by Debra Kristi
Kyra dropped her hands on her hips. “Hold on. Where? Why would he think you don’t remember?”
Chelsea threaded a spiral of hair around her finger. “I was a bit out of sorts. So sick I thought I was dying.”
“You’re doing a horrible job explaining things.” Kyra’s backbone wrinkled with torrid scales, but she continued to pretend nothing bothered her.
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it. Sebastian should tell you if he wants you to know,” Chelsea said, and tossed her arms loosely at her sides.
“He doesn’t talk much about stuff. Rather private,” Kyra said, the words spitting out between clenched teeth.
Chelsea studied the sawdust covering the ground. “I know.”
“So is that why you came here? After meeting him?”
“Partly. I guess. I don’t know how it started happening, but I’m glad it did. One day I was simply here, and now I never want it to stop.”
Kyra studied Chelsea, considered her words. Her gut insisted the girl spoke the truth, only Kyra wanted more. More clues to Chelsea’s condition, what led her to meet Sebastian, and her unique entrance into the carnival. More details. More information to fill in the gaps.
The carnival roared and yelped and howled.
A group of rowdy teenage werewolves, shoving at each other playfully, elbowed between Kyra and Chelsea. Their conversation cut off, the girls now caught up in the excitement. Some boys danced, a few sang. A couple grabbed the girls and pulled them into a sway, boisterous laughter accompanying the move.
Chelsea struggled in the arms of a young brown wolf. He roared even louder.
Kyra channeled her anger into the situation at hand. She embraced a dark gray youngster and ran her fingers through the fur below his ear, extracting a purr. She knew she shouldn’t, but she needed to channel her frustration. Poor sap had the misfortune of being in the line of her fiery breath. “Hello, beastie,” she said with an evil-as-sin grin. Fire raced around her irises. She felt empowered. Intimidating. Unrelenting.
The wolf stepped back, no longer a beast, but a boy. He hunched forward and hung his head low. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he muttered and skittered away.
Yesterday’s dinner dropped into Kyra’s gut. It was a filthy, disheartening feeling. The poor wolf hadn’t done a thing to upset Kyra, and yet she had given him a nasty blast of attitude. Why was she being so mean? A dark shadow eclipsed her, tinting her mood more than it already had.
Chelsea hooked her arm around Kyra’s, a snicker escaping her throat. “That was crazy.”
Kyra looked over Chelsea, scanned their path, and cleared her thoughts before answering. “Yeah,” she mumbled, untangling their arms. “Crazy.”
The girls circumvented the remainder of the teenage fun. Despite her annoyance, Kyra couldn’t help but giggle at Chelsea’s apparent amusement. “How did you get away from your wolf?” she asked.
“Higgins. Can you believe that? Higgins was my knight in imperfect armor.”
Together they glanced back through the mob. Short Higgins and his brown baseball cap bobbed up and down, putting distance between them. Cocking her head to the side, Kyra considered the man for a moment. Heroes came in all shapes and sizes. Even in an old-carnie gent like Higgins.
Guilt. Again with the guilt. Guilt for the way she’d treated him, only a few minutes before. Right then she made a promise to be a better friend, a better supporter.
She sighed. Let the feeling release. Evaporate from her thoughts. Once again, she became obsessed with the anxiety Marcus created. Too long she’d been away, and it was taking longer than usual to find the trailer. Why was the carnival being such a bitch? Knocking her around like an inconsequential ball in a stupid carnie game?
The carnival crowd buzzed, busy for a weeknight. The sweet smell of corn dogs, funnel cakes, and popcorn permeated every square inch. Families with children of all ages and all manner of species mingled. And there were couples. Multiple couples, so wrapped up in each other they’d become oblivious to the world around them. Kyra and Chelsea wandered by unseen.
As they rounded the carousel Kyra expected to see her trailer. It sat among the many used as homes by the carnies, in what they called the Backyard. All stationed together, they created a mini community. It should have been visible beyond the Ferris wheel and a row of gaming booths.
A pop erupted at her ear. The sound bounced off her inner canal and volleyed through the eardrum like a bouncy ball. A pinprick of light exploded smack-dab in her line of sight. No. That wasn’t right. Practically in her eye. Everything went white, blinded by the intensity. And the smell. The nasty metallic smell. It morphed into a sharp taste on the top of her tongue. She swallowed. Made it worse.
Through the brume of her flash-induced blindness, Kyra could make out Chelsea already on the move. Kyra’s vision was returning in freckled spots.
Chelsea dashed forward, away from Kyra’s hold. “Sebastian!”
He looked up, his dark hair dropping across his right eye. Sebastian sat next to the mysterious, ever-present Zeke, on the bench by the lazy river. Zeke didn’t work at the carnival. He was too old and too blind to be of any use in that department. Like Chelsea, he was a regular visitor. One could usually find him escaping the noise of the cattle rustlers and talkers, flashing games and screeching rides of the midway, in favor of the calm the bench by the water provided. He came for the company over anything else. Although, no one ever saw him come or go.
The fog surrounding the carnival, the fog that always surrounded the carnival, pressed exceptionally thick today, the tiniest bit of the river’s water barely visible. The grass lay damp with dew and the air heavy like the hour before a rain.
Somehow Kyra’s and Chelsea’s last turn had dumped them at the front by the ticket booth, the same point where the portal to the carnival stood. Anyone coming or going did so from the front entrance. It was also the farthest point from where she’d planned to go. Glancing back toward the rides and games, Kyra could make out the flag at the top of the carousel. They were nowhere near it now.
Her chest heaved, irritation, resolution, depression setting in. With a sigh, she surrendered her trek to the trailer. Instead, she turned and approached Zeke, who sat on the bench, and nodded to Sebastian. Chelsea huddled with Zeke, whispering, their hands wrapped in warm whimsy.
Sebastian stood and, with a quick flick of his thumb, wiped a dab of whipped cream from the edge of his lower lip. “My break is over. Need to get back.” His gaze froze on the fog, his body growing infinitesimally rigid. Only a familiar eye would notice the change.
Chelsea scooted up behind him. “Going already? I just got here.”
Heat whipped up Kyra’s spine in a crooked zig. Where were all the ice lakes when she needed one? A cool down was necessary. She closed her eyes and reminded herself she was going to help Chelsea, as much as it pained her to do so. More importantly, she would help Sebastian.
Of course, that didn’t mean she needed to start right that second. Procrastination was a good friend with whom she liked to flirt. This might be one of those times. Sebastian looked in need of a Kyra shakedown.
She crossed her arms and locked a spill-your-guts stare on him. He appeared deep in thought, running from his troubles. Or was it from her? Maybe it was from Chelsea.
“Are you okay?” Kyra asked.
He shook his head and, ignoring Chelsea, held up the remains of his funnel cake. “Want this? I’m not going to finish it.”
Kyra pushed her lips into an irritated line, avoiding a scowl. Given the present company, she wouldn’t push. She recognized avoidance, especially when delivered by Sebastian’s blatant gestures.
The mound of sugar in his hand held zero interest for her. If it had been a ginormous turkey leg, that might have been different. Chelsea’s devouring stare said something different, though. She clearly wanted that sweet eat. “Thanks,” Kyra said, “but no thanks. Why don’t you offer it to Chelsea?” This was as
good a time as any. Throwing the girl a rib, Kyra motioned to his personal junkie club.
“Who?” Sebastian’s brows pinched together. Confusion. Faked as it were, Kyra appreciated the gesture. It wasn’t helping her efforts as matchmaker, though.
She frowned, knowing it was the proper response, although part of her was secretly delighted by his lack of interest. “Stop it, Sebastian. You know who I’m talking about.”
He rolled his eyes in a yeah-yeah kind of way and began walking. “Later, Zeke,” he called over his shoulder.
Kyra watched Sebastian stride off. He moved toward the lights and commotion of the carnival at a slow and steady pace. Chelsea, in tow, walked with a skip in her step. He handed her the funnel cake. Gravity pulled at Kyra, dragging her face into a sullen stare. Ten, fifteen, a hundred years could pass and she would never understand Chelsea’s sunny-side disposition.
Kyra’s nostrils burned, a smidgen of smoke escaped. Anger struggled to control her emotions. Deep, dark, and disturbing. She rallied strength and courage and pinched her nose. She had done a nice thing. She should be content. But she was the furthest thing from content. She needed to pull it together, be a better friend.
Zeke patted the empty space on the old wooden bench. A spot where the paint chipped and peeled, exposing the aged wood hidden beneath, adding to its warmth and charm. “Will you sit a while?”
“Will you share your secrets?” Kyra collapsed onto the bench and pulled her knees into her chest. Her mind was now preoccupied with her tsunami emotions, but she would play his intellectual game. She smelled something on the blind, old man. Something she couldn’t figure out. He was worth her time. That was certain. She stared at her knees. “I’m sorry, Zeke. That was really rude of me. I’m in a rotten mood. I won’t make for good company tonight.”
A hand gently patted at her back. A comforting absolution. Zeke stared straight ahead, joy playing at his lips. He leaned forward, his blind eyes not trained on anything in particular. “What secrets are you looking for?”
Kyra laughed. “You are one of the most mysterious men I know. I bet you have more secrets than you have years notched on your life belt. Sometimes I think you’re as bad as Sebastian.”
Zeke’s apparent bliss slipped from his face like water down a drain. “Poor boy. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge what you know so little about.” His hand reached out, found her shoulder with perfect aim. There it tapped three times, before resting.
Silence overtook Kyra. She hadn’t been quick—had she? She thought she knew Sebastian damn dragolion well. Outside of his secrets, that was. She knew where to find him when he was upset, knew he drank strong, dark coffee first thing in the morning, and knew his mood by the music he played. But she didn’t know where he came from or what species he was.
She’d given Sebastian plenty of time to open up about who and what he was. She didn’t expect all the gory details, but something beyond his dad was a dick and he unsuccessfully hid mommy abandonment issues would be nice. She’d shared all about her Moorigad status, and that wasn’t something she did with ease. She stared into the surrounding fog, thinking of time, friendship, and trust. And Fog. Fog, fog, fog. Foggy emotions. Foggy definitions, foggy lines between them. Simply fog. What caught Sebastian’s eye in the fog?
Zeke pulled out his leather tobacco pouch and bull’s head pipe. Carved from mahogany, the pipe matched the color of Zeke’s skin. The bull’s eyes stared to the side-oblivion and its horns reached for the stars. A fierce piece, it stood ready to attack or protect, whichever deemed necessary.
Zeke pushed and twisted, filled and packed the tobacco into the pipe. The most delicious scent of cherries accompanied the process. “How long have you been with the carnival, Kyra?”
Her gaze slowly lifted from Zeke’s hands to his face. She wondered how he managed to get the tobacco into the pipe without spilling any. “Long enough.”
“Long enough to know how things work,” Zeke said with a smile in his tone.
Kyra sighed and dropped her head onto her knees, cheek to kneecap, to better watch Zeke.
“You know where this is going, don’t you? You’re here because she wants you here. The carnival wants us to talk. So let’s get to what matters, shall we?” Zeke folded the tamper and placed it back into the bag. He nodded ever so slightly. “When was the last time you saw your family?”
Not family. Let’s not talk about their sorry, scaled faces. She cocooned her head in her hands, then Sebastian snuck to the forefront of her mind. As far as she was concerned, he was her family. Plus she’d seen some of his today.
“Is this about Sebastian?” Kyra fidgeted, twisting her fingers together. “Because I’m real sorry about what happened this morning, but I couldn’t help it.” Kyra’s thoughts returned to the strange man on the bridge. The feeling chewed on her insides. She wanted to know, felt it important to know, practically needed to know if he was Sebastian’s relative.
Zeke lit the pipe, took a puff. “And what did happen this morning?”
“You brought up family. I assumed you knew.” Kyra dropped her legs and began tapping her feet on the ground. Black emotion swished around her. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but this detour was taking too long. She scratched her collarbone, shifted in her seat. How was Marcus doing? He’d been alone in her trailer for so long.
“Now, now. I don’t mean to upset you. I only mean to look out for you. Young thing like yourself running off to the carnival. It doesn’t seem right.”
“What do you mean? I’m not that young. Besides, there are plenty of young people working here. Take Carlito over in the milk bottles concession.” She motioned toward the gaming booths, toward the slender young man smacking heavily on gum and flirting shamelessly with a couple of young girls. Kyra watched him and scratched the back of her neck. Damn, her skin itched.
“Carlito is not my concern at the moment. You are. Don’t you miss your parents?”
Kyra leaned back and threw her hands over the top of the bench. Closing her eyes, she listened to the water of the river, hoping it would sooth her, before answering. “Nah. My people aren’t the type for attachments.”
Attachments. The word lingered in her mind, pressed hard against her membrane. What is this I’m feeling? Her mind crept and curved around the itching, looking for the answer.
Zeke took a long drag on his pipe, then let out a slow breath of smoke.
Utter, pure bliss, thought Kyra. That’s what the smoke from Zeke’s pipe was. Right then it drove her desire deep to breathe fire and fume. And if it smelled like Zeke’s cherry tobacco, that would be a pretty cool thing, too.
Zeke chuckled. “Your people.”
“Yeah. My people. What of it?” Kyra craved her fire, could practically taste it. Found herself captivated by the smog emanating from the miniature bull in Zeke’s hands. And then it clobbered her, smacked her in the back of the head with the force of a frying pan—the feeling, the attachment. Fealty. Damn the irritating fealty. It pulled her yet again.
Not privy to her internal strife, Zeke sat back and crossed his legs. “It’s not going to be easy.”
Her feet tapped faster. Fingers weaved dragon scales tight. Thumbs wrestled in a game of vehement domination. Tension pulled fragmented and fragile across her shoulders. “What are you talking about?”
“Follow what’s inside, be true to yourself, and you’ll be fine.” His hand reached out and squeezed hers. “I think that’s your calling card.”
“What?” Did he know what she was feeling? Was she supposed to follow the pull back to Marcus?
Something tickled the back of her hand. It was a burning ember. She blinked and looked up. Fire embers floated all around them, like fiery snowflakes.
“Oh,” she mumbled. Oh! She jolted up and searched the horizon of tents, flags, and carnival rides. What she sought lay beyond. Fire raged in the living quarters, the wind carrying a message clear across to fetch her. “I’m sorry, Zeke. I have to go.”
&nb
sp; Using the scent as a guide, Kyra pushed through the crowd. The carnival could shift ten times or more, it wouldn’t faze her. Nothing would stop her from getting to her destination this time. Not with the smell of fire to lead the way. Marcus waited in her trailer, and the trailers were burning.
People gawked, some pointed, at the rising smoke. Not everyone, though. Plenty went about their business as if everything were normal. Kyra considered the possibility the fire was like the shifting of the carnival, a personal experience, unique to each individual.
Passing the carousel, she spotted Chelsea leaning against the railing, watching the horses. She grabbed the girl by the arm, turned her to face the smoke, and jabbed her finger toward the trailers. “Do you see that fire?”
“What fire?” Chelsea’s voice hitched and fell, her face melting into shadowy lines.
Kyra pointed again, this time taking a softer approach and watching Chelsea for her reaction. “That one, right there. You can’t miss it.”
Chelsea shook her head ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, Kyra. I don’t see anything.”
The girl was trying, the strain evident in her face. Tight lines around her eyes and lips, the pinch of her nose. Didn’t matter. Wanting to see it, needing to see it. Who knew how the carnival worked? How it decided who saw what?
Kyra released Chelsea and ran, ran hard. Adrenaline pumping in a ka-thump whoosh, repeat. With each stride closer, more ash, more debris showered upon her. Something fluttered up against her. She grabbed it, its edges still glowing. It was a partially burnt card.
An instant light explosion—recognition. A tarot card.
She flipped it over.
No!
A dancing skeleton stared up at her. Death. So similar to the one she’d returned to Sebastian. Maybe the very same one. Sebastian had gone back to work. He should be safe. But then why was his card fluttering into her hand?
Bolting into the clearing, she cursed the drag pulling her to Marcus again. She needed to get to him. Had to protect him.
The trailers scattered out before her in no particular pattern. A few remained untouched by the flames, but the majority burned, each engulfed at varied degrees. Her friends, her family—so many in danger!