Shadow

by Christi J. Whitney

  ‘Let’s eat, Sebastian,’ yelled Francis from the outside. ‘Alcie’s cooking bacon this morning!’

  ‘Bacon sounds great,’ I said as I yanked open the door.

  ‘Dude!’ Francis flailed backwards, nearly careening off the steps. ‘Don’t do that!’

  I jerked in surprise. ‘What? What did I do?’

  ‘Jumping at a guy like that, with the teeth and the eyes and all that.’ He shook his head, and then he laughed. ‘My bad, man. I’m just not used to the … you know …’ He gestured at me. ‘The new Sebastian.’

  ‘Oh, sorry about that.’

  ‘Now come on,’ he continued, ‘we gotta hurry or we’re going to miss out on the good stuff.’

  I glanced past him warily and worked my hood over my head to conceal my features. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to be out? After last night—’

  ‘You’re good,’ said Francis. ‘Believe it or not, you’re the least of the worries around here at the moment.’

  We sprinted across the circle towards the pavilion. The smell of cooking meat nearly knocked me off my feet. I paused and ran my tongue over the jagged points of my teeth, which were suddenly aching in anticipation. A small growl escaped my lips. Francis cast me a sideways glance, but he didn’t say anything.

  The atmosphere under the crowded pavilion felt different. Conversations were hushed, and the jovial noise of last night’s dinner had disappeared.

  ‘That bad, huh?’ I asked quietly.

  Francis kicked at a rock. ‘A lot went on during the divano last night.’

  ‘You were there?’ Francis looked offended, and I suddenly remembered who I was talking to. Of course he was there. ‘So what happened?’

  Conflict flickered across his features. ‘I’ll tell you later. Let’s eat first.’

  Circus folk congregated at a long table, helping themselves to an arrangement of biscuits, bacon, eggs, and coffee: sort of a Gypsy version of a continental breakfast. My mouth watered, and I wiped at it with the back of my sleeve. Francis grabbed two plates and tossed one to me. I caught it and filed in behind him.

  I split a biscuit and doused it with thick gravy, adding a few more servings than was probably good for my arteries. Then I piled my plate to overflowing with everything else on the table. It wasn’t until I had to set it down to pour a cup of very black coffee that I noticed an old, wrinkled woman on the other side of the table – Alcie, I assumed.

  ‘Thank you for breakfast,’ I said, careful to smile with closed lips.

  The gray haired woman narrowed her eyes and raised her heavily bejeweled hands. For a moment, I was afraid she was going to speak some sort of ancient curse on me. ‘Take some more bacon,’ she said, much to my surprise. ‘After all, you’re a growing … boy.’ Her old eyes sparkled and she dumped more bacon onto my plate.

  Francis was waiting on me, trying to hide his grin. ‘Come on,’ he said, maneuvering around the tables. ‘I found a spot.’

  It was impossible to ignore the shaded looks from the other diners as I moved through the pavilion. I huddled into my hood, trying to avoid their stares. Francis plopped down at a table, but I hesitated as I realized it was already occupied. Eating with the Romany twin was one thing. Eating with a group of Gypsies I didn’t know was another.

  ‘This is Brishen,’ said Francis, pointing to the first of three sitting on the opposite side of the table: a tall Gypsy, probably in his early twenties. ‘He’s one of our stunt performers.’ Brishen gave me a look that was neither friendly nor hostile and went back to eating his breakfast. Francis turned my attention to the person in the middle – a thin girl with cropped auburn hair. ‘This is Claire. She’s a dancer and an acrobat.’

  ‘And I’m Zara.’

  The low voice belonged to a girl with black hair and wide electric blue eyes. Though I guessed she was probably close to my age, the way Zara smiled made her seem a whole lot older. She tilted her head, and winked.

  ‘Zara’s our public relations face,’ said Francis sarcastically. Suddenly, he jerked and grunted. ‘Hey, no need to kick!’

  Zara kept her eyes on me. ‘Gadje still want to see the stereotypical fortune teller with a crystal ball bit, and, believe me, they pay good money for it, too.’ She flipped her hair elegantly behind her shoulders. ‘I just make sure the customer walks away satisfied.’

  Brishen snorted softly, but quickly buried his head in his cup of coffee before Zara turned her glare on him.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ I said as I sat down.

  ‘Wow, you really are gray,’ Claire remarked, leaning forward to get a closer look inside my hood.

  Francis stabbed a lump of eggs with his fork. ‘Nice, Claire. That was real subtle.’

  The acrobat shrugged innocently. ‘What? It was so dark last night I couldn’t see him very well.’

  Zara laughed and twirled a strand of hair around her finger. ‘It’s kind of sexy, if you ask me.’

  I chomped down on a strip of bacon, my face flushing.

  ‘Oh, leave him alone, Zara,’ said Phoebe as she approached the table and slid onto the bench next to Francis. ‘As if he doesn’t have enough attention on him already.’ Phoebe pushed a clump of dark curls from her face. ‘Hey, Sebastian.’

  I gave her a grateful nod. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘So why are you trying to hide?’ asked Brishen, pointing at my hood with his fork. He scrutinized my shadowed face. There was something in his demeanor that reminded me of a Marksman, even without the black clothes and the cold, calculating expression. ‘We all know what you are.’

  ‘I’m going for the dark and mysterious look,’ I replied.

  To my surprise, a hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. ‘You’re different than I pictured you.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The Marks are painting you to be a brutal killer, sent to infiltrate the clan and destroy us from the inside.’

  ‘Well, as impressive as that sounds, the Marks have it all wrong.’ I shrugged and shook my head. ‘And honestly, don’t let all the gargoyle stuff fool you. I assure you, I’m perfectly harmless.’

  ‘You didn’t look so harmless last night,’ said Zara in a sly tone.

  I polished off another piece of bacon and stared at my plate.

  ‘You had more than a few Marksmen ruffled,’ said Francis, sounding pleased. ‘It’s a good thing you’re on our side.’

  ‘I didn’t really do anything. Your boys in black took care of business.’

  ‘But you sniffed the beast out,’ said Brishen between bites. ‘Or whatever it is you shadowen do. Heightened senses, right?’

  I was growing uncomfortable with the attention. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘How intriguing,’ said Zara.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame people for being freaked out,’ said Claire. ‘It’s like nobody knows who to trust these days. Tension between the clans is getting worse, and that Peter Boswell guy just set everybody off last night.’ She glanced at me. ‘He totally went after you. Good thing you scared him half to death.’

  ‘Were you all at the divano last night?’ I asked, eager to shift the focus.

  Zara laughed. ‘Oh, please. You think they’d let the simple folk invade their top-secret meeting?’

  ‘I take offense at that,’ said Brishen.

  Francis smirked at me. ‘Brishen was there as one of the reps from the Stoakas family, and I was there, of course. But Zara’s right. it’s a select group of members from all the families within the Romany clan. No one else is allowed unless the bandoleer calls for a clan-wide kris, and that doesn’t happen too often.’

  ‘So what happened last night?’ asked Claire, her voice hushed.

  Everyone grew quiet around the table. Francis moved inward and lowered his voice. ‘Apparently, several members of the Boswell family up in North Carolina went missing. A few days ago, they showed up. Or, their bodies did, anyway. Peter claims the Boswells are being targeted by some sort of mercenary who’s determine
d to kill them off.’

  My blood went cold. ‘Why would someone want to do that?’

  ‘A few years ago, their bandoleer started claiming that he was King of the Gypsies. People didn’t like that. We Outcasts only answer to one authority, and it’s not him. Ever since then, things have been pretty tense with the clans up north. We’ve stayed out of it. Our family’s never really cared for the Boswells. They’re troublemakers, always involved in petty power disputes.’ Francis’ eyes narrowed. ‘But this Peter guy was pretty shook up last night. He says their clan members were killed by a pack of shadow creatures.’

  Brishen stared at me, his eyes hard. ‘Do you know anything about that?’

  I met his gaze. ‘A few months ago, I didn’t know any of this stuff existed.’

  ‘How can you not know about your own kind?’ he demanded.

  A growl rumbled in my chest, and I inhaled deeply to cover the sound. ‘Trust me, it’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with the details right now.’ I shifted my gaze to Francis. ‘I was under the impression shadowen were rare.’

  ‘Well, your type definitely is,’ agreed Francis. ‘Most gargoyles were either wiped out or turned back into stone centuries ago. Same goes for chimeras. At least, that’s what we’ve been taught. But groties are another story.’

  I stopped in mid-bite. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Groties,’ he repeated. ‘You know, grotesques. Nasty dumb critters, slinking around the outskirts of our lives, attacking when they get a chance, then scurrying back to wherever they come from.’

  ‘I’d never seen one before last night,’ I replied.

  Brishen hadn’t taken his eyes off me. ‘You’re telling us you’ve never encountered them?’

  My eyes flicked back to meet his. ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’ I did my best to smile, blinking my eyes several times against the burning sensation behind my pupils. ‘I’m still new to all this.’

  Brishen turned his attention to his coffee as he continued. ‘A centuries-old nuisance is what they are. Groties are the cockroaches of the Gypsy world. You can’t wipe them out, but they’re easy enough to keep in check.’

  ‘Thanks to the Marks family,’ added Phoebe. She glanced towards one of the tables of black-clad Gypsies – all of whom were keeping a guarded eye on me, I noticed. ‘We’ve got mad beastie extermination skills. Most of the larger clans in our kumpania have a contingent of Marksmen in their camps.’

  ‘Then how were the Boswells killed?’ I asked carefully.

  Francis propped himself on his elbows. ‘That’s what everyone in the divano wanted to know. Boswell claims it was a pack of chimeras and groties working together – which, of course, is unheard of – and he escaped, only to have one track him here to our camp.’

  ‘Why is it unheard of?’

  Francis puffed out his cheeks and released the air with a whistle. ‘Man, you really are new to this.’ Phoebe jabbed him in the ribs. He grimaced and grinned. ‘I just mean, we assumed you would know all this, coming from the Corsi clan and all that.’

  I sighed, but this time without frustration. ‘Karl’s been giving me a crash course, but anything else you can tell me would be helpful. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it all, to be honest.’

  Claire stared at me in open surprise. ‘Really?’

  ‘Groties are what the Marksmen deal with most,’ explained Phoebe, offering a sympathetic smile in my direction. ‘They basically look like mutated animals and they’re completely disgusting. Some fly. Some don’t. But they’re purely instinct driven and way too stupid to work in big groups. They fight in pairs at most: one to distract and one to attack.’

  ‘But they’d just as soon kill each other,’ said Francis. ‘As they would one of us.’

  ‘Chimeras are completely different,’ Phoebe continued. ‘Which is why it’s a good thing they’re not so common. They’re intelligent, cunning, and they have a basic humanoid shape, which makes them a lot more dangerous.’

  ‘In other words,’ said Brishen, fixing his eyes on me. ‘Just like you.’

  His words stung like a slap, and I sensed he was testing my reaction.

  I didn’t give him one.

  Phoebe ignored him. ‘I’ve never seen a chimera up close, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. My brother says they’re a tough kill, but there’s definitely no way a single creature could invade an Outcast clan and murder that many people.’

  ‘Right,’ replied Francis, rubbing his side. ‘So basically, the Marksmen don’t believe Boswell. They’re convinced he’s trying to cover-up some internal family feud.’

  ‘But just to be sure,’ said Brishen with a solemn expression. ‘The council voted to send an escort back with Peter Boswell to North Carolina. They want to investigate, see if his claims are true.’

  ‘And how’s this for a bit of secretive information?’ Francis leaned forward with a dramatic flair. ‘Guess who Nicolas appointed to head up the little posse?’

  A tingle ran down my spine. ‘Who?’

  ‘Quentin Marks.’

  7. Healing Wound

  I kept my face carefully blank. ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Francis replied, looking smug. ‘You can imagine that didn’t go over very well with him. He argued with my father for at least an hour last night.’

  No, I imagined Quentin Marks wasn’t too happy about the situation at all: leaving a gargoyle whose guts he hated right in the middle of his Gypsy camp. I glanced around the pavilion. Phillipe and Stephan were nearby, as usual, keeping a shaded eye on me over their cups of coffee. ‘Is anyone else going?’ I asked, looking back to Francis.

  Phoebe answered. ‘My cousins Bruno and Daniel. But since Nicolas didn’t want anything to seem out of the ordinary, my aunt and uncle are going, too. My aunt has a cousin who lives with the Boswell clan.’

  Brishen shot Phoebe a warning glance. ‘I don’t really think everyone needs to know the Marks’ business.’

  By ‘everyone,’ I knew he meant me. But it didn’t seem to make any difference to Phoebe, who kept talking as though she hadn’t heard him.

  ‘I wanted to go too, but Quentin said the group needed to stay small. He thinks I’m still too young for stuff like this.’

  I studied her guardedly. ‘So you’re a Marksman, too.’

  ‘Well, technically, that would be a Marks-woman, but no, I’m not. At least, not yet. There’s a lot of training left to do. But I will be one day.’ She smiled brightly. ‘It’s sort of in my family’s job description.’

  Francis tugged on one of Phoebe’s curls. ‘Ah, come on, you know you’re really staying here just to hang out with me.’

  The Gypsy girl slapped his hand away. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Oh, just ask her out already, Francis,’ sighed Zara. ‘You know she’d say yes.’

  Phoebe tossed a wadded up napkin at her. ‘Stay out of it, Zara.’

  ‘I am the fortune teller, remember. I know these things.’

  Zara arched her brow meaningfully, and the others laughed. Even Brishen gave a smirk. But as the Gypsies around me fell back into conversation with each other, I looked away, my thoughts focused elsewhere.

  If Nicolas was sending his head Marksman to North Carolina, he must be expecting trouble. I pictured the grotesque in my head. Was I ready to deal with more of those things if another incident occurred? Quentin didn’t trust me, and I didn’t know how much I trusted myself. I’d felt anything but stable since I’d arrived at the Circe de Romany. Sprouting a pair of massive wings didn’t mean I’d turned into some kind of superhero.

  ‘Hey, Sebastian, didn’t you hear me?’ Francis’ voice snapped me from my thoughts.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘I asked you if you were coming with us tonight,’ he said.

  ‘And where would that be?’

  Claire grinned at me from across the table. ‘To town. We’re all going to hang out tonight. You know, have a bit of fun before it gets really crazy around here.’
/>   Zara leaned back and rolled her eyes. ‘And by crazy, she means long hours and lots of work.’

  ‘Hey, life of a traveling carnival,’ said Francis. ‘What can you do?’

  ‘Enjoy one last evening of freedom,’ Brishen replied.

  Francis punched the other Gypsy firmly in the shoulder. ‘That’s exactly right. So you coming or not, Sebastian?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ I chuckled, jutting my chin in the direction of the Marksmen across the pavilion. ‘Quentin’s guys watch my every move. It’s as if they’re just waiting to take me out if I breathe wrong.’

  Phoebe grinned. ‘Oh, don’t worry about those two. I’ll take care of them.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I just need to have a word with my big brother,’ she said. The curly-haired Gypsy stood from the table. ‘Besides, it’s not like you’re capable of getting into too much trouble, not with all of us keeping an eye on you, right?’

  A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. ‘Still think I’m dangerous, huh?’

  Zara leaned forward and cupped her chin daintily in her hand. ‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’

  My cheeks went hot, but my thoughts went to Josephine. Tonight – of all nights – Quentin would be sticking to her like glue. ‘Well …’

  As if reading my thoughts, Francis said in a pointed tone, ‘With Quentin leaving in the morning, you know where he’s going to be this evening. Here’s your chance to get your mind off things, Sebastian. Remember what it’s like to have fun.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said warily. ‘The whole going out in public thing isn’t really possible for me.’ I tugged on my hood. ‘I tend to stand out.’

  Zara stood up and walked behind my chair. She smelled of incense – rich and spicy. My nose twitched favorably. She placed her hands on my shoulders, and I couldn’t stop the pleasant shiver than ran along my body. Her lips hovered close to my ear.