Exclusive Excerpt: The Cult-y New Travel Thriller You Need to Read
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The author of can't-put-them-down thrillers The Lion's Den and The Siren is back next month with a new book that might just be her most goosebump-inducing yet. Before The Vicious Circle comes out September 27, dive into this lengthy excerpt and prepare to be obsessed.
First, though, some background
29-year-old Sveta Bentzen’s life is a mess. With her modeling career and engagement to her longtime boyfriend both in trouble, she’s sleeping on a friend’s couch, when she gets shocking news. Her estranged uncle Paul, a famous self-help guru (christened Shiva by his ardent followers), has mysteriously died. Even more shocking: He’s left his entire estate not to his wife Kali, who runs Xanadu, his retreat center in Mexico, but to Sveta. And the attorney in charge of the estate is none other than Lucas Baranquilla, Sveta’s former flame who ghosted her years ago. Lucas insists on accompanying Sveta to her uncle’s funeral at Xanadu, worrying that Kali will contest the will and fight to be named Paul’s rightful heir. This chapter takes place shortly after Lucas and Sveta arrive at the retreat center, which seems like a secluded paradise...at first. But it’s not long before the facade wears thin and sinister forces become apparent, starting with the ceremonial burning of Paul’s funeral pyre, after which his devoted disciples gather for a memorial dinner under Kali’s watchful eye.
Kali’s face is radiant in the abundant candlelight, enhanced by the wreath of white flowers in her hair. She stands at the head of our table in the front of the dining room, flanked on one side by Aguilar, Rex, Ruby, and me, and on the other by Hikari, Lucas, Blaze, and the freckled brunette who was playing the bronze bowl in the meditation chamber earlier. The rest of the group is scattered among wood tables of about 12 each, adorned with bright jungle flowers and lit by candles in mason jars, while crystal chandeliers burn softly overhead.
“Shiva accomplished so much while bodied,” Kali says. “But I know his greatest joy was the Mandala and what we have created here at Xanadu. He loved each of you like he loved himself, and he will always be within you. He is not gone; he has simply shed his human form.”
She raises her gold-leafed teacup and everyone follows suit, as they did in the meditation studio. “May his light shine from within each of us.”
The earthy, warm liquid coats my tongue, a more medicinal than herbal taste.
“On his last day, Shiva called me to him and told me the time had come for me to lead, and I humbly accepted his charge,” Kali goes on.
I can’t help but wonder: If he asked her to lead, why didn’t he will her the Mandala? Why give it to me? It’s incongruous. Her piercing gaze lands on me, and for a moment, I’m possessed by the absurd fear that she can read my mind as she continues, “I vow to channel his spirit and continue his work here. Namaste.”
“Namaste,” everyone replies in sync.
Immediately the sound of plates and utensils clattering fills the banquet hall as everyone loads their plates with the falafel, chickpea za’atar, zucchini fritters, rice, roasted green beans, and grilled red peppers that line the centers of the tables.
Scanning the warmly lit room, I notice that while ethnically diverse, most of the group are on the younger end of the spectrum, although there are a handful who appear older. There seems to be an even ratio of men and women, and I’m once again struck by how attractive everyone is—and how well groomed, for living in the middle of a jungle. They’re all fit, their skin glowing, their nails clean and manicured—and while I do notice the odd wary glance in my direction, each time, it’s so quickly replaced with a smile that I doubt whether I saw it at all.
“How long have you guys been living at Xanadu?” I ask, looking from Blaze to Luna to Ruby, who sits next to me.
“I’ve been here about four years,” Ruby answers.
“Me too,” Luna chimes in.
“But Blaze has been here longer than any of us,” Ruby adds.
“Eight for me,” Blaze confirms. “I met Shiva when he hired me as contractor for the California Mandala Center outside of Sonoma—man, 12, 13 years ago? I helped him find this place. It was run-down and overgrown, but we both fell in love with it, and he got it for a steal because of its history. I was the first to live down here because I oversaw the remodel with a local crew.”
“I visited the California center a few times with my dad,” Lucas says. “It’s a spa now, right?”
Blaze nods. “The Golden Bell.”
“Does everyone from California live here now?” I ask.
“No,” Ruby says. “The California place was bigger and run more like a traditional retreat center. We were always teaching seminars, and there were a lot more people in and out. Xanadu was built as a live-in center for christened members of the Mandala, where we could live like a family.”
“Christened members?” I ask.
“It means you’ve cycled through the Wheel and gotten your Mandala name,” Luna pipes up.
“The Wheel is the training and development program,” Ruby clarifies. “The classes are all color coded and linked to the chakras, which is why it’s called the Wheel. You have to complete the Crown Chakra level to be christened with your Mandala name.”
“Ah,” I say, exchanging a glance with Lucas. “I think I saw a pamphlet for that in my room earlier.”
“Did you?” Ruby asks, surprised.
“It was from 2017,” Lucas adds.
She nods. “That was the last year we did in-person classes. Once we moved down here, everything went online.”
As the evening progresses, I feel a lightening sensation in my body similar to what I felt during the chanting session, like a warm internal glow. The people are all friendly, and I enjoy listening to their stories about my uncle and answering their questions about what he was like when I was a child. I would normally be suspicious of such unanimous veneration, especially from a religious—or as they call themselves, sacred—organization, but the peace they’ve found here seems so genuine that they must be doing something right.
Regardless, by the time Kali invites us into the lounge for music after dinner, I’m so overtired that I attempt to beg off. Luna, however, will have none of it. “You have to come,” she insists, looping her arm through mine, her olive-green eyes serious. “Just for a bit. I promise it’ll be fun.”
I acquiesce, allowing myself to be carried with the stream into the sunken living room, which, like the rest of the villa, is decorated in a vaguely Moroccan style, although the color scheme is lighter. A grand piano stands near the entrance, and the arched French doors along the back wall are flung open to the thrumming concert of insects and animals outside, invisible in the vast darkness beyond the globe lights strung over the pool deck. Brass pendants dangle from the soaring ceiling, casting mosaic shadows across the cream trellis rug and low-slung couches, arranged in a roughly circular configuration.
Kali settles into the corner of one of the ivory couches against a pale gold cushion and the group fills in around her, reclining on pillows and draping themselves across the furniture, all jockeying to be closer to her. One girl hands her a cup of tea while another rubs her shoulders. Luna plants the two of us on a love seat, and Lucas sits on the floor nearby. Someone takes up the bongos and begins tapping a rhythm that gets heads nodding, and before long, Rex is strumming a guitar, his square jaw outlined in the flickering candlelight.
I must have pushed through extreme exhaustion into delirium, because I feel a surge of energy as the music heats up, and before long, I’m smacking a tambourine with the best of them. It’s all a bit surreal, as though I’ve stumbled into a scarcely credible scene from a movie, and I find myself wondering if I shouldn’t postpone my flight and stay a few more days.
Outside I hear a peal of laughter accompanied by a splash in the pool. Someone begins plucking the opening notes of “Blackbird,” and I turn to see Lucas on the floor with one of the guitars, his eyes closed as he strums it with practiced fingers while a pretty girl with cascading dark locks plays with his hair. She looks vaguely familiar, and I briefly wonder whether she was an actress in her prior life.
It once again strikes me how comfortable he seems in his own skin, playing for a group of strangers, his sonorous voice rising and falling with the music. He opens his eyes and before I can look away, his gaze locks on mine. Caught red-handed, I feel the heat creep into my cheeks, but he doesn’t flinch, studying me unhurriedly as he continues to play.
I shift my gaze to Kali, reposed on the couch while Aguilar gives her a sensuous foot massage. She, also, has her gray eyes fixed on Lucas, watching him with an expression I can’t quite read. Is it desire I see flickering across her flawless face, or distrust? She must feel me looking at her because she turns her head ever so slightly to meet my eye, her faint smile enigmatic, her stare so sharp, it stings. Covering my unease, I recast my gaze to Ruby, reclining in Rex’s lap, his hand beneath her dress, stroking her breast.
I think it’s about time for me to go to bed.
I rise from the love seat with a fake yawn and make my way through the candlelit room toward the foyer.
My limbs seem to grow softer as I climb the stairs and move down the dark hallway through the weak rectangles of light that shine from each open doorway. By the time I reach my own darkened room, I’m so sapped, it’s all I can do to drag myself into the bathroom in hopes of finding some way to brush my teeth. To my amazement, there on the marble counter is my toothbrush, next to what I figure is Lucas’s. Too glad to question it, I brush with the charcoal toothpaste I find in the drawer and wash my face with the lavender-scented face scrub sitting beside the sink. Through the door to the adjoining bedroom, I hear the movement and unmistakable muffled groans of a couple in the throes of passion.
Stifling a smile, I tiptoe from the bathroom to my bed, where I flip on the small bedside lamp. In the soft light, I see a folded yellow note card on my pillow. I open it and read the message scrawled in black ink, in all capital letters:
GO HOME NOW
I drop the note card onto the bed as though it’s on fire and spin around, expecting to see some malevolent force behind me. But there is none. Heart thumping, I move quietly to the door and peek into the hallway, but it’s deserted, the only sounds those of the couple next door.
I sit on my bed with the note in my hand, willing my heart to slow. Who would want me to go home? Regardless, I have no plans to stay; my flight is tomorrow, which only makes the note stranger. Why scare me like that?
I hear footsteps in the hallway and burrow into bed in my dress, pulling the covers up over my head like a toddler afraid of the dark.
Through a gap in the sheets I see Lucas come in, trying unsuccessfully to be quiet.
I throw back the covers and sit up, quietly beckoning to him. He lowers himself onto my bed, and I thrust the note into his hands. “This was on my pillow.”
He swallows as he reads the card, his mouth in a hard line. “Okay. No big deal.” His words are calming, but I can tell he’s as unsettled by it as I am. “It’s probably nothing. We’re out of here tomorrow.” He places a calming hand on my back. “Breathe.”
I do as instructed, but it doesn’t really help.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
“Thanks.” I give him a weak smile. “Why are you up here with me, anyway? I noticed you made a friend down there.”
He disregards my question, rising to his feet. “I’m gonna brush my teeth. You’ll be okay here while I’m gone? I can leave the door open.”
“It’s fine—I’m fine,” I say, feeling stupid for mentioning the girl.
I turn off the light and lie down on the bed as he shuts the bathroom door behind him.
GO HOME NOW
Oh, I want nothing more.
I hear the bathroom door open, bringing me back to this strange villa in the deepest jungle. As Lucas settles into the bed across from mine, a female moan of pleasure filters through the wall. The banging of the headboard next door morphs into the sound of drums as I drift off to dreams of Kali prowling through the villa in the body of a jaguar while breathless strangers ravage me in the dark.
Day Two
A terrible, guttural howling awakens me. Unnerved, I sit up to see Lucas standing at the window shirtless in rumpled linen pants, holding aside the gauzy curtains.
“What’s going on?” I blurt.
“Howler monkeys,” he says, scanning the misty trees. “One of the loudest animals in the world, but they’re only about fifteen pounds.”
“They sound angry,” I comment, rubbing my eyes. “Do you see them?”
He shakes his head, squinting out at the dreary morning. “It’s pretty foggy, though. They live in the canopy and their howls can carry for miles, so they could be anywhere.”
I notice neatly folded piles of burnt-orange linen clothes at the end of each of our beds. “I guess that’s what we’re supposed to wear today,” I say.
He unfolds his, which are similar in style to scrubs. “A little creepy someone was in here while we were sleeping.”
I pick mine up—drawstring shorts and a sleeveless tunic. “At least they’re clean,” I say. In the space between the yowls I can make out the light tapping of rain on the roof. I yawn. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. I heard people leaving about an hour ago, just before sunrise.”
“Somebody said something last night about sunrise meditation,” I say, remembering. “Guess we missed that.”
My head is hazy, the memory of last night a mirage shimmering in the distance. My gaze lands on the notecard on the bedside table, and a jolt of unease shoots through me.
He sits on the edge of my bed, lowering his voice. “Did you notice anything . . . strange last night?”
“Besides the threatening note on my pillow?”
“I mean did you feel anything—out of the ordinary?”
I try to remember specifics, but the fog in my brain is as thick as the one outside. “I felt pretty good, actually, all things considered.”
He nods. “Me, too. Too good. And this morning everything’s really fuzzy.”
“But we didn’t even drink,” I say. “Or anything. It was a stone-cold-sober evening.”
“Did you feel sober? Because I sure didn’t. And I was definitely catching a vibe by the time I came upstairs.”
“What kind of vibe?” I ask, remembering Rex’s hand beneath Ruby’s dress, the moans of pleasure penetrating the walls.
He levels his gaze at me, confirming we are thinking of the same definition of vibe.
“Right.” I recall my near-religious experience during the chanting, the sensation of levity. “Are you saying you think they drugged us?”
He shrugs. “That tea we toasted with was pretty rank.”
I can almost taste the thick medicinal flavor now. “I mean, I know some spiritual traditions use herbal medicine in their ceremonies . . . but surely they’d say something?”
“Kali isn’t . . . she doesn’t strike me as the type of person to stress about informed consent.”
Regardless of the implications of that, I’m glad there might be a reason for the attraction I felt toward him last night.
He stands and stretches. “Good news is, we’re out of here in a matter of hours. I just need to have a conversation with Kali about the contents of the will—which you can be present for or not, it’s up to you—then our boat pickup is at noon, to get us back to the airport in time for our four p.m. flight.”
I nod, remembering my inclination to stay. This morning it seems like a silly notion, especially in light of the warning note and what Lucas has just suggested.
“What?” he asks, watching me.
I throw back the covers and swing my feet down to the floor. “I want to be there when you talk to her about the will,” I say. “Smooth things over, you know. Make sure she’s okay with it.”
I grab my orange linen and start for the bathroom. “Sveta . . .” I turn as he approaches, his voice barely audible, his face suddenly dead serious. “You have to be prepared that she may fight the will. Not just the corporate holdings, but all of it.”
“I know.”
“But it’s my job to protect Paul’s wishes,” he says darkly, “which were that you should inherit the estate.”
“Should I, though?” I ask. “Sure, the money sounds great, but I know nothing about his business or this organization, and . . . I just don’t understand why he would give it to me. I mean, we were close when I was young, but I’d seen him one time since I was eleven.”
“I know, but . . .” He bites his lip, reluctant to say whatever’s on the tip of his tongue.
“What?”
He draws me to him, his breath hot on my ear, his chest so close I can smell his skin. “He didn’t trust Kali anymore.”
I look up at him, thrown.
“He told me he wanted to shut Xanadu down,” he confides.
“And you didn’t think that was something you should share with me?” I demand, pulling away. “You promised me you weren’t withholding information. That you’d told me all there was to tell.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“You lied to me.” I stare daggers at him. “When did he tell you this? Did you see him?”
He shakes his head. “It was over the phone . . . a week ago, or so.”
“What else did he say? And don’t leave things out. I want all of it.”
He sighs. “He wanted to be sure that if anything were to happen to him before he was able to shut it down, I would ensure it was closed.”
“What the hell, Lucas?” I want to punch him. “You should have told me that from the get-go.”
Realizing my volume is rising with my anger, I lower my voice. “Why the hell did you bring me down here if you knew he didn’t trust her?”
“I wanted to see it for myself,” he admits. “To see what we were up against and figure out the best way to close it.”
“And you couldn’t come down here without the excuse of escorting me.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You used me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I should have known better than to trust you.”
I spin on my heel, slamming the bathroom door behind me.
“Sveta—”
But I don’t respond, my hands shaking with anger as I change clothes. He lied to me, the asshole. It’s my fault, though, blindly trusting a guy who’d already burned me once. I never should have believed a single word he said. My head spins with questions, each leading to another. Can I believe him now? Or is he trying to manipulate me into turning against Kali? And if he is, then why?
The Vicious Circle, by Katherine St. John, will be released on September 27, 2023. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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Adapted from The Vicious Circle by Katherine St. John, published by William Morrow. Copyright © 2022 by Katherine St. John. Reprinted courtesy of HarperCollinsPublishers.
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