“Una came to the aid of her lovers as they battled and, with a desperate prayer to Ishtar, she plunged a dagger deep into Ezreniel’s chest.
“For an instant he stilled. Then he looked at his hands—covered with the blood of both men—and laughed. Stunned, unable to move, Una watched as he pulled the dagger from his chest and, wiping it across his palm, cleaned his own blood from its blade. Rubbing his hands together, he mixed the three bloods together, chanting in his foreign tongue.
“He flung his right hand outward at the first man, splattering the red fluid on his brow, saying, ‘I curse thee by the sun.’ He thrust his left hand at the second man. Drops of blood splashed across the man’s chest. ‘I curse thee by the moon.’ He turned to Una, lurched forward, and grabbed her face in his hands. ‘And I curse thee for loving them both and thereby sealing your doom.’
“Ezreniel then collapsed, smearing blood down Una’s face and naked body, saying, ‘The curse of three, sealed by me, by my blood and by my death. The curse of three, sealed by me, the reward of my last breath.’
“In that moment, as the curse was realized, lightning struck the temple, shattering it into falling shards of mud-brick. And although none could know at the time, the fate of the world changed. Ezreniel’s god would gain power and wield it. Ishtar, her temple in ruins and her beloved priestess—”
“There’s a group pulling into the drive,” Erik interrupted. I hadn’t known he was listening too but as I moved down the steps, I realized he had been standing near the opening to the dining room and had a clear view out the front window.
I hurried to the front door and saw an entourage flowing into my driveway. A limousine that—despite the fading light—I’d have guessed to be silver, escorted by four motorcycles, two each at the front and the rear. The motorcyclists cut their engines and put down kickstands, but none removed their helmets or got off their bikes. The limousine’s far rear door opened, and Goliath slid out. His pale hair shimmered; he shot a look toward the house and grinned. The driver, in a neat black suit and cap, jumped out and hurried back to open the door on the near side of the limo. The man who emerged very literally stole my breath.
Longish wavy hair, the color of shelled walnuts, fell around his square face with careless perfection. His beard, trimmed thin on the sides, accented every angle, and he wore it a bit thicker on his pointed chin to balance the squareness of his jaw. A narrow nose above thin lips added to the austere quality of his face. Broad shoulders and a tailored suit enhanced his lean, masculine image.
I was speechless as he approached. But for the modern clothes, he was my Arthur, exactly as I had dreamed him for all the years I’d been enthralled with Camelot.
Closer now, I could see that his eyes—stern and gray like cold, cold steel—were eyes that had seen more horror than happiness. His shirt, open to the fourth button, showed the curve of a muscular chest. As my attention returned to his extraordinary face, I realized he’d seen me counting the open buttonholes. It seemed to please him.
“Persephone Alcmedi.” I expected his voice to have an exotic accent when he spoke, but he said my name without any telltale inflections. He even got the pronunciation right.
“Menessos.” Saying his name forced me to remember he was a vampire, not Arthur.
He made a show of appraising the area. “What a…rural…place you have here.” I wasn’t certain if he was insulting the simplicity of my location and my unpaved driveway or if he was just pointing out that there was no one around for miles to hear our screaming.
I smiled agreeably. “My little piece of the planet.”
With his posture and stance set for intimidating perfection, he said, “You will surrender Vivian Diamond, the book, and the weapon. Do not make yourself a part of our quarrels. Relinquish them now and I give you my solemn word, I will leave you in peace.”
How much was the word of a vampire worth? Less than any other hustler’s word, as far as I was concerned. My expression didn’t feel as hard as I wanted it to be, and I glanced away as I changed it. Goliath, who’d obviously seen me ogling his master, was smirking at me. “I absolutely do not want to interfere in your quarrel—” I began.
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” Goliath snickered.
“But”—I glared at him—“I need the book.” I didn’t want to call it the Codex. It might make a difference if he knew that I knew what it was. “At least temporarily.”
Menessos sauntered forward until he was only a few feet away, just beyond my porch rail and at the edge of my ward. His expression said clearly that he found my refusal as utterly predictable as Goliath did. “That book does not belong to you.”
“I know. And I will give it to you, but first I have to undo the damage Goliath caused my friend.”
Menessos squinted. “What do you mean?”
There was no reason I could see not to tell him, so I did. “I’m going to perform a ritual from the book to save her life.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Which ritual?”
“Enhancing moonlight with elemental energy. A complete transformation is the only thing that can save Theo’s life right now. She won’t last until the full moon.”
He considered it. “I know this ritual…are you witch enough to succeed?”
Convincing him was a basic safety requirement, like a hard hat at a construction site, but his challenge to my witchhood was a blow that sent my metaphorical hard hat rolling. Am I witch enough?
Smart-ass comebacks came to me easily, but telling others what I truly thought of myself—and that was what Menessos was really asking—was much harder. Maybe I didn’t think that much of myself. Maybe that was why the whole Lustrata thing made me uneasy.
I hoped Menessos didn’t see the frailty I suddenly felt. I mustered the sound of confidence and firmly said, “We’re going to find out.”
Luckily, that seemed to satisfy him. “I will take you at your word, Persephone. I think we can wait to claim the book in a peaceful manner when you are through.”
“We can’t start until at least three-thirty A.M., when the moon shines through the skylights of her room. We can’t risk moving her.”
He checked his watch and then the sky. I noted his profile. “I’ve heard much about—” He was assessing me and stopped, his eyes lingering on the Superman symbol on my chest. Or maybe he was just staring at my chest because I’d stared at his. He shifted. “You. We will wait, because it is a rare thing for a person to astonish me,” Menessos said. “Very rare.”
“And anyone who does finds themselves on the endangered list, right?”
“Yes,” he answered, expression flat. “But you possess a unique potential. You could leap onto my short list of allies.”
I smiled. “Not sure I want to be in that kind of company.”
He smiled too, a smile as without mirth as my own.
Goliath, who stood flanking his master, glared past me to Johnny. “It’s better than the company you currently keep,” he snarled.
Johnny sneered. I didn’t see it, but I knew it was there by the deep growl I heard. “At least my friends aren’t limited to dark hours.”
“Enough!” Menessos said, surging forward despite my wards and gripping the railing. I could feel the alarms prickling my skin, and my head throbbed like the siren was inside my skull. “Do not threaten me, witch,” he spat. His eyes had gone black and pitiless like a shark’s. “Waiting for you is a courtesy I extend because it amuses me that you would attempt to conduct a ritual from my book. But have no doubt that, should I change my mind—and you’re teetering on the disrespectful edge of forcing me to action right now—I will come into your house despite your paltry wards, the presence of the stake, and your jumentous friends…and I will bring with me destruction such as you have never known.”