by Rachel Caine
Brimstone stuck by Emma’s side, his hairless gray back coming to her elbow. She placed a hand on his thick neck. Thousands of years ago, hellhounds had trained as warhounds, companions to the hulking jinn warriors who once ruled Charbydon. Then the nobles came, fought for dominion, and the use and training of hellhounds was forbidden. The warhounds were killed and the young ones were turned out into the wild. It wasn’t uncommon to see the beasts lurking around populated areas, hunting for scraps of food, or the weak . . . Having Brim with them drew some curious looks, but not enough to slow them down. Not yet, anyway.
Above the crowd, they caught sight again of the tents. They loomed in the distance, their dark, ragged flags limp in the stale air, their black and white stripes dirtied with the dull, dusty gray that made up much of Charbydon’s landscape.
“Hurry,” Em said over her shoulder, increasing her pace, darting in and out of foot traffic, not stopping until the avenue ended and a massive square opened up. She found a spot under the eaves of a corner shop. “That’s it. That’s the carnival.” Her voice was breathless and low, determined, but with a small note of trepidation.
Rex had a few spotty memories of small faires and festivals in his first life, but nothing like what rose up before him. This was wild, dangerous, and chaotic, a spectacle of fire and darkness, shadows and light.
Freak shows, menageries, performers . . . Jinn strongmen performed feats. Darkling fae used their thin bodies to twist and bend and tumble on wires strung taut above the square. Some wielded fire and blades. Death matches were advertised outside of the larger tents. In the arena, one could pit oneself against beast or being to win prizes. This wasn’t any carnival the human world would ever allow.
Ghouls with faces painted white—stark within the frames of their dark cloaks—weaved through the crowd, taunting, advertising, luring spectators. To Rex, their mannerisms and presence seemed more predatory than not.
Rex stepped closer to Emma. Alert and protective, he scanned the crowd. His thoughts and senses went sharp as his warrior traits surfaced with blinding speed.
Emma did that to him. Being her protector, her caretaker, did that to him.
He placed a hand on her small shoulder.
—
REX’S HAND ON her shoulder pulled Emma out of her awestruck daze. She glanced at him, his profile grim. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he surveyed the crowd. A lump formed in her throat and her heart beat wildly.
Oh God. She was in so much trouble!
Her hand shook as she stroked Brim’s neck, his presence helping to calm her and remind her of why she’d come here, why she’d done something so monumentally crazy . . .
If the League found out she’d used their portal, she’d be expelled from their school. If her mom found out, she’d be expelled from the world forever. Grounded forever. Guilt had a firm, almost painful grip on her chest ever since yesterday.
Just get in, get out. Save them.
She knew the pups were here. She knew it because Brim knew it. All she had to do was sink into his thoughts and she could feel what he felt. And right now he was still, almost frozen, as his mind weeded through the sensory overload of the carnival. Through the sights, the scents, the sounds . . .
He’d find the female and those pups. They were his, after all.
Emma had visited the mother in the kennel and had gone again when the puppies were born. Three of them. Two males, one female. Three tiny, gray, hairless, short-eared, no-tailed pups with wrinkly skin and thick, heavy bones. One day they’d be as big as tigers, with jaws like pit bulls’ times ten. They were intelligent, loyal, and brave. But wild and deadly and feared. Hellhounds were banned from the human world. If one was found illegally imported or, worse, got loose in her world, it was killed. Her mom had pulled some major strings to get the pregnant hellhound slated for the trip back to Charbydon instead of something worse, and she’d pulled even bigger strings to get Brim an official permit to stay with them under some bogus research K-9–type training allowance.
Brim hadn’t been allowed in the kennel to see the pups, but the happiness and longing he felt when Emma returned home told her all she needed to know. He couldn’t stop sniffing her. And it broke her heart.
Honestly, she was scared to death, coming here, putting not only herself but Brim, and now Rex, in danger. But she couldn’t leave Brim’s babies to chance, to the fate she’d learned was awaiting them. And she was afraid if she told Rex or anyone else, they’d prevent her from coming, or not take her seriously, or, worse, wait too long by going through proper channels—the pups and their mother would disappear for sure if that happened.
Brim had put his life on the line for her mother when Emma asked him to. No hesitation. He gave his all. How could she not do the same for him?
She might be young, but she knew a lot. She knew more than the average kid about fighting, magic, danger . . . Her mom was a kick-ass law enforcement officer, one who had taught her the value of loyalty, family, love. And because of those things, she was here. The adults in her life would just have to deal. They had raised her this way—though, maybe not the sneaking-away-from-home part, or the breaking and entering . . . But sometimes one had to break a few rules for the greater good. Her mom had done the same many times.
“We need to find where they keep the animals,” she told Rex.
“The pups won’t be in the matches,” he said, “but they might be in a cage on display.”
Emma knew there was a good chance their mother would be in one of the death matches, pitted against another beast for the entertainment of the crowd or pitted against a challenger.
In her world, carnivals were fun and safe and exciting. In this one, they meant death for many.
But not today, she thought. Not my hounds.
Determination settling over her, Emma squared her shoulders and started through the square. Brim remained at her side, growling low and deep, his eyes flashing red when one of the ghouls came too close, its face painted in a grotesque scream of white, red, and black.
They headed for the three large tents. A caged nithyn sat in front of the middle tent, advertising what one might find inside. The menagerie.
—
REX SHUDDERED. HE remembered those massive flying birds of prey and their penchant for cannibalism more vividly than he wanted to. A flash went off beside him. He turned to see a human snapping pictures. The nithyn shied away, screeching and ducking its bony head under large leathery wings.
The sign in front of the menagerie advertised all three tents. A menagerie, circus performances, and matches in both Charbydon and English. THE BEASTS OF HELL, it said in large, bold lettering in English. Rex wanted to roll his eyes. Laying it on pretty thick, weren’t they?
The tent to the left held the performances and a list of times. The tent on the right of the menagerie was where the challenge and death matches took place.
The flash went off again, followed by a distinct crack.
The flashbulb and casing had cracked. The photographer cursed softly in surprise and examined his camera while Rex lifted an eyebrow and turned a knowing, very parental look Emma’s way.
Anger had narrowed her big eyes to bright points. So unassuming, he thought, with her ponytail and thin frame, the graphic T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He’d felt the flare of her power and knew she’d caused the flash to break. Good for you, kid. Her gaze traveled from the photographer to him. Clearly, she could tell he knew. She shrugged in defiance, and Rex couldn’t help but smile.
All business, Emma turned her attention to Brim. Rex watched as she leaned down and pressed her cheek to the top of his head. He thought he heard her whisper but wasn’t sure with the noise from the vendors and carnival musicians.
The menagerie was open, but the performances and matches wouldn’t be held until later that night. They had time to look around and, hopefully, find the pups and their momma.
“They’re here,” Emma said, straightening.
—
IT TOOK EVERYTHING Emma had to breach Brim’s strong instinctual response and convince him to wait. To let her guide him. To keep him safe. He trembled inside with the need to go, to track his family down and tear into anything in his way.
She’d never command him, never force him. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. It was one of mutual trust and respect. He whined softly, his mouth open and panting as he stared at the tent. Then he licked his chops and looked up at her for a moment, eyes hopeful and ready and needing to follow the scent.
“We’ll go. Don’t worry, we’ll go soon,” she told him.
Rex paid the admission price and they entered the menagerie, where three long rows of cages spread out before them. It was hotter inside than outside. Sweat beaded on Emma’s forehead and dripped down her back. The smell of manure, dung, urine, and bedding, warmed in the Telmath heat, made her stomach clench into a hard knot.
They were only a few steps in when someone called to them.
A tall darkling fae approached, scolding the ticket taker as he passed. His skin was a dull luminescent gray. He wore a black suit with a white silk scarf tucked into the lapels, a high-collared white shirt, and a black satin top hat. His wide eyes were a pale mauve shade, and his lips were painted black.
He had a narrow face, all angles and prominence.
His words changed from Charbydon to English. “No beasts allowed in the tent.” His voice was deep and almost musical, a smooth, creepy tone that lifted the fine hairs on Emma’s arms.
The fae stopped in front of them and eyed Brim with interest.
Brim shifted his weight from paw to paw, wanting desperately to attack.
Please, Brim, no. Not yet.
From Brim’s reaction, she knew the fae had the scent of the pups all over him. Sweat trailed down her temples as she tried her best to mentally convince him to wait.
Just wait a little longer. Please, trust me.
—
REX MOVED SLIGHTLY in front of Brim and Emma, not liking the look of this guy one bit—like hell’s version of a ringmaster, with the eyes of a snake and the aura of a weasel—and from the antsy way Brim was acting and the fear he’d glimpsed in Em’s eyes, neither did they.
“The hound stays with us,” Rex said.
“Humans don’t usually travel with such . . . company, and with one so tame, it seems. Still, no pets allowed.”
“He’s not a pet. He’s in training under special permit 6673 of the ITF Weapons Research Allowance. He is permitted to stay with us, even in Charbydon.”
The fae’s wide lips spread to reveal blunt yellowed teeth. “Humans training hellhounds. How . . . novel. Good luck with that.” His expression became nonchalant. He sighed. “It’s not the most unusual thing I’ve heard of, I suppose.”
“Shouldn’t be. You train hellhounds and other beasts for the performances, don’t you?” Rex countered easily, when what he really wanted to do was knock out some of those blunt teeth.
The fae paused thoughtfully. “We do. Yes. You should come to our performance tonight.”
The fae watched Emma and Brim a little too closely for Rex’s comfort. Her hand was on Brim’s collar and her eyes were lost in thought—a good sign she was in communication with the hellhound.
“It takes a special person to train a hellhound,” the fae went on. “The beasts are such rarities these days, especially the males. Most have disappeared into the Charbydon wilds. Others that lurk on the edges of society are too hard to catch, too dangerous to try . . . They are prized beasts. Where did you get yours?”
“He was illegally imported,” Rex answered carefully. “Found by law enforcement. The rest is history.”
“Ah. Well, that makes training a little easier, doesn’t it? When they’re already in the hands of human or off-worlder. Really, they must be born into it. The ones captured in the wild are completely untrainable and put to . . . other uses.”
Em gasped. Brim lunged forward, but she grabbed at his collar, struggling to hold him back while muttering to him under her breath. Once he settled, she turned her attention to the fae, her cheeks reddened by rage. “You mean death matches. They don’t deserve that. Who are you to decide that for them?”
Saliva dripped from Brim’s mouth; his red eyes fixed on the fae with laser focus.
One eyebrow rose, the fae obviously not affected by her outburst. “Who are you to decide the fate which you have given yours, my dear?” he asked, eyeing Brim’s collar.
“He decided. It was his choice. You don’t give your animals a choice. You condemn them to die for sport, for fun.” Her voice choked on the last word.
A smug smiled curved his black lips. “I suppose that’s true. Such is the nature of our people and my business. I’m Baasîl, ringmaster, beast master, proprietor of Hell’s Menagerie.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “Please be my guests tonight at the performance. I insist. I’m sure you’ll find it most . . . enlightening.”
From the look in Baasîl’s calculating eyes, Rex was pretty sure the ringmaster had figured out that Em and Brim could communicate in some way. Not good. Not good at all, he thought as the ringmaster left, disappearing through the flap and out into the lovely Telmath air.
Rex exhaled, releasing the tension in his body. “Come on,” he said, starting down one of the rows, “let’s see if the pups are here.”
The cages were on wagon wheels, their bars made of thick iron crusted with years of dirt and grime. Their height put the beasts inside almost at eye level with Rex. He’d been to plenty of zoos in his time and plenty of carnivals, too, and these types of cages were always the most intimate, the animals right there in front of you, staring you in the face.
Emma stopped in front of each cage, giving each occupant her acknowledgment and respect. There were animals from all three worlds. Bears, hellhounds, nithyn, massive sand dragons similar to earth’s Komodo dragons, screechers—hellish monkey-like creatures with webbed hands tipped with long, razor-sharp claws. They had small, useless milky-white eyes and lived deep inside of caves, hunting at night, using their hearing to detect prey. There was a winged griffon from Elysia—rare indeed, and lonely, Rex thought, as the beast stared back at them with sad, regal eyes. There was a huge violet-eyed, gray-haired cat similar to a lynx, but the size of a lion. He’d never seen one before, but he knew they were said to exist high in the Charbydon Mountains.
Rex was surprised by the rarity of the creatures Baasîl had collected. It must have taken him aeons to gather this many, and it made Rex wonder how long some of the beasts had been there.
At the end of one of the rows, a massive cage faced them. It was five times the width of the others and nearly as high as the tent ceiling. Huddled in the back corner of the cage was a mountain troll.
They stopped, both amazed by the sight.
It was all muscle under thick gray skin. Huge hands, a bald head with a thick skull, and small black tusks that curved down over its mouth and lower jaw like massive fangs. Its wrists and ankles were ringed with wide iron shackles.
Emma approached the cage. Rex followed, the stench of the beast reaching him long before he came to a stop in front of the bars.
The troll kept its shoulder to them, shunning them after a quick, solemn sideways look. It closed its eyes as though pretending they weren’t there.
“So sad,” Em barely uttered beside him. She started to place her hand on the bars. Rex reached for her. He didn’t want her touching anything or getting that close. In that split second, the troll lunged. It happened so fast, Brim yelped in surprise, and Rex’s first reaction was to grab Emma’s shoulders and pull her back.
But the troll had grabbed the bars and trapped one of Emma’s hands beneath its thick fingers.
Fear swept arctic and instant through his veins. “Emma,” he said calmly.
The beast’s face was smashed against the bars. Its head was lowered, eyes level with Emma. Its small nostrils flared in and out in loud, snorting puffs.
“Can you slide your hand out?”
She didn’t answer. There was no pain on her face, no fear. Rex wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling, but she was transfixed by the creature. They stared at each other intensely, as though nothing else existed.
Then the creature pushed away from the bars, snorting loudly as it went back to its corner and slumped down, ignoring them.
Em’s hand slid free of the bars. Rex took it. “You okay?”
She seemed dazed, her wide brown eyes lost for a few moments. “Yeah,” she said, then shook her head and finally focused on him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s keep looking.”
—
THE PUPS WEREN’T in the menagerie. But they had been. Brim could smell their lingering scent. Emma’s heart hurt as they left the tent. All those animals . . . She knew some were deadly, and poisonous, and would kill as soon as they got the chance, but still she felt for them. They should be free to live in their own habitat, left alone. Not caged. Not spectacles. Not shoved into some arena to fight for their lives.
If she listened hard enough, she could feel their misery, their anger, their confusion, their heartbreak.
She wanted to go home, wanted her mom, wanted to forget she had ever seen this. She never wanted to see another off-world carnival as long as she lived. All around her the performers awed the crowd. Fire whooshed and flashed bright. Music played. Spectators cheered, laughed, and heckled. But Emma had never felt more alone. She didn’t realize she’d stopped until Rex turned and put a hand on her arm.
“Aw, hell, kid. You kill me when you cry.” He pulled her into a hug.
It was her father’s arms, her father’s smell—though somewhat different now that Rex had taken up residence. She missed him. But she loved Rex and knew he loved her, too.
“I’m sorry.” She leaned back and sniffed, wiping away the tears with her hands. “I knew when we found out about the carnival, the menagerie . . . I knew all these animals would be here.” She tipped her wet face up to look at him. “We have to help them.”
Rex’s expression turned pained and his eyes went glassy, his jaw tight. “I’d give you the world if I could. But not at the expense of your safety. We’ll see if we can locate the pups, and that’s it.”