“You sure you have to go back in the morning?” Victor asked. He sat up, wrapping an arm around his knee.
“It’s a circus day again. I have to be there by ten for breakfast so that I can help people get ready for Oddity Row. This isn’t new, Vic,” she said.
“I don’t like it when you’re called that,” he muttered. “It just seems to be all ‘look how weird I am, marvel and feel better about yourself’.”
“That’s because it is,” Kitty said, sitting up with him. His gaze briefly focused on her breasts as they became full and heavy over her opened bodice. “It’s more honest than anywhere else I could have ended up.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it. I have to live with it. I can be an equal-opportunity hire or I can be an oddity, a curiosity, a freak. It all amounts to the same thing—that mysterious, untamable beast that they must placate so they’re not eaten in their sleep,” Kitty said.
“You’re not a monster.”
“They don’t know that. Besides, I look like a miniature Sasquatch. Does that count?”
That got a half smile out of him.
“There are worse things than admitting I don’t fit in,” Kitty said.
“True,” he acknowledged with a nod.
“Anyway, even if I didn’t have to be in for late breakfast, you have work. Your boss would probably frown upon having sex with a nomadic bearded lady as an excuse,” Kitty said.
“I don’t have to go in to work tomorrow,” Victor said.
“That’s… Is that good? It means you can come to the circus with me if you want. Arcanium’s changed since you saw it five years ago,” Kitty said. “We lost some people, gained a few.”
Victor looked down, away from Kitty. “I’m not going in to work tomorrow because I’m on medical leave.”
Kitty stopped playing with the ends of her hair draped in her lap. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I think the only reason Tomas hasn’t laid me off is because it would make me lose my insurance, and he feels sorry for me. He could do it, you know. You aren’t protected if you reach a point where your work suffers,” Victor said, ignoring the question.
“Victor.”
“It’s something I’ve had all my life. Like you. I’ve been lucky. Really lucky in comparison to other people my age who have it. But it’s catching up with me. Even right now, I feel like I haven’t gotten enough air. I can’t exactly bring my machine out here.”
He was either going to tell her or he wasn’t. Kitty had no place accusing him of hiding things from her, considering the bushels of secrets she’d never told him.
“You called me on a good day. I’d gotten my special massage and everything. I do my workouts and take my vitamins, antibiotics and my inhaler religiously. But pretty soon here—a month, five months, a year, two years…”
Victor finally met her eyes.
“Cystic fibrosis. I’m thirty-two. Median life expectancy is early thirties, lucky if you see past that. I’m dying. I mean, we’re all dying, really, but…I just wanted you to know that the times I’ve had with you, Kitty, have been some of the highlights of my life.”
“What’s the prognosis?” Kitty asked after a moment of silence. She didn’t know quite what to say in response to his last statement. Thank you? You’re welcome?
“It’s been getting worse. Too many infections, not enough air. My doctors were hopeful for a while. So was I. I’m active. I have good insurance that covers the obscenely expensive treatments and palliative care. But I’m living with my parents again, and they won’t be able to handle the cost when I’m off medical leave and unemployed. I have some savings, but most of it dried up to pay deductibles. There’s going to be a point when I can’t pay, and I can only crowd-source so much before people get tired of giving,” Victor said.
“I have some money. A regular salary that I barely touch,” Kitty said. “As abhorrent as discussing money can be, I’d feel like a jerk if I didn’t offer. The money will be able to do so much more for you than it ever will for me.”
“You’re right. It’s abhorrent,” Victor said. “It’s shameful and embarrassing begging for money, even if it’s all shined up into looking legit on the Internet. I can’t stop you from donating. You just have to look me up. Don’t feel like you have to. In the end, it’s just a bandage for something more than a flesh wound, prolonging the inevitable. It’s just…”
He pressed his forehead against his knee, hiding his face. “Six months ago, my quality of life was tolerable. I could work. I ran. I could do things. But about a month ago, the little arrow started creeping over to the boiling point, the point at which there is no more point. Another infection. A bad one. Hospitalized and everything.”
Her first impulse was probably anybody’s first impulse, to tell him that there was always a point. That where there was life, there was hope. That if he could get another two years, another five, another ten, that was something to strive for. But those words would have only been her own selfish desire to keep him around longer, no matter how much pain he was in, no matter how little he could do, no matter how much it cost.
“I’d ask why you didn’t tell me about it sooner, but I know there was no reason or obligation to,” Kitty said, stroking his hair. Was it thinner or finer than it had been? She couldn’t tell. “My condition is out there for everyone to see, but if it wasn’t, it’d be no one’s business but mine. I guess the real question is why you decided to tell me now.”
“Because I thought it would get me some astronomical sympathy sex?” Victor offered.
“I thought we did that anyway.”
“You’re taking this really well,” Victor said. “Better than most of the people I’ve told. Including my parents who’ve known about it all my life.”
Kitty smiled, but it seemed perfunctory even to her, cold. “I know a little something about other people’s denial. And I’ve dealt with chronic and terminal illnesses before, Victor. Part of the territory.”
Victor laughed, a disbelieving huff. “I don’t know how I forget what you do, but it just sometimes happens. I told you now because we have tonight. Maybe later in the week, maybe next weekend. But I don’t know if I’ll be here the next time your circus comes riding into town. I just didn’t want you to have to hear about it by calling and getting my mother telling you about the funeral dates or my hospice caregiver answering for me or whatever.”
Kitty tilted her head to meet his eyes. “I appreciate you telling me. I know how hard it must have been.”
“I know you won’t tell anyone else, at least anyone who matters to me,” Victor said. “What are you doing?”
“Do you feel better lying down or sitting up?” she asked, crawling over to him.
“Sitting up. Standing is better. Why?”
“Stand up, then. And for the record, this isn’t sympathy sex. This was sex we were going to have anyway,” Kitty said.
After they’d paid their respects to each other—Victor standing for Kitty, then kneeling to return the favor—Victor pulled Kitty back down to kiss her. This time, he rolled them over to cover her, his weight and heat comfortable in the cool night. Their kiss was slow, unhurried now, just enjoying each other’s presence, intimate and matured over their time together.
Victor kissed over her jaw and down her neck.
It had taken a blow job—and a fantastic bout of mind-clearing clit-licking on his part—for her to come to a decision.
Chapter Two
“What would you be willing to do to get better, to have it all go away?” Kitty asked.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Victor said. “There are experimental treatments. There are things to manage the symptoms. But there’s no cure.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Kitty said.
“You mean, would I be willing to sell my soul to get rid of it? I’ve seen that movie. It doesn’t end well.”
“What if you could just…wish it away? Would you do it
?” Kitty asked.
“I’ve seen that movie too. It also doesn’t end well,” Victor said. “What’s this about? Because it’s sounding very much like a deal with the devil, and while you’ve got a downright wicked tongue, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a demon.”
“Too obvious?” Kitty asked with a grin.
“Too kind. I’d say ‘nice’, but ‘nice’ is such a nice word,” Victor said.
Kitty stared at his shoulder. “I’m not as kind or nice as you think I am,” she replied quietly.
“Are you a demon trying to steal my soul?” Victor asked.
“No.”
“Just checking. I’m not sure whether I believe in that kind of stuff, you know, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Kitty pushed herself upright, her hands on his chest.
“Uh-oh, shit’s getting serious,” Victor said, sitting up as well.
“Okay, I don’t know how you’re going to react to this, but I do want you to know that I am dead serious,” Kitty said. “And since you’ve made your big confession, I guess I’m willing to make mine.”
“Do you have a genie trapped in that bodice or something?” Victor asked. The joke dissolved in the middle of the question, as though some part of him suspected that it might be true. Hoped for it, in spite of knowing that fairy tales weren’t real and religion was just a disappointing dream. Hoped for it, knowing it couldn’t be true.
Hope was a cruel bastard.
“What if I told you that a wish really could make it go away?”
“You can’t be serious,” he said.
“Didn’t I just say that I’m dead serious?”
The moon had disappeared sometime while they’d dozed. Now the horizon appeared suspiciously hazy, like lamplight in a fog. Victor stared at her, eyes wide, but his expression was a dull, blank mask. The torture screws in her stomach tightened. Kitty plunged forward anyway. Either he’d believe her or he wouldn’t. She’d already done the damage.
“Bell, our fortune teller, he’s a jinni—not a genie, jinni—and he could grant your wish. He’s not always inclined to be charitable, and he won’t fix you just because he likes me. He’s good about following the spirit of it, though, when you voluntarily join the circus to work for him,” Kitty said.
“Wait, wait, hold on. Are you saying that your fortune teller really grants wishes? Really?” Victor said.
“That’s what I’m saying. What’s more, I’m saying that Arcanium is composed of people and other jinn who made wishes too.” She lowered her eyes and stared at her furry hands. “Including me.”
“You mean you wished to look like—” He caught himself before he could finish.
“No. I really was born like this, Victor. I didn’t lie about that. I have yearbook photos if you want to see them. My parents are still alive, if you want to call them to hear about the woes of raising a hyperfollicular female. What I mean is that I wished to be part of Arcanium. He didn’t have to do much to make that a reality for me. Just gave me a tent and a RV and told me to go forth and be myself.”
She could tell he wanted to ask. He wouldn’t be the first. There was no way to make it sound good, but she wished that he’d stop trying. There was a point at which communication became impossible when a person tried not to offend by refusing to acknowledge certain realities.
However, he didn’t ask. In spite of being a closet freak himself, he still had a lot of normal in him. It just wasn’t the same for people who were passing. They had a whole other set of problems, but it wasn’t the same.
“If you wished to be a part of Arcanium with the caveat that your disease was cured, Bell would do it,” Kitty said. “That is, if you were willing to join a circus run by jinn—some of whom call themselves demons—and accept Bell’s rules and whatever tasks he gives you. It means constant travel, keeping secrets and some gray moral and ethical areas…which I’m sure are all resounding recommendations.”
Victor shook his head slightly, contemplative and silent for a few minutes. She waited for him to say what needed to be said.
“I’m torn, Kitty. And I’m confused. I’ve known you for the last five years—albeit only a few times each year. I feel like we learn a lot about each other when we’re together, more than some people do in a lifetime. You haven’t seemed crazy. Sometimes the crazy ones don’t, but here I’ve been thinking that you’re one of the sanest, most feet-planted-firmly-on-the-ground people that I know. I’m having trouble reconciling that to the craziness you’re talking now.”
He stood and started pacing the blanket. “I mean, I don’t think you’d lie to me about something like this, because I don’t think you’re cruel. You’ve never been cruel. So you’re either crazy or it’s true, and…” He threw his hands up in the air. “Are you crazy?”
“Everyone’s a little crazy. Am I delusional? No,” Kitty replied. “Then again, if I’m delusional, I probably don’t know it. There’s an easy solution to all of this, though.”
“What?”
“You come down here, you sleep with me and in the morning I bring you in. Free of charge. You can talk to Bell. In hypotheticals, of course. And not a single mention of the word ‘wish’, because he’ll latch onto that and use it. You only get three, like the stories say,” Kitty said.
Victor rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“You don’t have to go through with it,” Kitty assured him. “It’s all in what you believe—and what you’re willing to do to get your wish. In fact, I encourage you to think about it longer than just this morning. Walk Oddity Row again. Take in a show. Enjoy the afternoon and evening at your leisure.”
“What if I decide you’re crazy as a New York bedbug?” Victor asked.
“That’s a logical conclusion,” Kitty replied. “I’ll take it personally. I’ll probably cry. But you’ll be free one crazy bitch in your life, and you’ll still probably get my money, so it’s a win-win. I’m not offering you salvation or an easy out here. Don’t mistake me. I just… I care about you. I don’t give this spiel to anyone off the street. I was willing to accept the insanity diagnosis in order to give you an…unconventional option. It’s up to you whether you’re willing to take it.”
He lowered himself to his knees. Gradually, he held out his hand. Kitty took it and drew him back down onto the blanket. That was definitely sunrise on the horizon.
“So I’m guessing you people are supposed to keep the circus a secret. Seems like the kind of thing that would be required,” Victor said slowly, testing out the remote possibility that what she was saying might be true—and testing her. “You won’t get in trouble for telling me?”
“I think Bell will view it the way I did,” Kitty said.
“What way?”
“Recruitment.”
* * * *
Victor wasn’t distant like a bad one-night stand. He kissed her when they woke up again. He handed her a few mints to make her feel fresher. He brushed her hair before she braided it. And he bought her coffee and a breakfast sandwich at a fast food restaurant on the way back to the circus. But he was quiet, anything they said merely the casual pleasantries of acquaintance, no mention of what they’d discussed in the unreality of the darkness.
As ridiculous as it was at night, it was even more ridiculous in stark daylight.
For Kitty, the dichotomy presented differently. In the daylight, the strangeness and the darkness of Arcanium was common, easily dismissed, too real to be creepy. At night, it became the mystical spectacle that kept Arcanium’s lights on and its demons fat and happy.
Someone had once called evil banal. Kitty wasn’t positive that Arcanium and its demonic inhabitants were all evil all the time the way some of them pretended. After a while, a person realized that the evil inside Arcanium wasn’t so different from the evil outside of it, nor more prevalent. They just didn’t have to hide themselves as much.
The harvest fantasy faire that Arcanium had attached itself to was already in fu
ll swing by the time they arrived. This time Victor had to park.
On the way, he’d gone through several coughing fits, and he’d taken a handful of pills with a large cup of ice water while they’d eaten their breakfast outside the restaurant. She’d never noticed how bad the coughs were before, but now she could remember all those other times he’d told her that he had allergies or a cold and not to worry because he wasn’t contagious. She’d had no reason to believe it had been subterfuge.
At first, she and Victor just walked side by side through the fairegrounds, with Kitty smiling and telling gawkers to head by Arcanium when it opened at two and to stay to see the evening performance. He watched her join several people’s selfies, watched her work, watched her ignore the poorly hidden giggles and whispers. Finally, he took her hand.
“You’re off-duty,” he murmured in her ear.
Kitty couldn’t lie. It felt good to go through the faire as part of a couple rather than as a sideshow advertisement. Any pearl-clutchers—that such a good-looking man was with that kind of woman—only made it sweeter. She felt fucking gorgeous. She held onto that as long as it could last.
“Welcome to Arcanium,” Kitty said when they reached the locked gates. She slipped her hand from his.
“Doesn’t look too welcoming,” Victor muttered, not unkindly.
“Just wait.”
Two crew members in their traditional black came to the gate. They unlocked the padlock and unwrapped the chain, stiff but swift.
“Thanks,” Victor said.
The crew just turned around and walked away to resume their duties.
“Wow. Did I spit or something?” Victor asked.
“Let’s just go with they haven’t had enough espresso this morning to make them more lively,” Kitty said.
“It’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not,” Kitty said, guiding them through the gates.
“Are they slaves or something? Purgatorial souls?”
Ringmaster Page 3