Menessos laughed, cutting me off.

I wasn’t finished. “You made a blood oath on my porch! Does that kind of thing expire in twenty-four hours?”

“It expires when the one the oath was made to fails to keep her part of the deal!”

“I gave Samson the stake!”

Menessos stopped about six feet away. Far enough that a single lunge would avail me nothing. Even if I had a weapon, it’d take two steps to reach him and he only needed the advance notice of one—if that—to move out of the way. “Where is it?” His words were soft, but the intensity underneath added a tremulous note to them. If he wanted me to think he was about to lose control, he’d succeeded.

“Where’s what?”

Johnny jerked me back. “She doesn’t know.”

I went still. My stomach felt like I’d just gulped down a twenty-four-ounce Slurpee. Over my shoulder, I asked, “I don’t know what?”

Johnny maneuvered me behind him. “I did it,” he said.

Panic rising, I demanded, “Did what? What did you do?”

“I exchanged Vivian’s stake for a fake.”

“How?”

“You were busy, Red. I found a similar stick, carved it a little, rolled it in a layer of thick mud I made. I thought it would work. I thought you should have the real one to protect yourself with, since you’d ruined your protection by inviting him in.”

“Oh, Johnny!” He’d done this, and now Nana and Beverley—

“Samson was supposed to destroy it and report the deed done. Nobody would have known!”

Menessos made a derisive sound. “A splendid plan…for a mongrel like you. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

Johnny launched himself forward, ready to fight. In a blur, Menessos shot forward, hit Johnny once in the face, and pushed him so hard that Johnny backpedaled to keep from falling. He growled and snarled, and I heard the popping of bones. Looking down, I saw his hand darkening, changing. Claws sprouted from his fingertips.

My mouth fell open. Johnny could transform at will?

“I seriously suggest you quell the notion that your bestial form will fare any better.” Menessos laughed condescendingly. “And while you’re at it, perhaps you should consider the obvious: she carries my mark. For her to even be near the stake will cause her pain.”

It all suddenly made sense: the beholder on the motorcycle asking about the pain, and the ache I’d felt since waking after he’d stained me. “That was the ache I felt all morning?”

“Surely.”

“That’s why you marked me! To make sure I wouldn’t be able to keep it even if I wanted to!”

The vampire smiled in a refined, self-assured, and highly exasperating way. His face was made for that sort of expression. “In truth, that was not the reason, but merely a convenient side effect.”

“You bastard!”

“My parentage is no concern of yours, my dear. Now, mongrel”—he gestured toward the door—“go fetch the stake while I”—his focus shifted to me—“…entertain the lady.”

Of course, he made “entertainment” sound about as much fun as riding a splintered broom, naked, in a hurricane.

Resolutely, Johnny said, “No.”

“Then the old woman and the girl will die.”

“Johnny,” I said, teeth clenched.

Johnny turned to me; his eye was already swelling where Menessos had hit him. One of his eyebrow rings had been torn out, and blood ran down his face. “Red—”

“Just do it,” I said. If anything happened to Nana and Beverley because of him—I wouldn’t let myself think about that.

He studied me, then without another word backed toward the door. For each step he took away from me, Menessos took one closer to me. Johnny paused at the garage door; his hands had returned to normal. Ares was still out there, barking wildly from his cage.

Menessos slipped behind me, hands gripping my shoulders, and his lips came close to my ear. “I see from the glimmer in his mongrel glare that your doggie is contemplating something irresponsible. See, Persephone, the dog-like way his nose wrinkles and he bares his teeth and snarls? I wouldn’t be surprised if, next, excess saliva began dripping from his uncouth jowls. Of course this show of reverting to his baser instincts substantiates my theory. I will repeat myself, lest you forget, puppy: the lady is my hostage. Your actions will dictate how this unfolds. Do you understand me, whelp?”

“Yeah,” Johnny answered, looking at me.

With a gentle touch, Menessos turned my face toward him. “I will witness—at long last—the destruction of Vivian’s stake. And you, Persephone, will be with me, at my side, as I triumph.”

Johnny started forward. “If you hurt her—”

“You’ll find it much harder to finish the task with a broken leg, but I promise you, that’s what I’ll do to you next.” When Johnny didn’t move or speak, Menessos added, “Fetch the stake, boy.”

Johnny hurried across the yard in the pale light of the waning moon. Watching through the kitchen window, I ached for him. Menessos had released me, confident that I wasn’t stupid enough to try anything, well, stupid. “You’re cruel,” I said.

He sauntered closer, looking as if I were a silly child he was about to admonish. “He is a dog, and you cannot ever expect him to be anything but a dog.”

Defiant, I said, “He is a wolf.”

In answer, Menessos faked a yawn.

“Add ‘rude’ to the list.”

“Were we making a list, dear Persephone?”

“I am. Cruel. Rude. And an oath breaker.”

“I am not an oath breaker.”

“Yes, you are.” Johnny disappeared into the night. I was partially afraid that beholders could be waiting for him, but they would feel the pain of the stake too, wouldn’t they? I looked away from the window. Menessos accepted my glare without offense. In fact, I think it pleased him to see it. Maybe that was because I felt defeated and it showed. Seeing me beaten would be something that would surely make him happy. “You swore to never step into a circle again until the stake was destroyed. But you entered my circle.”

His expression sharpened as he tried to figure out who could have told me. I think he wanted to ask, but he restrained himself. “I thought you were referring to the blood oath again.” He whispered, “So many troubled thoughts.”

I wasn’t sure if the stain would allow him to read my mind or not, but that comment made me wonder. I didn’t want him to read the answer in my thoughts, so I guarded them.

“Come, witch. Build me a fire in your hearth.”

He gestured for me to precede him. My feet moved before I had a chance to think about whether or not I wanted to comply. There on the table was the notebook with the printouts from the ancient book. Thank goodness Nana had shut it. The label on it read Research so it looked like nothing Menessos would be interested in. I didn’t touch it.

After checking the flue, I knelt before the hearth. From the basket that held old newspapers, I grabbed a piece and crumpled it, dropping it on the grate. I took a few other sheets and did the same. Before I crumpled the last piece I intended to use, I realized I was holding the front page with the picture of Beverley crying and the headline about her mother. Her grief was so fresh. Only five days ago—it seemed like so much longer than that.

Would Beverley want a copy of this or not? It was hard to say. It was gruesome, but maybe later it would be important to her. I folded it nicely and set it aside, took another sheet of newspaper to crumple, then started placing the smaller pieces of kindling in the iron grate and, finally, topped the kindling with two quarter-logs. I struck the match and held it to the newspaper.

Menessos made himself comfortable on my couch, striking the same pose that Samson had tried and failed at. Thinking of Samson made my mind flash on the image of his head in my refrigerator; a wave of nausea hit me. I scooted back from the heat of the fire but continued watching the flames lick and dance. “Will you…” I had to swallow down bitter bile. “Will you remove Samson’s head from my house?”