Circus of the Damned

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  The wind rushed through the trees. Dry leaves scurried across the road. The night was full of small, hurried noises. Rushing, rushing, towards . . . what? All Hallows Eve. You could feel Halloween on the air.

  "I love nights like this," Larry said.

  I glanced over at him. We were both standing with our hands in our pockets staring out into the darkness. Enjoying the evening. We were also both covered in dried chicken blood. Just a nice, normal night.

  My beeper went off. The high-pitched beep sounded very wrong in the quiet, windswept night. I hit the button. Mercifully, the noise stopped. The little light flashed a phone number at me. I didn't recognize the number. I hoped it wasn't Dolph, because an unfamiliar number this late at night, or early in the morning, meant another murder. Another body.

  "Come on, we gotta get to a phone."

  "Who is it?"

  "I'm not sure." I started down the hill.

  He followed me and asked, "Who do you think it is?"

  "Maybe the police."

  "The murders you're working on?"

  I glanced back at him and rammed my knee into a tombstone. I stood there for a few seconds, holding my breath while the pain ran through me. "Shiiit!" I said softly and with feeling.

  "Are you alright?" Larry touched my arm.

  I drew away from his hand, and he let his hand drop. I wasn't much into casual touching. "I'm fine." Truth was, it still hurt, but what the hell? I needed to get to a phone, and the pain would get better the more I walked on it. Honest.

  I stared carefully ahead to avoid other hard objects. "What do you know about the murders?"

  "Just that you're helping the police on a preternatural crime, and that it's taking you away from your animating jobs."

  "Bert told you that."

  "Mr. Vaughn, yes."

  We were at the car. "Look, Larry, if you're going to work for Animators, Inc., you've got to drop all this Mr. and Ms. stuff. We aren't your professors. We're coworkers."

  He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. "Alright, Ms. . . . Anita."

  "That's better. Now let's go find a phone."

  We drove into Chesterfield on the theory that, as the closest town, it would have the closest phone. We ended up at a bank of pay phones in the parking lot of a closed service station. The station glowed softly in the dark, but a halogen streetlight beamed over the pay phones, turning night into day. Insects and moths danced around the light. The swift, flitting shapes of bats swam in and out of the light, eating the insects.

  I dialed the number while Larry waited in the car. Give him a point for discretion. The phone rang twice; then a voice said, "Anita, is that you?"

  It was Irving Griswold, reporter and friend. "Irving, what in blazes are you doing paging me at this hour?"

  "Jean-Claude wants to see you tonight, now." His voice sounded rushed and uncertain.

  "Why are you delivering the message?" I was afraid I wasn't going to like the answer.

  "I'm a werewolf," he said.

  "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "You didn't know." He sounded surprised.

  "Know what?" I was getting angry. I hate twenty questions.

  "Jean-Claude's animal is a wolf."

  That explained Stephen the Werewolf and the black woman. "Why weren't you there the other night, Irving? Did he let you off your leash?"

  "That's not fair."

  He was right. It wasn't. "I'm sorry, Irving. I'm just feeling guilty because I introduced the two of you."

  "I wanted to interview the Master of the City. I got my interview."

  "Was it worth the price?" I said.

  "No comment."

  "That's my line."

  He laughed. "Can you come to the Circus of the Damned? Jean-Claude has some information on the master vampire that jumped you."

  "Alejandro?"

  "That's the one."

  "We'll be there as soon as we can, but it's going to be damn close to dawn before we can get to the Riverfront."

  "Who's we?"

  "A new animator I'm breaking in. He's driving." I hesitated. "Tell Jean-Claude no rough stuff tonight."

  "Tell him yourself."

  "Coward."

  "Yes, ma'am. See you as soon as you can get here. Bye."

  "Bye, Irving." I held the buzzing receiver for a few seconds, then hung up. Irving was Jean-Claude's creature. Jean-Claude could call wolves the way Mr. Oliver called snakes. The way Nikolaos had called rats, and wererats. They were all monsters. It was just a choice of flavors.

  I slid back into the car. "You wanted more experience with vampires, right?" I buckled the seat belt.

  "Of course," Larry said.

  "Well, you're going to get it tonight."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'll explain while you drive. We don't have much time before dawn."

  Larry threw the car in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. He looked eager in the dim glow of the dashboard. Eager and very, very young.

  34

  THE CIRCUS OF THE Damned had closed down for the night, or would that be morning? It was still dark, but there was a wash of lightness to the east as we parked in front of the warehouse. An hour earlier, and there wouldn't have been a parking place even close to the Circus. But the tourists leave as the vampires fold down for the night.

  I glanced at Larry. His face was smeared with dried blood. So was mine. It hadn't occurred to me until just now to find some place to clean up first. I glanced up at the eastern sky and shook my head. There was no time. Dawn was coming.

  The toothed clowns still glowed and twirled atop the marquee, but it was a tired dance. Or maybe I was the one who was tired.

  "Follow my lead in here, Larry. Never forget that they are monsters; no matter how human they look, they aren't. Don't take off your cross, don't let them touch you, and don't stare directly into their eyes."

  "I know that from class. I had two semesters of Vampire Studies."

  I shook my head. "Class is nothing, Larry. This is the real thing. Reading about it doesn't prepare you for it."

  "We had guest speakers. Some of them were vampires."

  I sighed and let it go. He'd have to learn on his own. Like everybody else did. Like I had.

  The big doors were locked. I knocked. The door opened a moment later. Irving stood there. He wasn't smiling. He looked like a chubby cherub with soft, curling hair in a fringe over his ears, and a big bald spot in the middle. Round, wire-framed glasses perched on a round little nose. His eyes widened a little as we stepped inside. The blood looked like what it was in the light.

  "What have you been doing tonight?" he asked.

  "Raising the dead," I said.

  "This the new animator?"

  "Larry Kirkland, Irving Griswold. He's a reporter, so everything you say can be used against you."

  "Hey, Blake, I've never quoted you when you said not to. Give me that."

  I nodded. "Given."

  "He's waiting for you downstairs," Irving said.

  "Downstairs?" I said.

  "It is almost dawn. He needs to be underground."

  Ah. "Sure," I said, but my stomach clenched tight. The last time I'd gone downstairs at the Circus, it had been to kill Nikolaos. There had been a lot of killing that morning. A lot of blood. Some of it mine.

  Irving led the way through the silent midway. Someone had hit the switch, and the lights were dull. The fronts of the games had been shut and locked down, covers thrown over the stuffed animals. The scent of corn dogs and cotton candy hung on the air like aromatic ghosts, but the smells were dim and tired.

  We passed the haunted house with its life-size witch on top, standing silent and staring with bulging eyes. She was green and had a wart on her nose. I'd never met a witch that looked anything but normal. They certainly weren't green, and warts could always be surgically removed.

  The glass house was next. The darkened Ferris wheel towered over everything. "I feel like one, Who treads alone Some banquet
hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, / And all but he departed," I said.

  Irving glanced back to me. "Thomas Moore, Oft in the Stilly Night."

  I smiled. "I couldn't remember the title to save myself. I'll just have to agree with you."

  "Double major, journalism and English literature."

  "I bet that last comes in handy as a reporter," I said.

  "Hey, I slip a little culture in when I can." He sounded offended, but I knew he was pretending. It made me feel better to have Irving joking with me. It was nice and normal. I needed all the nice I could get tonight.

  It was an hour until dawn. What harm could Jean-Claude do in an hour? Better not to ask.

  The door in the wall was heavy and wooden with a sign reading, "Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point." For once I wished I wasn't authorized.

  The little room beyond was just a small storage room with a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A second door led down the stairs. The stairs were almost wide enough for the three of us to walk abreast, but not quite. Irving walked ahead of us, as if we still needed leading. There was nowhere to go but down. Prophetic, that.

  There was a sharp bend to the stairs. There was a brush of cloth, the sensation of movement. I had my gun out and ready. No thought necessary, just lots and lots of practice.

  "You won't need that," Irving said.

  "Says you."

  "I thought the Master was a friend of yours," Larry said.

  "Vampires don't have friends."

  "How about junior high science teachers?" Richard Zeeman walked around the corner. He was wearing a forest-green sweater with a lighter green and brown forest woven into it. The sweater hung down nearly to his knees. On me it would have been a dress. The sleeves were pushed back over his forearms. Jeans and the same pair of white Nikes completed the outfit. "Jean-Claude sent me up to wait for you."

  "Why?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "He seems nervous. I didn't ask questions."

  "Smart man," I said.

  "Let's keep moving," Irving said.

  "You sound nervous, too, Irving."

  "He calls and I obey, Anita. I'm his animal."

  I reached out to touch Irving's arm, but he moved away. "I thought I could play human, but he's shown me that I'm an animal. Just an animal."

  "Don't let him do that to you," I said.

  He stared at me, his eyes filled with tears. "I can't stop him."

  "We better get moving. It's almost dawn," Richard said.

  I glared at him for saying it.

  He shrugged. "It'll be better if we don't keep the master waiting. You know that."

  I did know that. I nodded. "You're right. I don't have any right to get mad at you."

  "Thanks."

  I shook my head. "Let's do it."

  "You can put the gun up," he said.

  I stared at the Browning. I liked having it out. For security it beat the hell out of a teddy bear. I put the gun away. I could always get it out again later.

  At the end of the stairs there was one last door--smaller, rounded with a heavy iron lock. Irving took out a huge black key and slipped it into the door. The lock gave a well-oiled click, and he pushed it forward. Irving was trusted with the key to below the stairs. How deep was he in, and could I get him out?

  "Wait a minute," I said.

  Everyone turned to me. I was the center of attention. Great. "I don't want Larry to meet the Master, or even know who he is."

  "Anita . . ." Larry started.

  "No, Larry, I've been attacked twice for the information. It is definitely on a need-to-know basis. You don't need to know."

  "I don't need you to protect me," he said.

  "Listen to her," Irving said. "She told me to stay away from the Master. I said I could handle myself. I was wrong, real wrong."

  Larry crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn set to his bloodstained cheeks. "I can take care of myself."

  "Irving, Richard, I want a promise on this. The less he knows, the safer he'll be."

  They both nodded.

  "Doesn't anyone care what I think?" Larry asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Dammit, I'm not a child."

  "You two can fight later," Irving said. "The Master's waiting."

  Larry started to say something; I raised my hand. "Lesson number one; never keep a nervous master vampire waiting."

  Larry opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. "Okay, we'll argue later."

  I wasn't looking forward to later, but arguing with Larry over whether I was being overprotective beat the hell out of what lay beyond the door. I knew that. Larry didn't, but he was about to learn, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it.

  35

  THE CEILING STRETCHED UPWARD into the darkness. Huge drapes of silky material fell in white and black, forming cloth walls. Minimalist chairs in black and silver formed a small conversation group. A glass and dark wood coffee table took up the center of the room. A black vase with a bouquet of white lilies was the only decoration. The room looked half-finished, as if it needed paintings hung on the walls. But how do you hang paintings on cloth walls? I was sure Jean-Claude would figure it out eventually.

  I knew the rest of the room was a huge cavernous warehouse made of stone, but the only thing left of that was the high ceiling. There was even black carpeting on the floor, soft and cushioned.

  Jean-Claude sat in one of the black chairs. He was slumped in the chair, ankles crossed, hands clasped across his stomach. His white shirt was plain, just a simple dress shirt except for the fact that the front sides were sheer. The line of buttons, cuffs, and collar was solid, but the chest was laid bare through a film of gauze. His cross-shaped burn was brown and clear against the pale skin.

  Marguerite sat at his feet, head laid on his knee like an obedient dog. Her blond hair and pale pink pants suit seemed out of place in the black-and-white room.

  "You've redecorated," I said.

  "A few comforts," Jean-Claude said.

  "I'm ready to meet the Master of the City," I said.

  His eyes widened, a question forming on his face.

  "I don't want my new coworker to meet the Master. It seems to be dangerous information right now."

  Jean-Claude never moved. He just stared at me, one hand absently rubbing Marguerite's hair. Where was Yasmeen? In a coffin somewhere, tucked safely away from the coming dawn.

  "I will take you alone to meet . . . the Master," he said at last. His voice was neutral, but I could detect a hint of laughter underneath the words. It wasn't the first time Jean-Claude had found me funny, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

  He stood in one graceful movement, leaving Marguerite kneeling beside the empty chair. She looked displeased. I smiled at her, and she glared at me. Baiting Marguerite was childish, but it made me feel better. Everyone needs a hobby.

  Jean-Claude swept the curtains aside to show darkness. I realized then that there was discreet electric light in the room, indirect lighting set in the walls themselves. There was nothing but the flicker of torches beyond the curtains. It was like that one piece of cloth held back the modern world with all its comforts. Beyond lay stone and fire and secrets best whispered in the dark.

  "Anita?" Larry called after me. He looked uncertain, maybe even scared. But I was taking the most dangerous thing in the room with me. He'd be safe with Irving and Richard. I didn't think Marguerite was a danger without Yasmeen to hold her leash.

  "Stay here, Larry, please. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  "Be careful," he said.

  I smiled. "Always."

  He grinned. "Yeah, sure."

  Jean-Claude motioned me through and I went, following the sweep of his pale hand. The curtain fell behind us, cutting off the light. Darkness closed around us like a fist. Torches sparked against the far wall but couldn't touch the swelling dark.

  Jean-Claude led the way into the dark. "We wouldn't want your coworker to overhear us
." His voice whispered in the dark, growing like a wind to beat against the curtains.

  My heart hammered against my rib cage. How the hell did he do that? "Save the dramatics for someone you can impress."

  "Brave words, ma petite, but I taste your heartbeat in my mouth." The last word breathed over my skin as if his lips had passed just over the nape of my neck. Goose bumps marched down my arms.

  "If you want to play games until after dawn, that's fine with me, but Irving told me that you had information on the master vampire that attacked me. Do you, or was it a lie?"

  "I have never lied to you, my petite."

  "Oh, come on."

  "Partial truths are not the same thing as lies."

  "I guess that depends on where you're sitting," I said.

  He acknowledged that with a nod. "Shall we sit against the far wall, out of hearing range?"

  "Sure."

  He knelt in the thin circle of a torch's light. The light was for my benefit, and I appreciated it. But no sense telling him that.

  I sat across from him, back to the wall. "So, what do you know about Alejandro?"

  He was staring at me, a peculiar look on his face.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Tell me everything that happened last night, ma petite, everything about Alejandro."

  It was too much like an order for my tastes, but there was something in his eyes, his face; uneasiness, almost fear. Which was silly. What did Jean-Claude have to fear from Alejandro? What indeed? I told him everything I remembered.

  His face went carefully blank, beautiful and unreal like a painting. The colors were still there, but the life, the movement, had fled. He put one finger between his lips and slowly slid it out of sight. The finger came glistening back to the light. He extended that wet finger towards me. I scooted away from him.

  "What are you trying to do?"

  "Wash the blood off of your cheek. Nothing more."

  "I don't think so."

  He sighed, the barest of sounds, but it slithered over my skin like air. "You make everything so difficult."

  "Glad you noticed."

  "I need to touch you, ma petite. I believe Alejandro has done something to you."

  "What?"

  He shook his head. "Something impossible."

  "No riddles, Jean-Claude."

  "I believe he has marked you."

  I stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Marked you, Anita Blake, marked you with the first mark, just as I have."