by Debra Kristi
Her breath hitched, afraid she’d been away too long. Afraid Marcus had already perished. But she had to believe. She held firm to faith, to what she’d seen in his eyes, if only for a spilt second. Something substantial, something enduring, dwelled within Marcus. Something not human. Maybe it was a dragon, too.
Her fists slammed against the trailer’s side with one quick blow. “Ouch!” She jumped back and looked down. No protection. She’d gotten burned. Her skin throbbed, ached in a fashion she was unfamiliar with.
“Kyra?” Coughs and sputters accompanied Marcus’s voice from the other side of the wall.
Warmth swelled in her chest. Not too late. She could still save him. “I’m here. Are you all right?” She followed the sound of his voice, moving with haste. It led her to the back of the trailer, exactly where she’d left him.
Using the hitch as a step, she looked through the louvered slots of the window above the bed. Marcus had draped the bed sheets over himself for cover. He was already wrestling with the glass. Kyra joined in, attempting to pull a pane free. Her hand slipped and the metal bit into her palm. “Damn.” It hurt, but hardly. She was too focused on getting Marcus out.
Marcus’s gaze shifted to take in her cut, but his hands continued to work. He pushed while Kyra pulled on the glass. The ceiling in the front dinette collapsed and the divider fell from its mount. The heat intensified and Kyra noticed the fire now nipped at Marcus’s heels.
“The glass won’t budge!” he bellowed.
Frantic, Kyra searched the area for anything she could use to break the glass. Except, the fog hid everything from sight.
Returning her attention to Marcus and the infuriating panels keeping him locked away, she continued to struggle, pushing and pulling, in an attempt to break one or more free. Kyra bit down, her teeth grinding, while she torqued the glass in her hands. She gave it all the strength she could manage. The glass popped. A quick crackle followed. It sounded like the breaking of ice.
The pane trapped between their hands gave, broke in two, and small shards blasted in all directions. Both Kyra and Marcus fell backwards.
Kyra’s foot slipped on the hitch. As it slid forward, the rest of her body pitched the opposite direction. Her back broke the fall, smacking onto the muddy grass a fraction of a second before her head.
“Kyra!” Desperation and irritation scratched at Marcus’s voice.
Her blood curdled at the sound. She scrambled to her feet, a sharp pain shooting through her spine. She ignored it and climbed back up to the window. The wall of the trailer was hotter than it had been a minute ago. She peered through the broken louvers, her gaze drawn past Marcus.
The trailer’s front portion was completely engulfed. She was reminded of a bonfire, only extra intense, and larger. Fire had spread to the edge of the bed and Marcus beat it with the sheet. A red satin sheet. Hardly impervious, and it too burned. They were out of time. The place would be gone in minutes.
Kyra screamed and reached through the space provided by the broken glass. A tight line stretched across Marcus’s lips. It told Kyra everything he wasn’t saying. He held in his pain and played the tough guy, but any fool could see the skin on his arms was scorched and marred. It must feel like he’d been flayed. He hid from Kyra’s prying eye behind sputters and coughs, but she saw. She missed nothing. If the fire didn’t kill him and she didn’t get him out soon, would he die from smoke inhalation?
Blood trailed down her arm, running from the cuts slashed by the shards of glass pressed up against her. She pretended not to notice and focused on her want, her need, and pressed against the suppression and fought to release her dragon. Ice raced around her cranium and her vision turned a blackened red. Pressure pushed out from her shoulder blades and in the space below. A rippling of points strained in two parallel lines, arching across her crown. Her fingers and nails stretched—grew into strong, long talons.
It took more concentration than normal, while not achieving near the beast she knew herself to be, but it was something. She’d beaten the asphyxiating soup working against her. Dragon talons bit into the side of the structure, tearing at its aluminum casing. The rips and tears created an echoing howl. Primitive snarls and growls responded.
Kyra jerked, then slipped to the ground. She landed straddling the hitch. Since the noise had come from behind her, she turned to see what had startled her and caused her to drop. A portion of the fog had turned a hazy yellow and grown in mass. From its obscurity, a giant claw emerged and bore down on her. Her eyes widened, even as her body flattened itself against the trailer frame. The new manner of monster coming at her was strong as steel and made by man.
The backhoe loader’s cab came into view. Within its tiny confines, Higgins waved his arms wildly. “Get out of the way, Kyra!”
Never looking away from Higgins and his tremendous machine, Kyra scampered to the side. She moved fast, and when the wall of the trailer unexpectedly ran out behind her she stumbled, and her butt met the grass.
Marcus yelled, his words obscured in the roar of the construction vehicle. The backhoe tore on a collision course, directly for the window.
Higgins jumped up and down in the small cab. “Out of the way! Out of the way!” His voice boomed.
No sooner did Marcus’s face disappear than the giant yellow claw crashed down on the top corner of the trailer, pulling the structure apart like a box from the edge. Screams of tearing metal and splintering wood followed the claw’s path as it tore down the length of the wall. The backhoe lurched, then jumped back, pulling the grapnel with it. In its wake stood a doorway, a gaping hole where the wall and window used to be. Marcus jumped out over the remains of the torn mattress, the back of his shirt smoldering. He dropped and rolled, and Kyra ran to his aid. Smoke billowed from the huge hole, as if trying to follow him, and the flames collapsed what remained of Kyra’s once-cozy trailer.
Kyra snuffed out the smolder, leaving a splotchy, plaid mess marking the remains of Marcus’s shirt. He sat on the ground with his knees bent high in the air, showing off his blackened and marred jeans. His burnt and blistered arms stretched out across his legs. The air expelled from his lungs in one long exhale and he set his tired, bloodshot eyes to look upon Kyra, who sat perched beside him.
“Too fuckin’ close.” Craning his head, he took in everything around them. “Almost like something was out to get me.” Continuing to search the perimeter, his voice trailed off, then his gaze returned to settle on Kyra once again. His body jerked with a small cough.
Unsure how to best comfort him, she reached out and patted his hand. The action was odd and awkward. Especially when she paused, her hand wavering against his skin. That’s when she smelled it. Serpicose. She yanked back and stared at him. If Marcus was the source, that could only mean one thing. He was a dragon. Only dragons used Serpicose. For attracting mates, no less.
A sudden chill ran up her back. Her senses prickled and her spine straightened. The fog moved, shifted and swirled. Kyra pulled her attention away from Marcus and looked to Higgins. A few feet away, he climbed out of the backhoe’s cab. He took a step in their direction and froze. His head tilted to the side, lifting his ear to the sky. He was listening, and she wanted to know to what.
She opened her mouth, ready to call out, when his hand shot up, halting her. She looked up, her ears perked, tight at attention, desperate to hear what Higgins heard. Marcus did the same, his body still, attuned to the night. The darkness cried out. A deathly, frustrated howl spun through the air. As if in response, fog twisted around them, slow at first, then faster and faster until it reached an incredible rate of speed.
Kyra leaped to her feet, dragging Marcus off the ground at her side. She wanted the dizzying spin to stop. She stood ready to lash out at anything and everything tangible that might put a stop to the maddening spin. The twisting fog grew thicker by the moment. Higgins was lost to her, his image stolen by the storm. Kyra thought to lunge for him, meant to, even started to, but the fog squeezed tight like
a noose. It pushed the air straight from her lungs. Then quick as the dense gloom moved in, it slipped up and away, vanishing into the night. As if it’d never existed.
Collapsing on her hands and knees, she gasped for breath, weary and confused. Sharp pains splintered through her chest with each gulp of air. Her hand shook as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Once again, her inner voice called to the rain. Despite her weak delivery, the element answered this time and a pleasant drizzle began to fall upon the smoky scene. Satisfaction spread across Kyra’s face. She closed her eyes and wished, if only for a moment, that she could be a strong, powerful dragon like her mother. Then she could command thunderstorms instead of mere drizzle.
But Moorigads were never that strong. Never would she be as fast or as magical as her mother.
No thunder came.
With an unstable stance, she stood and took stock of her surroundings. Reaching over to Marcus, she clutched his hand, wanting confirmation she had succeeded in keeping him safe. His skin was warm and strangely comforting. That same feeling fluttered in her chest. New, yet becoming all too familiar. She didn’t like it—the fealty. She ignored it. Or tried to. But it now mingled with new knowledge. Marcus might also be a dragon.
In any case, she’d managed to keep the man alive. That was something. Higgins was good, too. A little worse for wear, but still standing. His clothing crumpled and spotted with mud and sweat, she found it curious he looked so tired when Marcus had been the one fighting the fire. She wondered how he’d known they’d been in need of help at all.
Pulling a white hankie from his pants pocket, Higgins dabbed the sweat on his brow. “You two all right?”
“We’ll survive, thanks to you.” Kyra waved her finger at the construction truck. “Where did you and that big yellow beast come from? That’s not standard equipment around here.”
A funny look adorned Higgins’s face, like he’d swallowed lemon juice. His cheeks and lips twisted, swished, and then he spit to the side. When he looked up he met her stare with a devilish grin. “Who you calling beast, beastie?”
“Very funny.” She looked down. Marcus still sat on the damp ground. He watched her from under the cover of a hand rubbing at his forehead. A battered hand with bloodied knuckles. She worried the fire’s smoke had caused him yet unspoken health issues and knew his many cuts, blisters, and burns should be treated as soon as possible.
She looked back toward Higgins and for a moment, everything around her faded into a mesh of blurred sounds and lights and she considered this man she’d pulled from the lake earlier that day. Had she done the right thing by bringing him to the carnival? How far was she willing to go for Marcus? Could it be her actions were not without consequence and his presence actually brought misfortune?
Higgins’s cough pulled her back, made her take notice of him sauntering toward them. “One rule you should learn about this place. Nothing is ever gone or forgotten. Nothing is ever obsolete.” He pointed to the yellow backhoe. “I pulled that old thing out of the vehicle graveyard. She’s been sitting there since the day we finished the original setup. She came in real handy back then. Hasn’t been much use for her since. Mighty glad she was sitting back there tonight.”
Higgins’s words sank in and Kyra’s brows knit together. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you saying you’ve been here since day one?”
Higgins rocked back on his heels, snapped his suspenders. “Yep. Of course, I was much younger then. You might have actually taken a shine to me. I was quite dapper, if you know what I mean.”
“Higgins! You’re just full of surprises tonight. How did you know I needed help?”
A light shone in his eyes, brightened his face. It didn’t last long. It faltered when he turned toward the remainder of the small trailer community. With the lifting of the fog, everything stood in clear view. A small spattering of people moved amongst the rubble, some like lost and bewildered children, others with great purpose, urgently attending to those in need.
“Just had a feeling,” Higgins said. “We should do what we can to help the others.” His words were quiet and touched with an edge of sorrow.
“Of course.” Kyra’s tone lacked feeling. Elation, confusion, curiosity—an emotional tornado whirled inside her. Hating the lack of emotion she now expressed for others not Marcus, Kyra tugged at her singed jacket and tried to settle her personal storm. With a nod she agreed and felt the obligation to her fellow carnies drop into place. Together they stepped out to take on the aftermath, Kyra motioning Marcus to follow.
They’d taken only a few steps when an ear-shattering wail broke through the night’s turmoil like the sharp crack of a whip. Drifts of smog wafted clear and they caught sight of the source. An unfamiliar woman stood amidst the chaos, her arms clenched around her midsection and her nails clawing at the delicate fabric of her dress. Her expression, one of immense regret.
A heavy sigh of acceptance escaped Higgins’s lips. Bewildered, Kyra watched as he stepped away from their little group and closed the gap between himself and the wailing woman.
He dragged his palm across his pant leg, wiped it dry, then extended his hand in greeting. “We haven’t had the pleasure. I go by the name Higgins.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, but Kyra still heard. “’Twasn’t always the case.”
Kyra wondered what he meant.
The woman lifted her palm, cupped the side of Higgins’s face. Kyra thought her eyes were the saddest she had ever seen. “I am Kelian, and I’ve come for you,” the woman said.
Marcus leaned into Kyra and lowered his voice. “What is that about?” He stared at the exchange between Higgins and Kelian a brief moment before tilting his face up to the large Ferris wheel in the distance. Kyra had no idea how to answer his question. Before she could open her mouth he turned to her, his eyes wide with wonder. “Are we at some kind of carnival?”
Kyra had been eavesdropping on Higgins’s newly developing situation, but Marcus’s question forced her attention back to him. “Yeah.” Nerves made her response sound less confident and more like a question. She twisted her thumbs through the front belt loops of her pants, stretched her arms, and pushed up on the balls of her feet.
A bemused smirk from Marcus broke into a snort as he soaked in all the characters around them. He motioned to a few. “So the people here are carnies?” Silence fell over them for a moment, then Marcus nodded and continued. “Everything is now starting to make sense.”
The knots in Kyra’s chest began to loosen. She wondered if she would have felt this way had she ever brought someone home to meet her parents. Assuming she had stayed with her mother or father. Now the carnival was her home, and she wanted his approval. “So you’re…” She stopped herself. Why was she looking for his approval? Straightening her shoulders, she stood a tad taller. “You got a problem with any of this?”
He shrugged. “Nah, I guess not. I’ve never known any carnies before.” Shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets, he tipped his head toward two people beating a small blaze. “What now?”
Around them smoke smoldered from fire-damaged trailers. The drizzle helped drench the burning remnants. People held hands or shirts to their faces, blocking the smoke, and went to the business of helping one another wherever needed—bandages for the injured, extraction for the wreckage-trapped, and flame dousing.
Kyra took a step backward and threw her arms out, attempting to encompass everyone in the vicinity. “We help, of course.”
“Of course. What was I thinking?” Marcus’s eyes sparked with a shy, I-should-have-known smile. He turned and headed directly for the two carnies he’d pointed out only moments before. Kyra wasn’t sure if he expected her to follow but she stepped in the opposite direction, thinking they could help twice as many if they split up.
She chose a destination, took a few steps, then heard her name called. A veil of smoke drifted past, obscuring her view. When it cleared she saw Sebastian kneeling by the water trough, Chelsea curled by his side.
Kyra’s heart clenched and dropped into her stomach. Good. This is good, she reminded herself and slowly swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Sebastian stood quick, setting Chelsea to the side without a second glance. She shot a scowl in his direction when he hurried toward Kyra.
He stopped directly in front of Kyra, his eyes taking inventory of every inch. “You’re hurt.” He motioned to her bloody arm. “Were you in danger?”
Her gaze wandered past him to Chelsea, then back again. Kyra wanted to prove to herself and to Sebastian that she was fine. Fine if he and Chelsea became an item and fine if they didn’t. Either way. She notched her hand on her hip. “I’m good. You know me, I can handle fire.”
He didn’t look convinced, his disbelief evident in the slag of his shoulders and drop of his face. “Right.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable, and for a minute Kyra thought he wanted to touch her, maybe hug her, but he didn’t.
Too much time went by without a word. What had it been? Four seconds? Six? Kyra realized she had been fixated on his eyes. There was something about the way he was looking at her. She glanced away, looked past him to Chelsea. The young girl was picking herself up off the ground.
Kyra motioned to Chelsea and lowered her voice. “Why do you insist on pushing her away with such venom?” She gulped, unsure she wanted to hear his answer.
Guilt clouded his eyes and he spared Chelsea a peep over his shoulder. When he looked back, his features were darker, intensely hollow. “Can’t you smell it?”
Smell? The mere mention of the word made her think of Marcus stinking up the air with Serpicose. Making himself sweet and alluring. She looked over to where she’d last seen him. He wasn’t hard to find. It was as if she possessed an internal Marcus locator since she’d pulled him from the river.
He was with Ashlyn, the magical man manipulator. Kyra shouldn’t have expected anything different. Only that logic wasn’t completely true, and she recognized the lie the moment it slithered into her thoughts. The girl was rarely seen outside of the Magician’s tent, putting Kyra’s assumptions and criticism of Ashlyn to shame. Seeing her here took Kyra by surprise.