Carnival Charlatan

by Skeeter Enright

“But of course. What do you want to learn from the cards?” My voice had unconsciously dropped to match his. I felt a little surge of hormones. It had been a while since I had gotten lucky, but I can’t remember when I had such a reaction to a random mark.

  “Let’s just see what the cards have to say.”

  “Ah, a skeptic. Madam Magda will make a believer of you, I think.” I gave him my best corn fed, middle class girl smile, totally blowing the Magda mystic. He watched while I tucked his payment in my blouse and blushed when I caught him looking. He was so cute. This was going to be fun.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  As we sat down to start our reading, Fast Eddie stuck his head in through the tent flap and said, “Sorry to bother you, Madam Magda, but Jeeuz anie theeuz inks heeuz a ceeuz op.” The mark looked a little startled at the Carney slang.

  So, Janie thinks this guy is a cop. “Oh…thanks,” I said to Eddie. “I’ll look into it. Will you let the boss know?” I kept my smile firmly on my face. The mark looked at me questioningly. I have no problems with cops if they’re here for the carnival and not on business. “Just a little accounting snafu. Nothing I have to deal with right now.” I gave him a high wattage smile.

  This guy was giving off a vibe that was more than my hormones talking to me. I touched his hand as I gave him the cards. The reaction was electric. I saw him shiver. Goose bumps broke out on my arms. Wow, talk about chemistry. It wasn’t just me. He was definitely breathing a little roughly and didn’t seem to know where to look.

  While he shuffled the cards, I started getting psychic flashes about him. His grandfather—Max—helped raise him. As a child, he had a big golden retriever named Frank. He was lonely, but I sensed something solid about him. He made me feel warm and safe. I had never felt that from a man before. With all the things that had happened lately, why wasn’t I feeling cautious?

  Occasionally, I get insight into a mark, but I seldom use the psychic information in my readings. It tends to freak people out. Mostly, I do my readings using my knowledge of cards and good observational skills. Despite the danger, something about this guy made me feel frisky. I decided to mess with him just a little. I dropped all but a hint of my Magda accent. “Is your fish named Frank?”

  “Huh?” He flubbed the cards he was shuffling. “Why did you think the fish is named Frank?”

  “Oh, just a guess.” I smiled enigmatically. “Frank is a great name for a golden retriever…I mean a goldfish.”

  His mouth hung open. The fish poked at the side of the bag. “I had a dog named Frank when I was a kid.”

  “Oh, really. Isn’t that a coincidence? Let’s start your reading. Is there anything in particular you would like to know?”

  “I guess I want to know if I will find the person I’m looking for?”

  I had him cut the cards. I took the silk cover off my crystal ball. This man was giving me a big psychic hit. The first card was The Emperor, the dominance of reason over emotion. Well, he was a cop.

  “Your work puts you in a position of authority.” His slight nod encouraged me to continue. “You’re correct in your recent decision to act in your search rather than to continue to sit at your computer.” Where did that bit of information come from? I thought to myself. He stiffened slightly.

  I saw a brief flash in the crystal ball, which was interesting. I put my hand on the ball. It felt unusually warm. I got a brief image of the man’s grandfather. “As a child, you spent a lot of time with a strong man who raised you to be confident. Your grandpa Max is proud of you,” I said without thinking.

  “What?” He stood up. “How did you know my grandfather’s name?” His voice was shaky.

  “I…Madam Magda knows many things,” I stammered. I was as shaken as the mark. I was usually more careful.

  My psychic defenses were in tatters. I was getting constant flashes from this guy’s life—time with his granddad, his first girlfriend, being an Eagle Scout. I must be more exhausted than I thought.

  He sat back down, watching me warily. I turned another card, The Fool upside down. Was I reading his cards or mine? A warning zinged through my senses. “You must be very careful. There is potential for much danger. What you seek could go terribly wrong.”

  I flipped the next card without preamble, The Chariot. I had never seen a whole reading with only major Arcana cards. It was like dealing two poker hands with only face cards. “Your journey is dangerous. It will not end where you expect. Do not relax if you think it is finished. There will be more.”

  “More what?” he asked.

  “I don’t, I…” I flipped the next card, the Hierophant. “The man you seek has something to do with religion. He’s obsessed, inflexible, sure he is right. He thinks he…” I was sweating but felt chilled. “…he is following tradition.”

  I looked up at the mark. I knew his name was Craig. I reached across the table and took his hand. “Craig, this guy you’re looking for is one crazy nut bag. Be careful. He could kill you.” I had completely dropped my accent.

  Craig’s hand was shaking as much as mine. He looked me right in the eye, and for the first time since I was sixteen, I didn’t hesitate looking back. We made contact. I saw his soul. He was a white knight. He was the one who ran into burning buildings, who threw himself on the grenade, who did the right thing no matter what the cost. He forgave the blonde woman who broke his heart. He was after a serial killer who was killing the descendants of Salem witches. He was worried for me. He was my other half.

  I didn’t want to know what he saw in my heart, because compared to him, I knew I would be lacking. In a flash, I saw two possible futures—in one he was in a coffin, the other we were old people holding hands, sitting on an overstuffed couch.

  “Ariel?” He reached across the tiny table and cupped my face in his hands. He leaned forward and kissed me gently. “How can I be feeling this? How can I know you so well?”

  It was the sweetest kiss. “Does it matter?” Tears came to my eyes. “Craig.” I took his hand and led him from my tent. I grabbed the goldfish in its little bag and flipped the closed sign as we left. Mister D was watching as we headed to my trailer. At his inquiring look, I raised my eyebrows and slightly shook my head.

  Zach was in his cage outside my trailer. He said “Hell’o,” as we walked up. Still holding Craig the cop’s hand, I muttered the phrase that allowed strangers to enter my home.

  Craig said, “What just happened between us?” He sat on my couch as though he were exhausted.

  I dumped the goldfish into a mixing bowl. “We made a connection,” I said.

  “I guess…I mean…how did it happen? How do I know your name? How do you know mine?” He watched me remove my scarf and shake out my hair.

  “It has never happened to me like this either. It’s magic.”

  “Was it real?” he asked.

  I put a knee on each side of him on the couch, so I was sitting on his lap. He took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. I had seen his soul. I knew who he was, as he knew me.

  We each knew how lonely the other was. How long we had been alone. “Does it matter?” I whispered.

  “I guess not.” His lips met mine. He picked me up, and we moved to the bed. My bra rained cash as it fell to the floor alongside his shirt and shiny shoes. I worked on his belt as he paid homage to my breasts with a quick tongue, which moved down as my skirt slid off. I gave up on the belt as his flicking tongue found my depths. My back arched with my orgasm. I grabbed his hair. It was too much, a sweet agony. I was still spasming when he entered me and started the whole process again, only deeper and better. My legs were over his shoulders, and he drove so deeply, I could feel him against my spine. I clasped him with my inner muscles. The suction was so fierce, I thought we would totally envelop one another and disappear. We came together, crying out wordlessly.

  His weight lay on me. I hugged him, trying to keep the moment. He rolled back. I moved with him until I was on top, with him still inside me. I gently ran my
fingertips from his face down his sides. He shivered and took a breath. I touched a finger to his mouth, then replaced the finger with my lips. My hair fell around our faces, shielding us from the world. In rhythm with my kisses, I started squeezing my internal muscles around his penis. It hardened in moments. His hands roamed my back and breasts. We took longer, but it was no less amazing the second and third time.

  When we woke, it was dark. The roar of the carnival had ceased. Moonlight streamed through the vent above my bed. I got up and pulled on my Tweety Bird robe without turning on the lights. Craig rolled over to watch me.

  “Close your eyes.” I said.

  When I turned on the light, he threw his arm across his face and said, “Ow.”

  “I told you to close your eyes. I’m psychic. I know things. You should listen to me.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He sat up and started looking for his underwear. He still had one sock on. It was kind of endearing how someone so orderly had forgotten his sock. He pulled on his pants. The night was getting chilly. His gun was in a little nylon holster clipped inside his pocket like a cell phone. He clipped it in with a smooth, automatic motion.

  “Ariel, I’m not sure what happened this afternoon. Hell, I’m not sure how I know your name. I thought you would be Mary.”

  “She was my grandmother. She’s gone.”

  “How can I know…you?”

  “We shared a psychic link. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s intense.”

  “To say the least.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how to process the experience. I’ve never…”

  “Made mad monkey love to a stranger before,” I finished for him.

  “Well, that too.” He actually blushed. It was so cute. “How did you know about my grandfather and my dog?”

  “And the blonde who dumped you in college, and the serial killer you’re looking for?” I added. He was strong. He could take a little reality adjustment. He might even believe me.

  “How can I know about your mom and grandma, about you in college, about magic?” He had a little bit of a deer in the headlights look about him. One hand rubbed the back of his neck and the other twisted in his lap.

  “I know it is hard to believe, but I occasionally get psychic flashes. They usually aren’t as clear or as strong as I had with you, but they are real. When our eyes met, you had a flash about me. We shared what was important about ourselves. No one will believe you if you tell them what happened. You’re a cop. They would probably make you get your head shrunk if you mentioned what you experienced.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Actually, I’m FBI. You’re right about nobody believing me. Hell, it just happened, and I’m having a hard time believing it.”

  “Why don’t we just sleep on it? In the morning, you can tell me about the serial killer.”

  “How did you know about the serial murders?” he asked.

  I just tapped my head and shrugged.

  He got up and said, “I’d best get going.”

  I dropped the robe and said, “You’re welcome to stay here.” I put one knee on the bed platform and looked back over my shoulder. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

  The light went out, and I heard his pants drop. I wondered if we would ever find his sock. His voice was wonderful with my ear on his chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The entry foyer of Washed in the Blood church was crowded after his sermon. The dark paneling made the room feel even smaller than it actually was. The clash of perfumes and colognes in this small space was giving him a headache.

  “I really appreciated your message today, Reverend Parris,” said a short man with the beard of an Old Testament patriarch.

  “I hope you take it to heart,” he replied, clasping both the man’s hands for a moment.

  He continued shaking hands and accepting compliments, when he heard the women talking. He didn’t usually attend to the nonsense most women spouted, but they were talking about a carnival. It was just a month ago the Carnival Witch had escaped him. Now, God might have brought her back to him.

  “She was the most amazing psychic I had ever seen. She immediately knew we were sisters. Me and Sandy couldn’t believe she was working in a carnival. She should have a TV show or something.” The woman speaking was Carla Dean, the church secretary. He had investigated her family. Her bloodline carried no taint. Although, it didn’t mean she was incapable of being corrupted.

  He walked over to her. When she saw him, she plumped her hair and straightened her sweater over her too generous hips. “Reverend Parris, I just loved your sermon today. You have such a direct way of interpreting scripture.”

  “I simply translate the word of the Lord, Madam.”

  “Oh, do call me Carla. May I call you Evan?”

  “I’d rather you did not.”

  She deflated, losing her bubbles. “Of course. You have your image to maintain.”

  “I overheard you talking about a psychic at a carnival. You understand such people are evil. In Exodus, the Lord tells us we must not suffer a witch to live.”

  “She seemed to be a devout person, although she talked about Saints and people with the sight. I think she may have been a Catholic.”

  “Ah, a worshiper of idols. It would be wise to avoid such people in the future, lest you be tainted by their malignant ideas.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” Carla wrung her hands. Her eyes darted right then left, avoiding the Reverend’s gaze. “We just went in for fun. She seemed so nice.”

  “Evil is often presented in a pleasant aspect, which is how the innocent are corrupted. What was this psychic’s name?”

  “She was called Madam Magda. Oh, Reverend. Could you pray for my sister and me? You’ve made me afraid we might be soiled by our contact with such a woman.”

  He knelt with Carla, but while he invoked the blessing of the Lord, he was making plans for the Carnival Witch. The end of his prayer was a most fervent, “God’s will be done. Amen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The disorientation Craig felt when he woke spanned several levels. Ariel lay on her stomach with her head on his chest. He pulled the cover over her shoulder in a gesture so naturally protective that it startled him. No woman had ever been…he knew her, even though they had just met. How could she know his name? How did he know hers? He had never fallen into bed with someone like this, but it felt so right. She felt so right.

  She was a possible witness. He put his arm over his eyes. How unprofessional could he be? He should have left last night. Unconsciously, he caressed the smooth skin of her back with his other arm. She stirred against his chest. When he lowered his arm from his eyes, she was looking at him.

  “I’m so glad you stayed,” she said, stretching languidly, unselfconsciously. She was equally at ease when she rose and stepped into the tiny bathroom. Her robe hung on the wall next to the bed.

  He reviewed the circumstances that led him here. She said they had shared a psychic link, which wasn’t possible. Yet…something happened when he looked in her eyes. He didn’t feel drugged, but he must have hallucinated. He couldn’t have seen what he had seen. She couldn’t be…yet here he was in her bed.

  He examined his surroundings. The motor home was organized and tidy, books shelved in every available space. There were a few quirks, like the baseball bat hanging from a strap next to the bed. The bat had, “For personal protection—love Mister D”, written on the side.

  Craig rolled out of bed and found his pants. He was looking for his missing sock when she emerged from the shower. She reached over him to get her robe. She smelled of apricots and musk.

  “What do you want for breakfast? Or should I say how do you like your eggs, since they’re all I have,” she said.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” he replied.

  “Scrambled, over easy, or poached would do.” She had an amazing smile. Without her makeup, she looked about twenty.

  “Scrambled will
be fine.”

  “Why don’t you ask your questions while I cook?” A pan appeared from a cubby. She didn’t waste a motion as she cracked the eggs and chopped an onion. She moved the mixing bowl with his goldfish to the table like a centerpiece. “Frank the Fish, seems to be hanging in there.”

  “How can I know so much about you?” he asked.

  “I told you last night. We made a psychic connection.”

  “I have a hard time believing it.”

  “If you have a better explanation, I’m listening.” She set bread on a toaster contraption that fit over the burner on her gas stove.

  This domestic scene unnerved him.

  Since he was silent, she continued, “I know it takes a while for this…experience to sink in. If it’s any consolation, this is only the second time this has happened to me. If you want to change the topic, you could tell me about the serial killer.”

  “I’m not positive there is a serial killer,” he said, trying to salvage some professionalism. “I just had a lead on a man who was a religious fanatic and may be threatening people who are descendents of the Salem witches. You are descended from one of the Salem witches, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but why didn’t you just ask about the guy?”

  “I did ask, in a round about way. I didn’t want to spook anybody,” he said.

  She chuckled. “You know we made you for a cop long before you got to my tent.” Tweety Bird on her shoulder looked at him with wide, guileless eyes. His stomach gurgled at the smell of the cooking eggs.

  “We?” he asked.

  “We Carnies. You really stand out. Cops have a way of observing and asking that sets them apart from regular carnival patrons. It’s obvious if you know what to look for.”

  He blushed and looked at his hands. “I was trying to build a rapport. I guess I didn’t do a very good job.”

  “You’d have probably been fine in the normal world. Carneys are a little more observant,” she said, patting his hand.

  He decided—considering yesterday’s experiences—he really had nothing to hide from this woman. He would just fess up. “I’m not really a field agent. I decided to follow a lead my colleagues thought was useless. Not talking about a serial killer is a cop thing. I didn’t want to start a panic based on what essentially is a hunch.”