by Ann Charles
One of the bunnies looked up at him and made a high-pitched squeak. Finn bent down and held his fist in front of its tiny pink nose. “Keep it up, you little rat with tall ears.”
“Come, now,” Marco said, scooping it up. “They don’t mean any harm. They just love to be heard.”
“That’s what they want you to think, apeman, but I know rabbits. Bugs Bunny wasn’t rebellious by chance, you know.” Finn backed away, his ears wilting at the tips. “If anyone needs me, I’m going to go take a nap in my tent before tonight’s show so I don’t fall asleep midway through my act.”
After a nod in my direction, Finn hopped out of the tent without a backward glance. The two bunnies he’d been so keen to rescue from the monkey brothers’ trunk yesterday watched him go, their noses twitching.
“Donatello will be happy to have these two troublemakers back.” Marco scooped up the other bunny. “If he ever snaps out of his trance,” he added with a wrinkled brow before carting the bunnies off to the side room.
I peeked through the curtains after him to check on his brother’s status. Donatello was in the trunk still. Marco held up the bunnies in front of his brother’s face. I watched for any reaction from Donatello, but there was none.
With a sigh, Marco placed the bunnies together in a large wooden bin, saying something under his breath to them before joining us back out front.
“Nothing’s changed, I take it,” I said.
He shook his head. “Donatello’s stomach keeps growling, though, so at least his body is working. Only his mind seems to have frozen.”
“How do you feel about Electra and me taking a look through his personal effects in his kip?” Bruno asked, using the informal circus term for sleeping place.
Marco ushered us toward the curtain on the other side of the tent. “Have at it.”
Bruno reached the curtain first. I stopped partway there and turned back. “Marco, did Donatello mention anything to you about going to see a woman named Patooty in Crawfish Pie?”
“No.” He snorted. “Are those names real?”
“I’m afraid so.” I left him standing with a perplexed expression on his face and joined Bruno in the room where Donatello normally slept when he wasn’t spending the night in a trunk.
There wasn’t anything fancy about the kip, unlike all of the veils and beads and candles in mine. Now I understood why Bruno struggled with the level of femininity I had draped throughout my sleeping quarters. Then again, my so-called girly stuff helped me to relax after a night of seeking out other folks’ futures and pasts. It also eased my homesickness some, helping me to deal with the fact that the circus was where I belonged now, not the wide-open desert with its endless starry sky.
In this small, plain room, Donatello was simply looking for a place to crash each night. With his minimalistic budget mindset, a twin-sized cot, a wooden crate turned on its side for a nightstand, and an old army footlocker full of clothes probably suited him fine.
“There’s not much here to search through, is there?” I asked Bruno, who was sifting through the clothes in the footlocker.
“No. It appears he’s a miser both at work and leisure.” He checked the pockets of a pair of blue jeans. “We should probably go through all of those trunks in the side room where they keep their magic stuff.”
I sat on the cot and looked at the crate. Next to an old-fashioned monocle, a white candle weighted down a partially burned feather. The candle was small—too small to be of much use for reading. Then again, Donatello was probably too cheap to splurge on a larger one.
I pulled out the top hat that was tucked away inside of the crate, brushing the dust from the brim. The circus was always dusty, no matter if we were in humid areas or on the dry prairie. With all of the people and animals coming and going, the air was continually stirred.
I smiled at the hat. Donatello wore it for their opening act. From what Lolli told me, it was a gift from the brothers’ mother for their first show long ago. Turning the hat over, I admired the red silk lining, impressed at how clean and colorful it was after so many years. The tag on the inner lining caught my eye. Three sides of it were sewn on with black thread rather than the red thread used on the fourth side. The black thread looked rather crooked, too, with one of the corners coming loose. I reached inside the hat and tugged on the corner of the tag. It came loose from the strip of Velcro holding it in place.
Velcro? On a hat this fancy?
I pulled harder. Underneath it, was a hidden pocket. Ahhh, was this part of their magic act? What would Donatello be able to hide in such a small pocket, though?
“Bruno,” I said, slipping two fingers inside of the pocket.
He looked up from the footlocker as I extracted a small piece of folded paper. “What’s that?”
My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded it. I scanned the words, my pulse skipping. “I think it’s the spell instructions.”
He joined me as I read the handwritten scrawls:
First, burn the white inscribed candle while reciting: To accomplish for me this feat, I will dutifully repeat.
Second, burn the egret feather while chanting three times: What I desire, I will acquire.
Third, burn this piece of paper and sprinkle the ashes into a deep well while chanting: This spell will stick until I …
The rest of the paper was burned so I couldn’t finish it.
“Damn it,” I whispered. “This is the spell he got from Patooty.” I sniffed the paper.
“What do you smell?”
“Burned paper. It’s overpowering everything else.” I pointed at the candle and partially burned feather on the crate next to the cot. “He started the spell, but didn’t finish it.”
“What’s that mean? That it didn’t take? Or is that the trouble?”
“I don’t know in this case, but when I was a kid, a witch paid a visit to my grandmother. She was an old friend and I remember asking her if she could do a spell that would make me taller. My grandmother interrupted and warned me to be careful with spells. She said that if they were performed incorrectly, they could backfire and the result might be undesirable.”
“No shit.” He sat on the cot. “You believe that these spells of Patooty’s truly work?”
“Bruno, I’m a fortune teller. Do you really think I don’t believe?”
“Right. Stupid question.” He sighed. “So, what now? We know Donatello picked up a spell from Patooty and that he started to go through with it. How does that explain him sitting in that trunk in the other room like some sort of voodoo zombie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe—”
A commotion of voices in the other room interrupted me. I heard my name in the mix, followed by a streak of curses.
“Now what?” I whispered.
Bruno stood. “Only one way to find out.” He left me standing alone next to Donatello’s cot.
I tucked the spell back in the top hat, returned it to the crate, and raced after him.
Chapter Eight
I peeked out through the curtain to find out who had come looking for me before allowing myself to be spotted.
Bruno was playing bouncer on my behalf, blocking a portion of my view with his broad shoulders. Marco was partially hidden behind Bruno, but I spotted the source of the commotion.
Hank and Leon had paid a visit. The former was standing with his hands next to his narrow hips while Leon circled him, brushing his blond stubbly cheek against Hank’s upper arm periodically. Both were in their human forms, but their body movements and gestures parodied ape and feline to the extreme.
“I know she’s here somewhere,” Leon said, pushing his thick mane of blond hair back and lifting his nose to sniff the air. “I can smell her, dammit.”
“Listen, Marco,” Hank cut in, his voice deep and growly. His black uni-brow made a straight line across his bulging forehead. “We just need to talk to her for a few minutes. That’s all. Leon is really screwed up, and I can’t take much more of him rubbing all ov
er me like this.” He grabbed Leon by the scruff of his shirt collar and hauled him away, pointing at the nearby chair. “Sit over there, cat.”
“Leon isn’t the only one!” Marco snapped. “Donatello hasn’t had food or water in over twenty-four hours.”
Crap. This was getting serious. I dodged Bruno, stepping into the fray.
“You look okay to me,” I said, looking down at Leon, who was smoothing his hair where Hank had messed it up.
Leon took both of my hands in his, his face pinched as he lowered to his knees on the floor. “Oh, Electra,” he wailed. “I need your help. I can’t stop thinking about Hank.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You mean romantically?”
He shook his head, his blond mane flowing, tempting me to reach out and pet him. “I feel like I need to be near him all of the time and I can’t stop touching him. Even worse, I have a strong urge to crawl up on his lap and purr. What’s wrong with me? Please tell me this is just some horrible ailment that will pass soon.”
“Hey now,” Hank said, his wedge-shaped jaw jutting. “There’s no need to be hurtful.”
“Please don’t be mad at me, Hank.” Leon crawled over to the gorilla shifter again, purring while rubbing against his bowed legs.
Hank cursed at the tent ceiling. “See what I mean,” he said to Marco, trying to hold Leon at bay. “Electra, you need to look into your ball and figure out what’s going on with Leon. He’s out of control.”
I shot Bruno a worried glance before turning my attention back on the two visitors. “You guys don’t happen to know a woman named Patooty from Crawfish Pie, do you?”
“No, should I meet her?” Leon asked, struggling to break free of Hank’s grip. “Will she help me get over the unstoppable need to mark Hank with my scent?”
“Maybe. Unfortunately, she’s on vacation.”
“Of course she is.” Hank let go of Leon and pointed at the chair again, this time with more emphasis until Leon obeyed. Hank turned back to me. “After putting up with Leon’s claws digging into my back and his fur up my nose for the last twelve hours, I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?” Marco asked.
“My wish for a kitten. I’ll settle for my rhinoceros and elephants. They may not be as cute and cuddly as a kitty, but at least they don’t try to crawl onto my lap every time I sit down.”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, the idea of Leon curled up on Hank’s lap made me grin.
“It’s not funny, Electra,” Hank said, apparently reading my mind.
“Sorry. You’re right, none of this is.” I motioned toward the tent flap. “If you two will follow me back to my tent, I’ll …”
Wait a second!
I turned back to Hank. “What did you just say?”
“This shit with Leon isn’t funny.”
“Before that.”
He thought for a moment. “That Leon’s desire to sit in my lap all the live-long day is a pain in the ass.”
“Not that part, the part about wishing.”
“My wish for a kitten?” he asked.
“Yes! That part. When?”
“When what?”
“When did you wish for a kitten?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I do it all of the time. Kittens are so darn cute with their adorable little meows and big bright eyes. I’ve been keeping an eye on the local papers as we travel, but it’s the wrong time of year.”
I waved off all of that other fluff he’d said. “Did you recently wish for a kitten?”
He scratched his hairy cheek. “Uh, yeah. Yesterday, as a matter of fact. I was shoveling out the elephants’ pen and thinking how much easier it would be to have a kitten for a pet with a litter box.”
I snapped my fingers. “That’s it,” I said to Bruno.
“What’s it?” Marco asked.
“It’s Patooty’s Wish spell.”
“Are you sure?” Bruno asked, his dark gaze edged with skepticism. “This was Hank making the wish, not Donatello.”
“I know, but think about it. Hank wished for a kitten. The wish was granted, sort of—instead of a kitten, a werelion showed up on his doorstep.”
“More like in my bed,” Hank grumbled.
That reminded me of another wish I’d heard with my own ears. “Yesterday, before showtime, Eugene was in my tent and wished for an assistant because he’s having trouble lighting the matches for his flaming torch performance.”
Bruno nodded. “And now he’s covered with helpers.”
“Exactly. They not only light his flaming torch, but they’re bringing him food, cleaning his house, helping him dress, and picking up stuff for him.”
“Yes, but how—” Bruno started.
“And you!” I interrupted him, my mind really latching onto this idea now.
He grimaced, glancing toward the other three watching us. “What about me?” he asked in a lowered voice.
“You wished to stop analyzing other things and focus on …” He’d mentioned me and my body, but I could see by his warning squint that I needed to step carefully in front of the others with this personal subject. “And focus on me,” I finished.
He scoffed. “That wish certainly blew up in my face. Patooty’s spell doesn’t work for shit.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “The wishes were granted, only they came out sort of crooked.”
“Crooked.” Marco repeated with a glower. “Do you think this Patooty’s Wish spell is similar to the wishes in that old story, ‘The Monkey’s Paw’? The wishes made in it are granted, but at a high personal price.”
“Weren’t there three wishes granted in that tale?” Hank asked.
“Just like we’ve had three granted,” Leon added.
“No, four.” Bruno pointed toward the side room. “Donatello is still mute in that trunk. For all we know, other folks will be coming to Electra for help soon because of more wishes gone south.”
I paced, thinking this through. “Okay, so we know that in addition to Hank wishing for a kitten, Eugene wishing for an assistant, and Bruno wishing he could stop analyzing things, Donatello wished for something, but he didn’t finish the wish spell per the instructions and now he’s squatting in a trunk in a catatonic state.”
“What do you think his wish was for?” Leon asked.
Hank huffed. “Knowing that skinflint, it was probably to have everyone detail their daily activities in fifteen-minute intervals on a time schedule to see where we could save time that could be used to do other work.”
“Hey!” Marco stuck his chest out toward Hank, pounding it twice. “We’re talking about my brother here.”
“Careful, li’l apeman,” Hank said, puffing his own chest out in response. “Remember who stands taller on the hominid family tree.”
“Cool it, you two,” Bruno warned, stepping between the two wereapes. “Or I’ll bite you both on the ass.”
“Talking is certainly what Donatello does best,” Leon said, breaking the tension in the room. “He stopped by the day before yesterday and wouldn’t shut up about how I’ve been going through too much gas during my chainsaw juggling act.”
“Gas?” I asked, shaking my head yet again at Donatello’s penny-pinching.
“Can you believe he wants me to buy an electric chainsaw?” Leon wrinkled his upper lip. “He doesn’t understand that the sound of a gas chainsaw is part of the wow factor.”
Bruno smirked. “I think you’re forgetting the fact that the King of the Jungle is juggling deadly tools with his bare paws.”
Wouldn’t shut up, Leon’s voice repeated in my thoughts. I looked toward the side room where Donatello and the rabbits were currently taking up residence, hearing Finn’s voice … They won’t shut up.
“The Russian bunnies,” I said to Marco, an idea taking form.
Marco frowned. “What about our show bunnies?”
“Does Donatello practice with them before your show?”
“Yes, sometimes.” Marco scratch
ed his chin. “Wait, now that I think about it, Donatello had been working on a new tune for the bunnies to sing lately. Just the other night he complained to me about how they kept singing their own songs and wouldn’t listen to him.”
“Ah ha!” I held up my index finger. “Maybe Donatello made a wish about the bunnies.”
“And that’s why he’s in the bunny trunk?” Bruno asked.
I could tell by his face that he was having trouble swallowing this new idea. “Hear me out. Maybe the same thing happened to him as with the rest of you—something backfired, and now he’s stuck in their trunk and can’t tell us why.”
“That sounds a bit farfetched,” Leon said, grooming his hair again.
“That’s rich coming from a grown man who keeps trying to sit on my lap,” Hank shot back.
“If you’re right,” Bruno cut in, “then we have a bigger problem. Somehow that screwed-up Wish spell is spreading throughout the circus and we need to figure out how to stop it.”
“Yeah.” I grimaced. “That’s where we hit a snag.”
“Can’t you fix it, Electra?” Hank asked. “I thought you were some kind of great sorceress.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m a seer, not a sorceress.”
“Close enough,” Leon said.
Not really. Not at all. “Listen, I’m not a voodoo priestess or a witch or a sorceress, so get that idea out of your thick heads.” I shot a worried frown at Bruno. “The bottom of the spell instructions were singed, but Donatello didn’t follow through and burn the whole paper, nor dump the ashes down a well. Unfortunately, unless we can figure out what the last part of the spell said and finish the job for him, I don’t know how we’re going to stop it.”
“Oh, Donatello.” Marco covered his mouth. “What have you done?”
“Until I can figure this puzzle out,” I told them all, “nobody should make any wishes.”
“But what do we do about my brother?” Marco said, twisting his hands together. “He needs nourishment and liquids.”
“I don’t know, Marco.” I chewed on my lower lip. “We can start with finding Gigi. She’ll know how to keep him hydrated for now.”
Bruno started for the exit. “I’ll bring her back here. Hank, stay with Electra.”