Jacob Michaels Is... The Omnibus Edition: A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Books 1 - 6

by Chase Connor

  FREE.

  “Oh.” I looked at the creepy French clown again. “I…I, uh, didn’t see that.”

  The clown just smiled.

  Of course, I considered the fact that taking a massive bucket of popcorn from some creepy guy in clown mime gear was a bad idea. However, the popcorn looked to be absolutely glistening with butter, freshly popped, and it smelled delicious. I hadn’t eaten anything before Oma drove me to the carnival so that I would have room for all of the treats that were offered. Instead of showing caution, I stepped back up to the counter, and slowly grabbed the bucket at the sides, keeping my hands from touching the clown’s. As soon as I had the bucket in my grasp, he yanked his hand away, and both of his hands went up to his face, framing it like a dramatic and grotesque picture of glee as he affixed a new smile to his face and looked out at nothing.

  “That’s…odd, sir.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Um,” I tentatively scooped up a handful of the popcorn and shoveled it into my mouth, so buttery and warm, “wuff da big deel? Where if errybuddy?”

  For several moments, I shoved handfuls of warm, buttery popcorn into my gob as I stared at the clown, waiting for any type of answer. Finally, he moved in slow motion, his hands still framing his face, his grotesque, toothy smile still shining, until he was looking directly at me with his wide-open eyes. Suddenly, his hands shot out, making me jump and nearly drop my bucket of popcorn. Instead of reaching for me, I realized he was gesturing to something behind me. Slowly, choking down my mouthful of half-masticated popcorn, I turned to see what he was trying to make me understand.

  He had been gesturing at the striped circus tent at the center of the carnival, which was now well lit by large yellow bulbs running up the sides and across the top to the tent pole at the center. I could now see the tiny flags attached to the strings of lights flapping in the light October breeze. The tent flaps were now open. I turned back to the creepy French clown, to ask him why it was suddenly open and what was going on, but he was gone. Instinctively, I thought to step up to the counter and lean over until I could see on the other side since he had probably just squatted down out of view. However, my courage—or lack thereof—didn’t allow it. Instead, I slowly shuffled backward and away, grabbing another handful of popcorn to shove in my mouth.

  Across the carnival grounds, I strolled again, getting closer and closer to the circus tent. The flaps were open, but I could only see darkness inside, as though there was no illumination within. That alone made me rethink the idea of checking out what was going on at the supposed main event of the carnival. Curiosity had always been one of my flaws, so I shoveled popcorn into my mouth, barely chewing before swallowing the delicious treat, as I walked closer and closer. When I was still several yards away from the entrance of the tent, I realized that it was not dark within the tent. There was a second set of flaps made of heavy black material blocking the entrance.

  I knew this because they suddenly opened, yellowish-orange light, like that produced by fire, shone brightly from within as the flaps came open only long enough for a man to emerge. Entirely unlike the Bip the Clown at the popcorn stand, this man was dressed like you’d expect a circus ringmaster to be dressed. Red topcoat and tails with fancy gold embroidery on the sleeves, white gloves with buttons at the back of his wrists, black riding pants that traveled down his legs to meet black leather booths, a yellow vest with a white blouse underneath, and a riding crop in hand—he looked every bit the ringmaster. He even had a black top hat upon his head, his eyes rimmed with black kohl, and his cheeks rouged with bright red powder. I wanted to laugh with glee when I saw him.

  The ringmaster marched a few yards away from the black flaps of the tent, a jovial smile on his face and a swagger in his step. Suddenly, he stopped, and the black flaps opened like bat wings once more. A half dozen people in leotards and intricately painted faces emerged, running out and encircling the ringmaster, dancing around him in a way I could only describe as Cirque du Soleil-ish. The ringmaster held his hands aloft theatrically and spun as the acrobatic performers danced and leapt and undulated around him in ways that seemed humanly impossible. My hand continued to shove popcorn in my face as I watched with wide eyes, transfixed.

  After several moments, the tent flaps opened again and two performers who were dressed like Pierrot the clown, but with brighter colors, exited. They joined the acrobatic performers, dancing and stumbling around the ringmaster comically as he continued to twirl and cheer them on in a booming voice in a language I did not know. The almost empty bucket of popcorn got transferred to one hand and lowered to my side as I wiped my other hand on my jeans and watched the show before me with fascination.

  No one is going to fuckin’ believe this.

  The acrobats twirled and danced and kicked high kicks, sometimes boosting each other dramatically to leap over the ringmaster or each other. They lifted each other in the air and did somersaults, flips, backflips, and dives. The clowns danced drunkenly, stumbling and bumping into each other but somehow avoiding the acrobats easily. The ringmaster continued cheering them on in what I was beginning to deduce was French, smiling euphorically at the multi-colored performers around him. Just when everything reached a fever pitch, and the performers were moving at what seemed an inhuman speed, they all fell to their knees in front of the ringmaster, facing me. They spread their arms dramatically, and the ringmaster turned to me grandly. He raised his arms in like fashion, the riding crop pointing in the air from one hand as he jabbed the other arm out at me, as though beckoning me forward.

  All movement and sound from them stopped, and I was left dumbstruck.

  “Welcome! To CARNAVAL!” The ringmaster announced grandly.

  The performers all cheered and began clapping frantically for several seconds, making me laugh. Just as suddenly, they all leapt up and ran for the tent, disappearing one by one through the black batwing flaps, leaving me alone with greasy hands, an empty popcorn bucket, and the ringmaster. His riding crop was tucked under his arm, and he was walking toward me.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” He cheered, his French accent apparent, bowing his head grandly as he approached.

  “That was a big show for one person.” I chuckled nervously.

  “No show is too big for any person, my boy!” He proclaimed, bowing grandly when he was a yard away. “No show is too good for you!”

  Somehow his top hat did not fall off.

  “You don’t know me,” I said with a laugh. “Maybe I’m not worth all of the effort.”

  The ringmaster stood back up, looking aghast.

  “Robbie!” He held a hand to his chest. “We are honored to put on a show for you! And all of your friends who have arrived while you were touring the grounds!”

  “My friends?”

  “Yes!”

  “Wait.” I shook my head. “How do you know my name?”

  “The Council knows all, Robbie!” He stepped over to me and slid an arm through mine, effectively making me drop the empty bucket.

  Littering didn’t seem to bother him, but I figured that since this was his carnival, I couldn’t really chastise him for it.

  “Here at CARNAVAL, we welcome all boys and girls who are still filled with wonder and fear and excitement and joy! Our shows are for them and them alone. At CARNAVAL, we have the most delicious treats, the greatest death-defying rides, the most fun games, and the grandest shows for your eyes! CARNAVAL is not just entertainment—IT IS ART!”

  The man’s enthusiasm was infectious, though odd, as he pulled me towards the tent at a brisk, yet nonchalant stroll.

  “What do you mean…my friends?” I asked, wondering if I should enter the tent with the man. “I didn’t see anybody else come in.”

  “You must have missed them.” He stated jovially, his voice like that of a French Santa Claus. “They arrived while you were enjoying the sights. We did expect more of your schoolmates to join you here, but we are happy to put on our show of wonders for one or all of y
ou. Every child is deserving of a wondrous show at CARNAVAL!”

  “But—”

  “Inside! Inside!” The ringmaster proclaimed, ignoring my protests as he dragged me towards the tent flaps. “Inside, you will see your friends!”

  “Look, mister, if you’re going to try to touch me or something—”

  “No one will touch you—they’re more likely to bite!” The ringmaster found this incredibly funny, booming, theatrical laughter escaping his throat as we got closer to the tent flaps. “There is nothing to fear at CARNAVAL, Robbie!”

  Again, how do you know my name?

  “Hey!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I dug my heels into the dirt. “Stop!”

  The ringmaster let go of my arm abruptly, turning to me as though he was entirely confounded that a fourteen-year-old boy did not want to be dragged into a dark tent by a strange man who was dressed like a modern-day P.T. Barnum. Straightening up, pulling myself up to my full height, and pushing my chest out as confidently as possible, I stared the ringmaster in the eyes. I took a small step back, just far enough so that he could not reach out and grab my arm again without my consent, and glared at him.

  “I want to know what’s going on,” I said as firmly and evenly as possible, though my age and hormones betrayed me.

  “You are here to see CARNAVAL are you not?” He asked, his head tilting to the side.

  The man continued his habit of speaking in dramatic capitals when he mentioned the name of the carnival, and it was becoming annoying.

  “Well, I mean, I guess, yeah.” I shrugged. “But…I mean…I don’t know what’s in that tent, sir. How do I know you’re not going to hurt me or something?”

  The ringmaster looked up contemplatively for a moment, considering my question, then, just as suddenly as he had appeared to perform his act with the dancers, his eyes lit up, and his head snapped back to look at me once more.

  “A show of good faith!” He jabbed the riding crop in the air. “Yes?”

  “I guess?”

  The ringmaster stepped forward jauntily and held the riding crop out to me.

  “If you would?” He asked.

  Tentatively, I reached out and took his theatrical prop from him. It was cool to the touch, leathery, and appeared to be brand new. It had never been used for its purpose, for which I was grateful. I stared at the prop for a moment, then focused my attention back on the ringmaster as he jiggled his body, as though shaking off nerves. Then his eyes were back on mine, and he smiled brilliantly. He held one arm out towards me so that I could see up his sleeve, then the other arm shot out beside it. He stood like that for a moment, then started to bend his arms until his right hand was going up his left sleeve, and his left hand was going up his right sleeve. Once both hands had disappeared up the coat sleeves, he winked, then yanked his hands out at the same time.

  He held a stick with a cloud of blue cotton candy in his right hand and one with pink cotton candy in his left. Smiling brilliantly, he bobbled the sticks the fluffs of cotton candy were attached to in the air before me, as though putting on a puppet show. I watched, my mouth watering as the clouds of sugar danced before my face. Nearly dropping the riding crop, I had to shake my head to clear away the thoughts of how much I wanted to shove all of that sugar into my face. Clearly, the man had just pulled cotton candy out of the sleeves of his coat, so I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted to put in my mouth. Or he had used real magic to pull cotton candy out of thin air. That option didn’t scare me as much. Oma could create fire in her hand, who was I to judge a man who produced cotton candy from his sleeve?

  “So…I’m just supposed to get in your van?” I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest, the riding crop jabbing me in my ribs.

  I did my best to not let out a yelp.

  “It is perfectly safe to eat.” He waved the sticks around in the air like a fire juggler, a toothy grin on his face. “Do you like blue or pink?”

  “If I come in that tent with you, I’m getting both,” I stated firmly, though not wisely.

  “You may have both.” He stopped ‘juggling’ the sticks and bowed forward slightly, holding them out to me. “We aim to please all of our guests at CARNAVAL!”

  Tentatively, I reached out and grabbed the stick that held the blue cotton candy, then held the riding crop out to him. He took the prop from me, and I used the hand that was now free to take the stick of pink cotton candy from his other hand. The ringmaster seemed overjoyed at my having chosen to take the cotton candy because that obviously meant that I would come watch the show.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, chewing at my lip and eyeing the cotton candy before me.

  “I am Richart.” He bowed grandly once more.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” I mumbled.

  “Right this way, Robbie!” Richart gestured grandly towards the tent, ushering me forward as he reached for the tent flap. “Right this way! Fill your belly with clouds of sugar and let your eyes feast upon our sights! Be taken away by the magic…of…CARNAVAL!”

  Richart ripped the tent flap back, and my senses were immediately overwhelmed by the sounds of lively carnival organ music, lights of every shade of the rainbow, and the smell of carnival food. How had I not heard the music from outside of the tent? Maybe the black material on the other side of the circus tent blocked out the lights and shadows, but nothing could muffle that music. My hands, still holding onto the cotton candy, went to my ears, trying to muffle the deafening sound, though my lips split into a grin as I peered into the tent. The clowns and acrobats from before were in the middle of the performance floor at the center of the huge tent. Dancing, tumbling, stumbling, leaping, cartwheeling, putting on a show. Overhead, trapeze artists were swinging to and fro, jumping and catching, performing death-defying stunts.

  Urging me forward, Richart moved me into the tent as I stared up in wonder at the acrobats in the sky. My eyes didn’t know what to focus on the most, so I allowed myself to be shoved forward as I held onto my cotton candy and stared. Once we had gotten past the sides of the bleachers—something I failed to notice at first—Richart leaned down to scream into my ear. I couldn’t hear him, but when I turned my head to him, I could make out that he was telling me to choose a seat. Begrudgingly taking my seat eyes off of the show going on in the center of the tent, I turned to look at the bleachers lined up on either side of the tent opening.

  The bleachers were ten rows high and climbed nearly halfway up the inside of the circus tent. Frowning, I noticed that they were practically empty. To my left, I noticed a group of about a dozen older boys from my school, and I immediately recognized them as football players. A couple of their snotty girlfriends were with them. Their asshole leader, Jason Morris, was sitting in the very center of the cluster of boys, all of them scarfing down food and watching the show, luckily not noticing my entrance. Jason Morris had a giant turkey leg he was gnawing at like a caveman, juices and grease covering his lips and chin. His friends had hot dogs, or cotton candy, or popcorn, or corn dogs, or giant buttery, salty pretzels.

  I would have rather sat alone.

  Looking to my right, I noticed that the bleachers on the other side of the tent opening had a sole occupant. A vaguely familiar-looking blonde-haired kid was sitting five rows up, clutching a bucket of popcorn in his lap as he stared up at the acrobats in the sky with wonder. Looking up at Richart, I nodded at him, and then at the boy in the bleachers. The grinning ringmaster gestured grandly with a bow towards the bleachers, and I stepped up onto the first row of seats. My first thought was to just sit down on the first row, or even the second or third. Maybe it would be weird to go sit with a kid I didn’t really know. However, Jason Morris and all of his dumbass friends were clustered on the other bleachers, and I didn’t want to look like a lonely geek with two sticks of cotton candy waving around. So, I climbed the bleachers and approached the blonde-haired kid.

  The boy, I suddenly remembered, was named…Lucas? Yes. Lucas. He was in one of my classes, an
d I remembered maybe smiling at him when we passed in the halls. He didn’t even notice me as I settled down on the bleacher next to him, leaving ample space so as to not make things too weird. As I settled into my seat, my eyes flitting between Lucas and the acrobats in the air, I wasn’t sure if my seatmate would appreciate my presence. Just when I had convinced myself that I should move to a different row, Lucas saw me out of the corner of his eye. He started, looking shocked, then laughed, drowned out by the carnival music. I laughed with him, aware that my sudden appearance to someone transfixed by the performers had to have been startling.

  Lucas tried to say something, but I had to do my best to indicate with two full hands that I couldn’t hear him. He nodded, understanding, then nodded up at the ceiling and gave me a thumbs up. I nodded, agreeing that the performers in the air were amazing. Then I remembered that I had the cotton candy and held them out to him, jiggling them in front of his face. Lucas smiled widely at the gesture and reached out tentatively for the blue cotton candy. At the last second, he reached over and grabbed the pink one. I could have sworn that he blushed when he looked down and away from me after his choice. Looking down reminded him that he had a huge bucket of the buttery, delicious popcorn in his lap, so he picked it up and set it on the bleacher between us. Gesturing at the bucket with a smile, I understood his intention and returned his smile before shoving my hand into the buttery goodness. He followed my lead, and moments later, we were staring up at the performers again, shoveling greasy popcorn into our wide-open mouths.

  Soon we were alternating between shoving fistfuls of popcorn into our mouths and slurping strands of cotton candy off of the sticks, barely sucking the flossed sugar into our mouths before it dissolved. In the air above us, the trapeze artists were flying and somersaulting through the air, being caught at the very last moment by their performance partners. Every nerve in my body was on edge, watching the acrobats perform their feats without so much as a wire or a net for safety. Popcorn and cotton candy were devoured maniacally as the trapeze act came to an end, and the performers climbed down from the platforms and disappeared. Another performer climbed the impossibly tall ladder to one of the platforms, and it was evident that we were about to be treated to a tightrope act.