Chapter Twenty-Nine
Evie hadn’t slept in hours. How could she? The pickup truck they were in bumped uncomfortably under her, and she was there against her will. Lance had no problem snoozing against her shoulder, however. Poor guy probably hasn’t slept in days.
And then there was Jynx, sitting across from her and doing nothing but piercing her with a vapid stare for four straight hours. It was torture from start to finish, and when the truck was due to stop in a few hours, Evie would get right out and stretch.
“You’re going to die,” Jynx finally said, her angry voice echoing nastily in the back of the truck. She continued to stare, and if looks could kill, they would both be dead already.
Evie wanted to hurt her, to put her in her place and keep her there. Infantile as it seemed at the time, she couldn’t help but say what she had to say and watch her expression change. “You know you’re not actually a witch, right?”
There it was—the scowl deepening into a frown of upset.
“Just petty parlor tricks and chemical cocktails. The people know it, too. They actually pay to come and see if you can convince them that you’re the real deal. And when they’re done? They head into work the next day and laugh about you.”
Jynx lost it. She leaned forward, cocked back a shoulder, and walloped Evie with a slap that caused Lance to stir. Her nails dug in and scratched. Evie reached up to touch her stinging cheek. When she drew her fingers back, they were tinged with red. But it had been worth it.
“Now shut up,” Jynx spat and leaned back into the wall of the truck. “The next time you open your big mouth, I’ll stifle you permanently.”
Lance stirred, shifting his head to the other side. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Evie said. “Just get some rest.” Cheek swelling, ass numb from inertia, all she could think about was Fry Carter. Goddamn Fry Carter. She had trusted that son of a bitch. In spite of everything, she’d actually begun to trust him! And where was he now? Riding in a different vehicle, transporting her like cargo? And plotting her demise, no doubt.
What confused Evie the most was why he had wanted her to go with him. If he was worried that she would tell someone about Lance, why not just kill her? The more she thought about it, the more she started to think that these people did have something to do with Cara Fey’s death, after all.
And then the Flying Yankee sprung to mind. How convincing it had seemed when that man had gone into the cannon. How naturally unfortunate it had looked when he crashed into the pillar, missing the safety net entirely. Had he been a victim, too? Had it not been an accident at all?
Nothing was certain anymore. Nothing, save for the fact that South Dakota was their next destination and that it could very well be Evie’s last.
Chapter Thirty
It was daylight when they ground to a halt. Evie woke herself up. Her face felt swollen now, and the last thing she wanted was a second bruising.
The truck’s back door clunked open. Lucas the Strongman stood topless in the sunshine, his pale skin turned red. As usual, he didn’t have a word to say—Evie thought it would be a miracle if she ever heard a whole sentence from him. He waved them out of the truck with a flick of his wrist.
“This way,” Jynx said.
Evie thought that she’d been speaking to her, but when the witch grabbed Lance by the scruff of the neck, dragging him toward a shady-looking building that looked like a public restroom, she suddenly understood that they were being split up. She climbed out of the truck and tried to follow in after them, but the strongman held her back.
“Out of my way, jackass,” Evie said, and she was ready to bite if she had to.
“It’s too late,” said a voice from behind.
Evie spun on her heel, Fry Carter falling into her line of sight. He was dressed unusually—even for him—in tight black trousers and a plain white tank top. Over the top of that, a pale yellow robe. His haphazard hair indicated a lack of sleep.
Good. He doesn’t deserve to sleep. Ever again. Evie stormed toward him and delivered a slap of her own. The sound was deliciously satisfying, turning his head to the side with the impact. Instinct drove her to a second, but Fry caught her wrist in his hand, pushing it away angrily.
“Get the boy back here now!” she screamed, glancing around at the field where they stood. Evie wondered if this was what they called home or if it was just another stop on the road for them. The tents already being pitched suggested that it was the former.
“I can’t,” Fry told her softly. “His fate is already sealed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means there’s nothing you can do for him now.”
Evie shook her head, stifling a tear. “Why are you doing this?”
Sighing softly, Fry slung his arm around her shoulder and began to pace, taking her with him. “My love, I fear that I have not been totally honest with you. When I told you of my sweet wife, Jessica, I said that she passed with cancer.”
Evie dreaded to think what was coming. “She didn’t?”
“No. You see, many folk refer to us as ‘carnies,’ a term I’m sure you’ve heard at some point or another. Back in the nineties, we were accepted everywhere, but now the world offers more freedom. It may not seem like it, but it does. Riots are an act of freedom, freelance careers are an act of freedom. Murder is also freedom, and that was what took her.”
“She… was killed?”
Fry stopped walking. “Not just killed—murdered. By snob-folk such as yourself, all of whom labeled us carnies as scum. They beat her to death, Evie, and made me watch the whole thing. Two decades have passed, and it still haunts me. See, the world is full of monsters, and that dear boy over there is one of them. He may not have done anything too horrific just yet, but give him time to blossom and he’ll soon cause somebody some harm. I… can’t allow that. That is why he must die.”
Evie stepped back, shock seizing her. “You’re going to kill an innocent boy because of something that happened to you twenty years ago? That’s… You’re…”
“Justice is what it is. Leveling the playing field. Now tell me—I can’t let you go because you’ll run to the police. I can’t kill you either; I’m far too fond of you for that.” Fry came closer, his aged blue eyes dazzling in the sun. “So, what am I to do with you?”
The intimidation was intense. Every inch of her shook with terror as she realized just how insane this man was. Evie was stuck here, and it occurred to her that the only way out would be to play along—to make Fry think she was no longer a problem. If she could get him to relax, she might be able to keep Lucas off her back and make it to the nearest pay phone. But she would have to do it fast. Soon the carnival would be set up, and Evie had a feeling that Lance wouldn’t last much longer than that.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jynx’s tent was the first to go up, and the crew instantly decorated it just the way she liked it: banners and religious symbols hung from stands around the perimeter, tables with salts and potions lined up along one side, and a table in the middle for fortune readings and the like. At the back, an entire bed of cushions lay behind a collapsible curtain. It was all the privacy she would need, at least for now.
“Put him down over there,” she said to the strongman.
Lucas carried the boy over to the cushions, dropped him onto them, and bound his hands once again. This time, however, he didn’t gag him. That had been Jynx’s specific order.
“Please, please let me go,” the boy whimpered. Pleading. Begging.
Jynx couldn’t help but cackle, solidifying the theory to Lance that she was, in fact, a witch. Nobody could take that away from her—her concoctions were as real as they appeared, and it was nobody’s business what she did with her life… or with this teenager’s.
The chant came naturally to her, like a second language. “Mayahella os ine mollacabek. Mayahella ine trabba nor.” Jynx handled the bottles as she spoke, spilling the purple one (known as trab
ba—bat’s blood) into an empty vial. The second fluid was horse urine, and by far one of the more important ingredients. Not nearly as important, however, as a token from the boy.
Continuing her chant, she took the scissors to him. He wriggled and kicked around like a coward, sweating profusely and begging that she let him go. When Jynx only took a snippet of his hair and slipped it inside the bottle, he seemed to settle down. It was as if he knew that he was making her angry, and that was a mistake.
“Hoyo, alla cabek oont muchana,” she said, feeling the words as she spoke them. The words often had an impact on her, and this time it came stronger than ever. The Calling seized her body, channeling itself through her. The potion was complete, and now all she had to do was make him drink it.
“Lucas, hold him down for me.”
The boy’s eyes darted between them as he scurried back into the corner. With his movements restricted and the carnival site empty, there was nowhere for him to go. Nobody to hear his screams. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry I was rude to you—I really am!”
Lucas held him down tight, gripping the boy’s jaw and forcing it to open.
Carrying the potion bottle carefully over to him, Jynx felt a smile cross her mouth. “You like to be the center of attention, boy? That’s good—you will always be the center of attention from here on out.” She laughed, pouring it perfectly into his mouth, watching him swallow it with no other choice. “That’s it, drink up. This will soon be over, and you’ll feel right at home.”
When they were done, the boy became docile, swaying from one side to the other. His cheeks wobbled as he shook his head slowly, groggy from the effects of the potion. “What… What have you done to me?”
Jynx simply smiled, replaced the cap on the bottle, and let the liquid do its magic. “You’ll soon see. All we do now is wait.” And for the next couple of hours, Jynx and Lucas worked hard at creating a paste while the boy’s eyes began to glaze over, and his breathing slowed to a stop.
Chapter Thirty-Two
At nearly midday, Conan arrived in the midst of a South Dakota heat wave. It had been unbearable inside his car even with the AC, but on the prospect of it being cooler outside, he’d taken his jacket with him. Now here he stood at the opening of Lowner’s Carnival, sweating profusely in a full business suit.
It hadn’t been too hard to find the next location on Lowner’s list. According to some unofficial information on the internet, South Dakota was one of three places they could have feasibly gone from Missouri. Being closer, this was the more viable option.
He hoped he wasn’t too late.
Most of the rides had already been set up, and the circus tent wasn’t far from finished. But Conan needed to speak to someone who worked here and would have no problem sharing information. The trailer on the outskirts of the site was definitely occupied (as suggested by the music blaring from it), so he knocked on that door first.
The volume on the music lowered, and the door to the trailer popped open. Before him stood a man in his late forties, with silvery hair and wrinkled eyes—pleasant eyes, but a frown that was less welcoming. “Yes?”
“Hi. You don’t know me. My name is Conan Reed.” He extended a hand, but the man ignored it. Conan retracted, embarrassed. “I’m looking for a woman named Evelyn Black. She came by the circus a few days ago, and nobody has seen her since.”
The man shook his head. “I’ve not heard of her.”
For a moment, Conan was sure he saw a grin creeping onto the man’s face. “What’s your name?” he asked, ready to test him as far as he had to.
“Carter. Fry Carter. Listen, sir, you can’t be here. Go and get yourself a soda and then head home, huh?” The door began to close and Fry’s head disappeared behind it, but that was as far as it got.
Conan gripped it in a firm hand. “Let me level with you here. I know she went with you to Missouri. She works for me, and she’s been keeping me informed every step of the way. So either you tell me where she is, or I can bring the police up here.”
Fry studied him, angry wrinkles creasing up his forehead. Then, as if from nowhere, he turned it into a friendly smile. “Ah, Evie. Of course. I remember now. Yeah, she came with us as far as Missouri, and then we went our separate ways.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely,” Fry said. “Now run along, Mr. Reed.”
The door closed, and Conan was left alone on the step. The music began again from inside the trailer, rocking out an old, familiar melody from the eighties. Conan couldn’t quite recall the name of the song.
Run along? Yeah, right. Fortunately for Conan, he could spot a liar from a mile away, and this Fry Carter was full of shit. Evelyn Black was here somewhere—he could feel it—and Conan wouldn’t be going anywhere without her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Fry watched people stroll into the carnival from the window. His fascination was similar to that of a curious schoolboy’s. “Isn’t it wonderful? All these people are here to see us.”
“Yes, magical,” Evie said with a complete absence of emotion. The day had been long and tiring, doing and saying all the right things to stay on his good side. This was a fine example—bypassing her fear and heading straight toward disinterest.
Fry turned around to face her. “Aren’t you pleased?”
“Of course I am.” Although there was something she would rather discuss. Something that she thought she already knew but hadn’t quite brought herself to admit. An ugly secret. A vile truth. “I found something today.”
“Oh?” His face a blend of guilt and interest, Fry closed the window and dropped in to sit beside her on the thin and uncomfortable couch.
“Before I go any further,” Evie said calmly, “I want you to know that I would rather hear the brutal truth. I hate to be protected by lies, and I want our… relationship to be based on trust. Do you understand?” It sickened her to say it, but she thought that she had managed to hide her revulsion.
“Yes, my love.” Fry took her hand and pressed a delicate kiss to her palm.
Evie, feeling that everything could change within the next few seconds, drew a deep breath and adjusted her seating. “One of Jynx’s luggage bags fell open today. You know what fell out of it? Cara Fey’s passport. Now… you’ve told me before that you didn’t know anything about her death, but if we’re to start anew, then I want total honesty.”
There was no denying it now. She had hit him with the biggest lie she could think of, and his answer would change things—one way or the other. Evie had originally opted to say that Jynx had confessed to murder, but then soon backed out of it. Jynx was a witch, after all—sly and vicious, not likely to confess her sins.
Fry brushed his hair back, and it fell straight back into place. He looked away from her. “She got on our bad side, my love. You understand, she was in the midst of writing a bad article about us. Given what I’ve already told you, don’t you think we’ve suffered enough?”
I knew it. You son of a bitch. Evie smiled weakly, fighting to keep from strangling this man—a battle she knew she would lose. “Of course I understand. I just wish you would have told me sooner. The truth would have saved me a lot of worry.”
“I know. I lied to you, and for that I am sincerely sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Despite her façade, Evie was terrified. Keeping her hands from shaking was even harder than maintaining the brave face. She’d slid into the real danger zone now, and nothing was there to keep her out of the red. Tonight’s performance wouldn’t help her much either, though she could use the opportunity to run. However, if she were to be caught doing so, then Fry Carter or one of his freaks would be sure to punish her… and she wouldn’t get a second chance.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Backstage for the second time, Evie gazed out into the audience. It was a full house again, and she was beginning to wonder just how lucrative this business could be. Combining site rental costs with licenses and so forth, surely th
e tickets would make that back, and then some? Given that it would increase their income, it was a wonder they never stayed longer in one city.
Thirty minutes earlier when the show had started, Fry had given his opening performance. Hearing it again and knowing what she knew about him, Evie heard a whole new side to the same dialogue. Where before she had smiled and laughed at how charming he had come across, her emotions were now replaced with hatred for this evil bastard. Squeezing back into this leotard wasn’t her best experience either—she realized now just how much she despised the thing.
Tedium taking its toll, Evie carried on watching the show. Her eyes swept across the audience, studying the faces of all the entertained folk who Fry openly hated. Everyone looked thrilled, excited, amazed even. Their mouths were wide open and their eyes lit up like Times Square. And then she thought she saw a familiar face.
Is that… Evie leaned in, squinting her eyes while trying to identify the man in the suit. It is! It’s Conan! She never thought that she would be pleased to see him, but now she was nothing but. He would keep her safe—no question about it. If only she could get to him. If only it really was him, but her luck didn’t tend to work like that. This left her curious.
Spinning around, she spotted an unguarded exit. Sure, she would have to make it through the busy street-like dressing area, where all the performers rushed around and prepared for their moment in the spotlight. But it was doable.
Evie, nerves rattling with both excitement and cold fear, wasted no time in taking the risk. All she had to do was make it out of that door, and she could run around to meet Conan. Being in direct view of the public, what could the carnies possibly do to them?
She picked up her pace, swallowing nervously as she approached. Her excitement growing stronger, she weaved between the carnival folk for what could be the last time. The flap of the tent was only a few footsteps away, and she was going to make it. She was going to—
Hard Press: The Evie Black Files Page 21