by Lucky Simms
“So what’s your secret power?” Billie asked suddenly.
“My what?” Riddick looked sincerely confused.
She swallowed hard. “Everybody in the carnival… They all have… Talents. Right? Like superpowers but for real?”
He said nothing but nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“So what do you do? You’re some kind of magic kisser? Right?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, OK, something like that.”
She smiled. He smelled like sweat and work. Though he had taken quite a beating today, he seemed happy to be where he was and that contentment was infectious.
“No really, what is it?”
“No really,” he echoed teasingly, “want to try it again and see?” What on earth was he saying? He shook his head as if to clear it and looked down sheepishly.
“No,” he continued, quieter. “I’m sorry... I don’t mean to tease you but I guess I just never talk about it much. It really is something like that, like you said. I feel what you feel. I send it back to you, but better. It’s not much of a superpower, really, and Noughton says I’m ‘nascent,’ like I’m some kind of underachiever. But this seems OK to me. It’s enough.”
He glanced at her to see what she was thinking. More importantly, if she showed any signs or fright or even disdain. But there was none of that. When he met her dark eyes, she seemed utterly open to what he was saying without prejudice of any kind. She wanted him to talk. He could feel her drawing him forward like a kite on a string.
“It’s not just kissing, though,” he said suddenly. “Like, it’s everything.”
“OK,” she said with kindness in her eyes. Something about talking with him gave her a very pleasant feeling. Is that his superpower? she wondered. Is he like some kind of drug? “Like this, now?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m doing anything right now. Why… are you feeling like I’m doing something?”
Billie giggled quietly and looked down, suddenly sheepish.
“Well, so…” he continued, swallowing hard. “So fighting comes easy, usually. I can feel where they’re coming from. I can make sure they felt like they had a decent match, but don’t get hurt. Well… Usually… And that’s why the kissing was so good… For most people. That’s why it works.”
“For most people?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. He squinted, trying to put it into words. “I don’t know. You were different.” He remembered that one kiss from so long ago. They had just been kids, and he had kissed hundreds of people since then. But with her it had lasted just a few seconds, just barely touching, and he could remember it like it had just happened. He could feel his lips on her lips, feel her breath on his face…
“But we probably shouldn’t discuss it.”
She blinked her eyes like she was waking up. “Right!” she said, confused. It felt like a fog drained away. She tried to think of something sensible to talk about, and realized they had probably very much looked like they were flirting. What were the other guests thinking? And where was Madear?
“You’re right. We should not discuss it,” she said firmly.
“Um,” he muttered, and started to stand, “I should get going, take some Advil before bed.”
“Right, sure, OK.” Why did it feel so painful for him to walk away?
Riddick walked back toward the second garden, then out into the front yard. Moses was still chatting up Wanda so he just decided to walk back to the motor lodge in the dark, and clear his head.
He didn’t see Madear standing in the shadows by the asparagus ferns. He left the driveway and headed over the field in the dark.
“Thank you so much for inviting me,” came a voice. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to the gardens here. Brings back memories.”
Madear turned and saw Noughton smiling down on her sympathetically. Her blood was ringing in her ears and she couldn’t say anything. All the moisture had left her lips and she felt like her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.
What had she seen? Nothing. There was nothing to see. But that chemistry… that was unmistakable, right? She felt as though everyone was talking about her now. She felt as though she was on a raft that was capsizing.
“Do you need a beverage?” he asked. “I can get you something if you want to stay here in the… what is this... the salad?”
What was the big deal, that she touched his arm? He’d been injured. That was just sympathy.
“It certainly looks like everyone is having a wonderful time. Is Mame here somewhere?”
And Riddick was totally trustworthy. He wouldn’t ever hurt her. She was sure. So why was she so utterly terrified?
“Dear Madear? Have you seen Mame?”
She looked up at Noughton. She could barely see his face in the dark, but the Christmas lights shone slightly in his eyes.
“No, she’s… She’s gone to bed. It’s very late.”
“Ah, so it is, so it is.” Noughton sighed. “You know, I’ve had a long day too. I think I’ll head back, after all. Thank you so much for --”
“Noughton?”
“Yes, Madear?”
“You know I can’t… You know that can’t happen, right? That will not happen?”
He paused a moment. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me, duckling.”
She felt like her heart was beating so fast it might just stop. She could barely hear. The whole world was turning over.
“Riddick and Billie. I couldn’t bear it. Please tell me that’s not what happens!”
“Ahhh,” he said slowly. “Duckling, we don’t get to decide everything.”
She shook her head fiercely. Without this life, just this way, there was nothing. “No but we can. You can. I -- I know you can.”
She touched his arm but he would not look at her. “Polari --” she whispered.
“No, no,” he insisted. “That’s not the way to do these things. You have the matter in hand. I know you do. Your love is the strongest thing in the world, and you must believe that. Now, I really must be going.”
“Please, Noughton!” she cried. People closer to them turned around at the sound of her voice. She lowered to a whisper. “Please. I know you can arrange it. I have money.”
He sighed. “No… I don’t think money is the way in this instance.”
The vision of Billie touching Riddick’s arm… Riddick’s easy laugh… She could picture them…
“What. Name it!”
Noughton said nothing. Madear gripped his arm in her small hands, surprisingly strong for such a little thing.
“Well, there’s something… Maybe…”
“Name it!” she squeaked.
“Mame has something. It has no real value… In fact it’s practically rubbish but I could find use for it. Billie could too. It’s in her dining room. I would ask her myself if she was here…”
“Do you mean the Blood Mirror?”
Noughton caught his breath. Madear lowered her voice further. “Mame will have me skinned. She told me stories. I don’t know…” Madear stared into the third garden. Billie was still sitting under the lights, thumbing through the scrapbook again. She turned a page and smiled, biting her lip.
“It’s up to you,” Noughton murmured.
They’d been best friends since they were 12. Madear couldn’t imagine how her life would have been without Billie. And she couldn’t imagine her future without Riddick. She bit her lip so hard it burst under her teeth and filled her mouth with blood.
Swallowing hard, she squeezed Noughton’s forearm determinedly. “Yes, of course, yes. Stay right here,” she said.
LIKE A SIREN
Florida was absolutely beautiful, if you liked places that were both infernally hot and filled to bursting with people, insects, and animals that wanted to see you dead. Even the sultry air seemed like a malevolent blanket that wanted to slither through your skin and gut you, if at all possible. Or smother you in your sleep. Or poison your sanity, one thought at a time.
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The Florida sun wanted you burnt and blistered. The reptiles wanted you naked and distracted in the pond along the fairways. The fire ants wanted you walking barefoot. The cockroaches wanted your hair.
The sinkholes wanted your lover’s stroll. The undertow wanted your ankles.
But somehow, she knew, Florida was just a cul-de-sac. It was the roundabout of their journey. At first they’d pretended to be looking for something but now she understood, this was the part of the boomerang’s path where it hangs spinning in space for a time, then starts back.
They had just about run out of retirement villages near Sarasota anyway. You could really only run the grift once per community, and she was getting tired of seducing really, really old men. No matter how frail they looked, they just took longer to die than she needed.
In the morning she found Kimble sleeping on the peach and white striped sofa and said, “It’s back, it’s ours again. We have to go.”
Kimble rose without a word, rubbing his grey stubbled chin and scratching inside his boxer shorts. He was ready in less than 20 minutes, standing at the front door of the stolen condo with suitcases and a smirk.
Mavis collected her things. She began to hum, happy again.
THE SURGEON AND HIS WIFE
The motor lodge was built alongside the carnival in the late 1970s. It had 14 rooms with attached baths and large picture windows to look out over the highway and the scrabble.
The owners were Dr. and Mrs. Dylan McGee, a fairly prosperous surgeon and his wife who originally hailed from Toledo. On a summer holiday to the Ozarks, they had passed through Burntown and the carnival on the highway. There was no interstate then, and certainly not two, but simply a humble two-lane highway that ran neatly between the town on one side and the carnival grounds and buildings on the other.
Dr. and Mrs. McGee saw the arc of the Ferris wheel as they drove their Buick station wagon around the northern curve and decided to stop. They parked their car by the generators and strolled the midway, rode the Ferris wheel, and Dr. McGee tried to best Moses Sr. at arm wrestling for a quarter (and failed).
Lu Blue and Miracle held court in a long tent near the fighting ring. Dr. and Mrs. McGee loitered at the entrance, mulling over the pricey $1 fee. The air inside the tent was dark and heavy with incense. They could just see two women at a covered table at the far end, clasping hands with their heads bent. A few people stood around, leaning in expectantly.
Dr. and Mrs. approached tentatively, sliding their dollars into a strongbox just outside the circle of viewers.
Back in those days, you didn’t have to ask a question. You paid your dollar and waited, and eventually Lu Blue or Miracle would lift their head and begin to speak.
It might take all day. Or you might get even your dollar back if they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) give you a decent reading.
Between Lu Blue and Miracle, sheltered in their clasped hands in a shallow silver bowl, a knobby lump of glass softly glowed. The light from the glass seeped into the bowl which looked scrubbed and hammered. It illuminated the puddle of blood that pooled there, bouncing soft rays across its syrupy, dark surface.
When the blood was nearly gone, Lu Blue or Miracle would take up one of the razors from the table surface and reach out, gently slicing open her friend’s extended wrist with an affectionate smile so that more blood dripped into the shallow bowl and kept the glass fed.
The gathering of onlookers waited silently, breathing as quietly as they could. At last the women shuddered and moved their heads from side to side. Miracle looked around like she had just woken from a dream. “Frannie,” she said softly. Mrs. McGee gripped Dr. McGee’s arm through his shirt sleeves. digging into his skin with her tiny, birdlike fingers. “She’s all right. She’ll be back.”
That was it, but that was enough. Dr. and Mrs. McGee decided to build a place where they could stay in case there was more. He sold his ophthalmology practice to his brother in law and rented their house, furnished. Every penny they had, they invested in building the motor lodge at the wide of the highway.
They only went back to Toledo a few times. Mrs. McGee could never stomach being far from Miracle for more than a day or two, just in case. She would have been happy with anything - where Frannie was, how she had left, or some idea of what her life was like now. She was a regular feature in the tent, always so hopeful, so open to any news. But there was never more from Miracle. They waited and waited, but always got their dollars back.
Other people found the motor lodge very convenient, and attractive besides. You could drive right in off the busy highway and park right in front of your room. Mrs. McGee kept attractive flower beds to welcome the guests.
The carnival was just a short walk beyond, up a worn dirt path across the field. People stayed for days, sometimes longer. Dr. and Mrs. McGee stayed until the end.
The carnies all lived in the Right House then, in the west field. It was cramped but busy, and they made like it was some kind of big family arrangement. Eventually some of the motor lodge residents took up temporary work at the carnival, and after Dr. and Mrs. were gone, the lodge became a natural extension of carnie quarters.
Nobody knew who owned it now, or if anybody really did. Nobody called it the highway anymore either, since the interstates had come through. They just called it by its number, and couldn’t remember why.
I NEVER JOKE ABOUT MONEY
After a while she sort of knew what to look for, and Billie could understand what the carnies were doing. Most of them had some kind of empathy, like Riddick and Tommy, though some had arcane skills like Polari and his potions. There were varying degrees of clairvoyance like hers, or like the guess-your-weight guy and Moses with their peculiar talents for numbers.
The magician seemed to be doing something more than sleight of hand, maybe, and she suspected Roger Dell had something mystical going on too, but she couldn’t really determine what.
And Noughton… she wasn’t sure. He certainly had a way of popping up, and he seemed to know things he couldn’t know. But there was more, she was sure. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.
As far as her yes/no psychic business was going, she was starting to feel confident. Word had spread among the townies, and a lot of her high school classmates and their parents had been to see her.
Sometimes they tested her by asking things they already knew. Sometimes she would even answer for free, just to show them how aptly she could feel their truths. Most nights, she had a line of eager folks waiting that snaked between her and Polari.
That didn’t keep her from watching Riddick stroll around the ring, handing out flyers, getting townies to sign up on the whiteboard. And when he had a bout, she was rapt.
But after, as the lights shut down and she secured the padlock across the shutters of her booth, she was careful to walk to her car alone, without looking back.
Her fears about angering people with either her answers or her inability to find one were unfounded, it seemed. Actually everyone seemed to really enjoy her magic 8-ball act. Sometimes she even got rounds of applause.
Noughton often came to watch. At first that made her nervous, but apparently he really did enjoy what she did. As days went by, she added more drama, flourishes with her hands, and extreme pauses of concentration. She could feel the challengers lean in for her answers, and hear Noughton chuckle in appreciation.
Her first paycheck was… a disappointment. He handed it to her with a big, happy expression and then watched her face as she opened the envelope.
“Yikes,” she muttered, crestfallen.
“Ha! Well… we have to keep the feds happy, don’t we. And here are your tips…” and he handed her a paper-wrapped parcel with another envelope taped to it. This envelope was heavy and as she opened it, she sucked her breath in through her teeth. There had to be hundreds of dollars in there, in twenties.
“That… that doesn’t seem right,” she said.
Noughton nodded emphatically. “It’s right. I n
ever joke about money. You’re doing great.” He shook her shoulder affably, then reached out and plucked a twenty from the top. “I guess that account is all settled!”
Noughton sighed paternally and grinned at her. “This is going to be a great summer, even if it did take you five years to come around to my way of thinking. But… I do want you to get out, maybe get a new outfit? More candles?”
Billie looked down. She had two semi-mysterious outfits to choose from and this one was getting tired. She had hoped that her abundant cleavage made up for the repetition, but evidently it was not enough. A couple more dark dresses with plunging necklines couldn’t hurt.
“And maybe you could lose the paperweight? Try this instead?” He gestured to the parcel. It was really heavy. She turned it over in her hands, trying not to smile too widely. Success, money, gifts - could life be this easy?
Billie flipped it over and tore open the wrapping, then pulled the object out. It looked like… well, it looked like a third grade art project. The bowl may have been nice at one point. It may have even been silver, hammered into a shallow disk, but now it was crusty and filthy.
Inside the bowl was a lump of something equally filthy, about the size of a small loaf of bread, or a newborn.
“I -- “ Billie stammered. “I don’t know what to say?”
Noughton bounced on his tiptoes and made a little bow. “It looks disgusting, right? I think it adds a real character… An air of mystery, don’t you think?”
Billie was unsure. “You want me to keep this? Here?”
“Yeah! Lose the tray and spyglass. This is much better.”
She was really trying to be nice. Maybe a quick soak in some sudsy water would do the trick. She scraped at the black crust on the bottom of the bowl. It came up in dusty flakes that stuck to her fingers.
“Man, what is this dirt?”
“Oh, that’s blood,” Noughton nodded.
Billie caught her breath. “It’s blood?”
“Yeah, that’s blood,” he lowered his gaze and looked at her seriously. She felt like looking away was some kind of dare. “That’s Mame’s or Lu Blue’s blood. Possibly Mavis. Or all three. And you knew that.”