Vagabond Circus Series

by Sarah Noffke

  “I’m sorry,” she said plainly. “That was a thoughtless question.” The girl said those words easily, whereas their other conversations that day had been excruciatingly difficult. For Zuma it had always been easy to apologize. It was simple to admit her mistakes because otherwise they seemed to lie across her lap paralyzing her until she said those two words. Then her blunder flew away to the trees where all wrong deeds lived after being made right.

  But Finley wasn’t used to people apologizing to him and so he just slid his eyes forward again and stared out at the gray highway.

  Zuma huffed to herself. He gave her a reaction only when she didn’t expect it and then didn’t when she did. She never knew what to anticipate from him.

  “So, what’s the plan for when we get to Knight’s compound?” she asked, trying to sound removed.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said in a mechanical voice. “I’ll tell you once we get there.”

  Even with her eyes partially on the road, she spied the tiny twitch on the side of his left eye.

  Hmmm… she thought. Is he lying?

  “Well, I’d like to know something before I walk into the place,” she said, strategically picking her words. “Like how are we breaking in?”

  She watched as he blew out a breath. That wasn’t what gave it away. It was the hesitation on his next breath, ever so slight and unnoticeable by most. “We will go in through the back,” he lied.

  She twisted in her seat, facing him directly. “I can’t believe it!” she said her eyes simultaneously on Finley and the road in front of her. “You aren’t planning on taking me with you to rescue Jack!”

  Finley didn’t flinch from Zuma’s sudden explosion. His eyes just roamed over her flushed face, his mind calculating how best to respond. Before he could, she turned back to face the road completely.

  “What, are you planning on ditching me once we get close?” she asked, her head throbbing from her sudden anger.

  “Something like that,” he said, realizing there was no easy way to navigate this one.

  She let out one loud growl of frustration. “I can’t believe you, Finley!” she said, slamming her hand on the steering wheel.

  “Oh really?!” he fired back. “You can’t believe I’d want to keep you safe? Zuma, you have no idea the things you’ll see in Knight’s compound. And if you’re caught you won’t leave there alive. You can’t believe I’d try and protect you from that?!”

  She couldn’t turn and look at him. The ache in his voice was already threatening her intent to punish him for this. “Finley, you don’t get to decide what I see or if I go to rescue Jack or not. If I die then I die,” she said with the conviction of a person who accepted the potential of this gruesome fate. “But if you leave me behind then you better watch your back because I’m going to hunt you down even if it kills me.”

  Finley couldn’t believe the sliver of a smile that etched itself on his mouth. Zuma had a fire in her to salute and not only that, but she was the only person he knew who could actually beat him in a fight. Which meant her words were not threats, but rather promises.

  “Why are you smiling?” she said, trying with great difficulty to maintain the hostility in her tone.

  His grin widened. “Because you scare me, Zuma.”

  “Why would that make you smile?”

  “Because it’s a first,” he said.

  Against her conviction a tiny bit of pride touched her eyes. “Good. Then that means you’re taking me with you, right?”

  Finley drew in a long inhale. What he hadn’t expanded on was that something happening to Zuma was his worst-case scenario. That scared him as much as her hunting him down and killing him. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I agree.”

  She pressed her back firmly into the seat. “Good,” she said, knowing he was being honest now. “And don’t ever lie to me again. I will always see it for what it is.”

  “Noted,” he said, sliding down in his seat and pretending to rest. However, there would be no relief for him. Not now that he had to truly worry for Zuma’s safety.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Helpless. Cowardly. Inadequate. Those terms described how Titus felt while he stared at the people of Vagabond Circus as they all fell into positions of sorrow. Dave would have rushed forward and offered help to Fanny. He would have wrapped his arms around Jasmine’s trembling shoulders. He would have offered each and every person an individual bit of comfort. Titus stood lamely staring out at the grief-stricken crowd like he was watching a hurricane wreak havoc outside his window. He was powerless to stop the destruction but it was his burden to watch it transpire. It was his obligation now to watch as every person in front of him broke from the trauma of losing Dr. Dave Raydon. And he felt that if he was a stronger man then he would do something to minimize the pain around him. But Titus didn’t see himself as strong and so he didn’t even know how to lessen the pain he saw. He was powerless.

  Haady and Nabhi, Padmal’s siblings, rushed forward and pulled Fanny from the ground. She was groggy but awoke a minute after fainting, allowing her weight to rest between the two tall boys. Two of her charges, Benjamin and Emily, clung onto each other. The other, Tiffany, hugged her arms to herself. The eight-year-old’s eyes were still easy to read due to her innocence and communicated the feeling Titus felt most. Fear.

  He cleared his throat and at once the crowd in front of him fell silent. All faces turned their full attention on the creative director. He was in charge now and they were regarding him with a focus which was once reserved only for Dave.

  “Currently, I do not know the true cause of death,” Titus lied. “As I have more information I will share it with you. I know this has come as a terrible shock to us all. I’m canceling shows for the next three days,” he said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded to his ears. “During that time I want you all to grieve. You should feel free to leave the circus if you need to. And don’t hesitate to ask me for anything.. My door is open to all of you. Over the next few days I’ll be conducting an investigation, as well as planning a memorial service.”

  “And after three days?” Padmal asked from her spot beside Oliver. Her nasal voice sounded curious and irritated, not at all sorrowful. “Then what happens?” She was probably the only person in the big top thinking of what came next. She was definitely the only person not in a state of grief. The young girl’s only concern was for how this death would affect her.

  “Then we will put on two days of shows for the people of Medford and then load up and move on as scheduled,” Titus said, all of his words rehearsed.

  “W-w-we’re going to keep performing?” Jasmine asked, her eyes glassed over, her voice fragile.

  “Naturally,” Titus said. “That’s what Dave would have wanted.”

  “But who will be our ringmaster?” Oliver asked.

  That was a question Titus hadn’t thought about yet. At once, he pretended that he had. “I will be conducting auditions. The day after next,” he added, like he had it all planned out. “But right now we grieve. Today we start the work of paying tribute to Dr. Dave Raydon, the founder of Vagabond Circus.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The water bottle and protein bar Zuma bought for Finley still sat unopened in the center console of the car. They’d been on the road for eight hours and her back was sore, her pelvis aching from a full bladder and her stomach demanding attention she didn’t want to pay to it. She sat as statue-like as she could manage, playing some sort of contest with herself.

  It bothered her that Finley didn’t seem to ever need anything. He wasn’t governed by basic needs like most people. From her observations the guy was rarely hungry or tired or thirsty. And unlike most people he didn’t feel any obligation to disclose the tiniest thing about himself. But when he’d held her last night in his arms she felt for a moment like he needed her. Or maybe she wished for it. Zuma had never met someone with a strength like his.

  Her throat had been parched for the better part of an h
our. She decided to break her statue pose and reached for her water bottle only to find it empty. Then she discovered Finley was watching her. Zuma suspected as much.

  “Here, have mine,” he said, handing her his bottle.

  Her chest cinched inward slightly. “No, thanks,” she said, putting her hand back on the wheel.

  He might have shrugged, but she didn’t see it. She forced herself to stay focused forward, not even glancing at him from her peripheral. “I have to stop again anyway,” Zuma said. Her bladder had been demanding it for two hours. Now she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  “Ian said we should stop for the night,” Finley said.

  “Yeah,” Zuma said, grateful to break the silence again. Fatigue was encroaching on her fast now and talking made her open her eyes wider.

  “What’s the plan for that?” Finley said.

  “My parents live just north of Los Angeles in Westlake Village. We will stay there,” she said flatly, unaware of how her casual statement suddenly made Finley tense.

  He dropped his gaze away from Zuma, whom he’d been watching grow more tired over the last hour. Finley should have guessed she grew up in an affluent area like Westlake Village, but still it made him feel smaller. “We?” he forced out.

  “Yeah,” she said, suddenly realizing this came as a surprise to Finley. Zuma had been too distracted by everything to realize how strange this probably would be for him. To stay with her family. “We have a guest room you can stay in. It’s no big deal. They won’t mind.”

  It wasn’t Zuma’s parents minding that made Finley nervous. It was the idea of learning more about her life. The more he learned the more he became sucked into her. And additionally, the more he knew about her, the more he realized how ridiculous he’d been to profess his love for her. She was royalty and he was a peasant. She was elite and he was a nobody. She was desirable to everyone she met and he was a repulsive thief. But she hadn’t pushed him away after his confession last night. She’d held him to her. Zuma had made her own confession of affection for Finley. The memory stung now.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “Thanks though.”

  “What do you mean, ‘that’s okay’?” she said, shocked more by her disappointment than his decline. “Where are you going to stay?”

  She did spy him shrug this time. “I always find a place,” he said, a true confidence in his voice. Between when Finley escaped Knight’s compound and before he came to Vagabond Circus he’d slept in various woods or parks. It didn’t matter to him where he stayed, only that he was no longer a slave. And he didn’t mind waking up cold and wet and with bugs on him. He had spent his night dream traveling and empowering himself with new experiences. That meant more than any comfort.

  “Finley, don’t be a prideful idiot,” Zuma said. “You can stay at my house. It’s fine.”

  “I’m not being a prideful idiot,” he said on the heels of Zuma’s statement, an acid heat flaring in his tone.

  She immediately punished herself for her choice of words. Zuma didn’t think he was an idiot. At all. She just didn’t want him to stay somewhere else. But she couldn’t say that, didn’t even like feeling it.

  “Okay, fine. If you don’t want to stay at my parents’ then you don’t have to. But I suspect you don’t have a better option and wish you’d reconsider,” she said, taking an exit. She couldn’t hold her bladder any longer and she was dying of thirst. Zuma’s night of tears had seriously dehydrated her. She did pause to turn to Finley once parked at a convenience store. “Are you coming in?”

  “No, I’m good,” he said, stretching his long legs out, not looking the least bit drained by the long ride.

  “Fine,” she said, baffled again by the guy beside her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Zuma returned from the store to the car she was fumbling with an armful of cold water bottles drenched in their own condensation. That’s why she didn’t notice Finley in the driver’s side until she opened the car door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she said. A bottle slipped from her hand. He reached out using his super speed and caught the bottle, depositing it in the empty cup holder.

  “I’m driving,” he said plainly.

  “No, you’re not,” she argued, pushing the other bottles into his hands and indicating to the middle console. “Get out,” she said.

  Finley stood from the seat, but still blocked Zuma from the driver’s side. He leaned down over her, breaking into her personal space. “You’re exhausted, Zuma. Let me take over,” he said, his voice a hush.

  “No,” she said through clenched teeth. Having Finley only inches away kicked her adrenaline up. She widened her eyes at him. “I’m fine.”

  “You know, Zuma, I don’t have combat sense like you, but I know when you’re lying.” He paused, staring at her. “I can read you unlike I can read anyone. So do me a favor and don’t fake this strength right now.”

  “Finley…” she said, on the verge of crumbling into his arms. She was exhausted and just wanted him around her, holding her in close. Soothing her aching heart. But Zuma would never allow herself to be that weak. She couldn’t.

  “Look, Zuma,” Finley began, his voice firm, demanding her attention. “I do need a place to stay tonight. But I won’t allow a handout from you or your parents. Let me drive to pay for that favor. Okay?”

  Damn, he was smart, she thought. He knew exactly how to negotiate with her.

  “Please,” he added.

  She nodded slowly, forcing herself backwards, away from him and his hands and his arms which seemed to be begging for her. “Yeah, fine,” she said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The new owner of Vagabond Circus sped for the exit of the big top as soon as his speech was over. All around him the staff sat in various states, most temporarily crippled by grief.

  “Titus! Titus!” he heard the warm voice call out behind him. He stopped, took a brief moment to recompose himself, and then turned to look at Fanny.

  The older woman’s face was blotched from crying. Fanny had a beautiful simplicity to her appearance. A look that had died out through the generations. Her curly hair framed a mostly smooth face and periwinkle blue eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, holding her gaze.

  She strode forward. Fanny was almost as tall as Titus. She was much wider than the lean man too. “I want to help with the investigation,” she said.

  He considered her for a moment. “It may not be safe,” he said in a whisper. Titus didn’t want or know how to disclose to the rest of the circus that Dave had in fact been murdered. He hoped a uniformed official would do that for him.

  Fanny’s face screwed up with confusion. “Do you forget that I have medical training, Titus?” she said. The caregiver and healer was also a nurse, but that had been a different life for her. That had been her role before Dave saved her from a life that was too demanding and full of heart-aching mistakes. Now she was more than a nurse.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten that,” Titus said. He drew in a long breath, considering his options. “Very well then. Actually, I could use your help with more than just the investigation,” he said, turning and strolling for the exit.

  “What else do you need my assistance with?” she said, taking the position next to him, matching his long strides.

  “Just about everything else,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was Zuma’s turn to study Finley and she didn’t hide her observation of his every move and micro-expression. She paid careful attention to how he studied the road ahead of him and moved. There was a beautiful grace to everything he did, even as he did something as simple as driving. And she knew he knew she was watching him, but he’d done the same thing to her for almost eight hours. It only seemed fair.

  “Learning anything particularly interesting?” he said with a half-smile.

  Zuma didn’t answer his question; instead she said, “Who taught you how to drive?”

 
“Knight,” Finley said, turning on his blinker to change lanes. It was odd the way he drove, with such precision, honed attention to every detail of the act. What was even stranger was he’d actually answered her question. Zuma expected that he’d deflect it or remain silent, but he hadn’t.

  “You said that’s one of the only ways he gave back to his kids, that he trained you,” Zuma said, remembering the details of his life that he shared with her, Titus, and Jack last night. He’d only done it because Titus had demanded it and since then Finley hadn’t felt the obligation to share again.

  “I did say that,” he said simply.

  Apparently, Zuma was going to have to fight for every piece of information. She was prepared to do that.

  “I’m curious, how do you know how to get around without…” Zuma hesitated. The question had sounded perfectly reasonable in her head, but now it seemed cruel to ask.

  “Without being able to read?” he said, finishing the question she couldn’t. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  Zuma’s face flushed red from her mortification. Was she going to ask him about the awful scars on his back next? She wanted to throw her head in her hands but she forced herself to remain composed. “Yeah,” Zuma said, frustrated again by the fact that he could fluster her when no one could.