by Joey W. Hill
At Medusa’s puzzled look, Clara dimpled. “No, it’s not a metaphor. He’s actually my guardian angel, assigned to keep me out of trouble and everything.”
“A full time and exhausting task,” Marcellus noted. His voice was impassive, but the rich timbre conveyed the same impressions of safety and wellbeing to the soul that emanated from him even in silence.
Clara rolled her eyes, but looked at John. “Maddock is going to bring you glasses for her, in case you all need or want to leave the boundaries of the Circus for any reason, like when we go through the portal for the performance. It’s in this great little town with a fabulous ice cream shop. She’d probably love it. He said he’d also bring contacts like yours, but since some people can’t stand touching their own eyes or having anything else touch them, they may not work. So the glasses are the backup.”
The young woman’s gaze shifted back to Medusa. “You’re so beautiful, just like the stories say. I hope we’ll become friends while you’re here. Come with me. We’ll get you to your quarters so you can rest and be tended.”
Medusa was overflowing with questions, but caring for John took precedence and kept her silent for now. Plus, she’d rather wait for some of the answers when they were alone. She hadn’t received the impression from him that she needed to censor herself, which further reassured her about their surroundings, but some questions just worked better privately.
She realized she was still somewhat avoiding all their faces. It was going to take time to get used to the idea she could look at them without causing tragedy, and that came with the worry that if she got out of the habit, she might make a fatal mistake when her eyes weren’t cloaked by Yvette or Maddock’s magic.
But it was too much to resist, being able to look at people, see how their expressions changed when they were talking to her. She’d met Clara’s gaze, a couple times now, and she was still chatting and moving around just fine. If Marcellus was truly her guardian angel, he wouldn’t seem as comfortable with her around Medusa as he seemed to be. Despite the secure feeling she received from him, his powerful appearance and those impassive eyes that seemed to perceive everything told her he knew how to back up those feelings of safety. She’d no doubt he could inspire terror in anyone who tried to harm what he deemed under his protection.
When they stepped out of the large tent, her hand securely in John’s grasp, she immediately shrank back as the number of people tripled. It wasn’t like Times Square, where they were all pressing in upon her, but there was a lot of movement. People busy at tasks, carrying buckets, a pole, an armful of sparkling garments. She jumped when, a few feet away, a cluster of men and women counted off and began practicing a musical number on brass horns and stringed instruments. She saw several with flutes and wondered if that was the source of the earlier solo piece.
“It’s all good.” John spoke in her ear. She understood, but was glad he didn’t let go of her hand or stop being so close to her.
Another trumpeting sound occurred, only this one wasn’t from a musical instrument. It was a giant gray beast with wide flapping ears and a nose that looked like one of her snakes. The creature was wandering without any obvious restraint, and no alarm, from any of the people who saw the beast. The animal stopped near the musicians and punctuated their tune with another blast, causing them to grin and make the tune even more spirited.
“That’s Greygirl,” Clara explained. “Yvette doesn’t use any animals in the circus other than pets, like dogs, cats or horses, but we rescued Greygirl. She was part of a typical circus, where her life was constant travel and being penned up. Sometimes we let the kids on the backstage tour ride her, if she’s in the mood. Peanuts typically get her in the mood, if you want to ask her for a ride at some point. Have you seen an elephant before?”
Elephant. Now she remembered why the fantastical creature seemed familiar. “Yes. But only in pictures. A scholar who came to the temple to talk to Klotho, one of our senior priestesses, had traveled widely. He had a stack of drawings that included pictures of her kind.” She squinted. “Are those…birds on her back?”
“Dragons,” Clara supplied helpfully. “Babies. Mom and Dad are around here somewhere, probably taking a nap, since they’re pretty nocturnal. Probably where Yvette was off to as well. Even though sunlight is different inside the portals and can’t hurt her, she’s pretty rigid about her bedtime. Part of why she was a little grumpy with Maddock,” she whispered with a wink. “Cai is more of a day owl, at least inside the portals.”
Medusa blinked, a little lost, but Clara returned to the previous topic. “Greygirl likes to babysit during the daylight hours. I’ll tell you the story of how she won their trust one day. It’s incredible, because dragon parents usually incinerate anyone who gets near their young.”
She wanted to hear all about it, but it was too much. She was making a conscious effort not to put her back to John’s and move through the area in a defensive circle.
“I think we need to get to our quarters, and give Medusa a chance to check things out more gradually,” John suggested.
“Of course,” Clara said. “This can be overwhelming to anyone. But I think you’ll love it once you feel more comfortable.”
All the others except Marcellus had dispersed, so with the angel following at a deceptively casual amble, Clara circled around the tents, leading them to a nearby field populated with several dozen colorful wagons in various sizes and shapes. The wagons were enclosed, large wooden boxes mounted atop gaily painted wheels. The conveyances were surprisingly similar to the type peddlers and traveling players had used in Medusa’s time.
“It’s funny how often one group will move on just as we have another arriving,” Clara said. “More proof that there’s a Wheel always turning, and it knows exactly where it’s going.” She gestured to the wagon. “We cleaned this pretty thoroughly, because Pigboy lived up to his name. I think it will be a nice space for you. It has a little kitchenette and an outdoor shower. An indoor one for cold days.”
She gave John a once-over with a twinkle in her eyes. “But when that happens, you may want to take advantage of the communal shower area, because it will be a tight fit for a big man. Though the cook house serves three meals a day, you can also place any grocery requests with them so you can have the option of occasionally preparing your own meals or snacks in the privacy of your own place.”
Medusa noted Marcellus listening quietly. While he didn’t speak and Clara didn’t address him, there was a strong thread of connection between them impossible to miss. She thought of how Clara had leaned against him. She couldn’t determine if they had an intimacy between them the way she and John did, but if they didn’t, the potential was definitely there. Yet Clara was human and Marcellus…was he really an angel?
John reached out to touch the gaily painted side of the wagon. Purple, gold and green swirls surrounded letters proclaiming The Circus. An elephant and a dragon were worked into the design. Wooden scrollwork decorated the corners of the mobile living quarters, and the wheels, which appeared to be wooden, were painted purple on the outside and gold on the inside.
“Looks like something you’d see a couple hundred years ago, right?” Clara said. “More portal in-between magic. As JP said, we travel along the magical fault lines, and they’re real resistant to certain types of technology, like engines. Wait until you see what happens when we exit the portal to do a show. That wooden wagon of yours turns into your standard RV camper unit. Soon as we pass back into the portal, it goes retro again. The first time the kitchen staff tried to bring in Coke Zero, it turned to classic, early 1900s Coca Cola, complete with the old fashioned thick glass bottles. You never know exactly what it’s going to do, but it’s always cool. I love magic.”
While Medusa wasn’t sure what most of that meant, John appeared intrigued and amused. “This is very kind of Lady Yvette, and all of you.” He looked toward Clara. “You weren’t here last time I visited.”
“No, we’re relatively new. Th
ere’s some misguided souls trying to hunt me down, because of some things I saw in my visions.” She shrugged. “This was a good place to hang out until the other angels resolve it.”
“So you’re a seer?”
“Yeah.” A shadow crossed her gaze. “It has its perks, but other parts of it can kind of suck. And if you don’t mind, don’t—”
“I won’t. We won’t.” John took Medusa’s hand. “I expect that’s part of the appeal here. When it’s not show time, no one is called upon to perform.”
“Yeah. It’s more than that for me, though. I really don’t want to know when you’re going to die, or that you’re going to end up facing some tragic loss, because I can’t do a damn thing to change it, you know? Even if I told you, there’s nothing you can do to avoid that fate. So all I am is a window. Sometimes it’s best just to leave the blinds down.”
John Pierce glanced at Marcellus. Whereas he seemed to take Clara’s declaration in stride, something about the winged male kept drawing his attention. “So you’re really an angel?” he said, echoing Medusa’s thoughts.
Marcellus lifted a silent, questioning brow.
“Yes. The kind that live in the seven levels of Heaven.” Clara supplied the info, giving the angel a narrow look as he continued to say nothing. “He’s part of the Prime Legion—”
“Was part of the Prime Legion,” he corrected her. His tone wasn’t brusque or unkind, but it was clearly a raw point for him.
“That would be news to Jonah,” Clara said, setting her jaw. “He still thinks of you as part of them.”
“That must be why I’m here instead of leading a battalion.”
Hurt flashed across her face. His gaze flickered as if he might have regretted the edge to his tone, but she turned back to John and Medusa, visibly shrugging it off. “Okay, then. We’ll just leave you to get settled. Charlie is on her way. She’ll care for John’s wounds, and do whatever you need to see to your comfort. I’d really recommend one of her massages. I mean she does regular ones, not just…like Yvette said.”
A tinge of red came to Clara’s cheeks, which seemed to amuse John Pierce. Medusa noted a brief glint in Marcellus’s gaze that might have been humor as well. “How long have you been here?” John asked, with a kind, teasing note.
Clara heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I thought I was pretty adventurous and open before I got here,” she admitted. “I might as well have been Dorothy straight out of black and white, vanilla Kansas. I’m still getting adjusted.”
She turned her attention back to Medusa. “But seriously, her massages make you feel better about everything. She knows how to relax the muscles all around the wings. Marcellus has let her give him one, so I’ve seen her do it.”
Clara stroked a hand down one of Medusa’s wings. Again it was so unselfconscious and smooth a gesture Medusa had no time to think it was inappropriate. Clara might not be as comfortable with the blatant sexuality here, but her sensual nature was as appealing as honey. Seeing the way Marcellus watched her hand move along Medusa’s skin, she thought she wasn’t the only one who thought so.
John opened the latch of the door to the wagon and put his hands to Medusa’s waist, lifting her onto the first step since it was a considerable way off the ground. He paused, looking toward Marcellus again.
“Is there a problem, human?” the angel asked. Not unfriendly, but that neutral tone didn’t encourage a lot of familiarity. Medusa realized except when he looked toward Clara, or she felt that surge of safety from him, he was pretty intimidating. Maybe more than Yvette when he chose to let that aspect of his personality come fully to the forefront.
“No.” John recalled himself and nodded to them both. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re so welcome. Just holler if you need anything.”
Clara took her leave, the angel in step with her. As they moved away, Medusa noticed she reached out and took Marcellus’s hand. He didn’t pull away, though he gave the contact a bemused look.
Chapter Eighteen
As she went up the several stairs and John followed her into the wagon, shutting the door, Medusa let out a relieved sigh. Now that things were settling, no crisis to face, she was in need of what he’d described—a quiet space in which to become accustomed to her surroundings at her own pace.
The wagon had several windows, curtained from the inside. Being able to crack them and watch the activity of the Circus with open fascination and no immediate scrutiny had great appeal.
She saw a cozy living area with facing couches, one normal width and the other quite a bit wider. She deduced the wider one converted into a table or sleeping arrangement, since polished wood was beneath the wide cushion and the cushion was broad enough for two people to lay down upon it. Toward the back, she saw what she assumed was the kitchenette and shower areas. While the whole area was smaller than her bedroom on the island, it was clean, and there were fresh flowers on a side table. It had a nest-like ambiance she found pleasing. But now her mind turned to her companion.
“Sit down.” Her eyes had already lighted on a box with the same red cross emblem his box of healing supplies on the island had. “I can go ahead and clean the wound so when this Charlie arrives, we’ve already done that much.”
Mainly she wanted him to sit down, because though he’d been stoic throughout their transition, she was certain he had to be ready to sit. Since he complied without argument, it confirmed it. However, she was curious to see it was more than physical strain. He usually shrugged off attempts to cosset him as long as he was still standing under his own power. His mind was preoccupied.
She found a bowl for water, a washcloth and a bar of soap. It smelled different from what she was used to making for herself, but it was undeniably soap, in a bright gold color.
When she knelt on the cushions next to him, she helped him take off the shirt, working the torn fabric away from the dried blood as moderately as she could. He didn’t seem to mind the pull, however. As she set it aside and dipped the washcloth in the water, she studied him surreptitiously through her lashes.
“What is it, John Pierce?”
He shook his head. “Something stupid. Do you spend a lot of time thinking about what happens after death?”
“The afterlife? Some.” She rubbed the washcloth and soap gently over the arrow wound, removing the blood. His jaw tightened as the soap burned, so she cleaned and rinsed it as quickly as she could, not wanting to cause him additional pain. “I had reconciled myself to the gray netherworld where spirits who are forgotten by the living wander.”
She shrugged at his sudden shift of attention to her. “If I am not aging as quickly as my brethren, it stands to reason that, unless someone killed me before my time, there would be no one left to remember me when I died. So there was no chance I could go to Elysium. Sometimes, during bad moments, when my darkness felt as if it would swallow me whole, and the blood of those who invaded my shores was still on my hands, I believed I’d end up in Tartarus as a damned soul.”
John gripped her fingers. “That won’t happen. You’re not a damned soul. And I think even if someone dies before you, if they’re where they can remember you, they will, and you’ll be in Elysium with them. Do you…did your people believe in angels?”
“You are kind.” She considered his question. “Yes. Messengers, couriers for the gods, or charged with other tasks. Sometimes we think of our gods and goddesses as angels themselves, though since Clara said Marcellus is a guardian, a warrior, I assume he is the type of angel charged with tasks.”
A faint smile touched John’s face. “So matter-of-fact. Death and afterlife aren’t the big cosmic questions for you and your people that they are for us.”
“You have a much bigger world,” she said. “With your cars, planes and magic technology. Far more things to diminish the gods in your life and cause you to question, yes?”
He blinked at her, and that faint smile became stronger. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I think you also just proved
yourself smarter than pretty much all our modern day theologians and philosophers.”
She harrumphed. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Cleaning the snake wounds, she could tell by the spacing and size of the punctures who had done what. Her touch lingered on them as she felt dismay anew. “John Pierce would never hurt you,” she chided her snakes. “He would never hurt us.”
“So you believe that now, deep down inside?” He touched her face and she lifted it to him, meeting his gray eyes.
“I hope so. I have committed myself to your care in a world I do not know, have I not?”
He caressed her cheek. “What you said, right before the fight, about wanting to love me? If you meant that, I’d like to hear it again from your beautiful lips, right here and now. It made me fight like ten men then. And it would give me strength now.”
He could take her breath. She wondered if he knew that. “I want to love you, John Pierce. It’s the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want this much, in many years.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “In Times Square, when I told you they thought I was hurting you, you said ‘He is mine.’” His gaze burned into hers. “I liked the sound of that. Though that inner Dominatrix was coming out, I think, getting all possessive.”
She sniffed. “I do not think wanting someone to call your own is limited only to those who wish to command, John Pierce.”
“You sounded pretty commanding right then.”
She clasped his wrist and brushed a kiss along his callused palm before setting his hand back on his thigh. “You must let me finish cleaning these wounds,” she reproved.
His eyes twinkled. “Bossy snake-girl.”
But he subsided and let her continue. She thought of his words, though, and they embedded themselves inside her, a permanent mark like the tattoo on his broad back. Medusa’s Heart.
“You are an interesting mix, John Pierce. Scholar and warrior. You have the rough edges of the soldier that are…appealing." She smiled at the gleam of interest in his eye, which told her his wounds weren’t too grievous. “But I think you have been alone much of your life, even when you were among others. You have the kind of wisdom that speaks to my heart and answers some painful questions for me in ways that help.”