by Deanna Chase
She’d been preparing for this day, but not now. Not yet.
“I like her, Flinty. She’s really nice. But that’s all it is right now. We’re just friends.”
Her smile was strained, but she kept it in place. “Water with dinner?”
He nodded and served her a large spoonful of spaghetti.
“Will you come watch my show tonight?” he asked as he scooped himself a massive plate of noodles.
Abel wanted to go to the hole tonight. She didn’t know if it was a club or just a big hole in the ground. But there was no way she’d miss her dad’s debut. “Absolutely.”
“Thanks.”
They didn’t speak again after that and all Flint could think about was whether she’d get to meet the new woman.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
~*~
She hadn’t known what to wear, so deciding on something safe, Flint had pulled out a pair of distressed blue-jean shorts and a green-and-blue flower-print crop top. It made her hair really pop a deeper red.
Growing up, she’d been embarrassed about her bright red hair, but as she’d aged, it’d turned less orange and more red. Her mom had always said that she’d give anything to be a natural redhead. Flint couldn’t understand it, especially coming from a blond bombshell, but it’d helped her feel better.
Lights flickered. “Ladies and gentlemen.” A loudspeaker cut through her thoughts. “The show will begin shortly. Please find your seats.”
This place was so different compared to any other circus they’d ever been to. For one, there were no kids in sight. No blaring elephants in the background, no silly clowns walking around and waving merrily to the guests.
Sitting all the way in the back of the circular ring, she had an unimpeded view of the people around her. This place didn’t cater to the mainstream, that was for sure.
Women were dressed in punk or Goth gear. Some of them were exotically beautiful, like the woman three rows down, dressed in sheer cream lace that edged up her throat. The formfitting gown looked like something straight out of the Victorian era. Antique, and yet sort of sexy because of how tall and slim the woman was. She had dark curls piled high on her head, exposing the long line of her swanlike neck, pale skin gleaming blue under the prop lights.
The men were similarly eye-catching. Either they were totally sleeved up and dressed in a scruffy, cool style, ripped jeans and white tee… or they were in suits and ties.
Some of them definitely looked human. Especially the ones wearing wide-eyed glances and staring around the way she was, but others (the ones dressed way too formal for this place) had an addictive, eerie draw to them that made her believe that maybe the supernatural did exist.
The woman in the cream dress turned around then, a knowing smile painted on her face. Lavender eyes (and no way were those real) gazed at her, daring her to look away. But Flint couldn’t—she was enthralled by the otherworldly beauty of the woman.
She’d looked pretty from behind, but seeing her face—the model features—something was off. Very, very off about all of this. She was too beautiful. The ones dressed up, they were too pretty. Even the men. It was like she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and walked into a model convention instead of the circus.
Why did her father want to work here? Couldn’t he sense it? More than just Adam’s nasty disposition. Couldn’t he sense the… offness?
The woman smirked and turned back around.
Every cell in Flint’s body knocked together, causing a rushing tingle of friction to burn through her veins.
Then the lights dimmed and loud, pulsing music spilled like liquid through the tent. Performers came out like line of ants from their tunnel, their sparkling faces stretched into fake smiles, outfits—not quite as garish as most—catching the light. She smiled when she saw her dad. Without the coat, she could readily admire the cut of his black suit. Red and orange rhinestones looked like flames the way they curled around his thighs and chest. With a quick bow, he raced back and she clapped, even though she knew he couldn’t hear.
She saw two other women wearing similar suits, one a brunette and one a blonde. But it was a quick flash and they were gone. Flint couldn’t help wondering which one it was. Then Janet was in the center; she held her arms out in front of her, fingers clenched, forming a circle that she easily stepped through, contorting her body in ways that weren’t natural at all, and Flint laughed.
“Bizarre.” It wasn’t like Janet hadn’t already told her she was a contortionist, but seeing her perform a stunt was toe-curlingly weird.
She bit her lip, eyes scanning the performers’ faces as they did a quick hop or twirl for the crowd. But her heart sank when the last man, who was in a top hat, bowed to the audience, raising the mike to his lips. His eyes glowed as he tipped his face up to the lights and slammed his top hat back down on his ash-blond head.
“Welcome to Carnival Diabolique, home of the damned…”
She shuddered. Not that she was superstitious or anything, but that was just creepy. Her father was Catholic. Not that they went to Mass much anymore, but why wasn’t he as weirded out by all this the way she was?
“Hey, you made it!”
Flint glanced up, smiling at Abel’s happy face. Plopping down in the seat, he shoulder-bumped her.
“You ready?” He practically had to yell to be heard over the blaring drumbeat.
She shook her head. “Gotta watch my dad first.”
Giving her a thumbs-up, Abel settled back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head.
She smiled, eyeing his outfit. “Why are you wearing swim trunks?”
He lifted a brow, prominent dimple in bold relief. “The hole. You forget?”
Oohs and aahs rang out as a tumbler wearing a snowflake-patterned leotard did a twirl midair, landing in a makeshift net of arms.
“No, I just didn’t know what that was.”
He eyed her jean shorts. “Hope you’ve got a bathing suit under that.”
Flint pinched his arm. “If you wanted me to have a bathing suit on, you should have told me what it was. I thought you were taking me to a club.”
Wrinkling his nose, he swatted at her arm. “What would give you that idea?”
From the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of orange and red. “My dad.” She pointed to him as he solemnly led the procession of fliers toward the tower. And in that moment, she remembered the thrill, the exhilaration of the crowd. Wild applause pumping through her body like a rush of endorphins, making her feel like she could fly.
He was almost regal how he toe-pointed like a peacock toward the tower, looking at everything and nothing all once. A natural-born showman, his steady but slow walk amped up the crowd; an expectant hush fell instantly over the chatter.
“Wow,” Abel breathed.
She grinned. “I know, right? And he hasn’t even started flying yet.”
A part of her had worried that too many weeks of heavy drinking and not enough training would have turned his muscles to mush, but her father slinked up the tower like a cat. Smooth and graceful. The girls followed close behind, their red and orange stripes streaking like flames down their legs whenever the light pinged off them.
Her dad gripped the swing and Flint sucked in her breath, holding it between clenched teeth when he hopped on and hooked his knees over the catch trap before dropping down, suspended fifty feet above ground.
Flint’s stomach dipped, clenching her fingers tight to her knees as she willed her dad to work through the initial dizzy rush of blood to the brain. His eyes were wide and so were hers, then he smiled, waved his arm, and she released the breath that’d made her vision start dancing with spots.
The first woman to grab the bars was the blonde. She took the jump smoothly, raising her legs in a perfect hold, and for a moment Flint studied her. Thin, as all fliers tended to be. Too high for Flint to make out the eye color, but the shape of her face and the curve of her lips made Flint think of her mother.
With a sinking heart, she realized this must be the woman.
Dad always did have a thing for blondes.
Blondie released the bar, flying effortlessly through the air. Twirling once, twice, and a half, before grasping her father’s forearms in a tight grip. The butterflies in Flint’s stomach never stopped dancing through the entire routine.
At one point she’d stopped watching the act completely, failing to join in when the crowd gasped in awe at something the brunette had done. Some sort of jackknifing flip. Why? Because Flint had eyes only for Blondie.
A knot building and brewing each time the woman latched arms with her dad, Flint judged the woman’s skills as a performer, sneered when she over rotated, and if not for the quick thinking of her father, Blondie would have landed in an ungraceful heap in the net. Blondie bit her lip when her dad yanked to keep her from falling. Flint knew how much that hurt. It felt like getting a bone wrenched out of socket.
But she’d stopped making that mistake two years into her training. Her father would have never let her fly until she’d become proficient.
She tapped her finger on the armrest, hating that she felt so petulant at the moment. But a side of her wanted to grab her dad and tell that woman that she didn’t get to do that. Not now. Not when she was only just getting her dad back from the pit he’d been living in the past year.
Flint was grateful the moment it was over, not even having the heart to clap.
“Your old man’s good, DeLuca.” Abel elbowed her with a wide grin, still heartily clapping along with the rest.
“He’s okay,” she mumbled and stood. “You ready?”
Strobe lights flashed around as a loud roar punctuated her statement. Spectators cried out with glee and fright as a huge striped tiger made its way to the center ring, its handler walking slowly behind it with only a whip as protection.
Flint’s heart seized and her mouth went dry. Not without a cage, not legal without a cage. Panicked, she glanced at Abel and he chuckled.
“It’s only Janet and the gang.” He snorted and pointed and sure enough, what had appeared to be a tiger in the dim and crazy strobe lighting was now four people taking a bow.
“Let’s go.” Abel gestured.
“How did they do that?”
He wiggled his fingers. “Magic. You ready or what?”
Still shaking from an excess of adrenaline, she nodded. “Wasn’t Janet supposed to come?”
He glanced at his watch. “She’ll be done in another fifteen minutes.”
Asian-themed music with a techno backbeat spilled through the tent as the contortionists danced and maneuvered themselves into obscene and ridiculous stances. For the first time in a long time, Flint found herself spellbound by the lithe beauty of the performers, but Abel didn’t give her time to appreciate any of it—he grabbed her elbow and, with a dimpled grin, dragged her out.
“Where is the hole?” she asked the moment they stepped out of the tent.
“At the quarry. ’Bout five miles down the road.”
Flint shoved her hands in her pockets. “Five miles? Abel, I think you seriously hate me. Why didn’t you tell me we were gonna have to walk that long? First you don’t tell me we’re going swimming, now I’m wearing sandals and you tell me we’re wal—”
“Will you relax?” He shook her shoulders in a gentle grip. “I’ve got something better.”
She frowned when he pulled out a small silver key from his pocket—didn’t look like any kind of car key she’d ever seen. She desperately hoped he wasn’t planning on opening up some shed with that thing and passing her a bicycle. Midnight biking in the sticks held zero appeal at the moment.
“And that is?”
“The keys to freedom, baby.” He waggled his brows and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Now c’mon before the old man sees me and rips me a new one for stealing his toy.”
Stealing one of Adam’s toys? Oh yeah, she was so there and followed behind Abel as quiet as could be even though her nerves were taut with the thrill of doing something forbidden.
That is until he walked to the shed behind Adam’s office. But there weren’t any bicycles waiting inside when he opened the doors.
“Help me roll this thing out, will you? Don’t want to start it up here.”
She grinned at the cherry-red ATV. “You’re awesome. Have I told you that lately?”
“Aww, shucks.” He grinned, dropping his head in a silly, shy smile. “I try.”
A pile of leaves stirred outside and they stilled, holding their breath, and then chuckled when it turned out to be nothing but a field mouse scampering off.
“Now hurry up, missy.” Abel jerked his head toward the opposite handlebar on her side. “My dad’s got the freakin’ nose of a bloodhound.”
Not that she didn’t want to “borrow” the ATV, because she totally did, but… “Abel, don’t these things lock automatically? I think you’re gonna have to start it so we can get it moving.”
“Umm, how ’bout no.” He lifted a brow. “My dad catches me over here, I’ll be the one scraping horse dung out of the stalls the rest of the week. Look, it’s easy, I’ve done it before. Just pop the clutch and it’ll go.”
“This is a standard? Are you sure you can drive it?”
He huffed. “Flint, this isn’t my first rodeo.” He pointed. “Now pop it.”
She did as he ordered and was surprised how smoothly it rolled out. She stifled a giggle as they eased it past Adam’s trailer, past the tents and the sounds of a roaring crowd, and out the gates.
“I can’t believe we got away with that and no one caught us,” she said, eyes wide with adrenaline.
Abel hopped onto the front and patted the small space behind him. “Not really made for two people, but you’re small enough, I think.”
She snorted. “You’re smaller.”
He rolled his eyes and started the machine. It idled like the gentle purr of a kitten. “I’m pretty sure I just got a new muscle today. Here, look.” He pointed at his sad-looking bicep, flexing it with a grin.
Flint laughed and hopped on.
“Hold on.” Abel hit on the gas and Flint wrapped her arms tight around his waist, his chuckle the only thing she heard.
Chapter Eight
Cain punched her again, splitting her lip open. “Tell me where she is!” he snarled, blood pounding so hard through his veins he thought they’d break open.
She laughed, the sound high and dry, then wiped the blood from her mouth. “You think a few hits will make me talk? You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”
The Aswang drone’s eyes were bloodshot and wild, high on blood and adrenaline. Her skin—if he should even call it a her—was pale and peeling at the edges of her face. The monster was shedding, days away from its metamorphosis.
The dead body by its feet made Cain wonder how many it had already killed. He’d tailed the drone out to the docks, knowing that while its skin peeled, it needed blood. It was the only way to make the transition fully from drone to full-blooded hive.
Cain gripped it by its shirt, his voice deep and full of fire as he asked, “Where is your queen?” Spittle flew from his lips.
The Aswang licked its lips and moaned, eyes homed in on Cain’s neck. “Your pulse beats like thunder in my ears. How do you taste, rager?”
The skin under Cain’s eye twitched as he barely restrained his natural instinct to maim and thrash and beat the creature to a bloody pulp. “One last chance to answer me. Where is your hive?”
Its bloody eyes narrowed into twin slits. “What is your weakness, rager? Hmm?” Its sibilant tone crawled over Cain’s body like writhing maggots.
His smile was cocky. “So it seems you won’t be answering me?”
The red haze covering his vision began to slowly clear once he stopped trying to control himself. Now that he knew he was going to kill it, staying in control was so much easier. He raised a brow.
It moved its head like a charmed cobra, leche
rous grin tipping the corners of its fanged mouth. “Our soothsayer says you have one. You all have one.”
The blood in his veins turned to ice.
“Is it your brother? Hmmm? We’ve seen how you try to protect him. We will find out. And when she does,” it hissed, “it will be the beginning of the end.”
Cain’s hands slowly slid up the creature’s body, coming to rest against the peeling cheeks. “I have no weakness,” he snarled, and then with a surge of strength, he torqued the thing’s neck until the bones cracked and the Aswang slumped lifeless at his feet.
Body still pumped full of adrenaline, Cain jerked upright and with a roar ran into the green dumpster in the abandoned alley. Over and over again, he slammed his weight into the metal, bending it like a straw, burning through the fuel of his rage until the shaking stopped, until his vision cleared.
The slick pavement ran with water and blood.
He stared at his knuckles and then the buzzing in his head quieted and he heard the terrified murmurs hiding within shadow.
A homeless couple stood fifty yards away, hugging one another, gazing at him with terror and wonder.
Nostrils flaring, muscles beginning to relax and return to normal, he turned on his heel and ran back to his car, leaving the carcass to burn in the morning light.
He needed to talk to Adam and he needed to do it now.
Chapter Nine
Flint got off the ATV, laughing as she finger-combed the knots out of her hair. “That was—”
“Awesome, right?” Abel gave her that killer smile again.
Driving through the dead of night, barely able to see the path ahead as they twisted and turned around stumps and ruts… Yeah, it’d been reckless and unbelievably exciting.
A sliver of moon peeked through the cloudy night, but she shouldn’t have worried she’d drown in the water. Someone had lit what looked like a hundred torches everywhere. At its center a large pool of black water rippled softly.
They stood about sixty feet above the water, the rocky ledge that led down to the water’s edge making her slightly nervous.