
Vampires surged toward the performer. He tried to flee, but in milliseconds they had him.
“Cameras,” I whispered. Menessos withdrew his fangs and repeated the word himself. I knew he was sending that one word as a warning to Goliath, who immediately shouted a new command. Vampires carrying the performer leaped onto the far end of the stage and dragged him into the back.
Stunned silence fell across the room.
Was that dagger for me? Or Menessos?
I heard a thud of doors, distantly, but ignored it.
That is, until Johnny’s voice rang across the theater, “Help me!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Johnny, two vampire guards trailing him, was walking hurriedly toward the stage from the back of the auditorium. His white shirt was smeared with dark stains. He carried something in his arms. Something small. It moved. A child? My heart lurched in my chest.
Menessos came to his feet, and put me on mine. Instinctively covering the wound with my hand, I applied pressure and felt blood smear on my skin. I tried to stand. Dizzy, I stumbled. Menessos caught me and sat me on the divan. “No.” I didn’t want to sit. “Let me see!” I stood again, and Menessos gave me his arm.
What he carried was blue—Aquula! The fairy’s mermaid tail fin flared in spasm.
“Make way!” Menessos commanded the vampires. They had toppled chairs and overturned tables in an effort to get to the performer. Beholders had flooded from backstage and were carrying out furniture.
I was at Johnny’s side as he stepped onto the stage. “Aquula . . . what can I do for you?” I reached to my pouch for the protrepticus. I’d call Xerxadrea. She’d know—
“Waste not thy effort. Nothing can be done for me.” The fairy’s voice was little more than a tremulous whisper.