Shadow

by Christi J. Whitney

  ‘Are you okay with this?’ she finally asked. At first, I thought she meant my appetite, and I was ready to explain that I’d always been this way – except for my developing preference for meat. ‘I mean, with all the guardian stuff,’ she clarified. ‘I dumped a lot on you last night, I know, maybe too much. And no matter what my father says, I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do.’

  ‘Don’t want to do? Josephine, how could being around you be something I wouldn’t want to do?’ I bit the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t meant to say that much. Telling her I loved her all those months ago had been awkward enough. I refused to go down that path again. ‘I want to help you and your family, Josephine, no matter what that means. Believe me when I tell you that I’m all right with it, okay?’

  I felt Josephine striving to sift through my feelings. Currents buzzed around me, and I let myself sink into the depths of her gaze. God, I loved looking at her. At some point – and I hadn’t entirely realized when it had happened – Josephine’s face settled into a soft expression, and she was no longer searching me, but looking at me — right into my silver eyes the way I was looking into her green ones.

  A small smile slid over her lips, and I struggled with the sudden depletion of oxygen in the room. Then, just as suddenly, I broke the gaze and cleared my throat. Josephine took my empty plate and deposited it in the sink. When she whirled around to face me, her mood seemed lighter.

  ‘Well, are you ready to go?’ she asked.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To the rehearsal tent. I’ve got practice.’

  My brow furrowed. ‘But your knee—’

  ‘Is fine,’ Josephine finished. ‘Andre and I are behind on our routines, and if we want to be ready by opening night, I can’t miss a rehearsal.’ She caught my look and beamed in a way that reminded me of her brother. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t endanger myself.’

  Her last sentence took me by surprise, and I actually laughed. ‘I’m going to hold you to that.’

  ‘Well, come on then,’ she said, gliding past me to the door. ‘And I’ll show you where I work.’

  ‘I go where you go, Josephine.’

  12. A Perfect Mistake

  It was an overcast Monday morning – the start of my second week as an inhabitant of the Circe de Romany. I sat alone under the pavilion, which had been relocated near the back of the lot, just beyond our living quarters. With the opening of the Circe getting close, no one had time to gather for breakfast anymore.

  I nibbled absently on my tenth piece of smoked ham as I surveyed the Fairgrounds. It was rapidly transforming into the bright carnival circus atmosphere I’d remembered from the Circe’s last visit. Large tents consumed the sky, along with the massive Ferris wheel that still made me shudder when I looked at it.

  I reached for another piece of meat, my thoughts revolving around that fateful ride with Josephine the night of her birthday party. I saw myself seated in the bright yellow car as clearly as if I was there. Vaguely, I became aware that something was happening. My body tingled with cold as the image seemed to freeze itself in my brain.

  Then something wafted past my face.

  I blinked it into focus. A tendril of mist – black in color and with an oily consistency – curled around me like a snake. For a split second I thought it came from the cooking area, but as I sat back, a sickening realization gripped me. The mist was coming from …

  Me.

  It seeped from my hands, right through the skin and into the air. Mist like I’d seen around Ezzie before she simply vanished. I sucked in a breath and waved my arms, panicked. Instantly, the mist disappeared. I stared, slack jawed and gaping at my hands, seeing nothing out of the ordinary – apart from the gray skin and wicked claws I was only now coming to grips with.

  I puffed out a breath of relief. I didn’t need anything else happening to me right now. The wing growth spurt and my new set of horns were almost more than I could handle at the moment. Not to mention my new duties as Josephine’s—

  My gargoyle radar went off – a flood of scents and sensations all at once – and a familiar tingle raced over my skin. I sniffed the air in anticipation, determined to forget the mist for the time being. A few seconds later, Josephine appeared. Like clockwork, my heart jerked beneath my ribs. I brushed my hands against my jeans as I rose to greet her.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Hey, there,’ she replied, her tone light. She glanced at my empty plate. ‘How was breakfast? Is Alcie going to have to replenish the meat supply again?’

  ‘She’s not too happy with me,’ I confessed, giving Josephine a wide, but close-lipped smile. ‘I’ve put a serious cramp in her menu plans.’

  Josephine laughed, and I went warm all over. ‘I’ve never seen anyone put food away like you, Sebastian.’

  ‘Hey,’ I replied, coming around the table to join her. ‘Karl told me I needed to work on developing my shadowen skills.’

  ‘So you’re training to be a competitive eater, then?’

  ‘Everyone needs a hobby.’

  Josephine laughed again and slipped an elastic band from her wrist. I watched as she wound her hair into a loose braid. Against the backdrop of gray clouds, Josephine was as bright as the dandelion flowers on the Circe’s logo. ‘Well,’ she said, flipping the braid over her shoulder. ‘Are you ready to go?’

  She glanced towards the front gates, as she’d done every morning for the last few days. Quentin hadn’t returned from his trip – which was a highlight of my life. I didn’t know what was keeping him in North Carolina so long, but I’d memorized enough expressions on Josephine’s face to know that his task was having an effect on her.

  I gestured for the Gypsy girl to take the lead. ‘I’m following you.’

  Since being officially assigned to Josephine, a routine had developed between us. Without any protocol to follow, I’d made the decision to trail behind Josephine wherever she went inside the camp. I’d seen how Phillip, Stephan, and Jacque kept their eye on the other Romanys, and I tried to copy them.

  They reminded me of bodyguards in the movies: always alert while not seeming to be doing anything at all. The remaining Marksmen patrolled the fence like security guards, taking shifts in pairs. And they were good. Like Secret Service good. Only my gargoyle senses told me they were there.

  I kept to the shadows of the pavilions as we walked through the Fairgrounds. Josephine was busier than I’d ever imagined possible. I marveled at how she’d tackled public high school while working at the Circe. Josephine was also rarely alone and this limited any conversation between us to a few sentences each day.

  But we both settled into our roles. Josephine worked and rehearsed. I practiced my guardian techniques. Being near Josephine was everything I’d wanted since the day she’d walked into my life and flipped my world on its end.

  Squelching those feelings was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it also became part of my daily routine, just like learning how to sculpt a perfectly stoical exterior, no matter what emotional battle was eating me up inside.

  We neared the large rehearsal tent. Its red and gold striped body fluttered in the summer breeze. I passed a small group of Marksmen, and I heard one of them spit. My gargoyle hearing easily picked up their whispered conversation.

  ‘I’d like to clip those wings,’ muttered one under his breath.

  ‘Wonder how far I could drive my knife into his stony guts,’ said another.

  My pace slowed unconsciously. Heat began to churn inside my stomach, and I breathed hard through my nose. The Marksmen had been ordered to leave me alone, but they made it perfectly clear that they neither accepted me nor trusted me inside their territory.

  ‘Give it time, boys,’ said a third. ‘One wrong move on that demon’s part, and he becomes target practice.’

  I’d stopped moving completely. My rational mind recognized the signs: the slipping control. Warning shots fired in my brain. I felt my eyes burning, and I turned my claws into my palms
. The edges of my vision blurred into red.

  ‘Sebastian?’

  Josephine’s voice snapped me to attention. She paused in the opening of the rehearsal tent, looking back at me. The rising fire immediately cooled, followed by a wave of irritated shame at the power Quentin’s men had over me. I quickly added another task to my mental list: quit letting Marksmen get under my skin.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I said, hurrying to catch up. ‘I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.’

  We passed through the opening of the tent.

  Josephine studied me. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yes.’ I pried my claws out of my skin. ‘Totally fine.’

  She regarded me with a strange expression. I knew how the Marksmen felt about me. I knew how the other Gypsies felt. But I couldn’t read Josephine Romany the same way. I recognized her moods and emotions – they’d become as familiar as my own. And I’d learned to pinpoint her location using my senses. This was – I had to admit – one of my favorite pastimes. But as to how she felt when it came to me, I was completely in the dark.

  ‘Okay,’ she finally replied. ‘Well, I guess I need to find Andre.’

  ‘Break a leg,’ I said with a smile.

  She nodded and jogged across the floor. Dozens of performers crowded the practice tent, eager to nail down their acts before the opening night of the Circe, just days away. Several heads turned in my direction. With my wings fully visible and my appearance no longer disguised with jackets and hoods, I was difficult to miss. My only consolation was my ability to blend into the shadows when I wanted. I located an empty section of bleachers in an unlit corner and settled in to watch.

  I didn’t know how to be a guardian. The only gargoyles I’d known had it out for me – with the exception of Esmeralda. But the last time I’d spoken to Hugo on the phone, he said he hadn’t seen or heard from my former teacher. And while Karl could tell me the effects of sunlight and diamonds, and he helped my understanding of how shadowen functioned, there was nothing in his books to guide me in this weird role.

  It was something I had to figure out on my own.

  As I watched the groups of performers, I grew increasingly curious about the Outcast Gypsies and their past. Had they always lived with the threat of shadow creatures? Did other clans function the same way? There were so many questions I would’ve loved to ask Karl, but I’d been too busy with my new duties – like watching Josephine rehearse. It had become the best part of my day.

  She maneuvered through the cluster of performers, and I perched on the top bleacher, letting my gaze run over the room; training myself to take in my surroundings, to focus on what my instincts and senses told me. The more I listened, the more I discovered about the world around me.

  I knew that Andre – Josephine’s partner in her routines – waited for her on the other side of the tent. Though I’d encountered him once before when I’d burst into Karl’s trailer, my real knowledge of him came from our official introduction to each other. The first day I’d followed Josephine into the rehearsal tent, the large man had crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging, and glared at me.

  ‘Andre,’ Josephine had said with a smile, ‘this is Sebastian.’

  The man’s eyes bored into mine. ‘Yeah, the gargoyle. I know who he is.’

  ‘His name’s Sebastian,’ Josephine repeated, but in a tone that made my heart swell inside my chest. ‘And he’s with me.’

  Andre surveyed me hard for a moment, and I simply let him. I knew there was something in my face that made people back down – maybe the inhuman silver color of my eyes or the flash of my jagged teeth as I spoke. The barrel-chested performer gave a surrendering grunt and extended his hand for me to shake.

  My brain automatically registered his unique scent. The spicy aroma of the Gypsies differed between individuals. Most scents were pleasant – exotic or otherworldly. Others, like the Marksmen’s, made my nose burn. After two minutes with Andre, he was cataloged in my inner Gypsy registry like a piece of badly burnt garlic toast.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I’d replied.

  That had been it. Since that first day, Andre tolerated my presence during their rehearsals with a kind of controlled exasperation. And I tolerated his smell.

  I’d only seen Josephine perform two routines since I’d come to the Circe. She was good at traditional Roma dance, and she also excelled with the aerial silk ribbons: an act I’d joined unintentionally when I was trying to save her from Augustine’s gargoyles.

  Her routines with Andre were completely different. They consisted of a series of balancing acts. Andre was the base and support – using poles, ladders, and chairs – for Josephine to balance on over his head. She had extraordinary strength and control, and I was amazed at how steady she could be. Andre was a perfectionist when it came to performance. I appreciated that particular quality, especially when it came to Josephine’s safety.

  Today appeared to be another balancing routine. Andre was doing some warm ups with a ladder as Josephine approached. People bustled around them; everyone scurrying to get their own practices in. Trapeze artists claimed the lofty spaces above, and other performers were divided among the three circular performance spaces on the floor.

  Andre gave Josephine a lecture about her knee that she promptly dismissed. She was stubborn, and I liked that about her; though I worried about her injury as much as her partner did. Finally, Andre relented and they practiced their first stunt. Josephine handled everything fine, but I caught her wincing occasionally.

  After an hour, they took a short break. Josephine walked to a water cooler near the bleachers. She took a long drink and filled her cup again. Her face glowed with physical exertion, and a few strands of hair clung damply to her neck.

  ‘So how’s it looking so far?’ she asked, glancing up at me.

  I wasn’t used to being addressed during practice, and it took me a moment to reply. ‘You’re amazing, as usual. I don’t know how you do it.’

  She stopped mid-sip, her glistening skin taking on an even more amazing shine. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  The sound of revving engines filled the tent. Five men on motorbikes sped out from behind the partition, followed by crew members towing a spherical metal cage. I’d seen an act like this before. The motorcyclists raced around the inside of the cage at high speeds, narrowly avoiding each other in the process. I recognized Brishen among the performers waiting to rehearse the stunt.

  The crew locked the circular cage into place. Someone flipped down the ramp, and the first two bikers raced inside. The scene was so impressive that I almost didn’t notice Andre’s return. He was riding a motorcycle, and two men walked behind him carrying an oddly shaped bar, which resembled the swing in a birdcage, only much larger – large enough for a person to sit on.

  ‘Looks like I’m up,’ said Josephine.

  She trotted to Andre and the motorcycle. A long cable ran from a platform on the floor to the high scaffolding on the opposite side of the tent. Crew members lifted Andre’s bike, positioning it on the cable and attaching a third wheel. They fastened a large swing beneath the contraption so that it hung beneath the motorcycle, just under its back wheel.

  My heart catapulted up my throat as the crew set up for the stunt – one I’d never seen Josephine and Andre attempt. A man placed a stepladder on the platform, and Andre mounted the bike. The cable bowed under the weight as the crew held the swing in place. Josephine sat on the bar of the swing, her legs dangling.

  Sweat trickled down my back as I tried to manage my rising panic. Josephine was a professional. This was her job. Neither of those thoughts prevented my nerves crackling like severed electrical cables.

  Andre gave the crew a thumbs-up signal. Josephine mirrored the gesture. The crew backed away. Andre revved the engine, and the motorcycle roared across the cable, climbing higher and higher as it crossed the tent. Josephine sat perfectly still, her expression serene yet focused.

  The
y reached the scaffolding, nearly in the rafters. Andre stopped the bike and it drifted backwards down the wire. He put on the brakes, and they hung there, perfectly suspended and balanced over the floor of the rehearsal tent. Several agonizing seconds passed. Josephine locked her knees over the bar and let go of the sides. Then, slowly, she leaned back until she was hanging upside down. I stopped breathing. Andre raised himself from his seat, extending his arms, and the two balanced in that position for what felt like hours.

  Finally, Josephine pulled herself up, and Andre returned to his seat. The bike drifted toward the lower end of the cable. But before I could inhale, Andre revved it once more and started up at a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible on such a thin wire. They reached the top and slid down to the middle again. Josephine executed another move – this one more precarious, as she dangled by only one foot and one arm. The bike wobbled as Andre stood.

  My shoulders cramped so hard the pain radiated down my spine. Josephine slid out of her posture and returned to the swing. I rubbed my neck, eager for the stunt to end. Andre leaned over the bike, speaking to Josephine. I saw her nod, and she gripped the sides of the swing as the motorcycle sped up the wire once more.

  Josephine stood on the bar, and Andre leaned heavily to one side. The swing angled in the opposite direction. Josephine pushed her weight against the outside corner of the swing just as her partner leaned to the other side. The entire contraption began to rock back and forth like a giant pendulum. Josephine provided the counterweight to Andre’s momentum. And then, suddenly, they were spinning completely around the cable in a giant circle.

  Over and over they went – first Josephine was under the cable, and then she was over it. They moved so quickly that it was difficult to see just how hard they were working. The motion looked effortless and weightless. I watched in awe.

  That’s when it happened. It was so sudden that I could’ve missed it. But I was so fixated on Josephine that I saw every detail as though time screeched to a halt. As she came around the underside of the cable and pushed against the bar, her injured knee gave out. Her foot slipped, and she lost her balance. The perfect rhythm was disrupted. Andre lurched in his seat. The hard shift jolted the contraption, and I knew.