Fatal Circle by Linda Robertson Page A

passed her. Good .
    In the kitchen I lifted the receiver to my ear wondering where my cordless was hiding. Probably between couch cushions. “Hello?”
    “Is everything all right?” It was Jimmy Martin, editor for my “Waere Are You” column.
    “Yeah, why?”
    “It’s Wednesday, your column is due, and I didn’t get it yesterday like usual.”
    Oh, hell. On top of all my other worries, I still have a job. “Just polishing it up right now, Jimmy. It’ll be in your in-box in less than an hour, okay? I promise.”
    I spent the next hour furiously scolding myself for forgetting about it and putting my notes together into a readable column. The only reason I got it done at all was because I was doing a series on waere parenting and this was part three. A premise and supporting notes were already compiled. Still, it was far from my best work.
    It was just after four when the front door shut loudly, announcing Johnny had dropped Beverley off. He had to go work on guitars, some German order that came in, but he planned to be back at dusk to go with me and Menessos to Cleveland.
    Beverley stopped at my bedroom door on her way to her own. Her book bag dragged behind her and the usual boisterous fourth-grader energy was absent. Everything about her was evidence of how tired she was. “Have a good day?”
    “Yeah. I have some math to do.”
    “Give me a few minutes and I’ll help, okay?” I was finishing up my packing.
    “I don’t need help, I know how to do it. Why are you packing?”
    “I have to go away for a few days.”
    “Where are you going to go?”
    “To Menessos’s.”
    Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I patted the spot next to me so she’d come and sit with me. “Remember when we carved the pumpkins and had our safety talk about handling knives?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s rule number one?”
    “Safety first.”
    “Right.” Damn, this was hard. “See, the fairies are mad about one of them being killed—even if it was in self-defense. They’re making threats. So, in order to keep that safety rule, I’m going away to make sure you and Nana are safe.
    “Just a few days?”
    “I hope.”
    Her fingers fidgeted, but she said nothing.
    “Beverley?”
    “What about my birthday? Will you be back for that?”
    Shit, I’d forgotten! Her birthday was the ninth, so I had eight days. “I don’t know how all of this is going to go, so I can’t swear I will be here on your official tenth birthday, but I can promise I’ll do everything possible to be here.”
    “Okay.” She played with the zipper on my suitcase. She didn’t seem convinced.
    “What is it?” I prompted.
    “Will we be safe here, without you?”
    “Those witches put in new wards this morning, it is very safe here. But you still have to wear the necklace when you leave—”
    “I won’t forget that again.”
    I put my arm around her shoulder and squeezed to reassure her. “Then yes, you’ll be safe.”
    Over the side of the bed, her feet swung and clunked together at the heels. “What about Johnny?”
    “He’s coming with me. And there’s one more thing.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I remember how mad you got when Vivian said mean things about me, so I’m telling you now: as part of keeping you safe here, Nana is going to tell some newspeople that she’s very mad at me. She’ll probably say mean things like she never wants to see me again.” I leaned in to whisper. “But secretly, everything’s okay. She’s pretending, so everyone will think she’s mad. You have to pretend it, too, if anyone asks.”
    Beverley squinted. “Why?”
    “I doubt anyone will pester you over this, but if anyone besides Nana talks to you about it, just say you’re never talking to me again. If they pressure you, just say you don’t want to talk about it. Can you do that?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You won’t bring it up or mention it to anyone?”
    “Geez. No. I didn’t talk about fairies today. Just like I said.”
    “Beverley, you are