The Twilight Circus

by Di Toft

  “So what will happen to him when we get to Salinas?” asked Nat.

  “He will be quarantined for a bit longer, then set free on the plains,” said Scarlet, smiling as she scratched the ears of the enormous beast.

  Nat’s grandpa, John Carver, had a legendary temper. Whenever he was mad, the big man had a habit of running his hands through his already big, curly hair, making it wilder to match his mood. The daily paper had been delivered, and the newspaper article he had just read had made his blood boil and his hair frizz out to twice its usual size. He was livid. Already massively stressed because of the impending journey south and the responsibility of transporting everyone safely and in one piece, the reason for his rage had been on the front page of the leading Paris newspaper, which had described the “Petting Zoo Massacre” at the zoological park in bloody and graphic detail. Having read the distressing story in the paper, he had no doubt who was responsible, which was how Crescent and the rest of the Howlers found themselves hauled in front of an incandescently infuriated JC later in the day. Crescent gulped as she braced herself for the mother of all telling-offs. In fact, JC looked so angry she feared he might spontaneously combust. In no uncertain terms, he spelled out to them that if this sort of thing happened again, they would be asked to leave.

  “I cannot have the lives of the rest of us put in danger by the idiotic actions of a few selfish werewolves!” he raged. “Do you understand?”

  “But —” tried Crescent.

  “I said, do you understand?”

  “Yes, JC,” murmured the four culprits, all looking down at their feet.

  “All this wildness will stop NOW!” shouted JC. “From now until we reach the south there will be a curfew, and you will stay within the campsite like the rest of the children.”

  “But … I’m sixteen,” protested Crescent hotly. “It’s your choice,” said JC, his gray eyes glittering dangerously. “Stay and behave, or go.”

  Lucas Scale fought hard not to lose his temper. He had to think, and wigging out was not conducive to the calm approach he needed to solve this annoying setback. Scale had watched helplessly as Nat Carver had rudely shoved his eye—still encased in the plastic snow globe—to the back of the dark, dank cupboard. Darkest demonish magic had enabled Scale to send his eye to spy on them, to listen to their pathetic little plans. In time, as his powers grew, he would send something nasty to finish what he had started last summer. His plans for the world and his place in it would not be hampered by the Carver boy, but his grudge was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Until Carver and the Wolven were both wiped from this earth, he couldn’t concentrate on the bigger picture.

  Scale had a few ideas up his snot-encrusted sleeve. A little mischief, perhaps, before their grisly end? He had already used his spectacular new skills, sending some little furry vermin to wake a certain lady vampire of ill repute. He would use her to finish them off. But for now, how about a little fun? Turn them against each other? That would be superbadfun to watch. Or separate them? Take them out of their comfort zone!

  Scale admitted he had taken his eye off the game. He should have been able to will the Carver boy to put the snow globe back. Some sense had warned the boy, warned him there was something not quite right about the globe, perhaps? He sneered at the setback. He would put it right, he vowed, get things back on track. He caught sight of his misshapen form reflected in the flickering candlelight. “Good God you’re ugly,” he told himself fondly.

  CHAPTER 13

  AGENT FISH

  Less than twenty-four hours after her meeting with Professor Paxton and Quentin Crone, Alex Fish found herself traveling in an overcrowded train car on the London-to-Paris Eurostar, feeling about as nervous as a small nun at a penguin shoot. She had left her collection of unfeasible platform shoes behind, filling her suitcase with sensible, fur-lined boots, thermal underwear, and an entire designer ski suit complete with mirrored goggles.

  Fish had taken out zombies, vampires, and the odd banshee, but never had she felt so buttock-clenchingly scared as she did now. Going undercover was one thing, but the cold, hard fact that Lucas Scale had cheated a silver bullet and death following a pact with an unknown demon made her quake in her furry new boots. While she froze in the packed train car, her thoughts drifted back to the meeting at the NightShift HQ.

  “How do we fight Lucas Scale?” Fish had asked when she had calmed down.

  “We don’t,” Crone had replied. “At least you won’t be. We’ve got to find him first. He was a slippery enough character when he was human; God knows how he’s evolved if he’s in league with a demon.”

  “So why am I here?” asked Fish, suddenly dreading the answer.

  Then the boss had dropped a big-time bombshell. “Using my excellent persuasion skills and a considerable amount of bribe money, NightShift has arranged for you to replace Nat Carver’s holiday tutor,” he said, smiling for the first time. “In fact, you will have a number of pupils, I gather.”

  “Whaaaat?” shrieked Fish. “I’m not much older than they are!”

  Crone nodded. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “just make sure you wear your glasses.”

  “What difference will that make?” asked Fish.

  “You look quite brainy when you wear them.” Crone grinned.

  “And when I don’t?” demanded Fish, a dangerous glint in her eye.

  Professor Paxton coughed politely. “I think Quentin means you look more mature, more plausibly academic, when you wear your spectacles.”

  “But why do I have to go?” asked Fish, still bewildered. “Is it because I’m a rubbish agent?”

  This time Crone shook his head seriously. “On the contrary. After last night’s excellent work with the Threadneedle Street Hive, I truly believe you are our best agent.”

  Fish still managed to look both miserable and confused. “But then …?”

  “I think what Quentin is trying to say is that you, and only you, are the best possible person to look out for Nat Carver and Woody,” explained the professor gently. “If Lucas Scale is bent on revenge, he will strike. Maybe not immediately, but when we are least expecting it.”

  “You really think that Carver and the Wolven are at risk?” asked Fish, frowning. “Even if they’re out of the country?”

  “While I was held at Helleborine Halt, I watched Scale turn into a monster,” said the professor, looking slightly sick. “But I truly believe, despite his new powers, that he’s frightened of Nat and Woody. They managed to bring down the Proteus project and the government, using gifts that Scale wanted for himself. Instead, the summoning of the demon has given him powers of his own, potentially stronger than those he coveted in the first place. He wants revenge—to finish what he started.”

  “You mean …?” stammered Alex Fish.

  “To kill them both,” said Crone grimly. “Get them out of the way once and for all, and resume his quest for global power.”

  “We have to warn them,” said Fish. “We’ll have to —” “There is … erm, something else you should know, possibly related to … ah … Scale,” interrupted Crone, looking slightly uncomfortable. “There’s more?” Fish balked.

  “Nat Carver and the Wolven are traveling with the Carver family’s circus,” said Crone, staring into the fire, “a very special circus with people and certain cargo for whom any close investigation by the authorities could be catastrophic. They are headed for a small town in the remote region of Salinas, where John Carver is always assured of total privacy. But … in the last few weeks, Salinas has been the focus of unwelcome activity. People have started to disappear.”

  “Brilliant,” said Fish under her breath. “So, what’s the story?”

  Crone shrugged. “Some of the people missing are transients—hunters, people who come and go with the seasons. There wasn’t really any reason to be too worried at first, but then other things started to kick off.”

  “Malignant activity?” asked Fish.

  “Possib
ly,” said Crone. “There’ve been reports of a disturbing increase in livestock slaughter, too delicately executed to be the work of wolves or werewolves and, chillingly, no tracks or marks in the snow—just dead animals completely drained of blood. Then a young girl disappeared from her family’s farm. Just vanished from the face of the earth.”

  “You think Lucas Scale is behind this?” asked Fish, her pale face looking even paler.

  Crone nodded tiredly. “Our cases have increased in the last few months. We were used to innocent hauntings and manageable encounters between humans and the supernatural. Then Scale comes back from the dead, keen to cause panic and chaos for us humans, and suddenly there are zombies at Highgate, an old vampire hive in Threadneedle Street, et cetera, et cetera. Scale’s dealings with the Dark Side may have extended from here in England to continental Europe. The very fact that there may be malignant activity directly where Nat Carver and the Wolven are headed makes me suspicious that Scale knows where they are and why they are there.”

  Fish looked quizzically at her boss. “There’s another reason they’re going south? Not just the warmer weather?”

  Crone nodded. “The Salinas region is wild and remote; that’s why it’s ideal for John Carver and his cryptid friends. It’s also the last place the Wolven clan was seen. John Carver intends to help Woody locate them. If Scale finds them before Woody, he will summon the means to wipe them out. If … when … his powers get stronger, he could use the vampire activity to his advantage; use them as weapons against the Wolven.”

  Fish’s eyeballs were on stalks. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again.

  “Lady Iona and I found Woody’s clan at a place known for centuries as White Wolf Falls,” explained Professor Paxton, “but I have no idea if they are still there. They are a spiritual and shy group of individuals who will migrate if they feel threatened. It’ll be a good chance for you to … ahem … to kill two birds with one stone: keep an eye on Nat Carver and the Wolven, and find the missing girl.”

  “And what shall I do with my spare time?” asked Fish sarcastically.

  “Well,” said Professor Paxton with the hint of a smile, “if you could help Woody locate his clan, that would be useful.”

  “I know I’m sending you to the wolves, Alex,” said Crone, “quite literally, as it happens. I may be brought up on a misconduct charge from our benefactor if it all goes horribly wrong, but if I send anyone else, I can’t rely on the job being done properly, if you get my drift. It’s as simple as that.”

  Alex Fish allowed herself to blush modestly at Crone’s words, and then remembered Agent Jack Tully’s laughable attempts to stake vampires the previous night.

  “So we’re talking, what …? One vampire, or a hive?” asked Fish.

  “Possible hive,” admitted Crone. “You know what ancient vampires are like. They’re a bloodthirsty lot. They only need one invitation to get lucky. Spreads like wildfire.”

  “I just hope Nat and Woody are ready to fight if we need them to,” she said.

  “Call it their apprenticeship,” said Crone, and smiled.

  Despite her misgivings, Agent Alexandra Fish felt the familiar stirrings of excitement. She had met Nat Carver, and now she would be meeting the Wolven! She tottered across the room and stared up at the ancient tapestry with the proud figure of King Richard the Lionheart and the dozen Wolven at his feet.

  Man oh man, she thought excitedly, I might even get to meet the whole clan!

  CHAPTER 14

  THE GIRL FROM ST. PANCRAS

  Although Crescent had fumed for hours over being told off, the other Howlers secretly thought JC had been right. Otis had felt ashamed and upset that they had allowed themselves to lose control. It wasn’t their way. All prey was fair game except humans (who were forbidden) and captive animals. And JC had been right; it could have been a disaster for everyone if the trail of destruction had led back to the circus. But Crescent remained less than thrilled that JC was treating her like a kid with a curfew.

  “And all over a few mangy guinea pigs!” she had ranted to the other Howlers.

  Now John Carver had summoned some of the younger members of the circus, and as Crescent stomped reluctantly across the snow to his trailer, she wondered if he was going to tell her off again. But when she arrived, Salim and Ramone were already there, along with several others, including Nat, Woody, Del, Scarlet, and Natalie, all gathered in the living room. Crescent relaxed a little and waited to see what it was all about.

  It was cozy in John Carver’s trailer. It was bigger than the others, and for most of them it was the first time they had been invited inside. Immaculately furnished, it had room for two leather sofas on which were luxurious cushions and throws. Gleaming cooking utensils hung above the small kitchen area and everything matched beautifully. Dotted around the place were photographs of John Carver posing with various famous people, from Michael Jackson to the Dalai Lama. The large photograph of a smiling woman in a sparkly leotard was Nat’s much-lamented grandmother, Nina, who had died in an unfortunate trapeze accident a few years before Nat had been born.

  Minutes later there was a sharp rap at the door.

  “Come right in,” invited JC, smiling at the expectant faces of the others. “It’s not locked.”

  There were sounds of someone outside struggling with the door handle. Nat felt his body tense. In the few seconds it took for the door to be nearly wrenched from its hinges, he knew, somehow, who the mysterious visitor was going to be. There was more scrabbling with the handle, and then a short, slightly built person in a bright red ski suit and mirrored goggles came flying through, followed by a smattering of sleety rain and a draft of freezing air.

  “Sorry, sorry,” the person apologized. “I’m not good with door handles.”

  She pushed her steamed-up goggles on top of her head, flattening her snow-dusted spiky black hair. She smiled brightly at the expectant faces of her future pupils, though she nearly had a fit at the sight of them. There were at least two werewolves, one of them a girl—That’s unusual, she noted, as she scanned the room, also noticing a tattooed boy with—Oh my gawd, are they horns? And, most exciting and amazing of all, standing together were Nat Carver and the Wolven creature. Fish thought she was going to expire with sheer excitement.

  JC beamed at them all. “Everyone, this is Alexandra Fish, your tutor for the winter.”

  The girl from St. Pancras! Nat was so stunned and confused to have his thoughts confirmed by Fish’s appearance that he nearly fell over, and Woody, who had obviously sensed something was up, looked at him expectantly.

  Nat sent his thoughts in a rush, trying not to jumble them: ThisveryshortpersonwithspikyhairistheNightShiftagent ItoldyouaboutwhopretendedtobeamuggeratSt.Pancras accordingtoQuentinCroneshe’sasuperhumanheroine blackbeltinthreedisciplineszombiebasher.

  Woody sent back equally as rushed. Whattheheckis shedoinghere?

  “What the heck are you doing here?” demanded Nat. As soon as their meeting with JC had finished, Nat and Woody had gone to confront their new “tutor.”

  “It’s really great to mee —” began Alex Fish as Nat and Woody barged past her, through the door, and into her trailer.

  “—eet you,” finished Fish as she pulled out a couple of beanbags for them to sit on. She had expected to see them as soon as they had left JC, and they hadn’t disappointed her. She was dead nervous and tried not to stare, especially at Woody. Woohoo! she marveled to herself. A living legend, a mythical Wolven creature, sitting on a bean-bag only a few inches away!

  She sat opposite and was aware she was staring after all. She couldn’t help it. How had she imagined Woody in human form? All she had ever seen was a centuries-old tapestry of the Wolven in animal shape, but she would never have been able to imagine him as the strange boy who sat solemnly in her trailer. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, the kind her kid brother would wear, his unusual silvery blond hair cut in a kind of funky, choppy style that was trendy just now.
But that was where the resemblance to a human kid stopped. His face was a regular shape—Nice, really, thought Fish—but sort of wild-looking. That was it, she thought, he looks wrong in his clothes. It’s as if he can’t wait to run and shift into what he feels happiest as—a wolf creature!

  Nat sat next to him, a tall, slender boy with dark, slightly too long hair and those solemn navy blue eyes, eyes that she had seen turn a bright topaz in the dreary afternoon light of St. Pancras station. In answer to Nat’s question, she told them what the boss had told her to tell them.

  “So, you’re kind of like our babysitter?” asked Nat incredulously after Fish had finished talking.

  Fish nodded. “Uh-huh, kind of, but keeping an eye on everything else, too.”

  Nat was dead suspicious. He had tried earlier to brain-jack her thoughts, but all he could get from inside her head was a really annoying Dizzee Rascal earworm. He realized then that Agent Fish had been trained in all manner of disciplines for her job at NightShift. She clearly knew about blocking unwelcome brain-jacking, since she’d activated her own earworm.

  “Crone told me that there’s more weird stuff happening,” said Nat. “Bad supernatural stuff, like something waking up evil. He thinks that … Lucas Scale might be behind it.”

  Fish hesitated. “I … We don’t know for sure. It’s just a precaution.”

  Unconsciously, Nat put his hand to his neck where Scale’s teeth had once bitten him. He felt sick, but forced a smile for Woody’s benefit. “Since my … accident, I get these … sort of … premonitions,” he said. “It’s a reliable warning that something bad is going to happen.”

  Alex Fish felt for Nat Carver. The poor kid had been through a werewolf attack that he called his accident, although ripping someone’s throat apart was rarely an accident. Lucas Scale had meant to finish him off, not leave him alive. That was the only accidental bit about the attack.

  “And can you feel it now?” asked Fish gently.