Carnival Charlatan

by Skeeter Enright

  As he pounded up the stairs, he ran through the details of what he thought of as the witch murder case. At least the lieutenant finally decided the twelve murders were related, and the unknown subject was a serial killer. He also assigned two field agents, Bailey and Jefferson, to the case.

  On his third trip up the stairs, he ran into Bailey, who was on his way down. He was the older of the field agents working on what Craig thought of as his case. Bailey wasn’t hard to miss. He had a huge, waxed handlebar mustache, which covered the lower half of his face. Craig imagined the mustache was psychological compensation for his bald head. It also almost hid his big mouth.

  Before they passed, Craig caught his eye. “Hi, Bailey. How is the serial case coming?” They both stopped. Bailey was on a step above, looking down on Craig.

  “It’s progressing. We’re doing background checks, looking for more connections between the victims.”

  Which was all well and good, Craig thought, but they were wasting time. He already had a connection. He also had a suspect in the religious nut Parris. “Did you see my memo on the guy from the Turnpike Motel and the possible carnival connection?”

  “It was an interesting lead. We’re planning on looking into it when we finish the background,” Bailey said. Sarcasm echoed off the stairwell walls, smacking into Craig like a rolled up newspaper. Bailey smoothed his mustache and shrugged. “Well, I got to get going. We’ll send you any new info we get from our interviews. There’s bound to be a better connection than your witch thing. Don’t worry. We’ll find it.” Bailey continued down the stairs.

  Craig sighed and headed up the last two flights, back to the cubbyhole he called his office. The boss thought his idea, about the man with the mole, was weak too. What did he know? Craig was sure it was a solid lead. He needed more data to convince the lieutenant. He had been trying for weeks to convince his “Fearless Leader” to have Evan Parris and the people at the Dimitri Brothers Carnival interviewed. The religious connection was undeniable. All the information he had pointed to the serial killer having a cycle, which was getting shorter. Craig figured the subject would be compelled to kill again in the next week, two at the most. Without more data, he was never going to catch him. He decided to plead his case again.

  “Lieutenant, I found out why the Cleveland suspect was interested in the carnival.”

  The lieutenant looked up from his lunch with a sigh.

  Craig continued, “Three years ago, the Carnival Fortune Teller gave an interview about being a descendant of a Salem Witch. There was an incident. A religious group picketed the carnival.” Craig looked hopefully at his boss.

  “I know you are hot for this guy, Craig, but I can’t justify the man-hours on such a weak lead. Our budget is strained as it is.” The lieutenant picked a bit of lettuce out of his teeth with a fingernail, then looked at the door frame above Craig’s head.

  “I understand.” Craig wished the lieutenant would grow some balls. “Can I take a couple days’ vacation on short notice?”

  The lieutenant heaved another sigh. “You’re really determined this lead will pan out. Go ahead. Take your leave. Don’t forget, anything you do is unofficial. If you cause an incident, I don’t know what you’re up to.”

  “Right boss, plausible deniability. I understand.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I needed insight on what to do about my brother. I found a pay phone to call Aunt Lila. She was the closest thing to an expert on the Fae I knew of. At least she had a lot more experience with fairies than I did. Lila was a sharp cookie. She was married to a regular citizen named Bob, who thought her predilection for witchcraft was a hobby. He was the perfect husband—a rich workaholic. Lila had plenty of time to herself. She ran a full coven out of her house, and Bob didn’t even notice. She convinced him it was a book club or something. If anyone could help me understand my new family dynamics, Lila could.

  The pay phone smelled like cigarettes and old sweat. I wiped the receiver off on my skirt. After I put my coins in, some glitch made the mechanism pour out at least twenty dollars in change. This was the first time my magic versus machine problem had paid off, literally.

  Lila’s cool telephone voice always reminded me of one of the announcers on National Public Radio. After greetings, she allowed me to describe the events of the past few days. When I finished by venting my anger at Sam’s duplicity, my dear auntie’s first words were, “Airy, don’t be a fairy bigot. You were raised better than that.” Now, she sounded like an irritated schoolmarm.

  I was hurt.

  Before I could protest, she said, “Your very own father is a Fairy. You’re half Fae. You’d best be careful where you’re pointing fingers, Missy.”

  “But Lila, why did I have to find out about my mixed blood from a fairy?” Now, I was getting a little ticked off.

  “Oh, baby. I’m sorry you didn’t know. I always thought Mom told you,” she said. My ruffled feathers started to settle. It was weird to hear anyone call my Grammy “Mom”. Especially an old lady like Aunt Lila. She had to be at least fifty.

  “Well, she didn’t tell me I have a half-brother, either.”

  “Sweetie, I’m sorry you had to find out in such an…unfortunate way. Are you sure the Fae’s your brother?” She sounded more subdued.

  “Yeah, I did the test.”

  “Hair or saliva?”

  “Hair. It was definitive.”

  “Pfff,” she puffed out air. “What a mess. At least you don’t have to worry about him harming you on purpose. The Fae protect their kin. It is one of their unbreakable rules.”

  “He put a panic spell on me. Amanda’s father kidnapped and glamored her. How is that protecting? I just don’t know how far I can trust him.”

  “He must have thought it was for your own good. Remember, they don’t think like us. You don’t have to like what was done. Just remember, the Fae won’t permanently harm their blood kin. Anything they do to try to control you is for your benefit. Or at least what they think is for your benefit,” she said as an afterthought. “Don’t try to do any violent magic on anybody from your father’s side of the family. The spell will rebound about tenfold, which is why you don’t have to worry about violence from them.”

  “What can I do to keep them from trying to control me in non-violent ways? I want to be prepared if dear old Dad comes calling.” I hated the whine I heard in my voice. I was still exhausted. Dangling coins on my scarf were itching again. I didn’t care about the protection of the metal bangles anymore. I was getting a new scarf.

  “I’ll do some research. Give me a call back tomorrow,” she said. I could visualize the vague look on her face. She was already thinking of where to find the information. “Love you. Don’t worry.”

  “Love you back. Lila?”

  “Hmmm,” was the reply.

  “Don’t stay up all night researching.”

  “Now who’s telling who what to do?” I heard her laughing as she hung up.

  * * * *

  Doc stopped by my motor home around one. All the Townies had been trundled off the lot, and the noise of the carnival music and machinery had ceased. He brought me a shot of antibiotics. After the night of the party, I had high hopes for a more personal sort of injection. I rubbed his leg gently while he examined mine. He smelled like sweat, and grease, and guy. I offered him my shower, but he declined. Too bad, for my little shower, sigh. As soon as he finished with the leg, he stood. I jumped up as well. He reached for me…oh yeah!…gave me a brief hug, patted me on the back, kissed me on the forehead, and was out the door before my libido knew what was happening. I was still revved up. What just happened, or should I say, what didn’t just happen?

  Wasn’t I obvious enough? For Pete’s sake, he was a Carney. Most Carney males and half the females would screw any slow moving orifice, invited or not. Was it me? Did using magic publicly make me too much of a freak, even for a Carney?

  Tonight, I didn’t have to worry about using all the hot water in my sho
wer. The only handle I turned was the cold.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I tell you, brothers and sisters, evil walks among us. It is our duty not only to live lives free of evil thoughts and deeds, but to root out evil where we find it.”

  A chorus of “Amen” from the congregation followed the last statement of his sermon.

  Parris was satisfied his message had fallen on fertile ground. The faithful of the Jesus is Lord Church in Toledo were true believers. They had hosted him for this past three weeks. His sermons were all well received.

  They treated him with true reverence.

  He had checked out the members extensively. Only one had tainted blood. Sandra was a descendant of Wilmot Redd of Salem; however, on examination, he found Sandra to be a devout, repentant woman. She was due a chance. He would keep correspondence with her to see if the depravity of her ancestress took hold of her. If it did, she would be cleansed.

  His next engagement was near Chicago. His car sputtered and bumped along the turnpike, blue smoke trailing behind. Munching a cookie Sandra had packed for him, he realized he should feel guilty. He had been too comfortable at this last church. He was behind in his search. He had been negligent in his duty to God. He threw the rest of the cookies out the window. The plastic container bumped along the berm, scattering brown crumbs and pieces.

  The Washed in the Blood Church of Chicago had a larger congregation. At least three of its members had tainted blood. He needed to investigate others. He would stop at a library as soon as he reached the city. There might be more descendants of evil. He feared at least one would not be repentant. It had been over a month since he had dispatched a witch.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Just after dawn, I found Sam sitting on the hood of Skinny Phil’s car. He was as beautiful as ever. The curve of his shoulders and the slight downturn of his usually smiling lips exuded sadness. He must have been there a while, because dew had settled all around him. He looked at me hopefully as I approached.

  “I promised I wouldn’t do magic to anyone at the carnival,” Sam said. “You didn’t have to make charms for everyone.”

  I just sipped my coffee, wishing Skinny Phil would get there, and we could get through this day.

  “Please talk to me, Sister.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be spying on the Water Fae?” I asked.

  “The war did not happen. Our father wants me to help you.”

  “When did you see your father?”

  “I found a way to the Outlands when we first came to Evansville. I saw our father, and he bade me to care for you. He wanted me to teach you the magic of the Air Fae.

  “I don’t need your help. Magic has done nothing but kill the people I loved. Why don’t you go tell our dear old dad that I don’t need anything from him. I did fine without a father my whole life.” I kept my voice low and even. Anybody who knew me understood the tone meant I was massively angry.

  “I can teach you the spells you asked me about.” Sam reached for my hand.

  I stepped back out of his reach. “What spells?”

  “The spells for making things warm and changing their size.”

  Aunt Lila’s voice echoed in my head…fairy bigot. “Those spells would be useful,” I admitted. “I guess you could teach me how to warm things, but if you do anything to hurt the carnival or any of my friends, you’d better find a deep hole to hide in, because you won’t want to know what I’ll do to you—” I stopped because Skinny Phil was coming.

  Thirty years ago, Phil was a skinny kid who ran away and joined the carnival. There were multiple Phils on the lot the year he came—Greasy Phil, Bad Phil, and Big Phil, so he became Skinny Phil. The other Phils were long gone, and our Phil was about fifty pounds past skinny, but once a nickname, always a nickname as far as Carnies were concerned.

  Phil studiously ignored the tension between Sam and me. He climbed in the driver’s seat of his old blue Chevy. “You guys coming? I want to get finished before Christmas.”

  Sam jumped in the passenger seat, and I climbed in the back. Janie was driving my rig north for me later today.

  Phil tried the ignition a couple of times. All he got was a grinding noise. Phil leaned one arm over the back of the seat and gave me a significant look.

  “Ooops. Sorry, Phil. I’ll get it.” I had a spray bottle with purified water that had a little belladonna in it. I sprayed a circle around myself in my seat and muttered my warding spell, to cut myself off from the car’s engine. “Sam, your magic will interfere with the car engine. You need to ward yourself away from the engine.”

  “I already did, Airy.”

  I raised an eyebrow, not believing him.

  “When I saw what you were doing, I thought of a better way. The whole inside of the car is like a box. It takes less energy to activate a closed space, because it doesn’t have to stretch out forever.”

  Phil turned the key, and the car started right up. By the bell and book, Sam was good. I could never figure out the dynamics of energizing a box, especially this early in the morning.

  “I have no idea what the hell you two are talking about,” Phil said as we pulled out into the morning traffic. He spit out the window, “You want to stop at Waffle House for breakfast?”

  At Sam’s puzzled look, I had a vision of what the name probably brought to his mind. A building made of Waffles. “A Waffle House is a restaurant. It’s a cheap way to get a meal.” I explained. “You have any money?” I was trying to get over my fairy bias, but I couldn’t afford to feed a dead beat. Most of the money I had earned the past couple days had been used up getting supplies and paying debts. I had about twenty bucks to get me through the next couple of days. I should be safe if I didn’t eat too much.

  “Yes, I have money. Mister D paid me last night.” He pulled a wad of bills from his coat pocket and held them out to me. “Is this enough?”

  I could see about fifty dollars. “You should have enough, if you’re careful.”

  “So, are we stopping or what?” Phil interjected.

  Sam preceded Phil and me in the restaurant. Phil looked at me with an unasked question. “They use different money where Sam comes from,” I said.

  “Mmm…huh.”

  Thank the universe Phil was a Carney. He would take the lame excuse and not pry. I couldn’t imagine trying to explain Sam’s naiveté to a regular person who would demand a logical explanation.

  “Why didn’t we get waffles from Sheila,” Sam asked as we sat down. Sheila ran a Belgian waffle and funnel cake stand at the carnival.

  “Sheila wasn’t up when we left. We didn’t want to bother her.” Phil sounded like he was talking to a slow child, not a being who could blast him to composite particles with a few short words. I hope no one at the Carney ever found out how dangerous Sam really was.

  By three in the afternoon, Skinny Phil and Sam had most of the carnival lot laid out. Sam bounced around like a puppy. He and Phil had hammered in stakes, marking the locations for each of the carnival rides and attractions. The carnival lot was set up in an arc, which started and ended at the entry arch where people paid to get in. Most people entering travelled along the arc to the right, counterclockwise. Games and junk food stands were along the front right. The big rides would be scattered along the curve farthest from the entrance.

  My tent would be nestled among the food stands near the end of the arc on the left side. It wasn’t the greatest spot, but it wasn’t the worst. Given my magic mojo, it wasn’t wise for me to be near the big rides. Occasionally, people do the arc clockwise, and I’m the first attraction. Unfortunately, the majority of the customers go the other way. By the time the marks got to my tent, they were tired. Sometimes they wanted to come and sit for a reading. Other times, they just wanted to go home and passed by my stand. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost—the carnival microcosm of life.

  While Phil and Sam worked, I set up the wards around the carnival lot. A spell on a roll of thread formed the base for the ward.
As I walked the perimeter, I cut snippets of thread and dropped them. Since the thread came from a single roll, the tiny pieces—in terms of the weak warding spell I used—acted as though they were a single barrier. It was like a weak electric fence—a warning, but not a real deterrent to any determined preternatural being. We had driven over a ley-line about a quarter mile from the carnival grounds, but there were no ley-lines on the lot. Wouldn’t you know it? The Chicago area had a huge number of ley-line intersections, but as luck had it, there were none in this area. If supernatural beings decided to come calling, there would be no extra energy to bolster the wards into an actual wall, like I’d done in Cleveland. If demons invaded again, we were screwed. Not that there was any reason for something to happen. Of course, nothing was going to happen. Nothing happened in Evansville. Right?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I found a pay phone to check in with Aunt Lila. I told her I was going to give Sam a chance to teach me some spells. Unfortunately, the protection against the Fae spells she found were not especially effective. She didn’t think they would do much more than my amulet for magic deflection. Oh, well. It was worth a try.

  The trucks started rolling in around five o’clock. It is amazing how fast the carnival sets up. By midnight, all the tents and booths were standing, and the big rides were being tested. By 1:00 a.m., final electrical connections were made, and the game stands were up and running.

  My place was almost ready for the next day. I was putting the last of my “magical” herbal hand cream on the shelves when Myra came in. Her eyes were half-open, her hair greasy, and her sweat-stained shirt clung to her in an unattractive way. She had skinned her knee, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “Airy, you got any of your hangover cure?”

  “Sure, kiddo. You got the Jack Daniels flu?”

  She nodded and slumped into my customer chair. I was happy to see my amulet around her neck.