Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

by Adam Nicholls

  Jynx looked down at it and walked over to a workbench. “I knew you were trouble. Want to tell me what you’re doing in here?” she said, placing the phone to the side. Then, so unusually casual that it felt like a dream, Jynx pulled out a hammer and slammed it down on the phone’s screen. It crumbled in two quick bashes, splintering into numerous pieces.

  “Hey!” Evie yelled, no longer caring what this psycho thought of her. Giving her a drugged drink had been one thing, but this was a whole new kind of crazy. “I needed that!”

  “No.” Jynx nodded at Lucas, and his grasp tightened. “All you need now is mercy.” From under her many skirts, she produced a small knife. Its blade caught a beam of light and bounced it around the tent, and within a flash, she drove it toward Evie’s stomach.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was only by pure reaction—a muscle trained over the years of throwing herself in the line of danger—that her head flung back. It connected with the strongman’s jaw, crunching upon impact. Evie felt that it probably hurt her head more than his, but at least it made him loosen his grip and let her dodge the jab of the blade by sheer millimeters.

  “Fine,” said Jynx, her hate-filled eyes burning like hot coals. “If you don’t want to die here, something else can be arranged. Lucas, take her outside.”

  Before Evie could react, Lucas had his arms around her again. This time, his hand pressed hard over her mouth. She could barely breathe, and there was no room for fighting this time. He carried her outside like a limp rag doll, taking her far away from the site and up the hill.

  Jynx followed closely behind them, letting a shining ball dance between her fingers. She showed no emotion as they plunged deeper into the darkness, and when the ball was all that could be seen in the low light of the morning, Jynx stowed it away in her gown.

  “Set her down here,” she said, and Lucas did as commanded.

  Evie’s brow broke out in a cold sweat. She needed fresh air. As the hard ground hit her rear end, she had mere seconds to try screaming before Jynx bound her hands and blocked her mouth with a tattered rag.

  “Maybe this will teach you to respect people’s privacy,” Jynx said through gritted teeth. “Of course, by then it will be too late.” But then something else happened—something that sent a fleet of chills shooting through Evie’s spine… Jynx smiled.

  You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, witch? Evie wished she could say the words, but breathing was challenging through the dirty rag. Besides, what good would it do? Her bravery had never done her any favors before, so why would it now?

  As if this entire ritual had been prepared long in advance, Lucas moved to a nearby tree, leaning around it to pick up something long and bulky. It wasn’t until he returned that Evie could see it was a shovel. He began to dig, grunting in otherwise perfect silence as dirt showered onto a patch beside the ever-growing hole. It only took a few minutes, but to Evie it felt like hours—days.

  “Now, get in.” Jynx pulled a match from within her garb and used it to light a stick. She laced it around in a whirling motion, making a pattern of the fading smoke. “It’s not as bad as it may seem, dear one. It’s sacrificial, meaning that you will benefit in the afterlife.”

  Evie’s heart pounded harder, beating against her chest wall. Are you fucking nuts?

  “You can get in, or Lucas will throw you in. It’s your choice.”

  Reluctantly, Evie slowly stumbled through the dark, sitting on the edge of the grave and lowering herself into the hole. Her hands shook wildly as she slipped out of the lazy knot around her wrists and removed the gag from her mouth, and she looked up at her soon-to-be murderers.

  “You’re sick,” she said, trying not to let the croaking sound of tears fill her voice. “All because I peeked inside your tent?”

  Jynx ignored her, taking pinches of a white powder and giving it to the breeze while she began to chant—that same eerie chant she had used when handing her a toxic drink. Lucas, meanwhile, raised the shovel again and began to scoop the dirt back into the hole.

  Evie moved to the back of the grave, her fear palpable. This is actually happening, she thought, digging her nails into the wall of soil. I’m actually being buried alive. She had seen it in movies and thought about how horrifying it would be, but she’d never thought it would happen to her. Who would?

  The dirt piled up in front of her. Lucas continued to make grunting noises as he suffocated her bit by bit. Evie looked up at him, watching his emotionless face as he scooped more dirt over her. It was then that the harsh truth struck her; this wasn’t a dream, a hoax, or a prank. She was being buried tonight, condemned to die slowly under the earth… and nobody would ever know.

  Chapter Twenty

  “What the hell is this?!”

  Evie opened her eyes to the sound. If only she were tall enough to see over the top of the grave. But she didn’t need to. She’d know Fry’s voice from a mile off. That deep, husky, yet somehow humble sound caressed her pounding ears like poetry.

  Jynx and Lucas stepped away from the grave. Jynx clamped her eyes shut as a rosy flush kissed her cheeks. Lucas dug his toe into the dirt and cast his eyes downward. To Evie’s surprise, they didn’t try to cover their actions with excuses, or even attempt justification for what they’d been doing. They simply stepped away and let Fry help her out of the grave.

  Evie had no words. Still trembling, a tear rolled down her cheek and dropped from her chin. She threw herself into Fry’s embrace. She held him tight, barely able to believe that she’d nearly been buried alive by a nasty gypsy and her lackey.

  “Come, Evie.” Fry dusted her off and then walked her back toward his trailer, looking over his shoulder in disgust. “I’ll deal with you two later.”

  Back at the trailer, a cup of hot cocoa and a deep conversation aided in her recovery. Evie began to tell him everything: why she had really investigated the carnival, what Conan Reed had expected of her, and just how terrified she now was.

  Fry, who had sat listening quietly, finally looked up from his feet. “Why were you even peering into Jynx’s tent? Hate her as you may, but everybody has a right to privacy. I know some journalists wouldn’t share that sentiment, but you’re better than that, Evie.”

  Somehow, after everything that had happened to her, he still managed to make her feel bad for having gone into the tent in the first place. What was it that made her so weak around him? As beautiful, charming, and downright fascinating as he was, at the end of it all he was still just a man.

  “Because, I… After what she did when reading my fortune, I began to suspect that Cara Fey’s death wasn’t an accident. My boss was convinced of it all along, but I didn’t want to believe that. Just promise me, Fry—promise me that if you had even the slightest idea that Jynx might have done something to Cara, you’d tell me.”

  Fry slowly shook his head from side to side in disbelief, lowering his tone to something more soothing. More hypnotic. “Of course she didn’t. I know it sounds hard to believe, but Jynx just has a sick sense of humor. She never would have murdered you. She’s probably outside now, telling everyone about it and laughing it off.”

  “Bitch has no conscience.”

  “Yeah,” Fry laughed. He stood up and took the blanket from off her shoulders, then put her empty mug to one side. “Let’s get back to bed, shall we? Tomorrow will be a brand-new day, and I’ll see to it that Jynx is punished for what she did.”

  That’s the least she deserves. Evie hated to bear a grudge but could never let something so nefarious go without a fight. If it really had been just a joke, it was so far over the line that it was bordering on insanity. “Fine. But if anything like that happens again, I’m out of here.”

  Fry made a sucking sound from the corner of his mouth. “I believe you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I want to ask her, but can I really deal with another fight?

  Conan watched his wife as she dabbed a wet napkin onto their seven-year-old son’s face, wiping off
a smeared gravy stain from dinner. She was already in an irritable mood, so this was probably a bad time to approach her on the subject.

  But he had to try.

  As Cheryl dropped the napkin into the bin and sent their son to play outside, Conan watched her storm the kitchen. It was now or never. He sucked in a large breath and prepared to upset one of the only people he cared about—the one person he feared.

  “I need to go to Missouri.”

  There it was, out in the open. Cheryl stood at the sink with her back to him, long red ringlets falling over her shoulders in perfect coils of stillness. Not so much as a shake of the head or a scowling crane of the neck to indicate her thoughts on his statement.

  “Honey?” he said, traipsing farther into the kitchen and resting his hands on the back of a wooden chair. “It’s important. Somebody I work with has run away with the circus. I haven’t been able to reach them by phone, and I’m starting to panic. I know that sounds like a bullshit story, but it’s really not.”

  Cheryl turned then, lips pressed together and no doubt grinding her teeth. “Man or woman?”

  “What?”

  “This person you’re running off to find. Is it a boy or a girl?”

  Conan scrunched up his face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  He watched her expression; there was not a hint of amusement, and the angry longing for a serious answer was obvious in the flash of her eyes. There was always the option of lying to her, but could he really get away with it? Cheryl had something of a history for catching him out on lies, and he’d already been caught having two affairs. One more would put him out on his ass.

  “It’s a girl.”

  Cheryl rolled her eyes, dried her hands, and threw the dishcloth into the sink. “I knew it. Come on, then, what’s this girl’s name? I can find her on Facebook and see how pretty she is. What’s the big fuss with this one? Is she young? Attractive? Amazing tits?”

  Like a streak of lightning, Conan reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “It’s Evie Black. I’ve told you about her. Now listen, I know you feel bad about me heading out the door, but I’m worried about her. You can come with me if you want, but I have to go.”

  “But…” There was a croak in Cheryl’s voice. “It’s my birthday tomorr—”

  “I know.” Conan took her into his arms. Sometimes all she needed was some reassurance, and he wanted to give it to her. But what could he really say that wouldn’t make him look awfully suspicious? “I’ll stick around for your birthday and head out on Tuesday, okay? I’m sorry to have to do this to you. I really am.”

  Cheryl remained silent, burying her face into his shirt and moistening it with tears. She balled her fists tight and clutched his shirt. Making her worry was never easy, but when Evelyn Black had gone suspiciously quiet, what else was there to do?

  “Really, Conan,” she whispered. “Maybe Evie just doesn’t want to be found.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The second Fry Carter turned his back, Evie grabbed her jacket and snuck off-site. She badly needed to call Conan and let him know what had happened—to tell him she was sorry she’d left. Frustratingly, since the psycho bitch and her muscle had broken her phone, her last resort became a pay phone.

  A cloud loomed over the carnival as she weaved between the tents. The chill crawled up her sleeves and made her shiver. She reached an opening that led out onto the main stretch of attractions, passed the Ferris wheel, and was home free. All she had to do was keep her head down and nothing could stop her.

  Nothing except for Fry.

  “Evie!” He chased at a steady jog, dark purple show coat flapping around behind him like a cape. “I was wondering where you’d gone. Can you come with me a moment?”

  “Well, I—”

  “It won’t take long.” Fry took her hand, walking so fast that he nearly dragged her.

  As Evie tucked in behind him, she caught herself studying the back of his head, noticing two small bald patches that revealed deep scars. Maybe someday she would ask about them, but for now there were more pressing matters.

  They stopped at a large tent much like Jynx’s. A strong whiff of something smoky assaulted her senses as Fry raised the flap and showed her inside. It was then that she realized it was Jynx’s tent. The witch sat at the far end among a bed of cushions. Dirty knee-high boots reached up her pale legs, her tatty gown sprawled open exposing perfect breasts. Her black, wispy hair draped over them, and she looked ready to seduce.

  Fry stepped in beside Evie. “Cover up, Jynx. You have company.”

  Evie stayed back. Shy. Scared.

  Frowning as she did so, Jynx folded her gown over her bare chest and shot to her feet. She walked over to a makeshift desk and lit a candle, keeping away from her visitors. “What are you doing here? This is my downtime.”

  “You’re in no position to take that tone,” Fry said. Evie was impressed—she’d never expected him to actually assume control. “Evie is going to be with us for a while, and I’d like for you two to get on. If you can’t handle that, then I’ll be happy to take you back to where I found you and let you continue your story alone.”

  Jynx turned, extinguishing the match with a violent shake. “Fine.”

  Evie glanced at Fry, whose forehead wrinkled up with anger. “Now I want you to apologize to her. What you did was out of order, and I won’t be tolerating that kind of behavior. We’re not children here—we’re family.”

  Sighing, Jynx rotated all of five inches. With a total absence of emotion, Jynx said, “Sorry,” and then turned back to her desk where she began to move things around.

  That’s it? “Sorry”? You tried to bury me alive, you crazy bitch! Evie bit her tongue on that thought but walked to Jynx’s side so she could get a good read on her reaction as she said what she needed to. It was worth fighting her fear of confrontation. “Fine, but you owe me a new phone. Try conjuring that up with your bullshit magic.”

  Evie got the pissed-off look she’d been hoping for and stormed out of the tent before any further ire could be caused between the two of them. Moving through the crowd of carnivalgoers, she could hear Fry calling after her.

  “Where are you going now?” he asked, stopping her again.

  “Where do you think?” Evie rolled her eyes. “I need to contact my boss and I no longer have a cell, so I’m going to find the nearest pay phone.”

  Fry winced, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “I’m sorry to say that the nearest one is a long way offsite. Besides, I need you around for now.”

  Figures. “For what?”

  “To train, of course.” Fry smiled, but Evie was seeing a whole new side to it. Where she had once looked at him with lust and intrigue, now she found herself feeling discomfort and a lack of trust. “Didn’t anybody tell you? You’re going to have a small role in our show. You have to earn your keep somehow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Although skeptical at first, Evie couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it would be like to perform in a circus. Aside from the unfortunate cannon incident, her first impression from an audience’s perspective had been something wonderful. To be in the ring, in the spotlight, could be just as marvelous as it seemed.

  Fry, who had taken her under a large canopy behind the animal section of the site, stood beside an odd-looking man who Evie hadn’t seen since the New York performance. “I’d like to introduce you to Paris, a very talented magician who we’re lucky to have with us.”

  That’s a girl’s name, Evie wanted to say but left it at just a grin and a nod of the head.

  “If you don’t know what it’s like to be a magician’s beautiful assistant,” Fry continued, “you will by the end of today. Just do whatever Paris asks of you and trust him.”

  Evie felt excitement bubbling up inside her. As soon as Fry left, she was far too curious, nervous, and downright exhilarated to care about her problems with the witch. She stalke
d around a large box, which had beautiful golden murals and looked like something from a Disney movie. “Let me guess, I’m going to be part of some disappearing act?”

  Paris laughed, his little black moustache wiggling. “Not quite, dear,” he said with an accent that sounded—irony be damned—French. “Actually, I’m going to poke you with holes.” He picked up a handful of swords, holding them up by the hilt with a teasing smile.

  The scraping metallic sound frightened her at first, but Evie could take a joke. Hell, she could even be a part of one, if it didn’t mean being buried alive. “Okay, but not the face. I want to look good at my own funeral.”

  Paris laughed and encouraged her into the box. He settled her in comfortably, laying her down and making sure that she had enough space. “Normally you would be wearing a beautiful costume, but they’re all being washed at the moment. You will have one ready for the big show.”

  It was a little cramped, but she didn’t care. Her mind stayed focused on the costume he had promised her, making her wonder whether it would fit. And although she could get a little anxious in confined spaces sometimes, this box didn’t seem like too much of a problem. Not yet, anyway.

  “Are you ready?”

  Evie nodded quickly, nervous tingles crawling up her spine.

  Like an eclipse, Paris pulled the lid over the top of the box. Darkness consumed her, but little pinpricks of light looked like stars in the lid of the box. The air became stuffy, warm, but breathable. Evie thought that she could stay in here quite comfortably, as long as it wasn’t for an extended period of time.

  “I am locking the box,” Paris said from outside. “And now, I’m going to put in the first sword. Follow my instructions to the letter, and you will be just fine.” His voice was muffled, but she could hear him clearly enough. “So, the first one will be coming in from the left. Keep both your legs to the bottom of the box, and you will avoid a nasty spike.”