The Yellow-Bellied Scaredy Cat

by Amy Boyles

  Pig snorted pleasantly at me.

  “Come on. Let’s get you back so that I can meet this carnival owner and discover who his match is, not that I expect it to be anyone who lives here, but we’ll see.”

  I started to walk Pig in but stopped dead when I saw Thorne striding toward me. He was impossible to miss at over six feet with broad shoulders and brown hair streaming behind him.

  Unfortunately I was also impossible to miss in my stupid flowered muumuu.

  Maybe he hadn’t seen me. Or maybe if he had seen me, he didn’t recognize me.

  His top lip curled into an amused smile. “Hey, Charming.”

  Oh, he’d seen me all right. “Hey, Thorne.” I picked Pig off the ground and held her tight across my chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice how awful my gown was.

  “Why are you wearing your grandmother’s housecoat?”

  Dang! Why did he have to notice? “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t my grandmother’s. It’s the latest fashion out of Paris, but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t follow Parisian style.”

  “I lived in Paris for ten years, with my father.”

  Ugh. Sometimes I wanted to strangle Thorne. Why did he always have to one-up me all the time? It wasn’t even as if he did it every once in a while. No. Almost every conversation we had, at least when we were sparring, Thorne had the advantage.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “You lived in Paris,” I said, changing the subject. “I would love to hear about it sometime.”

  Thorne’s gaze raked over my outfit. “I would also love to hear about the latest fashions,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  I shot him a haughty look. “I would be happy to tell you about them, but right now I have a date with a…carnie.”

  Thorne’s eyes darkened. He bent down until we were almost eye level. “That wouldn’t be an actual date, would it?”

  I smacked his shoulder playfully. “Don’t get all jealous on me. No, of course it’s not. I’m supposed to matchmake him.”

  “So there’s nothing for me to worry about?” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “With me in this muumuu? Are you joking?”

  “Yes.”

  I patted his chest, which was hard as marble. “No, there’s nothing for you to worry about.” I pushed up onto my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Have you talked to your father yet?”

  Thorne scowled.

  “Well, I see I have my answer.” I clicked my tongue. “Now, go about your business and police the town, will you?”

  He scowled. “Happily.”

  I left Thorne and went back inside to scold my mother and change my clothes.

  Within thirty minutes I was back outside and headed toward the carnival, which luckily was within walking distance.

  “Charming! Oh, Charming!” I glanced across the street to see a leggy blonde, one Kimberly Peterson, waving at me. She called out, “Hang on. I’ll be right over.”

  I waited patiently as Kimberly sashayed across the street in a tight pink sheath dress and silver heels. I liked Kimberly because she had a good heart and was entertaining to boot.

  She was also Witch’s Forge’s self-proclaimed most eligible bachelorette—a topic she was probably on her way to discuss with me right now. I would bet the odds were 5 to 1 that’s what Kimberly wanted to discuss.

  When she reached my side of the street, Kimberly smoothed her blonde hair and grinned. “Charming, can I walk with you?”

  “Sure, I’m on my way to meet the carnival owner.”

  Kimberly shuddered. “You’re not going to match him, are you?”

  “Mayor Dixon has asked that I do.”

  “Well, keep me out of the conversation, will you? The last man I want to end up with is a carnival owner. How many arms does he have? Is there a dead twin sticking out of his neck?”

  “I think someone’s been watching too much American Horror Story.”

  She tossed her hair over one shoulder and said pompously, “I don’t have to watch television to know what carnival people are like. I’ve been to a few in my day.”

  “You?” I said, admiring her red nails and perfectly put together ensemble. “I would never have thought such a thing.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” she reminded me. “But anyway, I didn’t stop you to talk about the carnival.”

  We waited at a corner while a stoplight changed. The sun was bright and hot even though it was spring. The rays warmed my skin, making my flesh tingle with happiness. “What do you want to discuss?”

  “Well,” Kimberly said slowly, as if tasting the words, “I know that we’ve tried a couple of times to get my matches right and they’ve either wound up completely wrong or my boyfriend has ended up dead.”

  “I’m so sorry about all of that,” I said. Though part of me wanted to suggest that Kimberly consider taking a break from man hunting because it seemed as if the universe was giving her a big hint that she should, I kept my expression neutral, nodding and smiling as she spoke.

  “So I was thinking,” Kimberly cooed, “that maybe you should stop looking for a match for me for a while.”

  “I haven’t been looking,” I replied.

  My words must’ve come out sharper than I intended, because her face fell.

  “Oh,” she said. “I thought you were looking for a dark stranger, the one who would come off the train.”

  That’s what my vision had suggested—that Kimberly’s soul mate would step off the Witch’s Forge Express. But we’d yet to meet him, and I hadn’t thought about Kimberly’s match in a while, at least not since the last time she hounded me about him.

  We arrived at the outskirts of the carnival. I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket and read the carnival owner’s name that the mayor had scribbled down.

  “Samson Magnum,” I murmured.

  Kimberly tore her gaze from a bag of cotton candy. “What’s that?”

  “The owner of the carnival—Samson Magnum.”

  “Well, anyway.” Kimberly pulled her hair over one shoulder and inspected the ends. “All I wanted to do was to let you know that I’m taking a break from men. That’s all. I thought you should hear it from me.”

  I found a worker setting up one of the game booths. “Have you seen Samson Magnum?” I asked.

  He pointed a long, thin finger past the carousel. “There’s a trailer back there. That’s where you’ll find him.”

  I thanked him and kept walking.

  Kimberly’s heels clicked on the ground as she pranced to catch up. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to tell you, Charming.”

  “Okay.” I swept around the carousel and saw the trailer. “I will keep that in mind.”

  “Then I’ll just be going. I’ve got a nail appointment, and I hate to keep my nail lady waiting.”

  With that, Kimberly stalked out of the carnival. I barely had a chance to tell her goodbye before she had disappeared behind the carousel.

  I reached the trailer door and knocked. From inside I heard footsteps and the shuffling of paper. “Coming,” called the voice. A moment later the door swung open and a man appeared. Yellow stains marred the armpits of his puffy white shirt, his oily dark hair was slicked back, and two-day-old scruff dotted his face. “Yes? How may I help you?”

  “I’m Charming Calhoun. Are you Samson Magnum?”

  Is this the guy the mayor wanted me to match? His personal hygiene was questionable, but I supposed everyone had a right to find true love.

  He bowed. “In the flesh.”

  His piercing eyes sent a jolt straight to my heart. There was something in them—interest, intrigue, an energy that I wasn’t used to encountering.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Calhoun?”

  “The m-mayor,” I stammered, “Winnifred Dixon, sent me to offer you my services. I am a matchmaker.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, “I seem to remember Winnifred mentioning something about you. Tell me—have you seen the carnival?�
��

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Samson closed the trailer door, and with a flourish of his hands, he gestured to the tents around us. “Then let me give you a tour. Come, see my carnival, and after that, let us decide about the matchmaking.” He offered his arm. I hesitated but in the end linked my elbow around his. “Charming Calhoun, let me introduce you to my family.”

  Charming

  I met the bearded lady—Mia; she was nice. Giorgio, the strong man, was a bit creepy. When we were introduced, he stroked his mustache and winked at me repeatedly. I almost asked if he had a fly in his eye. I also met the snake charmer, who was a woman named Gretel. She walked around with an albino boa constrictor dangling from her neck.

  Each person seemed to have a legitimate gift, yet there also seemed something a little “extra” in them, a little bit of a spark that took me a moment to place—mainly because I wasn’t looking for it.

  “You’re all magical,” I said as Samson led me past a row of tents with signs advertising everything from a woman with horns to a man unafraid of anything.

  Samson nodded. “Most of us are.” We came upon a man sweeping up hay. “Arnold is one of the few who isn’t. Aren’t you, Arnold?”

  Arnold jumped. He looked to be about eighteen years old and had bright red hair that curled under his ears. He had a nice face, a big smile that radiated light and freckles that constellated his nose and cheeks.

  “Sorry there, Mr. Magnum, but you about scared the willies out of me. Aren’t I what?”

  Samson placed a hand beside his mouth as if he was sharing a secret. “You know, not magical.” Arnold’s gaze darted to me and Samson nodded. “Ms. Calhoun knows about us.”

  Arnold’s face fell. “I ain’t. Just a regular Joe.”

  Sensing that he felt insecure around so many magical folks, I said, “I know plenty of magical people who would rather be normal than not. Sometimes magic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Arnold didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know about that, Miss Calhoun. All I can say is that what these folks create seems pretty neat, pretty neat indeed.”

  As Arnold spoke I noticed a spider, about the size of a half-dollar if you counted legs, which I did because I did not like spiders, had started to drop from a web down toward Arnold’s head.

  After Arnold finished speaking, I pointed to the spider. “Watch out, looks like that one is about to land on you.”

  He glanced around, waving his hand. “What’s that?”

  “A spider.”

  Arnold exhaled a high-pitched shriek that I swear could have cracked glass. He threw up his hands as he shrieked. One hand tangled in the spider silk, and the next thing I knew, the spider sat on Arnold’s hand and started crawling up his arm.

  “It’s on you now,” Samson said calmly.

  “Where?” Arnold yelled. “Where is it?”

  I pointed to it. “There. On your arm.”

  Arnold took one look at the spider and fainted dead away onto the straw-covered ground.

  “Oh no.” I bent and brushed the spider from Arnold. “Will he be okay?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Samson said. “Arnold’s just a bit afraid of things. Grab his arms, will you?”

  I did as Samson asked. “What sort of things?”

  “Just about everything,” Samson said. “Let’s get him up, and then I’ll wake him.”

  We hoisted Arnold to his feet. He was surprisingly light. The kid probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.

  “I’ve got him if you’re ready,” I said to Samson.

  The carnival owner snapped his fingers. “Wake up, Arnold. Time to awaken.”

  Arnold inhaled sharply, and his eyes fluttered open. He saw me and batted the air. “Is it gone? Is the spider gone?”

  “Yes,” Samson said gently. “It’s gone. No need to worry about it.”

  Arnold exhaled with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought that sucker had me for sure. I swear it was a black widow and about the size of a silver dollar.”

  I pressed my lips to keep from laughing. “I don’t think it was venomous.”

  Arnold grabbed his broom and swiped his arm over his forehead, removing the line of sweat that had sprouted there from his adventure. “I don’t know; it looked pretty scary to me.”

  Samson clapped his hands. “Arnold, you will be okay, won’t you? I still have more to show Ms. Calhoun.”

  Arnold pulled a kerchief from his overall pocket and wiped the back of his neck. “Oh yes, I’ll be fine. Nice meeting you, Miss Calhoun. I hope to see you tonight, at the carnival.”

  I smiled. “I hope so, too.”

  Samson guided me away and presented the other booths. “Poor boy, I took him in because his deceased mother was a dear friend of my family’s, but the kid is simply afraid of his own shadow.”

  “Well…” I started, unsure of what to say. You know the old saying, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all? Well, I was trying not to say anything at all, even though it was obvious to me that Arnold was, in fact, afraid of his own shadow, as Samson suggested.

  “But, as much as I’m sure you’d love to discuss Arnold,” Samson said with a lilt of humor in his voice, “I don’t believe that’s the best use of our time. You see, I must be getting back to work. The carnival will be opening soon, and I have to make sure we’re ready.”

  We had stopped near the entrance, and I watched as workers started stepping into place behind game booths and rides.

  I studied Samson. He didn’t seem to me to be the sort who was particularly interested in finding his soul mate, but I supposed you never knew about someone—what they wanted from life, that is.

  “Is matchmaking something you want?” I asked. “Do you want to know who your soul mate is?”

  Samson mouth peeled back into a smile. “My dear, isn’t to love and to be loved all that each of us wants?”

  Well, I wasn’t so sure if that was what Thorne wanted. He was such a big lug sometimes. He was inches away from being brutish, so much so that when I first met him, I never would have considered that Thorne was the type to have a girlfriend. So when I became said girlfriend, needless to say, it took me by surprise.

  It wasn’t a bad surprise. On the contrary, it was a most welcome surprise, one that I enjoyed every minute of every day.

  I smiled at Samson’s question. “I suppose we all want to be loved,” I said. “But you didn’t exactly say you wanted to be matched.”

  His gaze sharpened, as if the carnival owner was insulted that I’d questioned him. “If I hadn’t wanted it, you wouldn’t be here.”

  Well, that answered that, now didn’t it? “If you want me to find your match, let me touch you.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “My lady, I am yours to do with as you will.”

  The words were simple enough, but there was something suggestive in his tone. My gaze darted to Samson’s, and he smiled at me innocently. I returned the smile, but mine was tight, forced.

  “You can just lay your hand flat in the air,” I instructed.

  Samson did as I asked, and I placed my palm atop his. In a flash he covered his other hand atop mine in a steely grip. My breath hitched as my gaze fluttered to his.

  “Now,” he purred, “you wouldn’t be doing anything other than matchmaking, now would you?”

  He pressed his face forward. The move was meant to intimidate me. I’d seen it before in people who were suspicious of my abilities, those who thought I might cast a spell on them instead of doing what I said I would.

  I shook my head and gazed at him steadily. “I’m only going to see your soul mate, if you have one.” I added, just so he knew for sure, “I won’t be picking around in your head.”

  “You probably wouldn’t like what you found there anyway.” Samson relaxed. “Please, do your bidding. Find my soul mate so that we may be together. That is, if one exists. I’ve had my share of loves, Ms. Calhoun, and all I’m goi
ng to say is that there comes a time in a man’s life when he wonders whether or not there will be any more love.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. Magnum, there is always time for love in one’s life.”

  He nodded. “So be it.”

  I took his hand. A bolt of electricity snaked from my hand up to my neck. Normally there was a small flare of power that I experienced, but nothing like this. My spine snapped taut as I met Samson’s gaze.

  “Who do you see?” he asked.

  An image appeared in my mind’s eye. It shimmered like a mirage, the face slowly forming. I blinked to make sure that I saw correctly. The fog blew away, and I saw the face bright as sunshine.

  I withdrew my hand from his.

  “Well, did you see my soul mate?”

  I cleared my throat. “The face was very hazy,” I lied. “I need to go home and think about it. Perhaps it will appear to me then.”

  Samson frowned. “Has this ever happened before? You haven’t seen the image completely?”

  I nodded. “I’ve experienced it a couple of times. Not many,” I added hastily, in case he ran off to Mayor Dixon and told her that I failed. “But in most cases the face becomes clearer over the next couple of days.”

  “Good,” he cooed.

  “But once,” I said, “just once, the face never presented itself at all.” I shrugged. “That’s just how it is, I suppose.”

  His brow curled in question. “Oh?”

  I cleared my throat. “How many days are you here, in Witch’s Forge?”

  “For the week.”

  “Well, I will make absolutely certain that I find you before you leave and touch you again—that is, if I don’t have an answer for you soon.”

  Samson stroked the stubble on his chin. The scratchy sound made a spot on my ankle itch. I scratched it with my right foot.

  He eyed me for a moment. I glanced around the grounds, but I could still feel his gaze on me. I tried to keep my cool, tried to act like nothing strange was happening.

  “Well then,” Samson finally said, “let me escort you out.”

  I followed him to the border of the carnival and shook his hand. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Magnum.”