Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

by Adam Nicholls

  “Was that…” Supposed to happen? Evie had meant to add, repulsion causing her to fall short.

  “Please excuse me,” he said, darting down the steps and hopping over the barricade toward the crumpled body. The gathering staff divided down the center, allowing him access.

  Evie sat still, numb with disbelief and horror, barely able to believe what she had witnessed. Her first experience of a circus was supposed to be a pleasant one, filled with joy and amazement. Instead, she had witnessed a disturbing accident that would scar her memory forever. The stuff of nightmares.

  Chapter Eight

  A night passed by, and then most of the day. It was back to work as usual, with Conan pressing on about how she could make further use of her connection to Fry Carter. Evie didn’t dare tell him that a man had been killed during last night’s performance—the police had written it off as a simple accident, so it was hardly breaking news. All the same, she could only imagine how much of a stink he would kick up about that.

  Evie had seen deaths before, and although last night’s had been undeniably gut-wrenching, Fry was all she could think about. Until the unfortunate event had unfolded, she’d been shown a good time. Only she knew how long it had been since that had last happened.

  Fry Carter’s ears must have been burning, for at that moment, her phone let off a melodic jingle, vibrating against her breast. She went for it immediately, saw that it was him, and wasted no time in answering.

  “Evie Black,” she said, hoping not to sound too keen.

  “Hey, Evie. I meant to call earlier but… you know.”

  “You’ve had things to deal with.” She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

  “Right.” Fry paused, as if distracted or not confident enough to say what was really going on in that head of his. “Listen, you didn’t tell your boss about last night, did you? The accident, I mean.”

  Evie wanted to tell him that she had, if only to measure his reaction. But to even consider hurting his feelings or making him worry seemed nothing short of cruelty. “No. I’ve not said anything, and I’m not going to. But is your performer… you know?”

  “He didn’t survive the impact.”

  No surprise there, Evie thought but knew better than to say it aloud. “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

  “Thanks.”

  Evie could picture him on the other end of the phone, all dressed up but cowering into a ball. Seeing a friend die like that couldn’t have been easy on anyone, but she was glad he had called. Even thinking that it might be considered selfish, she was pleased that of all the people he could have reached out to, he’d chosen her.

  “Listen,” he said in such a monotone voice that it almost seemed cold, “we’re moving on tomorrow.”

  Evie felt her pulse quicken. “Where?”

  “Columbia, Missouri.”

  “Oh…”

  Throughout the five-second or so silence, Evie began to picture her life without Fry in it. She hadn’t known him for long, but what she had known of him mesmerized her.

  And then it came.

  “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “What?”

  “Come to Missouri with us. Think about it; we can see each other a little more, you can try life on the road for a while. And if you don’t like it, you can always turn around and head home.” He said it like it meant nothing, and maybe it didn’t.

  “I… I don’t know. My boss wouldn’t like it.”

  “So take a short vacation. Or a leave of absence.”

  It seemed like a good idea. Evie was overdue a vacation, she supposed. After all, she had been working flat out since day one, and everybody had to slow down at some point or another. She opened her mouth to say that she couldn’t really come, but what left her lips was something else entirely.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nearing midnight, with the park almost empty, Jynx sat back from her glowing globe and rested on a cushion of blue velvet. Her black braided hair swung over her shadowed eyes, but the trance had stolen her, telling her things that others couldn’t possibly have known.

  In her time, many had called her a witch. Some of those slights had taken the form of malicious labels, where others had been little more than an easy description. It didn’t matter—none of them hurt. Jynx knew the secrets of the universe, and she pitied those who didn’t. Besides, there was a benefit to being a witch: she was one with The Calling.

  It taught her nothing, but also everything. If she wanted to find somebody in particular, she could use The Calling to help find them—to help feel them. But there was more to it, something that she herself couldn’t understand. Almost like a sixth sense, a person’s presence would announce itself in a way that others would experience as a sudden headache or déjà vu.

  Now, it was telling her that somebody stood outside her tent.

  Lucas, the muscle (known as “The Strongman” by crappy-mannered city folk) slept in his chair. Usually standing as her bodyguard, which she had her mystical command of lust over, he was sleeping it off. Rather than wake him, Jynx saw no problem in heading outside to check by herself. After all, The Calling would have said if there was any immediate danger close by.

  The crisp night air nibbled lightly at her cheeks as she left the tent. She didn’t have to look far to find her visitors either, for they were right outside and engulfed in each other’s arms. Jynx watched for a moment, unnoticed by the kissing couple.

  The girl—who looked all of twenty-one and wore clothes that would have put a hooker to shame—was less interested in the soft-core erotica. The man, however, didn’t seem to know where to put his hands, as if the options were limitless.

  Finally, Jynx saw it fit to intervene. With a little effort, she faked a cough into her balled fist. “Ahem.”

  The couple wrenched apart immediately, the woman’s face turning scarlet while the man scowled and balled his fists. After a few tense seconds, the man dropped his hands to his sides and peered at Jynx through narrowed eyes. “Don’t just stand there watching, woman. You’re giving me the creeps.”

  Giggling, the girl looked at Jynx with both disgust and caution.

  “Get out of here!” the man yelled.

  As much as she wanted to, Jynx couldn’t bring herself to just head back inside. Why not have a little fun? She stepped forward, checking over her shoulder to see that they were alone. “Go home, Andrew.”

  The man’s face twisted up. “What? How did you—”

  “What? Know your name?” Jynx smiled devilishly in the moonlight. “I know lots of things. For instance, you’re a married man with a sick baby. I also know that your child was born with defects. What was it—Down syndrome?”

  “Shut up,” he said, edging away.

  “And then there’s this pretty young thing. Your sister? No, no.” Jynx held her head, closing her eyes. And then, “Ah, no, your cousin. Shame on you, Andrew. Now run home to your wife before I give you reason to run.”

  Just like that, Andrew abandoned his cousin and disappeared into the main strip of carnival attractions, some of which were being packed for tomorrow’s departure.

  Jynx turned to the girl, who looked equally petrified. “Go.”

  And then the girl ran after her cousin, her lover.

  The truth of how she had known the details was complicated. The man’s name was purely found on observation of his wallet, which had his name on it and dangled from his belt. The wedding ring that he wore (and the one that the girl didn’t) told of the adultery.

  The child’s sickness and the girl’s relation to Andrew was something else. Some would call it a guess, others would call it a trick. But Jynx knew it as The Calling, offering her the secrets that she could always use to her advantage in one way or another. Unlucky for some, her usage of this gift was frowned upon by many…

  … Andrew had gotten off lightly.

  Chapter Ten

  On that Friday morning, Evie marche
d right into Conan Reed’s office with every intention of setting him straight. Her mind had been made up, and she needed to make it clear to him before she changed it.

  “I’m taking some time off.”

  Conan, despite the abrupt intrusion to his office, didn’t so much as look up from his paperwork. “No.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  He shot an emotionless look over the rims of his glasses, holding her gaze. Then, he set down the pen and slumped back in his chair, interlacing his fingers. “How much time off do you need, Miss Black?”

  “I don’t know.” The bravery Evie had felt in the lobby escaped her body as she watched Conan. Something about this man always had a way of putting her in her place. But she wouldn’t go down easily—not this time. She needed to see Fry Carter again, and no magazine house would stop that.

  “How could you not know?”

  “I’m planning on going away, taking some vacation time. I haven’t made plans as to when I’m coming back, or even…” Or even if I’ll be coming back. Thankfully, she managed to bite her tongue on that one.

  “Where will you go?”

  Evie took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m following the carnival. Columbia, Missouri, is the first stop. After that, who knows? I may turn back, or I may keep going.”

  “Oh, this is perfect.” Conan Reed managed a smirk. “So it’s not exactly a vacation so much as you’re choosing to pursue this story further? I like it! It’s some real method writing there. Well done.”

  “No.” Evie shook her head. “For God’s sake, stop trying to make me push this story further! Cara Fey died at a carnival—that’s all there is to it. It’s very sad to lose her, but unfortunately the facts surrounding it really aren’t that interesting. So stop trying to find more than there really is!”

  Conan’s eyes widened. He probably wasn’t used to raised voices from his subordinates, and Evie nervously awaited his reaction. All the same, she wouldn’t have changed what she’d said. It was a point she would stand by, especially if it led her to see Fry again. Some strange magnetic energy pulled her toward the man.

  And then Conan spoke. “Fair enough.”

  That’s it?

  “What?”

  “If you want to chase around after some carnie, that’s fine. Do what you have to do.” Conan leaned over his desk then, pointing a finger at her. “But if you ever talk to me like that again, you can kiss your job goodbye.”

  “Oh, screw you, and screw your damn job!” Evie spun on her heel and stormed right out of the door. She had given too damn much for this magazine, and for what? To be lumbered with even more responsibilities and still not be acknowledged? No, thank you. She was worth more than that, and she knew it.

  “Miss Black,” Conan uttered calmly from behind her.

  Evie kept walking. For the second time this week, heads turned to witness the commotion and gather gossip for the break room. Only this time she had no intention of returning to the office. Still, she couldn’t stop now. Of all the things that panicked her, the thought of not seeing Fry Carter again was the most frightening, so quitting her job seemed the necessary option.

  She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

  Chapter Eleven

  At dusk, when plush strawberry clouds drifted across a purple sky, Evie arrived at the carnival site. To her surprise, mostly everything had been packed away, condensed into vehicular travel packs.

  She wandered through the gathering of trucks and trailers, her luggage trailing behind her on the dry evening grass. She found a small group of people nearby, all crowding around and laughing at a joke that someone had told.

  When one person in that crowd moved, Evie saw that it was Fry giving the speech.

  “Excuse me, folks. You all know what you’re doing, right?”

  There was agreement among the carnies, nodding heads and folding maps.

  “Good, then let’s hit the road.” Fry disbanded his group and came toward Evie, his face a mask of nothingness. But when he caught sight of her luggage, his eyes lit up, and a smile dashed across his mouth. “You decided to come.”

  “How could I not?”

  Fry took her suitcase and led her to a truck linked to a large white trailer at its tow bar. “These are my quarters,” he said. “I’ll show you inside when we arrive in Missouri.”

  “I look forward to it,” Evie said, fluttering her eyelashes. She took his hand and climbed up into the truck, sitting between him and the driver, a tired-looking, overweight man with yellow streaks in his beard.

  Fry climbed in after her, closing the door. The engine roared to life, and the truck grumbled under them. The soft purr was enough to send anybody into a doze. Fry leaned his arm out of the open window and banged twice on the door, and they began their journey to the next carnival site in a convoy.

  “It’s exciting,” Evie said, suddenly feeling less pressure from leaving her job at Vision Magazine. She meant it, too. There was something intriguing about living life on the road, and although she had no idea how long it would be like this, she knew that she didn’t want to stay away from this man for long.

  “I’m glad you think so.” Fry moved to put his arms around her, but Evie misread the signal. She leaned to her side, looked up at him, and kissed him on the lips. That created a whole different level of excitement. His tongue tasted like honey and tobacco, a combination that sounded far less pleasant than it was.

  “I really like you,” she said.

  Fry kissed her again, holding her in his arms as the truck came off the field and onto the road. Her new life was about to begin, and this time she had no control over her fate whatsoever. The thing that seemed the strangest, however, was that she had no regrets.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jynx sat at the table in her rickety wagon, licking at a tail of cotton with her dry tongue and threading it though the needle’s eye. Although it was three in the morning, she had difficulty sleeping. The stitching of more voodoo dolls was a sweet way to pass the time.

  They came to a gas stop just west of New York, on a road devoid of traffic. Jynx, having been cramped up for six hours or so, saw no harm in stepping outside to enjoy some cool morning air. As she poked her head through the velveteen curtain of the wagon, she inhaled deeply, collected her many-colored skirts, and padded down the steps.

  “Five minutes,” Ringo said, pumping gas into the truck that towed the wagon.

  “Thank you, dear one.” Jynx watched him for a moment and wondered about his story. As a newcomer to their group, she had often contemplated his past. The Calling offered something, but she’d elected to ignore it. Some things were better left a mystery.

  “Hey, lady.”

  Jynx turned to the voice, youthful in its higher pitch. Loitering around the parallel gas pump were two boys, aged roughly eighteen. One of them was short and dumpy with red swollen cheeks and tatty clothes. The other was of a stronger build, blond hair, and sparkling eyes. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah,” the blond one said. “You can make me a magic potion, gypsy-witch.”

  Both of the boys cackled, more entertained than Jynx was. They high-fived each other as if having met some sort of achievement, rather than having blindly insulted someone who could do them tremendous amounts of harm.

  There was a stir inside the wagon. Her pet strongman waking up, no doubt.

  “Careful, Lance. She’ll turn you into a frog,” said the chubby one. “Warts and all.”

  Again they laughed, but Jynx just watched them eagerly. She was aware that her cold stare was causing some discomfort in the two pubescent boys. It felt good, to say the least, but it wasn’t quite satisfying enough. Not when there was more she could do.

  “I have a trick that you might like.” Jynx crossed the space between them, rummaging around inside her many jackets until she found it. She clutched the ball and brought it out on display. She fondled the golf ball–sized glass, the purple glow rolling around
mystically inside as it entranced the boys. “Are you watching?”

  The boys stopped laughing, watching intently, curious.

  Jynx continued to move the ball, sweeping it under one elbow and making it disappear, and then letting it emerge from the opposite sleeve. It rolled down her wrist and cradled nicely in the palm of her hand, where she seamlessly began the routine again.

  “How…” the blond boy named Lance began, but his intrigue kept him from finishing.

  Jynx watched their eyes follow the ball. It was fun to see their harassing personalities contort into confused fascination. But the best was yet to come. “Okay, Lucas,” she said. “Do what you need to do.”

  The strongman appeared behind the boys. In one swift motion, he cupped Lance’s cheek in one large palm and swung his head to the side of the pump. It connected with a crunching sound, and his limp body dropped to the ground. The chubby boy snapped from his daze. As fear filled his tearful eyes, he glanced quickly down at his friend and then ran into the roadside bushes, desperately seeking escape.

  “Leave him,” Jynx said. She looked down at the dazed teenager by her feet. “But bring this one. I have some new ideas I want to try.”

  Lucas the Strongman picked up the boy as if he were weightless and carried him into the wagon. Jynx followed, returning to her table. Before long, they were back on the road with Missouri in their sights and a new attraction on board.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The truck shook her awake as it ground to a halt. It was a Saturday morning and surprisingly chilly for a summer’s day. At least Fry was there to keep her warm with his arms wrapped around her.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he said, kissing her softly on the head. “This is our stop.”

  Evie followed him out of the truck and took a big stretch. Her spine clicked as her tired arms reached toward the sky. “Where are we?”