by J-F. Dubeau
It was also where Crowley had met his wife.
The inspector couldn’t help but feel a little regret that Daniel had never been able to experience this circus when he was a kid. It was cruel irony that Crowley was the one responsible for that.
Back then, Cicero’s came to town once a year, always at the end of summer, and had been doing so for years. Residents of Saint-Ferdinand waited for the old circus owner to roll down the street in his beat-up Volkswagen Beetle with the same anticipation most communities reserve for Christmas.
However, when clues started popping up that Nathaniel Cicero might be the Saint-Ferdinand Killer, it led to a series of events that chased the circus away and ultimately freed the terrible god from its cage.
Crowley had told Cicero to never come back. Yet here he was. With the capture of Sam Finnegan and the creature’s release, the return of the circus was a bad omen and certainly no coincidence.
As the inspector walked through the game booths, tents, and attractions, Crowley expected all manner of angry stares. Yet it was as if they didn’t recognize him or simply did not care. A fire-breather he remembered, Ezekiel, spit an impossibly perfect arc of flames above the inspector’s head, welcoming him to the big top. He did so with the same smile he’d offer anyone. But Crowley wasn’t just anyone. He was the officer who had chased Cicero’s Circus into exile. Now he walked among them in full uniform—unmolested, unrecognized, virtually anonymous.
The inspector’s heart ached as he entered the gigantic tent at the center of the circus. It was everything a big top was supposed to be: supported by two enormous posts and lined with rows of blue-and-white-striped seats. Two large rings lined the floor, intersecting where the ringmaster stood. The grandeur of it all was striking, and it made the inspector long for the time when he had enjoyed this strange monument to awe and wonder.
There was one individual in this place who could not ignore him. That person stood alone in the middle of the tent, illuminated on all sides, his back to the door. He wore a powder-blue tuxedo with a matching top hat. Old and frail, he leaned on a cane as he gazed up at his installation. He looked every bit like a human fossil, but Crowley knew better. Nathaniel Cicero was a man of unusual fortitude and foresight. He was here because he knew the inspector was coming.
As if he could hear this thought, Cicero turned around dramatically when Crowley got close enough. Smiling with perfect teeth that did not belong in such a dilapidated body, he bowed deeply, removing his hat in the process.
“Mr. Crowley,” he said. “It’s been too long.”
Without breaking stride, the inspector punched the old bastard square in the jaw, sending the frail ringmaster to the ground. Crowley stood over his victim, huffing as the adrenaline rush filled him with primal satisfaction.
“Still glad to see me, Nathaniel?”
Cicero got up and walked back, making sure he was a dozen feet away from Crowley as he did so. He smiled again, though this time more conservatively. He didn’t want to appear smug. His guest was obviously not in the festive mood such a reunion should call for.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a social call then, my boy?” he said, spitting blood into the sand.
“Didn’t your fortune-teller warn you? I’m here to evict you.”
“Katrina did tell me to expect you. Why else would I put on such theatrics?” He rubbed his bruised jaw. “She failed to warn me about this particular outburst, though. I must have slighted her somehow.”
“It’s only going to get worse if you and your people don’t pack up and leave.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Crowley,” Cicero said, leaning on his cane. “We have business here. Legitimate business, and I have all the necessary permits.”
The inspector shrugged. Taking a couple of quick steps forward, he took another swing at the old man and connected with force. Again, Cicero crumpled to the ground. This time he spat more than just a few drops of blood, and it took him much longer to climb back to his feet.
“Mr. Crowley, you misunderstand my intentions. I am here—we are here—to help. You’re very much out of your depth. If you continue on this path, you won’t survive.”
True, the forces Crowley was setting out to control were vast to the point of being almost impossible to comprehend. But was there anyone alive who was equal to such a task? Certainly Cicero and his circus. Though they’d already tried and failed. Now it was his chance.
“You’re not here to help me,” he said petulantly. “You’re here to shut me down.”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Crowley. Surely you’ve grown wiser over the last two decades. You think you’re the good guy here?” The smug, now bloodstained smile returned. “Jonestown. Aum Shinrikyo. David Koresh. Every cult is built on its own version of the truth. There’s no such thing! The Craftsmen saw themselves as heroes and we were wrong. Your Sandmen thought the same thing when they took up our mantle, and they are making the very same mistakes. You honestly think you can succeed where your father-in-law failed so spectacularly?”
Crowley took a deep, exasperated breath, such as one would take with a child who refused to listen to reason. Then he took another swing at Cicero. This time, the old man moved out of the way so that his face was spared. Unfortunately for him, the inspector’s left fist followed through with a solid jab to the stomach. To his credit, Cicero didn’t fall to the ground this time, but he did spend the next minute doubled over, gasping for air.
“Eighteen years you kept the creature hidden from me. Under my nose!” Crowley yelled at the ringmaster. “Now you show up just as I’m about to succeed? You’ve taken too much from me already, Nathaniel. You ain’t taking this, too.”
To underline his statement, Crowley attempted one more attack on the old man. There was infinite satisfaction in releasing nearly two decades’ worth of pent-up rage. Expecting the old man to try another dodge, Crowley threw a convincing feint with his left, then switched to a right jab that he hoped would drive the point home to Cicero: you are not welcome here. Then again, he thought, if more hitting was required, he’d be happy to oblige.
But this time the ringmaster of Cicero’s Circus was prepared. Seeing the incoming jab, he lifted the end of his cane. Crowley’s fist struck the pointed tip, perforating the skin between his index and middle fingers. The sturdy wood wedged itself between the bones of his hand and pushed them in opposite directions.
With a scream and a spray of blood, the inspector pulled back his fist, clutching the shattered extremity. Cicero, who had only been slightly imbalanced for his trouble, walked past the inspector, making his way toward the door in the big top.
“Feel free to kick me out of town, Mr. Crowley,” the old ringmaster said without turning his head. “But please have the decency of doing it legally.”
“I’m warning you, Nathaniel: don’t interfere with my work,” the inspector growled.
“Don’t you know the prophecies, Mr. Crowley?” Cicero finally turned back to look at his attacker. “My meddling is almost at its end.”
Then the old man walked out into the night, leaving Crowley with his agonizing pain.
VENUS
VENUS JOGGED TO the front door of her parents’ house after Daniel dropped her off. The sky was an even, dull gray. The rain had slowed down a little, leaving puddles of mud in its wake.
As she stormed through the house, many thoughts raced through the girl’s mind. She wasn’t thrilled with her family’s proximity to the malevolent creature imprisoned just a few dozen feet away, but Penny’s manic behavior, Audrey’s lingering ghost, and the burning need to find a way to end the god had her preoccupied.
“Would it be rude of me to ask if there’s any chance you’ll be cleaning up the yard at some point?”
The voice of her mother made her jump. Virginie never asked her daughter to do something if it sounded like an order. She and her husband had always been adamant about treating their daughter like an equal, never asking more of her than they would another adult. Of
course, they never gave her more, either. Venus swung back and forth between being grateful for the freedom, and bitterly resentful of their neglect. In the past few days, however, the teenager had been glad of their hands-off approach.
“Not now, Mom,” Venus replied, bolting past her mother. This wasn’t the way the McKenzies usually talked to one another, but Virginie took it in stride. Venus didn’t know how long she had before access to her uncle’s office would be denied to her. It might already be far too late. She didn’t have time to come up with a believable lie for her mother, and putting everything back into the shed was certainly out of the question.
On a good day, Venus’s room was a monument to organized mayhem. She had long ago abandoned such mundane conventions as sock drawers, preferring to store endless yards of computer cables instead. Her clothes were usually sorted into neat piles inside her closet, the door of which she had had her father remove when she was a child. In the past few days, however, the barely contained chaos had devolved into a cesspool of wadded-up sheets, board game boxes, and empty snack containers.
Thus, it took a moment for Venus to locate her laptop. When it was found, she quickly looked at the webcam video feed, making sure that her “guest” was still safely confined to the shed. She was reassured at seeing the inky shadow of the creature writhing in the dim light. It seemed angry, the surface of its wispy presence undulating violently. Venus could swear it knew she was watching.
When she went to unplug the computer’s power cord, she saw her mother leaning on the doorframe. Virginie looked concerned. Venus had always admired her mother’s altruism and kindness. In a way, it made her even more resentful that such a kind woman had zero motherly instincts for her own daughter.
“Veen. What’s in the shed?”
A cold shiver went down Venus’s spine at the question. “It’s . . . a project. I’m filming a bird’s nest and I don’t want it disturbed. I’ll put everything back when I’m done.” She had spent hours trying to figure out if she should say anything to her parents. At first, the independent spirit that Paul and Virginie had instilled in her had kept her from seeking their help. Then it was shame at having the creature gain such a foothold in her mind. After Penny had nearly been killed by the creature, however, her pride and shame became fear. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if either of her parents fell into the hands of the monster. She knew from Daniel Crowley that her folks weren’t part of his father’s cult, but if she told them what was in the backyard, their first instinct would be to go to the police.
“You’ve been acting kind of spaced out lately, baby. I know it’s been a tough few weeks, but Paul and I are getting worried.” Worried. It had been years since Virginie had even used such a word. “This thing about you wanting to live out there. Coming and going at all hours. Randy being in jail. Now you’re keeping secrets? It’s not exactly your style.”
Venus crouched down to put her laptop into its bag, her eyes hunting for a spare extension cord in case she needed it. Instead her eyes met with those of Sherbet. The horrifying, skinless cat narrowed its pupils as it poked its head out from under the bed. Ever since its encounter with the creature that had removed its pelt, the cat seemed rather self-conscious about its appearance. It also got cold more easily. This amounted to the animal spending more time hidden than usual, which suited Venus fine. Sherbet was a difficult secret to explain. Venus tried to shoo him back under the bed before he got noticed. Undeterred, the animal opted to clean itself, running its rough tongue over the raw, exposed muscle on its paw. The sight made Venus’s hair stand on end.
“Mom,” she said, hoping to draw attention away from the cat. “You wanted me to be independent? Well, here we are. Now I kinda need you to follow through on that.”
Finally she spotted her power cord, which was resting at the edge of her desk under a half-empty box of cookies. Hoping to kill two birds with one stone, she snatched the cable and made the box of cookies fall off her desk, startling her hideous pet. Sherbet fled back to the shadows. Suppressing a satisfied smile, Venus stuffed her prize into her bag.
“Just tell me: Are you in any trouble?” Venus’s stomach clenched at the concern in her mother’s voice. “Whatever else we may be, Veen, we’re your friends. If you need help with anything, we’re here for you.”
Venus let her demeanor soften and stepped forward to wrap her arms around her mother. She surprised herself with how genuine the act felt. It was a ploy, but right then the teenage girl wanted nothing more than to tell her mother the truth. Instead she broke off the embrace.
“I swear, Mom, I’m just trying real hard to keep Penny as distracted as possible. I’m fine.” Venus forced a smile.
“Fine. Just be careful, honey,” Virginie said, obviously unconvinced. But after a beat she managed to smile back. “And when you get home, you can explain to me why the Crowley boy is driving you around.”
At those words, Venus’s independent young woman mask melted away to reveal the awkward teenager beneath. She broke eye contact, clumsily adjusting her laptop bag. “It’s not like that. He’s got a girlfriend, and . . . I gotta go, okay? I’ll, ah . . . I’ll see you later, all right?”
In an even bigger hurry to get out of the house now, Venus bumped into almost every piece of furniture on her way out. Smiling, Virginie watched her only daughter slam the front door shut behind her.
VIRGINIE
VIRGINIE WATCHED THE Civic drive off, her only daughter riding along with the son of Inspector Crowley. Daniel was as good a kid as they came, and while he might have been a little old to be hanging out with a girl Venus’s age, Virginie couldn’t help but feel a strange pride in her daughter. Assuming Virginie’s most gossipy presumptions turned out to be correct.
It was tempting to go check out the backyard shed. See what kind of setup Venus had in there. However, considering that the girl had shown the first sign of affection to her mother in a week, perhaps it wasn’t the best time to go snooping around in her affairs.
Pressing her face against the window, looking out onto a now empty street, Virginie felt a short wave of optimism. For herself, for her daughter, and for their life in this little hellhole of a village.
“Meow?” came a pitiful, hungry cry from behind her.
“Oh, Sherbet, you poor baby. Has your mommy not been feeding you?” Venus’s mother said, turning to look at her daughter’s pet.
RANDY
RANDY COULDN’T BELIEVE his ears when he heard the sound of loose leather sandals slapping down the stairs. The doctor had become familiar with the unique signature of everyone’s footsteps at the station. Jackie, who brought him and Finnegan their meals, had a light and nervous walk, while Lieutenant Bélanger’s was slow and controlled. Crowley, who had been absent the last few days, had a heavy, purposeful step.
But only Paul McKenzie would visit a murder suspect while wearing sandals. The smell of freshly shaved wood and sweat confirmed the medical examiner’s guess. “Paul,” the medical examiner said.
“Hey, Randy,” answered his younger brother, stepping into view. Paul McKenzie was a bit of a contrast to his sibling. Beyond their professional and educational divergence, Paul had a full head of hair, though his was graying prematurely, and he was thinner. Or had been. “You’ve lost weight, man.”
It was true. The station didn’t allow for food from off the premises, so Randy hadn’t been able to indulge in his habits of pastries and snacks between meals. He still had his belly and jowls but they were diminished. His pants already hung on him loosely. As he wasn’t allowed a belt, he was obliged to hold up his pants by hand.
“Yeah. When I get out of here, I’m going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.”
“Or a hell of a lot of cheeseburgers.”
The brothers chuckled, uncomfortable with the situation. When they were teens, the McKenzie brothers hadn’t been known to raise hell. The worst brush either of them had had with the authorities was when Paul did a brief stint in jail for participat
ing in a particularly agitated protest. He’d be hard-pressed to remember what it had been for. The legalization of marijuana or police brutality. It had been a long time ago.
“If Dad were alive, he’d skin you, you know that?” Paul said, attempting more humor to lighten the mood. His brother’s expression darkened, however.
“If Dad were alive, I wouldn’t be here in the first place,” Randy said, bitterness tainting his words. “Hell, if you’d helped out at all, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Aww, come on. Back off, man.” Paul raised his hands defensively. “I’ve told you, like, a million times, I am not into that shit, dude. Look where it landed you. I bet this is just the tip of the iceberg too, isn’t it?”
“Come on, Paul!” Randy said, stepping up to the bars. “You were the talented one. With Dad’s notes—”
“Enough, Randy. I come in peace.” The younger brother raised his hand to silence him. “Look, man, how bad is my daughter mixed up in all this?”
“Venus?” Randy should have anticipated this. While his brother and sister-in-law liked to practice progressive parenting, they still both worried about their daughter. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Paul sighed. Randy had never approved of the way his niece was being raised. She was a smart young woman and fiercely independent, but it seemed to the medical examiner that no matter how well the girl might be doing, without guidance, her potential was being wasted. When she’d been a child, she would hang out with Paul and Virginie. They’d talk about anything, and the girl’s voracious curiosity made her quickly learn—and then get bored with—everything her parents had to teach. By the time she was a teenager, Venus had moved on to computers and electronics, subjects far beyond Paul’s scope of knowledge. As his daughter’s interests grew deeper, he was left to observe her from an increasing distance.