Vagabond Circus Series Boxed Set

by Sarah Noffke

  “Finley, you are asking to die then. You realize that, right?” And Knight raised his hand up and the movement that followed was quick. A single jerk. His hand moved less than a foot through the air, but the result was immediate. The metal scaffolding that held up the large spotlight bent with a rush. The light on the end of it flew loose and raced overhead, straight down at Finley. The acrobat looked up just in time. Instantly he discerned the safest path out of the overhead assault and using his super speed he sprinted to the other side of the ring. But Knight, sensing the direction his son would take, raced, knocking into him, tackling him to the ground. Knight weighed significantly more than his son due to his superior height.

  Metal and glass from the spotlight rained from the trigger effect Knight had caused using his gift to pull down the light support. It dragged down the curtain when it fell on it and this encouraged the other scaffolding on the other side to crash down.

  Father and son rolled. Finley struggled to free himself from the hands seeking to pin him in place. Knight sought to maintain a hold on the guy who could outmaneuver him using his super speed. Knight brought his hand up and before Finley could move, a rain of broken glass stole the acrobat’s attention, which caused him to hesitate. His father’s fist made his teeth shake in his mouth, like they were all loosened at once. His head exploded with white burning pain. The scene in front of him turned black and that’s when he realized he couldn’t fight his way out of this anymore. Finley disappeared.

  It took Knight a second to realize his son wasn’t under him. His arm swung out, catching only air. The movement, so hard and meant to be fatal, made the man throw himself in the opposite direction. The domino effects of his earlier actions were still occurring, metal and pieces of the support scaffolding shredding apart, unlacing in pieces. The big top was built like a pyramid and any piece out of place created a shift in the balance. Knight had knocked out one of the principle support mechanisms without knowing it. He rolled over, startled by the screeching of metal above and just then, the side of the big top fell, cutting the space in half. Knight was covered in part of the tent and stumbled out to the other side of the ring, just as another beam flew sideways, crashing down and knocking the man to the ground. It lay oddly across his legs, pinning them in place. The big top shifted all around him, falling down in places, tearing in others. Billowing from the force of the rush of air.

  “Ahhhh!!!” Knight screamed, looking at his pinned legs. The beam had cracked his femur, of that he was positive, but what burned more was his anger. Knight actually loved pain. It made him feel alive, but he hated being trapped. He could manipulate the heavy beam pinning him, but he couldn’t move it. To release himself from that position would take time. He scanned the dark tent. He didn’t know where Finley was and was certain he didn’t have much time.

  The big top was half deflated when it finally stabilized. The remaining support beams had done their job and stayed up, although two of their brethren fell. The scaffolding and beams that fell had finally stopped creating further destruction in their wake. Knight could hardly see this due to the dust clouding the air around him. He could see in the dark, but he couldn’t see through dust particles.

  Knight blinked several times and a figure coated in dust and dark appeared. His son’s unmistakable figure. “Finley,” Knight croaked out, his voice more scratchy than usual. “Help me.”

  Finley stepped forward until he stood only feet from his father. The dust had started to settle, but still his eyes watered from the assault of dirt. “I will help you, Father. I will give you a choice.”

  “A choice!” Knight boomed. “You let me up now and when you do I won’t kill you. How about that?”

  “No,” Finley said, his one word almost too quiet to be heard.

  “Well, I’m not going to do whatever it is you want. And we both know you don’t have it in you to kill me. You could never harm anyone easily. There’s no way you’re going to kill your father.”

  “I have other ways,” Finley said, and then the dust in the half big top settled at once like it had all been sucked to the earth where it originated. The ambient light that slid around the cracks made by the crash of support beams brightened. All noises, those heard and those unheard, intensified. And the temperature in the tent rose suddenly, making Knight’s long forehead bead with sweat.

  “What are you doing?” Knight asked, although he knew. He’d felt these elemental changes enough times to know what was going to follow.

  “I’m giving you a choice,” Finley said, his chin low, but his eyes on his father who lay before him. The acrobat narrowed his gaze and drew in a long breath. He felt the power, the one granted to him by pulling on the energy of the universe. He hadn’t practiced this enough, but felt that he needed a few more seconds to establish the foundation for the curse that would follow.

  “Don’t you do this, Finley,” Knight said, real terror in his eyes.

  “You’ve made me do this,” Finley said, and just then he felt a tug in his core, like the most startling gut feeling ever. It was now or never. When Finley spoke his voice was different. It was louder than he intended, like it was being projected from speakers all over the big top. It made the rug under his feet vibrate. And it burned his lungs. However, he still spoke, each word a deliberate part of his curse. Each word a critical ingredient. Each one spoken with the same amount of power. “As long as you, Charles Knight, have ill will towards others then your heart will not beat. Lungs will not breathe. I give you every chance to live. All you must do is let go of the evil within you if you want to survive,” Finley said and then stopped, holding the force and intention inside his heart and mind, directing all the power he’d borrowed from the elements to them.

  Knight didn’t do anything. Just remained frozen. Finley watched, continuing to hold the focus. The seconds following a curse were the most crucial. His lungs began to burn. His heart began to hurt and he suddenly feared that the curse had backfired. A real repercussion he was aware of. Finley kept the intention of the curse central in his thoughts even as something seemed to shift in his body. He could feel himself degrading, as though years of his life were being stripped out in a few single seconds. The acrobat wanted to crumple to the earth, suddenly feeling the worst exhaustion ever, but forced himself to stay standing.

  And then Knight gasped for breath. His hand flew to his throat, as his eyes widened with pure horror. The man’s mouth hung open wide enough he could have swallowed a golf ball. One of his hands jerked to his chest. He convulsed three times, his head ripping forward with each one. Then he looked up to his son and reached for him, his long arm crossing a large distance. His eyes pleaded. His mouth remained open, unable to pull any oxygen into his lungs. Every part of him was begging to his son who stood before him.

  “You know how to stop this curse,” Finley said, again his voice not his. It was like a voice sung from the heavens. One that made changes. Created laws. Shook the earth. “No ill will towards others, and you live. It is a choice.”

  Knight’s hand flew to his chest, pure grief in his creased face. Finley knew that his father’s heart wasn’t beating and he could only sustain that for a few more seconds. It was a law of the universe that one would live until their brain was too oxygen deprived. And that was the law he had based his curse on, knowing that its construction had to be perfect. He stared down at the man he’d known all his life. The one he’d watched in dream travel form try to murder him when he was a baby. This man was a demon. This was Finley’s father and he was the worst human being ever.

  “Goodbye, Father,” Finley said. “May you rest in peace as I know the world will when you are gone.”

  Knight lay back, his dark eyes blinking up at his son. Then he closed them slowly, and his head fell to the side.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  The exit to the big top was partially obscured by a portion of the tent that had sunken in. Titus had to hold Zuma back when an internal assault threatened the integrity of the
big top and it deflated gradually on one side. She could have fought him but then he whispered, “He didn’t want anyone in there. Especially you. You are his greatest weakness, Zuma.”

  She looked up at the creative director and realized he knew that Finley and Zuma were in love. Titus had grown so much over the last few months. He’d matured, but he’d also become intuitive, something she guessed he never allowed himself to be in the past.

  All of Vagabond Circus was watching when the flap to the exit shifted. This was the moment. The moment where they would learn their fate. If Knight exited then they were doomed. They wouldn’t be able to run fast enough. He would curse all of them. More than half a dozen would fall dead with aneurysms. They would die or if they lived, they’d wish they were dead.

  Whoever was fumbling with the extra portion of tent blocking the exit was having trouble determining the way out. The big top was in such a sorry state that it didn’t look like itself anymore. Finally, a hand reached through, finding a path to the outside. Everyone sucked in a collective breath. Everyone’s hearts skipped, like a rock over water. Three long beats followed by two short and then a pause before gravity pulled the stone down to the earth.

  The circus members had made this gamble for themselves, knowing they would rather die than be defeated and lose the circus. The hand pushed the tent flap back, sliding through a small opening. One hand was over his figure covered in dust and dirt and his own blood. Finley’s eyes took a second to adjust to the bright setting sun, which was a stark contrast to the dark tent. Then he dropped his arm from his face and looked out at the sea of people. No one moved. No one made a single sound. No one’s expression changed for several seconds. They all just stared in disbelief at the guy who didn’t look like the one they expected to leave the big top. He was older. Matured. And elegantly beautiful.

  Finley regarded his people, his eyes taking in their expressions of incredulity. He raised his chin and stared straight at Titus. “We are free! Knight is dead,” he said, and his voice was his own again. It came out of him filled with a purity. One that wrapped itself around the people of Vagabond Circus, embracing them. Healing their wounds.

  The entire crowd erupted in an applause bigger than they had ever received at any show. It could be heard miles away. And it went on for longer than any applause had ever lasted at the circus.

  Finley marched forward, the crowd parting for him. Clapping for him. Slapping his shoulder. But the acrobat had his chin down and his eyes on only one person. He reached Zuma in only a few strides. “Your curse will have been lifted now,” he said and stood in front of her, like he was presenting himself. Once the caster was dead, then the curse they created was too.

  With everyone’s eyes on Zuma, she stepped forward and held her hand up, pausing it just before his face. Finley’s lip was bleeding from where Knight had punched him. His skin was flecked with blood from where shards of tiny glass had rained down from the lights. But Zuma didn’t see his injuries as she touched his face which she could hardly believe was before her, and she could hardly understand what she was seeing in his features.

  “What?” he said, reading the confused expression in her eyes. “What is it?”

  Her hand paused at his hairline, her eyes running over the part of it owning her attention. Then she ran her fingers through the top left side of his hair. “You have a white streak through your hair,” she said, in awe of it. It was two inches wide and raced from the left of his hairline all the way to the back. Even covered in dust, it contrasted beautifully against his dark brown hair.

  “Oh, yeah,” Finley said, his eyes dropping. “I felt myself aging when I cast the curse. I probably don’t look nineteen anymore.”

  Zuma read the shame and disappointment in Finley. Her hand dropped to his chin, pulling it up so his eyes were on her. They were still a strange greenish hazel, but now they’d matured. “You, Finley, are more handsome than ever before.”

  Finley smiled at her and glided his hand over the side of her head, where the pink lay among whitish strands. “I guess we match now, huh, Pink-Streak?”

  “I think that means we’re meant to be together,” Zuma said, aware that all eyes were on them. No one seemed interested in giving the couple any privacy. They were the final act, the finale to the torturous show they’d watched all these months. Watching the two acrobats look at each other with unabashed love was a gift they all deserved.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Finley said, leaning down low, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Because I don’t plan on ever leaving your side.”

  Zuma smiled, one so pure, so beautiful, the crowd around them was accosted by the small gesture. It wasn’t a smile they’d ever seen, not on her face or anyone else’s. It was an expression that radiated a force. It was an expression of a freed girl. Eighteen years of suppressed happiness poured out of Zuma in that one moment, making her eyes sparkle, her face light up, and her elegance made everyone watching suck in tears of joy. “Nothing in the world would make me happier, Finley, than to be yours.”

  A tear slipped from the face of the warrior. The one who had battled his entire life. Been deprived. Been abused. Been neglected. And now Finley had something he never, ever thought possible, the gift to bring happiness to someone he loved. He closed the rest of the space between them, laying his lips on Zuma’s. She sucked him in with her mouth, pulled him in closer with her arms, breathed him in with each kiss. Her lips smiled against his as he kissed her, a kiss so beautiful and full of grace that no one dared look away. Love really is the most beautiful show. It can’t be rehearsed. It can’t be planned. It is the product of magic. It is what Vagabond Circus is all about.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  “Well, I dare say, Titus,” Fanny said at his side as she watched the two acrobats embrace. “I think we are going to have to throw out that rule about no dating.”

  Titus, who was smiling at the couple as well, said, “Yes, I think so. And since the curse is lifted, I think there’s no reason for it anyway.”

  “Yes, and that means one day we might have babies here at the circus,” Fanny said, hope in her tone.

  “I think at the rate these two are going we might have babies sooner than later,” Titus said with a laugh.

  Fanny playfully slapped the creative director’s arm. “Oh, would you stop that. They have much to celebrate. Freedom. Happiness. Each other.”

  “Yes, and they are quite sweet,” Titus said.

  Finley and Zuma were no longer kissing, but rather holding on to each other with a quiet need. Her head lay on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

  Only Fanny would dare interrupt the two lovers who were finally granted the opportunity to love each other openly. She stepped forward and cleared her throat.

  Finley raised his head, opening his wise eyes at the woman in front of them.

  “I think I should look over your injuries,” Fanny said, holding out a hand to him.

  He nodded, squeezing Zuma into him once before releasing her.

  ***

  Inside Fanny’s trailer, Finley sought the mirror first thing. She was busy gathering supplies to clean his wounds. The streak of white was exactly the width of the pink one in Zuma’s hair. And it did give him a rebellious look. He liked it. The slight wrinkles on his face were met with a different response. He didn’t like or dislike them. They were strange to see on his young face, but he figured in time he’d come to appreciate what they represented. That would take time though. He had never killed someone, and now alone, away from the crowd, the guilt prickled to the surface. Yes, Knight needed to be stopped. And Finley as his son was the only one to do it. He had felt that stopping Knight was his responsibility. And yes, the only way to do that was to kill the unstoppable demon. But Finley had now done it and it lay across his heart like a burden.

  “Okay, let’s see you,” Fanny said, calling Finley out of the bathroom.

  He exited, his head down and his worries covering his face like freckles.


  “Uh-oh,” Fanny said. “I’ve seen that look before. That’s the look of guilt and shame.”

  “I killed my own father. Cursed him. Killed him with a fast-acting curse. What kind of devil does that? I’m worse than him, aren’t I?” Finley said. His usually cool demeanor was gone and replaced with a slow-growing worry. Only with Fanny would he speak so openly, exposing his real fears.

  “What you did was kill an evil man,” Fanny said.

  “I’m not God. I don’t get to decide who lives or dies. And I did. I took someone’s life. I did something I’ve always hated him for. I’ve become him, my father.”

  “God works through us, Finley.” Fanny approached him and held out an open hand. “And I don’t actually think you killed your father.”

  Finley’s eyes went wide. “You think he’ll come back? That he isn’t gone?”

  She shook her head. “Take my hand and come sit with me, and I’ll try to explain what I’ve done. And I hope that God grants you the peace to forgive an old woman for playing games that only Ian should dare to play. I took some risk and I must blame faith for that.”

  Finley closed his fingers around the older woman’s. Her hands were soft and plush in his. She led him to the bench outside, the same one where he sat and learned to read all those months ago. The same one where she shared the news of the curse on Zuma, which he later discovered to be true. The curse that connected her to him, because he was the child whom Knight was trying to avenge by cursing any child born at Vagabond Circus.

  Fanny settled herself down next to Finley, smoothing down her skirt before looking up to the sky. She always believed the best place to reveal or learn information was outdoors. It made the process easier somehow, as though the open air gave the person recording the information a new capacity.

  “Do you know what Dave’s gift was?” Fanny finally said, her eyes back on the boy beside her.