6 Steps To Write A Book
Let me know where to send it...
Let me know where to send it...
Cade grew up with the gift of the healing touch… and the complementary curse of the “touch of death”. He’s never been able to control his impressive supernatural powers and extrasensory perception; several people in his life have felt the death touch and now their loved ones are looking for revenge.
The young runaway conceals his metaphysical abilities by blending in with fortune tellers and gypsies at carnivals and freak shows, trying not to hurt anybody else that he cares about while watching for his enemies. In Touch, Cade lands in a Victorian carnival in the 1890s. He quickly learns that some carnies are threatened by his “real” psychic power and there are some dangerous adversaries lurking there, including a serial killer and worst of all, relatives of people that he has accidentally killed.
“Lift me up.” Tomasz raised his arms over his large head, the only normal sized part of him. Harry, a well-built man in his late thirties, raised Tomasz’s doll sized body to the door of the faded-colored sideshow wagon.
Tomasz shoved the tiny window to one side so he could get a good look at the prisoner inside, no easy trick in the midnight light, especially since none of the interior lights were on.
At only eight years old, the mousy haired boy already dwarfed some of Tomasz’s undersized furniture. The aura of abuse clung to him even though there were no visible marks. The boy’s tears shimmered in the moonlight that filtered in through the stained glass ceiling.
Upon realizing the window had opened, the boy ran to the door and pounded on it with his tiny fists. “Please let me out! Please don’t kill me! I didn’t mean to…to kill that man. It just kind of happened. I’m not evil or a demon or anything. Please let me go!”
Tomasz stared at him without blinking, lost in thought. The child’s eyes were deep pools of gray, fear mixed with something he couldn’t quite identify.
Perceiving his indifference, the boy leaned his back against the door and sank to the floor. Fresh tears burst though. The boy buried his face in his hands in an attempt to hide them.
“Down,” Tomasz ordered.
Planting his feet on the ground, Tomasz tugged on his tiny sky-blue pinstriped vest and pulled it over his matching pants. Most men a few years short of fifty couldn’t get away with such colors, but most men weren’t showmen. Bright colors and extravagant costumes came with the job.
He ran a hand through his unruly hair. He needed to look presentable when he addressed the others in a few minutes. He only wished he knew what to say. He stared at the dozens of darkened wagons, homes of the people who relied on his show, his choices, for their livelihoods. He did not take this responsibility lightly.
Harry’s voice broke into his thoughts, dispelling the death-like silence on the backlot. “Have you decided?”
With such a direct question, there could only be one answer. “I’m keeping him.” A lifetime of travel had dulled his clipped English accent, but traces remained.
Harry grabbed Tomasz’s arm. The smell of formaldehyde, a hazard that came with the job, wafted from Harry’s clothes and invaded Tomasz’s nose. “Tomasz, think this through. The boy’s a killer.”
Tomasz resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. Instead, he brushed imaginary dirt off his sleeve so he didn’t have to look Harry in the eye. “He didn’t mean it. He just got scared. If everyone could kill with a touch when they were scared, there’d be a lot more dead bodies around. Trust me on that.”
Harry stuffed his hands in the pockets of his ordinary brown trousers and sighed. “Some of the other acts have already threatened to walk if you take his side. You can’t afford that. It’s almost impossible to replace freaks.”
Tomasz’s voice held a note of resolution and firmness. “Let them walk. I’m keeping him. Besides, he only killed an outsider, not someone who mattered.”
Harry shook his head, making his objections known. “Tomasz, the boy’s an outsider too. Besides, you could lose the show. And you won’t get anyone to raise him. They’re all terrified of him.”
Harry made good arguments, but it didn’t matter. Tomasz rarely changed his mind.
“I’ll raise him myself, alone if I have to. We’ll get by. I always have. I could always perform again. I still have connections. I’ll train the boy to perform too. I’m sure we can work something out around his abilities.”
“Tomasz, if you want a son so badly, there are other runaways. We get them by the scores. We don’t need this one.”
Another good point. Tomasz’s stomach protested this course of action. He willed it to settle down. This was the right choice. It had to be.
“He needs me. He’s a freak Harry, like me. Maybe you can’t understand that because you’re normal.”
Hurt and indignation filled Harry’s eyes. “Tomasz? How can you just insult me like that? I’m your friend. There’s sawdust in my blood. Third generation. More than you. I was raised in this life. You lucked into it.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Tomasz’s voice hardened. “Lucked? You think it’s lucky to be born a freak? To be cast out by everyone? You grew up in this world, so you have no idea what it feels like to be abandoned. And you can go into town without being stared at. You spend your days surrounded by freaks and you think you know us. But you don’t. You don’t know anything.”
Harry stared at the ground, clearly embarrassed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“That’s why I can relate to the boy. He’s scared, and all alone. He’s as a big a freak as anyone here, though not in a place where it’s visible. That’s why he belongs in a freak show like this. I’ll raise him to be a good man. You’ll see; he won’t do it again.”
He pressed his hands against his stomach to quell the fluttering of doubt.
Harry sat on the steps of the wagon, hunched over in defeat. “I guess I’m Uncle Harry then. But you need to be the one to tell the others.”
“Of course I’ll tell them. It’s MY show.”
He hoped the determination in his voice hid the doubts threatening to engulf him.
He was doing the right thing, right?
He shooed Harry off the steps, key in hand. It scraped the lock as it turned. The door opened, but the boy didn’t come out. Tomasz frowned and tapped his foot. Still nothing. “Come out, boy,” he called.
The child took a hesitant step outside, blinking in the starlight. The small way he moved reminded Tomasz of a frightened fawn.
The child slowly walked down the steps. “What are you going to do with me?” His voice trembled with fear.
Tomasz approached him. “You’re too young to be on your own. And since you have no one else, I’m going to do what any showman would do. I’m going to keep you. You’re going to be my son…”
The boy’s eyes lit up with hope.
“…on one condition.”
The hope faded from his eyes as quickly as it came. The boy swallowed hard, probably an attempt to control his fear. “Which is?”
“You promise never to kill again.”
Cade put down the large box on the long wooden table, mopped his brow with the back of his arm, and puffed in the moist, hot air. Even under the dining tent’s shade, the sunlight flooded in from the open sides, bringing much needed light in, but also too much sticky summer heat.
Still, he’d promised Tomasz he’d have all this set up for the big announcement. Since they were neither a circus nor a sideshow, they didn’t have a main tent. So the dining tent would have to do.
At least it could host everyone.
Showmen and agents were already filling in, sitting on the long wooden benches, resting their arms on the matching long communal tables. A few used paper fans, from the fancy to the homemade, to keep themselves cool.
Cade took off his dark crimson vest and slung it on the nearest bench. It was too hot to wear a vest. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his sky blue shirt to let in the breeze so he could continue to stack boxes on the long table. He knew how it went by now; he stacked the boxes to form steps so Tomasz could reach the top of the podium. Since Tomasz didn’t weigh much he often used the tables as a makeshift stage.
Cade placed their newest gadget, a tambourine shaped carbon button microphone, on the top of the short podium. It was pricy, but that Edison fellow had said it amplified the voice, and every showman needed that. Besides, Edison’s gadgets usually worked.
“Cade. I need your help.”
His friend, Leo, was standing in front of him shirtless. Leo rarely wore a shirt unless he went to town. He loved showing off his brown, black, and yellow leopard spots that went all the way down his back, up his neck, and down his arms. They were too perfect, done by a tattoo artist, not by nature, which meant Leo had voluntarily made a freak of himself.
Leo’s actions weren’t unheard of in freak show circles. Sometimes, ordinary people joined the carnivals to live an extraordinary life. That and his youth, about two years older than Cade’s recently achieved twenty-one, justified Leo’s pride in his spots.
His body normally glistened with the bronzing oil he rubbed on it to enhance the spots’ beauty. Today, however, no oil shimmered on his skin. Nothing but big ugly raised welts dotted the surface, obscuring his spots. Blood oozed from tiny scratches where Leo had scratched himself raw. Even now, Leo clawed at his arms and back.
Cade’s eyes widened. “Good God, Leo, what happened?”
Leo contorted his arm around his back and dug into his flesh. “Poison oak. Or Ivy. I’m not sure. I can’t tell them apart.”
Or from any other plant.
Cade bit his lower lip to keep from saying those words aloud. Leo got more poison ivy than anyone he’d ever met, and Leo had only been with the show a few months.
Leo rolled his shoulders up and down in jerky movements. “You can help, right? Like last time?”
Cade gave a quick nod. “Have a seat. And try to be still.”
Leo sat on the bench, squirming, but resisting the urge to scratch.
Cade took a deep breath to focus his thoughts and ran his fingertips lightly over Leo’s arms. Assessing the damage always came first, at least with a serious healing. The last time, Leo’s infection was shallow enough not to need it, but this was a deep reaction, burrowing itself far under the skin, far worse than any he’d ever had before. But it meant something else too. Something inside Leo’s body hated itching plants so much it would react at the slightest touch.
No wonder he got this affliction so often.
Leo squirmed, but this time more from embarrassment than itching. Cade placed his hands on Leo’s shoulders and concentrated.
A sensation like ants with pointed feet marched over Cade’s skin. The feeling wriggled its way inside and pricked his veins. The lights and sounds fell away as whiteness overcame him. He knew this feeling well; he always felt it during a healing. Though his sight and sound dulled, his smell and touch sharpened. He felt the tattoos etched in Leos’ skin, recognized the prick or every needle used to make them. The ants inside his veins caught fire and continued their march through Cade’s body, reaching all the way to his toes.
Silent white engulfed him while the smell of sweat and leftover breakfast invaded his nostrils and turned his stomach. Cade swallowed the taste threatening to rise at the back of his throat and focused on controlling his breath. The crawling ants lost their points and fire, and turned into a mere crawl before entirely disappearing. The din of a full tent reached his ears and the colors returned in blotchy shapes. Everything was a jumble of blurs and indistinct sound.
“Thank you Cade. I feel so much better. The itching’s all gone.”
Leo’s voice.
Still in his trance, Cade wasn’t ready to acknowledge anything yet. His tongue groped for the two words he always said no matter the circumstances.
“You’re welcome.”
Surrounded by blurry shapes, Cade felt around for the bench so he could sit. His vision returned more with each passing moment; enough for him to see a hand reaching toward him.
Fear seized his throat. “Don’t touch me.” He leapt back, avoiding the hand. He wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, but he saw the danger. “You must never touch me when I’m on.”
An automatic warning he repeated so many times in his life, he almost forgot why.
Almost.
“Cade, we’re starting.” Tomasz’s voice.
Starting? Already?
Had it been a minute or an hour? There was just no way to tell. Time had no meaning inside the whiteness.
Cade straightened up. There would be time for sitting later. Right now, he had to act properly. He placed his hands behind his back and took his usual stance beside the table. He blinked his way back to full consciousness. He felt normal again; except for the burning itch radiating thought his arms. Residue from the healing. It would pass soon. It always did. He just had to resist the urge to scratch until then. Everyone was where they were supposed to be. He, as the owner’s son, stood to the right. Harry sat at the table used as the stage, only to the left. And Tomasz stood at the podium, running his hands over the antique gavel’s smooth comforting surface.
Cade stared at the several dozen faces filling the tent, all his friends, everyone he knew. If only that didn’t have to change.
But that’s what the announcement was about, the change.
Tomasz picked up the mic and held it to his mouth. Its large round drum-like surface almost obscured his head, but not quite, because Tomasz had a big head.
“Attention everyone.” Tomasz started. “Thank you for coming.”
“You didn’t exactly give us a choice,” someone from the rows of tables called out. Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Tomasz forced a laugh. “Yes, that’s true. But you’ll see why in a moment. I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumor that I’m selling the show.”
Murmurs of protest erupted. This show was their home, their livelihood, their entire life. Without this show, they had nowhere to go.
Tomasz slammed his antique gavel on the wooden podium. Its firm judgement rang out over the throng. The gavel looked like it had history, and it might have had. But it was someone else’s history, since he had bought it in an antique shop last year.
He liked the authority it gave him. The tent filled with silent fear over the future.
“Enough. It’s just a rumor. You’re my friends. My family. I’d never sell this show. In fact, I’ve enlarged our family by buying another show.”
Someone stood up. “Another freak show?”
Another voice joined in. “Tomasz, you can’t!”
“There’ll be duplicate acts!”
This time, not even the banging gavel hushed the crowd.
“So who’s being Xed out?”
This was getting out of hand. Cade started to climb on the bench so he’d be seen when Harry reached out and grabbed the microphone.
“Listen up!” he boomed.
Harry had a loud commanding voice even without the mic. He was a professional talker, a pitchman, so making himself heard over hordes of people was as natural to him as breathing.
“If you’d all let Tomasz talk, you’d find out. Or you could stay here guessing all day.”
The crowd settled down.
Harry handed the mic back to Tomasz. “Tomasz.”
Tomasz took a deep breath. “Thank you Harry. No one is being Xed out. I promise. There’ll be no duplicate acts. It’s not another freak show. It’s a carnival, consisting of mostly agents and concessions. The only duplicate act would be the Mitt Camp, but as you know, Madame Zara…left us some time ago.”
The tent hushed with a moment of silence for the late fortuneteller. Hot tears pricked Cade’s eyes in remembrance. He loved her like family. When that healing went wrong, it was almost more than he could take. He had no idea incompatible magic could destroy someone like that.
“Cade, control.” Harry hissed from across the table. Cade realized he had balled his hands into fists.
He took a deep breath, releasing his pent up tension and his clenched hands.
He nervously glanced around, but no one saw that display of emotion besides Harry. His powers needed him to keep his emotions in check.
Someone stood up and cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. “A carnival? Carnies don’t like freaks.”
Once more, the swarm erupted into loud protests.
“Enough!” Tomasz banged his gavel so hard the podium shivered. The protests fell to hushed whispers.
“First off, carnival workers are hardworking showmen just like us. Second, you will NOT use the word carny anywhere in my show. That’s something the rubes call us to demean our work and our way of life. We will NOT turn on each other. Anyone who feels differently is welcome to leave.”
A few acts stood and walked out.
“Morning, Malcom.” Kit, the fortuneteller, greeted him as she hurried to her tent next to his concession.
She loved Malcom’s Carousel. The horses always looked so happy to see her and the cheerful organ band music always lifted her spirits. She needed that today with the new show and all.
She ran her hands down the front of her tightly laced bodice to smooth out the wrinkles. She did a quick spin to make sure the layers of skirts flared out. Her long hair flowed loose. In a world where most women wore their hair up, hair worn more naturally was something worthy of attention. In the fortune telling business, your appearance mattered as much as what you said. Old women actually did far better in this world than women like Kit, who were in their late twenties. Young women were to be ogled; old women were to be respected.
Her new-day-new-start smile was erased after seeing that her tent stood in the shadow of a massive squatting monstrosity barely worth being called a tent. The stench of formaldehyde and death escaped its cloth bindings and crept into Kit’s nostrils.
Her eyes widened. “What is that?”
Malcom, a man who used an elaborately carved Irish Shillelagh, approached her. Its red-jeweled top matched the red and white striped vest and deep red shirt he wore daily as his uniform. Age lined the corners of his eyes and silver tinted his hair.
He leaned forward on the walking stick and stared at the tent. “One of Tomasz’s people. Said his name was Harry. This and the grab joint are their show’s only concessions, I think. At least until we came.”
“What’s in there? It stinks.”
The front flap opened. Harry stood in the opening. His gray suit could almost be called stylish if not for the gold trim and elaborately embroidered shimmering vest, which marked him as a showman. His round black eyes caught the sparkle of the day as he smiled.
“Good morning,” he greeted, putting out his paper sign with the painted arrow pointing toward his tent. “It’s a beautiful day to combine shows, isn’t it? Name’s Harry.” His voice was smooth, controlled, and powerful.
Malcom laughed as if Harry had told a joke. “You have a talker’s voice.”
Harry surveyed his new surroundings. “Very astute. I used to be a talker, until I saved enough to buy my own concession, that is. Now I do my own talking. And you?”
“Carousel is my concession and I do my own talking too.” Malcom replied.
Kit chimed in. “Fortunetellers don’t get talkers.” That’s how she explained that she was the lowest rated act in the show.
Harry put his hands on his hips, walked over to the carousel, and let out a low whistle. “That is some piece of work. Steam powered?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Malcom’s mouth. He loved it when people admired his carousel. “Yes, let me tell you all about it.”
Harry pulled out a gold pocket watch. “Maybe tonight at dinner. The grounds will be open soon.”
Kit stared at her tent, three tiny tents combined really, which looked more like an afterthought than a real act.
“Does your tent have to be so close to mine?” Kit asked, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
Harry laughed, the humor never leaving his eyes. “Well, yes. It’s kind of too late to move it. I promise I’ll move a few feet off to the side in the next town, all right? But this is my hole and always has been.”
Malcom moved closer. “A prime hole. First on the right, so close to the entrance. Your show must do well. Does it have a high ticket price?”
“Volume,” Harry said as if that explained everything. “Entry is only one ticket, but I see hundreds in a day, even repeats. Same as yours, I’d imagine.”
Malcom nodded his agreement.
“So what’s in there?” Kit’s curiosity overcame her outrage of being dwarfed by Harry’s tent.
“Pickled Punks.” Harry beamed, so proud of his exhibit.
Kit’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Dead freaks in jars? Isn’t that a little distasteful for a genuine freak show?”
“Probably filled with bouncers,” Malcom said.
Harry’s eyes flashed with indignation. “It is not. I’ll have you know my exhibits are real. Well most of them. Over eighty percent of them.”
Kit fought down the disgust growing within her. Such a horrible end for poor creatures that probably never even had a chance to live. “But what about the local laws saying you can’t have human remains?”
“Well, not all of them are human. Besides, Tomasz has a good Patch that fixes everything for us. He’s been with us for years.”
A Patch. The word sliced into Kit’s consciousness.
Her last show didn’t need a person who went into town a few days ahead and bribed the local authorities to leave the show alone. Most shows who used Patches had rigged games. However, none of her show’s games were rigged and Tomasz’s show didn’t have any games. She tried not think about why else they needed a Patch.
Harry’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Oh, I almost forgot. Tomasz asked me to give you a message. Since you’re new and all, your acts will be evaluated at some point. Probably after the show closes.”
Kit’s heart leapt into her throat. If they didn’t know how low value her act was before, they would by the end of today.
Would she be Xed out and have to find a new show?
The setting sun lengthened the shadows. Kit loved walking the empty fairgrounds after all the gillies went home. Her evening walks gave her time to think. She’d counted up the day’s take. Even with such a prime spot, she barely made anything. The reason was simple. She told people what they needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. The difference meant many people were unhappy with her readings. Still, what else could she do? She had real power. True magic, even if it was weak. To lie about what she saw would mean betraying everything she believed in.
Maybe Tomasz would understand that. No other show owner ever did, but Tomasz was a freak, a genuine showman. He’d be superstitious, like all other showmen. Maybe she could get him to believe her and not worry so much about the lack of profits.
Kit shook her head. The idea sounded ridiculous, even to her. Freak or not, show owners only cared about money. Kit walked with her head down, not really looking where she was going. She rounded the corner of Harry’s huge tent and literally bumped into someone solid and strong.
Kit reeled, stumbling and falling backward into the mud. It splattered up, caking her dress and turning her face into a mud mask.
“I’m so sorry,” a young man’s voice said. “Are you all right?”
Kit wiped the mud from her eyes and stared at the young man looking down at her. He looked normal enough, but his choice of a sky blue shirt and crimson vest meant showman. Townie men seemed to be allergic to colors. It was true everywhere she went.
Concern showed in the delicate features of his young face. He extended his hand toward her. Kit refused to take it and stood up. Rage burned in her chest. “No! Look at what you did to my costume. I had this custom made you know.”
Her rage was only partially directed at him, but the other part was over her situation, and he just happened to be there. She stood up and made a big show of wiping mud from her dress. Her muddy hands only stained the fabric more, but it didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll pay for it. But later. I have to go now. I’ve been summoned. Name’s Cade Setterwin. I live in the wagon with the Immortal papers on it. You can find me there.” He hurried away.
Setterwin.
Tomasz’s last name. No wonder this person, barely an adult, was walking around like he owned the place.
The owner’s son. She’d dealt with owners’ sons before. A bunch of privileged spoiled brats. The one two shows ago thought he could take liberties with her. After teaching him he couldn’t, he spread rumors about her. She ended up being Xed out, making normal showman work impossible. True, she could still get a job in the girl tent, undressing and undulating while gillies eyed her flesh colored body suit, but she didn’t want to do that.
Fortune teller. She could do it for real, which is why she hated faking it. That, and the fact that it was the least respected job in any show.
But why was he in such a rush?
She’d heard he performed too. Unusual for an owner’s son, but it was after hours. No one performed now.
“Hurry.” Someone called across the grounds. Kit looked up and saw people swarming around something in the center. She barely caught sight of Cade’s bright red vest being swallowed up by the crowd.
Something’s going on.
Kit pushed her way to the front, eager to slake her insatiable curiosity. She squeezed between two men, Malcom, and some freak with spots.
The crowd circled a man lying on the ground, a man with flippers for hands. His lifeless eyes stared vacantly at the darkening sky. Cade burst from the crowd and knelt beside him. He picked up the man’s limp wrist, searching for a pulse. Tomasz stood nearby.
“My God.” Harry’s voice whispered next to her. “It’s James the Penguin Boy.”
Cade placed his hands over James’s heart and closed his eyes. The crowd fell silent as if they knew something was about to happen. After a few moments Cade stood, visibly shaken.
“It’s no good,” He announced to the crowd. “It won’t work. I can’t help.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
“Losing your touch Cade?” someone challenged.
Cade shook his head, his face clouded with sadness. “The orb has moved on. I can’t return life to a body with no orb.”
Kit shuddered.
Did he say return life?
Rumors said Cade worked as the show’s doctor, but no one could return life.
Right?
Harry eased his way to the front and touched Tomasz’s shoulder to get his attention. Most people didn’t hear what he said, but Kit’s sharp ears heard everything, even Harry’s raspy whisper.
“Tomasz, James has no family, right?”
“Correct.”
“Then I want his flippers for my show.”
Kit resisted the urge to shudder again.
Freaks.
Long day.
Safe in his wagon, Malcom poured his nightly glass of brandy and swirled it around in the snifter. As soon as the liquid flowed into his throat, tension eased from his body. He stretched out on the narrow cushioned bench that lined against the shelf wall of his wagon.
Some folks had a window behind that bench, but too many windows invited trouble. Too many ways to get in. His wagon had the other usual window against the bed wall and a single window he used for fresh air past the kitchen area. The stained glass ceiling provided light from outside while still allowing for privacy. His wagon was of geometric design; most of them were. In fact, most wagons he’d seen had the exact same layout with only slight variations.
The decoration was what made it your own. His was done in Oriental reds, blacks, and lacquered furniture. He’d never been to the orient, but he liked to dream.
Malcom positioned a decorative pillow under his back to make the hard bench more comfortable. The bed against the back wall was the most comfortable place, but he never drank in bed. Besides, the ceilings of sleeping nooks were far too low for anything besides sleeping and sitting up.
He thought back to the scene from earlier. Anyone could see James was dead, so calling a doctor made no sense. Cade pronounced him dead of course, as a doctor would, but showmen didn’t rely on such formalities. Besides, the crowd seemed to be waiting for something else. For Cade to DO something else. He leaned back and closed his eyes. As drowsy warmth overtook him, he placed the brandy snifter on the shelf.
Did he need to worry about Cade?
He chided himself on his carelessness. He’d thought nothing of it when James ate one of his special cookies. In fact, he wanted him to. He was only sorry he wasn’t there when the poison took hold of James’s mind and body.
He loved that look.
New show, new start. So many new potential victims…
His heart pounded in eager excitement. But he’d have to be careful. He’d gone decades poisoning people, thrilling as they took their last breath, and he wasn’t about to get caught now. He’d seen Cade’s wagon. His papers billed him as “The Immortal,” but what did that really mean?
A knock at the door caused Malcom’s eyes to fly open His heart pounded as he sat up, chasing the cobwebs from his head. A quick glance at the skylight revealed darkness had covered the lot some time ago. Even his own lamps had burnt out. He fought down the fear fluttering in his stomach.
Nothing good ever came with darkness.
A single thought echoed in Malcom’s head.
He’d been found out.
The knock came again; forceful, insistent, but still polite. Not the knock of an angry mob ready to string him up.
Malcom got up, tugged his vest down, and relit the lamps before he answered the door.
On his steps stood a young man whose spots glistened in the moonlight.
“Yes?” Malcom’s voice was calm and smooth as ice.
Without waiting for an invitation, Leo walked inside and closed the door, giving it a firm shove to ensure it was really closed: the action of a man with something to hide.
“We need to talk; away from prying eyes and ears. We have a mutual problem.”
This man’s mad. “I have no problem. Can I get you some brandy?”
“As if I’d drink anything of yours.”
Malcom’s blood ran cold. This man knew something. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Look, we have a mutual problem. I know you poisoned James. I also know you’ve probably done it before.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Malcom lied. He headed back over to his bench. Best to pretend this man was insane. He picked up the brandy glass and took a tiny sip.
Leo paced around the wagon as if too nervous to stay still. “I saw the way you smiled when they found James’s body. It’s the way a man looks when he’s proud of his accomplishments.”
Malcom braced himself, ready for the extortion fee this man was about to demand. The carousel was the highest grossing act at the last show. Even at this one, given time, he’d even outsell that dead-freak-in-a-jar concession.
“You’re mistaken,” Malcom replied. His confidence came from knowing there was no way the man could prove it.
Leo sighed and sat on Malcom’s bed, his hands collapsed together, halfway between a fist and prayer. “Listen to me. Cade Setterwin can bring back the dead.”
Malcom laughed and swirled his brandy around in the glass. “That’s nonsense.”
“It’s true. I’ve seen him do it before. Think about it, if he brings back your victims, they could expose you.”
Malcom bit his lower lip in an effort to keep his composure. If Leo spoke the truth, then Cade was a very dangerous man indeed. Something still didn’t make sense. “Then why didn’t he do it tonight?”
Leo wrung his hands together. “The conditions weren’t right or something. It only works about half the time. You need to help me. I need to take Cade out.”
A wicked smile tugged at Malcom’s mouth. “Why? If what you say is true, he’s a threat to me, but what threat is he to you?”
Leo rose and held out his arm to show off his spots. “See these spots? I wasn’t born with them. When I was ten, I had a big brother. After our parents died, he took care of me and he loved me. But then, he made the mistake of taking Cade in. Cade, well, he didn’t respond to anything my brother tried to do for him. He ran away, ungrateful bastard. We followed him. Cade infiltrated this freak show and my brother tried to bring him back…and Cade…well, he used his powers to drain my brother dry.”
“Drain him of what?”
“His essence. I watched, hidden in the bushes. It was awful, something I can never forget. When Cade touched him, when he put his hands on him, my brother went from a young man filled with life to a withered husk in seconds.” Leo’s voice cracked at the painful memory. “I ran back to town to try to get help, but no one believed me. And without a guardian, I was put in an orphanage. Do you have any idea how awful those places are?”
His eyes flashed with anger.
Malcom poured himself another glass of brandy to steady his nerves. “Can’t say I do. Grew up in the show.”
“Well, they’re just horrible. I ran away as soon as I could. Got these tattoos and started playing hopscotch with the show circuit until I finally found Cade’s show a few months ago.”
Malcom sat back on the bench and sipped his drink. Leo’s hatred of Cade was sincere. The biggest threat was Leo’s zest for revenge. “You’ve been with the show a few months. Why haven’t you poisoned him yourself? Common poisons are easy enough to get hold of.”
“I’ve tried.” Leo admitted. “I’ve fed him nightshade and oleander.”
“And?”
“And it doesn’t kill him!” Frustration poured out. “All those poisons do is make him sleep.”
Malcom fought down the smile. This could be fun, playing with a man who couldn’t be killed. “I see. Sounds like he’s immune to normal poisons. Maybe all poisons. Tell me, have you ever seen him get sleepy after taking something designed to make him sleep?”
“I’ve seen him drunk once. A few weeks ago, on his birthday. He doesn’t get loud or anything, he just fell asleep.”
“So he’s not immune to things intended to make him sleep, only to things supposed to kill him.” Malcom walked over to the kitchen area and took down a silver tin from a cupboard. He removed the lid as if opening the box to some great treasure. “This should work.”
Powder, as fine as sand and the color of tea leaves, filled the tin. Leo sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. “I can’t smell it.”
“No one can. It’s odorless and tasteless.”
“Not colorless though, he’ll notice.”
Poor Leo. His thirst for vengeance blinded him to the obvious. “He won’t if you put it in the right thing. Tomasz is English, right? He speaks with that sort of accent.”
“I suppose.”
“The English love tea. If Cade’s his son, he drinks tea.”
“Yes, he always starts and ends his day with it.”
Malcom closed the tin and put it on the edge of the dining table. “You’ve been watching him. Studying his habits. Excellent. All you do is put this in his tea tin. It’s the right color so it’ll blend right in. He won’t notice.”
“But will it kill him?”
Malcom head moved slowly side to side. His voice was both rough and soothing at the same time. “No. This doesn’t kill. It makes a person extremely drowsy. If the conditions are right, or they drink enough of it, they’ll sleep. If the dose is small and they manage to stay awake, they’ll go through their day confused, muddled. They might even have vivid waking dreams. And it does promote nightmares.”
“That’s not enough revenge.” Leo spat out.
“Let me finish. You say Cade can kill with a touch? Does he leave marks?”
“Not always, from what I hear.”
“Perfect. Think about it. Poison leaves no marks. If Cade starts having blackouts and bad dreams, and people die during this time…”
Leo’s smile crossed his entire face, his eyes sparkling with the cleverness of their plan. “We can convince everyone Cade did it, or convince them he’s insane altogether. It sounds perfect.”
A smile caressed Malcom’s cheeks as he thought about the plan. “Good. Here’s what you should do…”
Leo’s black clothes blended into the early morning hours. One am: the time when sleep stole alertness even from insomniacs. Dark silence soaked the entire backlot. The wagons, silhouetted in the moonlight, were merely oversized boxes.
Cade’s wagon was easy enough to find. No matter which town they visited, the wagons stayed in the same configuration. Cade’s, Harry’s, and Tomasz’s always sat in the center of the circle. Leo thought back to what Malcom had said. He called Cade’s trailer design a runaway, which meant there was a secret way in. Leo readjusted the sack over his shoulder and dropped to all fours. He rolled under Cade’s wagon and looked up at the possum belly, the protrusion under the wagon used for extra storage. Cade’s possum belly didn’t hang as low as normal wagons. That’s how Malcom claimed he recognized the design.
As Malcom predicted, a tiny handle sat on the outline of a door under the belly. An easy way in and, since these doors opened out, it didn’t even matter what Cade kept on top of it. Leo hugged his bag to his chest and thrust his hand inside to find what he needed.
His fingers closed around the plain unmarked bottle inside and a dry cloth. Leo got to his knees to prepare the cloth. Malcom reminded him how disastrous it would be for both of them if Cade unexpectedly woke up.
A few drops of liquid on this cloth served to prevent that from happening.
Acting on the premise that if a little was good, a lot was better, Leo soaked it.
The smell emanating from it almost made him dizzy. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing out the extra to the ground. He gave the door a sharp tug. It flopped down without a squeak.
Leo wriggled his way in through piles of blankest, linens, and other soft furnishings. He felt the doors to the inside of the wagon between the blankets, pressed his palms flat against them, and pushed.
A bunch of blankets tumbled out from the cabinet under Cade’s bed. Leo crawled out. The sound alerted Cade, but not to the true danger.
Cade came up on his elbow, his eyes only starting to open. “Huh? Who’s…”
Before he could get another word out, Leo forced the cloth over Cade’s face so the chemical tainted every breath of air he took. Cade struggled, but only for a moment. He fell back on the bed limp, his mind and body overcome with the powerful fluid.
Leo arranged the cloth over Cade’s nose and mouth, letting gravity assist him by keeping it place. He opened Cade’s cabinets one by one. After finding the tin, he dumped all the powder inside and stirred it up.
His entire body smiled when he thought of the effects it would have on Cade. Day by day, Cade would get weaker and sicker until everyone was convinced he really had lost his mind.
He yanked the cloth from Cade’s sleeping face. He couldn’t leave this behind, it was evidence. Rage seethed inside him. Cade. Sleeping innocently while his brother lay somewhere rotting without even a decent burial. Leo licked his lips before leaning over and whispering in Cade’s ear. The drug gave Leo confidence that Cade would stay asleep. He’d use this opportunity to influence Cade’s dreams.
“Dream of my brother. Dream of the man you murdered. Judgment day is here. You are a killer, Cade. A cold-blooded murderer.”
The whip sizzled in the air before it stung the bare back of a frightened eight-year-old Cade. The grown man towered above him while a child close to Cade’s age huddled in the corner in fear.
“You will do as I tell you!” the man barked. “If you’d healed that rich man’s daughter, we’d be rich ourselves right now.”
“I tried!” young Cade protested. “I didn’t have the power.”
“I gave you the power, what you needed, and you wouldn’t eat!”
The whip sang again, this time drawing blood from Cade’s back. Tears of defiance streamed down his face. “That little kid? I will not drain people! I told you that!”
The man slapped Cade across the face. “You don’t want to eat what I give you, fine. Starve.”
Blood poured down from the sky in huge drops. Little Cade ran between them as lightning flashed behind him. The man grabbed Cade’s arm, yanking him into the darkness. Cade pulled back. A flash of white light obliterated the scene.
Cade’s own scream jolted him awake. He sat up in bed, his breath coming in deep heaving gasps as he struggled to make some kind of sense of it.
Sunlight flooded the wagon from the big picture window behind the narrow bench. He could clearly see the silk rug on the floor, his overstuffed bookshelves, and his many journals. He leaned back on his elbows, basking in the colored light that was coming through his stained glass ceiling.
Only a dream.
His head thudded from the after effects of last night’s drug. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and readied himself for the day. Already, the dream grew slippery. When he struggled to remember it, it slid away like water down a drain. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like something was off. He didn’t feel like he had slept.
Perhaps his morning tea would help him feel better.
Backstage in his show tent, Cade stared into the mirror. The dark circles under his puffy, bloodshot eyes and his pale skin revealed his sudden unexplained exhaustion. He didn’t get stick normally, so he wasn’t sure why his eyes kept sliding closed. Cade slapped his cheeks to wake up. This was no time for napping; he had to go on in less than ten minutes. Besides, he could hardly put his head down on the dressing table. Its narrow ledge overflowed with makeup, pieces of costume, and a special concoction he drank before each show.
He dipped his fingers in the jar and added more greasepaint. There was no such thing as too much makeup under hot stage lights. Besides, it hid his exhaustion.
Baxter, Cade’s talker, poked his head in through the curtain dividing backstage from the wings. He was a thin, lanky man with a face much younger than his actual age. “Ready to go on? God, Cade, you look awful. ”Since they practically grew up together, Baxter had no problem speaking his mind.
Cade blushed. He hoped the heat of his cheeks didn’t show through the greasepaint. “I had a restless night. But don’t worry, I can still perform.”
“I hope so.” Baxter moved all the way backstage, the curtain swaying behind him. “It’s packed out there. I cleared the midway for you.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Cade reached under the table and took out a large jar. He unscrewed the top and touched the things inside.
Baxter wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Are those James’s flippers? Yuck. Cade, why do you have them?”
Cade screwed the top back on and slid the jar back under the table. “I’m taking them to Harry after the show. I touch them to keep them fresh.”
Baxter shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong Cade, you know Harry’s one of my friends, and he’s been with the show forever, but his act’s not in good taste.”
Cade stretched. It never hurt to be limber before a performance. “It’s a high grossing act. And Harry adds to it on his own dime. Any show would be lucky to have him. Besides, he’s my father’s best friend. So we help out when we can.”
“Yes, Tomasz told me he willed his body to Harry. That’s really sick.”
“Shouldn’t you be warming up the audience?” Cade wasn’t normally so blunt, but he didn’t have the energy to fight fatigue, argue with Baxter, and prepare to perform.
Baxter gave a quick nod and vanished behind the swaying curtain. It only took a moment for Harry to start his own performance. He had the job of both inside and outside talker.
Cade only half listened to the usual spiel of the audience getting the opportunity to kill a man and not get in trouble for it, because he wouldn’t die. It was a great act. People loved to indulge in their most violent fantasies without retribution.
He picked up a glass and gulped down his usual combination of drugs and herbs to deaden the pain. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain.
He snapped his suspenders over his bare chest. To go out there with his chest completely uncovered would be indecent, even though it was a men-only show.
Baxter continued. “The one! The only! The Immortal! Cade Setterwin!”
Cade plastered on his smile before running onstage, waving to the crowd. His feet clomped against the unvarnished wooden boards, shaking the narrow stage with every step.
Thunderous applause greeted him. Though the bright lights half obscured the audience’s faces, the few faces he did see contained an eager, hungry look, the savage look that proved they came to see someone get killed.
Time to give them a good show.
He gave several quick bows to the audience; right, left, center. The proper way to greet an audience. The elephant-foot umbrella stand in the middle of the stage contained an assortment of foils. Each handle was remarkably intricate with fake jewels and twisted metal around the hilt. Yet each one had the same thin, piercing, blade. The perfect weapon for this act.
Cade snatched out the nearest one and flexed its point.
“Behold! The Rapier. A deadly weapon believed to be from France, capable of running a man through with one quick thrust. Notice how easy it is to use. Luck can help you find your mark, but it takes a lifetime to master the art of swordplay.”
He fenced with the exaggerated theatrical moves of a true showman. He shoved the sword forward, piercing the life-sized dummy onstage, and the point burst through the other side.
Sawdust spilled out as he pulled the sword out.
The audience clapped politely. They didn’t come to see a dummy get stuck. A dull ache settled behind Cade’s eyes and a yawn swelled up in his chest. He fought it off the best he could. The show must go on.
“So,” He raised the sword toward the ceiling in a mock salute, matching the forced lightness of his tone. “Who wants to have the privilege of running me through?”
Every hand in the tent went up, men begging to be chosen. The thrill of killing without consequences made Cade’s act the highest priced ticket in the show.
Cade grabbed someone from the first row, the way he usually did. Since it wasn’t a trick, anyone could do it.
The young man in his best checked suit and bowler hat looked nervous; obviously this was his first time on stage. Cade handed him the sword.
“Here you go, young man.” Cade extended his arms and did a quick spin. “Pick any spot on my chest and push it in. Don’t worry. I won’t suffer any long-term damage. It’s your chance to live out your most violent fantasy.”
The young man’s eyes flashed with wickedness. That look would scare most people, but Cade saw it in every single one of his shows. His act brought out the worst in people, and he knew it.
The young man tossed the sword from hand to hand, clearly getting a feel for it, planning his target.
Cade smiled, braced himself and waited for the white-hot pain from the rapier piercing his soft flesh. Cade gritted his teeth and kept smiling as the blade ripped its way through his lungs, chipped a rib, and exploded out his back.
The audience gasped in horrified amazement.
Cade did a quick turn to show that the blade went completely through him. The gasps turned into murmurs of excitement.
Still smiling, he gripped the handle of the sword.
He took a deep breath before yanking it out with both hands. Blood dripped off its end, staining the bare wooden boards. Blood gushed from both his back and front.
A normal person would be in serious trouble with an injury like this, but to Cade, this was no more than a paper cut; painful, bleeding excessively, but not dangerous and over in a few seconds. Cade focused on his injury. He used rapiers in this act because they made such small holes; easy to heal in a few minutes.
Since he was healing himself, there was no whiteness, just hazy red edges threatening to make him pass out. He squeezed his eyes shut to focus. Normally, it wasn’t this hard to perform a self-healing. That it was hard today made no sense. Perhaps he got even less sleep than he thought. His powers often didn’t work right when he was tired.
Fire ants ran rampant inside his body, especially around the two wounds. He became keenly aware of the smell of sweat and fine perfume that filled his tent. That his smile stayed on was due only to excellent training and over a decade of practice.
The world began to clear. His skin was once more smooth and unbroken. The tingling inside meant his lungs would be back to normal soon. No sense in waiting for a full healing. He looked cured from the outside. That was all that mattered.
Cade raised his arms over his head in a hallelujah stance.
“Behold! I am alive!”
Cade did a quick spin, so the audience witnessed there were no more holes, no more blood. The tent shook with another thunderous applause.
Cade leaned his head on his hand, propped up on his dressing table, enjoying the peaceful moment with his eyes closed.
Baxter’s voice broke into his thoughts. “It took longer than normal today.”
Cade opened his eyes and yawned. “I told you, I’m tired. My powers don’t work as well when I’m tired. You know that.”
Baxter folded his arms across his chest and leaned against one of the lesser support beams. They were in too deep to be knocked over. “I understand. You did a great show as always. But have you ever stopped to consider that you might be getting too old for this act? I noticed it took you too long to recover the last few times you performed. You should talk to Tomasz about getting a different act or maybe a concession. Or maybe you can just serve as the show’s doctor full time instead of trying to split between the two. We’d probably all be better off.”
Cade stood up. Baxter wasn’t his just his talker, he was his friend. He spoke from a place of friendship and concern, and he was right. If Cade went to Tomasz and told him he couldn’t do this act anymore, Tomasz would understand. But to abandon an act that he worked this hard on, one that brought in so much money, would be disastrous for the carnival. He would never leave, especially not mid-season. “Baxter, thank you for the thought, but I’m in control of my powers. Besides, I can’t quit. It’s our highest grossing act.”
Baxter shook his head. “I sincerely doubt that. It’s the one with the highest ticket price, true. But you only perform once a day. I’ve been saying it for years, concessions like the punks or the carrousel are where carnivals are headed. They don’t need a driving talent or a strong personality.”
Cade sighed inwardly. Baxter thought he knew so much about shows, about business, just because he could talk. But selling was only half of what it took to run a great show. You had to understand emotions and people’s hearts. Things Baxter didn’t know much about at all. Cade considered the best way to discourage him without making him angry.
“This is, first and foremost, a freak show, and it always will be. We don’t need more concessions.”
A voice from the side of the tent interrupted them. “Great show tonight, Cade.”
The man standing there wasn’t one of them, though he certainly hung around the show enough. Wherever they went, he was there. His expensive, understated tailored suit spoke of his money. The fact that he kept showing up for the same reason and expected Cade to welcome him revealed his eccentricity.
“Edward.” Cade wasn’t even sure how to greet him anymore.
“Afternoon, Cade. Baxter.” Edward entered without even asking, an overconfident smile on his face.
Cade sighed. “Go away, Edward. You know I’m not interested.”
“Five thousand.” Edward reached into his wallet and pulled out several G-notes, waving them under Cade’s nose. “Bet you’ve never seen bills like these before.”
Baxter leaned closer and Cade’s eyes widened to get a better look at the markings on the money.
“Are those…” the sheer amount of money caused the words to trail off.
Edward pulled the bills back, running his fingers over the top like a card dealer about to shuffle a deck. “That’s right. One thousand dollar bills. Five of them.”
Cade snatched the money from Edward’s hand and shoved it in Edwards’s vest pocket along with Edward’s silk handkerchief. He slapped the pocket to squash the bills. “Are you completely insane? Put that away. You can’t go…places flashing money like that.”
“Places like this, you mean?” Edward challenged. “Don’t worry. I’ve been following your show for three years. I know Tomasz doesn’t put up with any graft. That’s what you carny folk call it when the games are rigged, right? Graft? Crooked behavior? I heard some carnies say it once. It’s a charming word. You carnies have such adorable slang.”
Cade folded his arms. “If you know anything about our charming slang, you know we’re not carnies. Go home Edward. Back to wherever you’re staying in town. I’m not interested.”
“We’ll see.” Edward fished in his front pants pocket and pulled out a calling card. “My home address and the place where I’m staying in town are written on the back.”
Cade flicked it towards Edward’s face. It fluttered to the ground in a back and forth motion. “You always give me these. I have dozens.”
“I’m always in a new place when I follow you. I know you’ll come see me when you need money. After all, the terms are good, and I can wait. Maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it. I’ll see you in Florida in a few months. Until then…” Edward gave a quick bow. “I’ll leave you to your night then. Show’s about to close, anyway. You know, I was really wishing you’d pick me today.”
“I’m regretting ever picking you.”
Edward laughed as if Cade had said something incredibly clever before retreating through the flap and melting into the swarms of rubes.
Cade sank back down in his chair. “Waiting for me in Florida. That man knows far too much about our schedule.”
Baxter seemed deep in thought. “You know, I think we can get him eighty-sixed. All we have to do is contact The Billboard and get the word out. Then no show in the country will let him in.
Cade shook his head, picked up the jar and hugged it to his chest. “It won’t help. People like Edward just keep coming back. But I have to go. I need to get these to Harry before they spoil.”
Hundreds of gray-green jars with sickening colors of long dead flesh studded the ground like the world’s most morbid maze. The jars ranged from six feet tall to about six inches tall. These smaller jars sat on tables with dozens of other jars of similar sizes.
Cade shuddered and clutched the jar tighter to his chest. This was Harry’s tent, and he loved Harry, but the tent still filled him with uneasiness.
Of course, that was ridiculous. Though he’d never end up in a jar, this place served as a grim reminder to freaks that rubes valued them more dead than alive.
Plus, it was just creepy.
He stepped into the maze. “Harry? It’s Cade. I brought the…item we discussed.”
He couldn’t bring himself to refer to it as James’s hands; the hands of someone who was alive such a short time ago; someone who used to be a friend. But business was business. The tent looked even fuller than usual.
In one of the four-foot jars, something sparkled.
Sparkled?
That made no sense. This tent held nothing but death. Nothing sparkled or moved in here. Cade moved closer to the sparkling jar.
Inside was a small dead woman with a pink dress and gold jewelry. She seemed to be just Tomasz’s size, only her head was perfectly proportioned to her body. It wasn’t large like his. Though disgusted, he was also mysteriously drawn to it. He shifted the item under his arm and reached out to touch the jar.
“Cade, don’t!” Harry’s voice startled him into moving back. Harry tugged on the bottom of his vest as he approached him. “She cost a lot of money. It wouldn’t be good for the show if she came back and walked away. Wouldn’t be so great for me either. Understand?”
Cade slammed the jar down on the nearest table trying to contain his rage. His temper was shorter than usual, but he attributed that to the fact he hadn’t slept well.
“Harry, how can you, of all people, say that? You helped raise me. You KNOW my powers don’t work that way!”
Harry took a step back, his hands up. “Whoa, easy Cade. You know I love you. What’s wrong? You can always tell me.”
Cade shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m just tired. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just hate my powers being misunderstood. Especially by people who know how they work.”
Harry reached for Cade’s shoulder, then hesitated. “Safe to touch?”
Once Cade nodded, Harry put his hand on Cade’s shoulder. “Cade. I know Your powers don’t work like that. You’ve told me before, you need to see an orb. But you’re at an age where your body’s changing. Your powers might change too.”
Cade didn’t like this conversation. Time to change the subject. “Has Tomasz seen her?”
“He did, but he threw up right after.”
“Oh.” Cade’s words didn’t come. He felt somewhat queasy himself. Then he remembered why he came. “Oh, right, I brought you the item.” He grabbed the jar off the table and held it out.
Harry frowned as he opened the top. “You didn’t put any preservatives in there. They’ll be all decayed. What the…they’re…fine. How can they be fine? They should have decomposed by now.”
“I kept touching them to keep them fresh.” He swallowed the nausea making its way through his throat.
“Of course. I should have realized. I should take care of this. Did you want to help again?”
Harry always asked when he got a new specimen, even though Cade hadn’t been interested in this tent since he was twelve. Waves of nausea made him dizzy. “No thanks. I’m really tired.”
Harry nodded and gave his back a quick pat. “You do look pale. You should go home and lie down for a bit.”
Harry wished him a good sleep and vanished into the maze of death.
Cade staggered outside, filling his lungs with deep gulping breaths of cool evening air. The sick feeling dissipated like dew in the midday sun. His deep breaths turned into a deep yawn. He covered his mouth with both hands in an attempt to hide it. Just a little longer until this day was done. He’d get to bed early tonight and feel fine by tomorrow, he was sure of it. Ironically, though it was later in the day, he felt more awake.
“You look like you need a ride.” Malcom’s voice broke into Cade’s thoughts.
For the first time, Cade took a good look at the carousel, a vision from a nightmare. The horses’ crazed wooden faces with their painted grimaces, their feet frozen in time, running a race they could not win, but must repeat every few minutes. From their backs, the golden pole grew like some kind of a mutation. Though not real, they perfectly fit in a freak show .
Cade repressed a shiver. “That’s…uh…really something.”
Malcom put his arm around Cade. “Stunning, isn’t she? Hand carved horses. Steam powered. A pipe organ plays the latest band music. That new up and down movement, well, except for the sleigh. That doesn’t move. And look at that brass ring. I polish it every day, you know.”
Cade nodded his approval. Great. Another one who’s going to endlessly go on about his concession. Why do agents do that?
“It’s uh, it’s wonderful.”
Malcom waved his stick towards the carousel. “Take a ride. It clears your head, gives you a chance to think. Besides, you’re integrated with a real carnival now. And carousels are important to showmen working carnivals.”
“They are?” As soon as the words left Cade’s mouth, he regretted them.
As he feared, Malcom used his feigned interest to mean ‘tell me more.’ His eyes lit up with excitement over the prospect of talking about his favorite thing.
“Carnivals have all sorts of traditions revolving around carousels, pun intended. Marriages, divorces, death. Trials, executions, and justice. It can all be done on a carousel. Did you know, when two people ride it forward at night in front of witnesses, it means they’re married? To showmen, it’s as legal as a church wedding. Of course, when you want a divorce, all one partner has to do is ride backwards alone. It’s always so sad to see a lone rider going backwards. Nothing wrong with one rider going forward alone though. I always let showmen ride free.”
“You know, I think I will ride.” Cade said, more because he wanted to end the conversation than anything else.
Malcom pointed his walking stick towards the carousel. “But of course. Climb on.”
Cade walked toward one of the horses and reached for the pole. The horse grinned demonically and Cade withdrew his hand. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He’d just gotten over the queasiness from Harry’s tent. An up and down motion might start it up again. He took a seat on the sleigh. Malcom pulled a huge lever on the side post. The carousel sprang to life: the colors, the lights, the music, the whirling of gears and the hissing of steam. Columns of gray steam filled the air. The entire carousel vibrated, a feeling Cade wasn’t used to. He gripped the side of the sleigh as if he expected something awful to happen, squeezing so hard his knuckles hurt.
Malcom laughed. “Relax. Let go. Nothing bad happens on a carousel, especially not on the sleigh.”
The carousel started to move slowly at first, gaining speed as it circled. Nothing but band music played on an organ filled Cade’s ears, blocking out all other thoughts. The world around him blurred, as though he were in a trance. The world fell away, leaving only the carousel. He half expected the white light to come and blind him. When it didn’t, he closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the carousel vibrating his body and filling his mind with the music mixed with the sound of machinery and random puffs of steam. The wind caressed his face, like riding on the wagon seat, but without the horrid horse smell that usually came with it.
This was paradise.
All the best parts of being in a trance with none of the pain.
“Ride’s over.” Malcom’s voice jolted Cade back to the real word.
The carousel was silent.
Still.
Waiting for him to get off.
He lifted his heavy lids and straightened up. An evening chill invaded his bones. It was much darker than he remembered. He felt stiff, as if he’d slept in an uncomfortable position.
Did he really fall asleep?
He’d been feeling out of sorts all day, but he wasn’t prone to blackouts, at least not random ones like this.
Harry’s tent stood secured for the evening, so that meant it was probably past dinnertime.
Cade stretched his back out before he climbed off. “Malcom, did I…” He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know.
Malcom nodded. “Carousels are so soothing, aren’t they? Great for insomnia, I hear.”
Cade blushed. He did black out after all. “I’m sorry I made you miss dinner.”
Malcom shrugged as he wrapped a chain around the lever. “I have food.” He threaded the chain through the inner workings of the carousel.
Cade picked up the chain. “Here, let me help with that. It’s the least I can do after making you stay so late.”
“I appreciate the help.” Malcom agreed, directing Cade where to wrap the chain. A few minutes later, Malcom snapped on the padlock.
Cade looked up at the dark, chained carousel. It looked even more ominous silhouetted against the specks of starlight in the distance, but Cade couldn’t wait to go on it again. He felt better than he’d felt all day. Part of that was the nap, but the other had to be the carousel.
Cade shook Malcom’s hand. “Thank you. That was…really something.”
Malcom leaned on his walking stick. “You’ll be back. No one can resist the lure of the carousel. Cade, mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Uh, sure.”
Just how personal did he plan on getting?
“I’ve heard about your act, “The Immortal”. It’s getting to be legendary on the circuit. So I’m dying to know. What’s the trick?”
“Not a trick.” Cade assured him. “Just a natural given talent, honed though practice, like a Fakir.”
Malcom moved closer. “So it’s true what they say? You can’t die and you can bring back the dead? Is death a completely foreign concept to you?”
Cade took an uneasy step back. His powers were no secret, not around the old show at least, but Malcom was new and he seemed a bit too interested. A chill ran over Cade’s spine, but he knew it wasn’t from the cool air.
“Malcom, it’s late. I’m sure you have a big day ahead of you. I know I do, so I need an early night. Thanks for the ride.”
His carousel secured for the evening, Malcom took the hint and touched his hat with his stick. “Well, I bid you good night, Cade. See you in the morning.” Malcom walked toward the backlots whistling the same tune as his carousel.
Cade started to head to the backlot himself when he realized the fortunetelling tent wasn’t secure. As he reached down to lift the flap, a sliver of light shone from underneath.
An icy finger of fear stroked his back. It wasn’t normal for showmen to stay too late on the grounds, not without a good reason.
Was the fortuneteller all right?
“Hello?” Cade pulled aside the velvet-lined flap. Tiny bells sewn into the flap tinkled as he entered, presumably alerting the fortuneteller to his entrance. Incense spiced the air. Cade coughed into his fist as the heavy fragrance coated the inside of his nose.
Smells never used to bother him this much unless he was in a trance, but lately, he noticed he was getting more sensitive to them. Velvet draped on the walls and ceiling weighted down the entire tiny room. A velvet wall separated him from the reading room.
This had to be the waiting room. The silk rugs on the floor, the wall hangings with strange symbols on them, and overstuffed tufted couch practically screamed it.
“Hello?” he called again, moving the velvet wall aside and pushing farther into the tent. “It’s Cade Setterwin. Are you all right?”
His eyes adjusted to the dim light in the main room. This had to be where readings took place. It was decorated similarly to the last room, but there was a round, velvet draped table and a trio of mismatched chairs in the center of the room. A large freestanding bookshelf lined one of the walls and there were all sorts of items on it, including several crystal balls, cards, books, stones, and other magic items Cade didn’t recognize.
Kit sat at the table, still in her costume, flipping over cards. Cade pulled up a chair. “Hello.”
She looked up and frowned. “What do you want?” She slammed another card down on the table.
Her curtness surprised him. He fumbled, his words evaporating from his mind. “I uh…I saw the lights. It’s nighttime you know. It’s past dinner. It’ll be quite late soon.”
She flipped over another card. Her eyes refused to meet his. “Your show doesn’t have a curfew. I checked the contract.”
She had a point. “Well, yes. That’s true. But we like all our acts to be well rested. The show’s closed. There’s no need for you to stay late. Unless maybe you need help with something?”
Kit scooped up all the cards and started to shuffle.
Cade squirmed under her silence. “Are you mad at me for something?” The weight of realization settled over him. “Of course. I owe you money for a new costume.”
She slammed the cards down on the table so hard it shivered.
Cade decided to ignore her strange mood. He pulled some bills from his pocket and laid them on the table. “Enough? My costume’s simple, so I really don’t know what a fortuneteller garb goes for. I know it’s important though. Zara always used to say it was important.”
Kit slid the deck towards him. “Cut the cards.” She ordered.
Cade stared at the oversized deck, the obscure mystical meanings painted on the back. “What? Why?”
“Cut the cards.” She repeated. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
Cade continued to stare, his stomach tightened into a knot. “I don’t know. I’ve always been warned against being involved with other magic.”
“You’re twenty-one now, right?”
Such an odd question. “A few weeks ago, why?”
“Then you’re of age. Legal to sign contracts, able to make your own decisions. I don’t talk to people who are afraid of cards. Cut them.”
Cade divided the cards. Kit swept one-half to the side and shuffled the other half. “We’ll do a basic three card.”
She flipped over the first card. “Past. Reversed wheel of fortune. That usually indicates a lack of control. Over your life maybe? Or your temper?”
Cade folded his arms across his chest. He already hated where this reading was going. He kept his face stoic, not giving her any clues about his history.
She turned over the second card. “Ace of Chalices. That means an unseen threat.”
Cade leaned closer. “Am I in danger?” Or worse, was someone in danger from him?
He didn’t know much about Tarot, but the sinking feeling in his gut already told him what the last card would be.
“Death.”
Cade stared at the card, not sure if he should believe it. “That’s not a good reading, is it?” He tried to make a joke, but it fell flat.
Kit held out her hands palms facing up. “You can never tell. Cards aren’t literal. Death doesn’t always mean death. Sometimes, it just means change.” Her voice changed, from indifference to one with more warmth and lightness. “Here, let me see your hands.”
Cade refused. If her voice changed, then something was definitely wrong with his future. And if she truly had powers, then touching her hands was the last thing he should do. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. In fact, I’m regretting coming in here.” He slapped some bills on the table. “If that’s not enough money, I live in the wagon with the Immortal papers on it.” He started to stand.
“Wait.” Kit called after him.
Something in her tone made him hesitate. It wasn’t the order, but something he couldn’t quite place.
Kit rose and took down a large crystal ball from the shelf. Judging by the way she hoisted it to her chest, thrusting out her hips for balance and the way it landed with a loud thud on the table, it weighed a ton.
“Uh, that looks heavy.” He knew how stupid that sounded, but he didn’t know what else to say.
She caressed the top with her palm. “It’s solid quartz. Beautiful isn’t it? Please Cade, sit. There’s a strange aura about you, and I’d love to learn more about it.”
“An aura?” That got his attention. He sat back down. “I should warn you, I’m not sure if the magic is compatible. I might hurt you if it isn’t.”
She ignored his warning. Kit placed her hand on top of the ball. “Now, put your hands next to mine, but be careful not to touch the flesh.”
Cade obeyed. This had to be safe if he wasn’t touching actual skin. After all, his powers needed contact to work.
The crystal ball’s surface was as smooth and polished as silk. Its coolness released a strange relaxing warmth inside him. He felt his eyelids droop, but not close all the way.
Kit said something, but Cade couldn’t make out the words. He wasn’t sure if it was another language or if his trance was too deep to understand spoken words. As the ball grew colder, Cade’s hand pricked with numbness. He pulled back, but his hands remained stuck to the ball.
Red hazy edges dimmed his view. His thoughts slowed and muddled as his trance deepened. He floated, losing awareness of the chair, the world around him, everything but the sickening sweet smell of incense and the burning cold concentrated in the palms of his hands. No thoughts came, only darkness, wrapping its arms around him and telling him to let go.
The tinkling of shattering glass jerked him back to consciousness. Pain spread though his body as sharp shards of quartz impaled themselves in his palm. The world came back quickly but in a jumbled mess. The sounds: shattering, booming glass, similar to when windows get blasted out from a fire. A scream followed by a thud. The pain; his hands throbbing with dozens of shards of quartz in them. The smell; incense mixed with the sickening metal smell of blood and wet wool.
Wait, Blood?
Cade leapt to his feet, blinking the world back into focus. He squeezed his hands into fists, hoping the pain would wake him up faster.
His arms stabbed with pain and ran down his back, but he could see again. The crystal ball lay on the table, shattered into a million pieces as if someone used dynamite on it. Shards and dust were everywhere, littering the tent.
On the floor, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, Kit lay in a pool of her own blood. The front of her dress was in tatters.
Nausea of realization overwhelmed Cade. He’d only gotten shards in his hands; she’d gotten them in her heart and lungs.
Faced with a death he caused, he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t let this be true.
“What happened?” A small voice asked. It sounded like Kit’s voice, but higher pitched.
Cade’s gaze darted around the room searching. And then he saw it. A small glowing orb of light hovering above the ruined crystal ball. It bobbed in the air as if it was floating on water.
His heart thudding in fear, Cade approached it and stroked it with one finger. “Easy. Easy. You’re going to be all right. Just don’t go anywhere. Stay put.”
Soothing orbs kept them from crossing to the other side. There was no point in healing the body if the orb had already left.
“Am I dead?” The orb asked, circling the room.
“For now.” Cade replied. “But you won’t be in a moment. Just stay put. Please, give me time.”
“How much time?” The orb asked, nudging his chest.
Cade knelt by Kit’s lifeless body. “I don’t know. Shh. I need to concentrate.” He placed his hands over Kit’s chest. The wounds were deep and numerous. Fortunately, quartz was a natural element he could absorb, not like a bullet. There was magic in them after all. He focused all his energy on the shards; they needed to be removed first.
He bit his lower lip to keep from crying out in pain as hundreds of tiny shards shoved their way into his hands and spread though his whole body. A wave of pain washed through him and the whiteness rose.
Warm inviting whiteness. He was inside her body, using mental images of needle and thread to stitch her shredded body back together. It was a long laborious process. He had to make sure he found every hole.
Thump. Thump.
The first beatings of her heart. He was on the right track. He stitched up her lungs even faster. His reward was the deep whoosh of first breath.
Cade was outside her body now, his hands still on her chest, the whiteness starting to fade. His own breathing evened out, but his arms throbbed with pain and exhaustion.
A stab of pain slapped his check, drawing the blood up and reddening it. It hurt, but not even the intense ache made the whiteness dissipate faster.
“Let go! You pervert!”
Kit’s voice. Kit’s body. She was awake, alive. And she didn’t appreciate having Cade’s hands on her chest in that suggestive manner.
Cade tried to think, to explain, but thinking through lingering whiteness was like thinking through strong drink. “I didn’t… I..oh..”
His tongue felt too thick to get any words out. The hand moved towards him again, ready to slap. Unable to think, he fell back on training. He grabbed Kit’s arm, careful to touch only the sleeve. “Don’t ever touch me without permission! Understand?” After years of training, the words and gestures came easily to him.
“I was going to say the same thing to you.” She spat out, her voice filled with hatred. “Get out of my tent!”
Cade staggered to his feet and shuffled out into the night.
Boiling hot rage infused Kit’s blood.
What the hell just happened?
She woke up on the floor, with the owner’s son, that Cade person, touching her breasts. The front of her blouse was shredded. He obviously thought that being the owner’s son gave him special privileges. He’d tried to rape her.
But how he managed to do it without her remembering, or even trying to stop him, was a mystery. She knew how to fight, and she knew how stop unwelcome advances. So how?
The answer that came to her chilled her bones.
He drugged her. It made sense.
But the more she thought about it, the more she realized it didn’t make sense. They didn’t eat or drink anything. He never touched her, so injecting something was out of the question. Then, there was the matter of his aura.
Most men’s auras consisted of all the colors, predominantly yellow and red. It meant aggression tempered with restraint. But Cade’s aura was different. It contained mostly green and white. The color of healing magic and safety. It had some red, true, but only flecks. It also had spots of gray, the color of sickness and ill health.
Kit sat, picked up a shard of quartz, and concentrated. Normally, she’d do this with someone’s hands, but Cade wasn’t here. Objects only worked about half the time.
This is how she saw the future. Of course, she couldn’t really see the future, just the past through another’s eyes. With this method, she was able to make guesses about the future based on experiences. She often told women to leave their abusive husbands. One beating in the past meant more later. She could clearly see the past when she touched someone’s hands, yet Cade had refused that.
What was he hiding?
Without the advantage of touch, she couldn’t see a whole past, just what went on in that room for those few minutes. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
She closed her eyes and let her mind float away in her trance. Cade had also fallen into a trance almost the minute he touched it. That’s something that only happened when the ball wanted to feed on your magic. She often succumbed to the ball’s power, it was harmless, and it granted visions.
The fact Cade went under so fast indicated a great deal of magic, stronger than her own. Then there was the temperature. In all the years she owned it, it never became so cold it burned. The explosion meant it couldn’t control Cade’s power, meaning Cade himself was not in full control.
Everything else flashed by in an instant; the flying shards piercing her skin like bullets, her death, and her resurrection.
Kit stood up with a start. Now she knew. The crystal ball had killed her and Cade used his magic to bring her back. Shame washed over her as she thought back to how she treated him; to what she accused him of. She needed to apologize.
Tonight.
As Kit stepped outside, the cold wind whipped her dress round her ankles and stung her face. She paused. She remembered Cade’s shuffling gait as he left, and his almost gray aura. She didn’t know how his powers worked, but if they worked like most magic, they left the user exhausted. She wanted to let him know she was sorry, and maybe even learn more about him and his powers, but it would have to wait until morning.
Tonight, he needed to sleep it off.
A pounding at the door roused Harry back to consciousness. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, letting them adjust to the darkened trailer lit only by moonlight.
“Father? Father, it’s Cade.” His nephew’s panic made its way through the locked door.
Tomasz, already dressed, tossed Harry his clothing and lit the stained glass lamp. “Get dressed. And remember, not a word.”
Harry hurriedly slipped his clothes on under the sheets, as he had many times before.
Harry let out a defeated sigh. “Tomasz, Cade already knows. Why else does he think you came over to my trailer sometimes at night after he went to bed? He just doesn’t think it’s strange.” He stood up and adjusted his shirt cuffs.
In actuality, the entire show knew, but they didn’t care. No showman really cared about personal lives or pasts as long as it didn’t threaten the show in any way. But Tomasz came from a more traditional background. One where appearances mattered and duty always came first.
Tomasz gave a quick look around to ensure everything looked right before he answered the door.
Cade practically fell inside. His soggy clothes weighed him down, but the pained expression on his fear-paled face weighed him down even more.
Tomasz closed the door behind him. “Cade, what’s wrong?”
Tears mixed with rain stained Cade’s cheeks. His voice came out as a strangled whisper, Harry couldn’t quite make out the words. Tomasz’s eyes widened in fear.
He grabbed the sleeves of Cade’s shirt and ushered him inside without a word.
Harry remained near the back of the wagon. He tucked his shirt into his pants, hoping his face didn’t look too guilty. Tomasz had this way of making him feel guilty even when they weren’t doing anything wrong.
”Uh, Cade. Evening. Your father and I were just…playing cards.” He said this despite the fact that there were no cards visible anywhere.
“Cade says he killed someone,” Tomasz explained as he led Cade to the bench so he could sit. He was careful to touch his clothing only.
Killed someone.
The words twisted like a knife in Harry’s gut. For years, he and Tomasz tried so hard to raise Cade right. He always feared that Cade’s powers would do something like this. Though he knew he should feel badly for Cade’s victim, his first thought was for Cade himself.
He seemed so upset, genuinely remorseful. And Cade wasn’t a bad person. He and Tomasz had made sure of that by raising him with love.
Harry approached Cade. “Safe to touch?”
Cade thought about it for a moment before he could answer. “I’m off.”
Harry wrapped his arms around him in a parental embrace and held him close to comfort him. “Cade? What happened? You were doing so well.”
Tomasz touched Cade’s knee. The man didn’t hug, but the sentiment was there. Both Cade and Harry understood that. Tomasz motioned towards the stove in the corner. Make tea. He mouthed to Harry. Harry gave Cade a quick squeeze and went to fetch the teapot.
Tomasz hoisted himself up on the bench next to Cade. So much of his furniture was normal sized. He’d bought all new furnishings and wagon when Cade moved in. He wanted him to feel normal. “Tell us what happened. I thought…I thought you didn’t need human life energy to eat. I thought normal food and rest was enough.”
Cade rose. “It is. Was. I mean, I didn’t drain her. That’s not what happened.”
Tomasz’s eyebrow inched up like a caterpillar about to crawl away. “Oh?”
Cade paced as the story spilled out of him. He started with seeing the light, the reading, the disaster with the ball, and ended with the story of death, resurrection, and accusation.
Harry’s stomach knot untied as he realized this wasn’t’ Cade’s fault. He poured the tea. That would make him feel better.
“I see,” Tomasz finally said, at the story’s conclusion. “Cade, it sounds like the girl’s own magic got her killed. But you brought her back. So there was really no harm done. You shouldn’t worry about it. Feeling all right now?”
“I’ve been better.” He admitted.
Harry pressed the teacup in his hands. “Drink. It’ll help.”
Cade’s hands still trembled as he sipped the tea.
Harry continued. “Tomasz is right Cade. Sometimes magic isn’t compatible. We saw that with Zara. Kit’s alive and I wouldn’t worry about accusations. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Cade put the teacup down on the table. “Thank you. I do feel better now.”
Tomasz nodded. “If you need to, you can sleep here tonight, in your old bed.”
He meant the second bed directly over Tomasz’s own. The only way to fit multiple beds in a wagon was to stack them. But Cade hadn’t slept in his childhood bed since he was sixteen. “Thank you, but I’ll feel more comfortable in my own wagon.”
Cade wished them both good night and left.
“I don’t like it, Harry,” Tomasz said, his fake smile fading as soon as Cade closed the door behind him.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t like what? Cade’s not at fault here.”
“That girl. That fortuneteller. Cade shouldn’t be near her.” Tomasz went over to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. He offered one to Harry with a gesture of the glass, but Harry shook his head no.
Harry did his best to calm Tomasz. He sometimes had rather strange ideas in his head. “Because their powers are incompatible? I think the fact he brought her back proves they aren’t. He wasn’t able to do that with Zara.”
“They’re too compatible. That’s why I’m worried.”
That made no sense. Tomasz needed to see how ridiculous he was being.
“I don’t understand. You’re worried Cade might get involved with this girl? Would that be so bad? I mean, you want him to find someone, don’t you?”
Tomasz downed the glass, something he only did when he was very worried. Tomasz rarely drank. During Cade’s whole childhood, he barely had a sip. “I want him to be safe and happy and have a good life. And I do want him to have someone.”
Harry rose. “So do I. But a gypsy’s as good as any other. Besides, it sounds like she doesn’t even like him, so why worry?”
“That’s just it. She’s not a gypsy like Zara.”
That made no sense. “What do you mean? All fortunetellers are gypsies.”
Tomasz poured another drink, but this time he swirled it around in the glass instead of drinking it. “No. They aren’t. A gypsy is a Romany who has been driven out of their home. They’re freaks like us. When I traveled Europe performing, I met many gypsies. Zara was one. Most of them are good people; victims of circumstance. Some have powers and some are just good cons. Then, there are the other fortunetellers…”
“Others?” Though Harry came from a long line of showmen, he’d never had the opportunity to travel through Europe the way Tomasz had.
Tomasz placed the glass on the table untouched and crossed over to the bench. “Witches. Every witch has power, though it varies. And though she was probably born with it, she chose to be a witch. Do you see the difference?”
Harry did see the difference and it made his skin crawl. A witch was neither born a freak nor born into the show. She had the luxury of choice. That made her an outsider, a mark. One had to be very careful with marks, even if they worked in your show.
“So you don’t want Cade talking to marks?” Marks were always a risk of course, but Tomasz seemed to believe in a bigger threat.
Tomas shook his head. “Witches understand power. They’re attracted to it. They groom it. I’m worried she can control it; control Cade.”
He needed to say something to put his friend’s mind at ease. “Cade’s too smart for that. You raised him right.”
“If their powers are too compatible, the one with the strongest will take over. Still think I raised him right enough?”
The cold finger of realization knotted Harry’s stomach. Cade was young and easily influenced. He had the advantages of intelligence and being well read, but not worldliness. Tomasz might be right about Kit after all.
The sweet smell of baking cookies filled the air as Malcom took another batch out of the oven. He plopped them on the table and gave them a liberal dusting of powdered sugar. The sugar clung to the still moist cookies. He offered one to Leo, who refused again.
“You know, Cade fell asleep on my carousel today.” Malcom said, biting the head off a person-shaped cookie.
Leo’s eyes lit up with his news. He leaned closer. “Tell me more.”
Malcom pushed the plate of treats towards him. “Have a cookie first. You hurt my feelings when you don’t eat my baking. It’s my second favorite hobby.”
“It’s your first favorite hobby I’m worried about.” Leo picked up the cookie and eyed it with suspicion. “These look awfully pale to be gingerbread men.”
“That’s because they’re shortbread men. Besides, see the buttons?” He meant the colored candy buttons. “Red for safety. Blue for not. These are red buttons, the cookies I eat for snacks.”
Leo still stared at the cookie. “Red for safety? I would think the other way around.”
Malcom leaned back in his chair. “Most people would. That’s why I do it this way.”
“Tell me about Cade, already.” Leo burst out, sick of this game. “What happened?”
Malcom shrugged. “Nothing much. I could tell he was trying to function through a fog. Though, that late in the day, most of it should have worn off. I was surprised to see him still so confused. Do you think Cade drinks tea at lunch?”
“He might. He only performs once a day, so he has the time.”
“That explains it. Not much else to tell. He went for a ride and passed out before the carousel made its full turn. I stopped it for a while, went to dinner, and let him sleep. You can’t wake someone that deep you know.”
Leo clenched his fists, crumbling the cookie into crumbs. “I would have done something to him while he slept.”
“In front of the entire show? Bad idea. Don’t let your thirst for revenge cloud your judgement. Give it time. The more tea he drinks, the more he’ll lose touch with reality. Then the fun can really begin.”
Leo stood up and started to pace. “How can I make him lose touch faster?”
“Whispering.” Malcom replied.
“What?”
“Whispering to someone while they’re drugged is a great way to alter their waking state. They won’t remember, of course. But it gives them bad dreams and ruins their sleep. Naturally, try that too many times in a row you’ll get caught, secret entrance or not.” He pushed the plate closer. “Now have a cookie.”
Leo sat down, his thoughts swirled in a cyclone of ideas.
Whispering.
Malcom was a master of manipulation. If only there was a way to whisper to Cade without getting caught.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered something he had read in the paper.
An advertisement.
There was a way after all.
Kit clutched the side of her metal tray as she scanned the dining tent for Cade. The smell of eggs and some kind of delicious meat filled the air. There were also biscuits and jam, and oatmeal for light eaters. All the other showmen and agents were already there. Meals only lasted for about an hour and everyone had to take their turn at making one. The hour was almost up; if Cade didn’t show up soon, he wouldn’t get any breakfast.
She scanned the rows of long communal tables and benches. Still no Cade. She approached the serving table. Harry stood behind it today, his back toward the open side of the tent.
“Morning, Harry.” She greeted.
“Morning, Kit,” he greeted, glancing at the sky behind him. “What do you think? Beautiful day for a carnival?”
Kit laughed. She planned to ask him about Cade, but didn’t want to let on that she knew about his powers. “Yes. But I was hoping to, uh…sit with Cade this morning. I don’t know that many people. Do you know where he is?”
Harry served up another plate of food. “Still in bed, I’m afraid.”
Regret knotted her stomach. It occurred to her before that he might not be alright after last night, but it wasn’t an idea she wanted to entertain. “Oh? Does he always sleep so late?”
“Not usually. But he wasn’t feeling well today. Tomasz and I thought it was best he stayed in bed. I’m going to bring him a tray later. You know, you should ask Baxter to talk for you today. He’s a brilliant pitchman, and since he won’t be talking for Cade, he’d probably do it. I’ll ask him if you want. It might get you some extra business.”
Kit smiled inwardly. Despite Harry’s morbid business, he was really kind of sweet. “I might stop by and visit him. Would you object if I took the plate to him?
Harry gave a knowing smile as he picked up a tray and piled it high. “I’m sure he’d like that.”
KIT STOOD BEFORE the three wagons, clutching her basket, trying to guess which wagon was Cade’s. It was easy to find the three wagons. For some reason, show owners always kept their wagons in the center of the other wagons. Cade’s wagon was easy to spot; it was the only one with papers bragging of The Immortal
Kit studied the illustration. It showed a man running Cade though with a rapier. Live Your Most Violent Fantasies, the poster challenged.
She shuddered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders and tugging the cloth covering her basket down farther so no bugs could get in.
Such a violent act didn’t seem to go with that gentle aura. She rapped on the door and waited. When there was no answer, she rapped again. Cade came to the door, a silk oriental robe cinched around his waist. Pillow marks showed on his face and his hair was sleep-tousled.
Kit immediately felt embarrassed. She hadn’t expected him to still be asleep this late in the morning.
She tightened her grip on the handles. “Uh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Cade covered his mouth with his hand and let out a deep yawn. “Yes. But I should be getting up anyway. Come on in.”
Kit followed him inside.
“Please forgive the mess.” He pulled out a large dressing screen so he could change behind it. “I didn’t feel up to cleaning last night.”
Kit glanced around at the overstuffed bookshelves and spotless floor. The only things that seemed to be out of place were the unmade bed, and a small pile of clothing on the bench. Kit’s heart softened. He must have been too exhausted last night to change properly.
He rummaged through some drawers and draped some clothes over his arm before disappearing behind the screen. “Did you need me for something this morning?” he asked, his disembodied voice filling the wagon. He slung the robe over the top of the screen.
Kit approached the table and started laying out food. The fact that there was a naked man behind the screen only a few feet away didn’t bother her in the slightest. The screen showed his modesty. Bedsides, she’d been in shows since she was sixteen. This was as about as modest as show folk got.
She went through his cupboards looking for plates.
“I wanted to see if you were all right. After what happened last night.”
Cade poked his head from around the side of the screen. “After what happened?”
He sounded confused. Did his powers made him forget, or was he just being cautious?
“After you brought me back to life,” she reminded him.
Cade emerged from behind the screen fully clothed except for his feet. Heat tinted his face. “You remember that? I was hoping you wouldn’t.” He inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. What smells so good?”
Kit did a ta-da gesture over the food. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for accusing you last night. And to say thank you for saving me. I was going to tell you at breakfast, but you didn’t come.”
Cade’s blush deepened. “I overslept. It happens sometimes after a healing. And to be honest, I wasn’t feeling all that good yesterday, even before. Would you like some tea? I never start my day without tea.” He crossed to the stove and stuffed some tea leaves from the tin into the screened metal ball and plopped it in the kettle.
“I’m not fond of tea,” Kit replied, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.
Cade sat down, inhaled, and swallowed hard. Hunger flashed in his eyes. “Will you join me for breakfast?”
“I already ate, thank you. But please, don’t let me stop you.”
Cade’s eyes filled with indecision whether to do the polite thing, or what he wanted. It only took a few seconds for his appetite to win.
He took a forkful of eggs and began to eat.
“I hope you like it,” Kit explained, “Harry prepared the tray. I figured he knew what you liked.”
“He knows,” Cade replied.
Kit picked up an orange and handed it to him. “Here, you should eat this too.”
Cade studied it as if he’d never seen one before, if that was even possible. Maybe it was possible. Her old show never had much fruit either. Cured meats, butters, cheeses, and eggs were much easier to store. Breads could be picked up in any town. But when you moved all the time, fruit rarely made an appearance. It didn’t keep or travel well.
“It’s an orange.”
“I know what it is. I’m just not used to eating them.” Cade rose as the kettle whistled. “Excuse me. Tea’s ready.”
“You should eat it,” she urged. “They’re very good for you, Cade. And someone with your powers needs to be in top physical and mental condition.”
Cade sat back down and took a long sip of tea, staring at her narrow-eyed over the rim of his cup. “What do you know about my powers?”
“Not as much as I’d like to,” she urged. “But, maybe enough to help.”
“Why would I need your help?” His voice sounded guarded, like a man who’d had a lifetime of his powers being misunderstood by the world.
Kit decided to tell him what she knew. “Cade, your powers are strong, remarkable. But you haven’t mastered them, have you?”
All the color drained from Cade’s face. “Why would you think that?”
“The ball only reacts like that when someone powerful touches it; someone who can’t contain their own magic.”
Cade stood up and turned his back, pretending to be fussing with his teapot. Speaking directly to her face seemed hard for him, as if he were ashamed. “I’ve worked really hard on controlling it.”
“But not mastering it,” she guessed. “Cade, there is a difference. If you learn to fully embrace your abilities instead of trying to hide them, the control will come easily and you won’t have to struggle so hard.”
Cade spun around. “You don’t know anything about it! You don’t know what they can do.”
“I know they can bring back the dead.”
“There’s a flip side to that.”
“Feel like telling me about it?” His aura faded to a sickly gray color. Whatever illness he suffered from had returned. Maybe that was the flip side of his powers.
Cade yawned into his fist and blinked slowly. “I’m…really tired. I need to take a nap.” He yawned again.
Kit rose. “I’ll let you be so you can rest. She headed toward the door, then turned. “Cade, if you ever need someone to talk to, who understands stuff about powers, you can come to me.”
Cade nodded, but Kit wasn’t sure he had actually heard her. Kit left, wondering how the sleepiness came on so suddenly.
Leo yanked the brim of his hat down farther to hide his face and tightened the belt on his long coat. It was best not to be recognized, and his spots would certainly give him away. The bright, unforgiving sun, normally his best friend in the show, just made the spots stand out more.
Today, he didn’t want to stand out at all.
The bell over the door tinkled as he entered the shop. He stared at the wax cylinders with their tiny perforations lining the walls; the pinnacle of new technology, even better than the photograph.
This could continuously whisper for him without the risk of getting caught.
“Can I help you, young man?” the shopkeeper crossed the empty store and gave Leo a stern look behind his pinched glasses.
Leo cleared his throat. “Yes. I understand you can record voices here.”
The man puffed up like a peacock. “Yes. I’m very proud of my store. It’s one of the few taking advantage of the new technology. Of course, music boxes have been around, but voice recordings…”
“I’d like to make a recording,” Leo interrupted. Its contents jingling, he plopped his full money pouch on the wooden counter.
A greedy look lit the shopkeeper’s eyes. “Of course.” He moved to the other side of the counter and pulled out a phonograph.
“Do you know what this is, young man?”
“Yes. A phonograph. I’ve seen them in ads.”
“In ads,” the shopkeeper scoffed. He clearly didn’t believe someone Leo’s age and dressed in such outrageous garb had money for this kind of service. “So you don’t OWN one?”
“No.”
“Well, a recording’s no good without one of these to play it back on.”
Leo opened his bag and placed the coins on the counter one by one. He made sure each coin caught the light and the shopkeeper’s attention. It was a counting trick used in shows when running games. “I can pay.”
As Leo counted the coins, his coat sleeve slid up, revealing his spots. He yanked the sleeve down in haste, but not before the shopkeeper noticed.
The man turned up his nose as if he smelled something sour. “You’re one of those freaks from the show outside town, aren’t you?”
Leo fought to control his temper. If this man refused to sell to him, he needed a plan B, fast. “So? My money’s normal. Check it yourself.”
The man picked up the cold hard cash and studied it intently. “How do I know you didn’t steal this money?”
“Think about it.” Leo did his best to hide the disdain in his voice. “It’s all coins. Like what you’d make at a freak show. People don’t steal coins. They weigh too much and are worth too little. They steal bills.”
“You make this kind of money in a freak show?” The disbelief showed in his voice.
As well it might. Before Leo started working the circuit, he had no idea you could make so much money for such easy work. Of course, slough night wasn’t easy, neither was setting up, nor the constant travel. But just standing there as the marks admired his spots? That was easy.
“Actually, I make far more in the show then I ever did out of it. Can I get my recording and phonograph now?” He was careful to mention the phonograph. After all, it cost more than the recording and stoked the shopkeeper’s greed.
The man flashed a smile, his gaze never leaving the money. “Of course, Sir.”
************************************************
THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN bore down on the backlot. Everyone was out working today, doing their best to keep the show going. Everyone but Cade and Leo. Cade was too sick to work today, Tomasz declared this morning. And Leo feigned illness so he could have the backlot all to himself.
After all, showmen who didn’t perform didn’t get paid, so the idea of faking an illness was unheard of.
Leo peered inside Cade’s wagon. He saw Cade’s deep and even breathing under the covers and, even better, his empty teacup on the table. Leo clutched the sack to his chest, gave a quick look around, and slithered under the wagon. The cooling shade aided in his work.
He unlatched the secret door and shoved the blankets to one side. He drilled several small holes under Cade’s pillow. This way, he’d hear the voice every time he tried to sleep but would have no idea where it came from. Then he installed a shelf in the cabinet. This kept the phonograph in place. After attaching the makeshift handle extension, he needed to verify he could wind it up without going all the way inside.
Lying under the wagon, he wound it up. The first words of his pre-recorded speech wafted up through the holes. As he planned, the voice was so faint Cade would question his sanity.
“When you sleep you’re mine. I will make you kill. Surrender to me, Cade. You’re a killer. A cold-blooded murderer…”
That was enough for now. The rest of the recording would play just fine.
Leo slid out from under the wagon and saw a man in an expensive gray suit approaching. His blood chilled.
Was he about to be found out?
He hurried over to the man, hoping to distract him with false friendliness. “Hello, what are you doing here?”
The man’s suit didn’t have a touch of flash, so that meant he wasn’t a part of the show. Leo let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. This man was no threat, but he didn’t belong here.
The man squared his shoulders. “I’m looking for Cade. I came a long way to see his show, but I understand he’s not performing today?” a note of hope showed in his voice.
Leo folded his arms across his chest. “Sorry. Cade’s sick.”
“Ah. That’s a shame. Please tell him Edward came by.”
Edward. He’d heard about Edward. Cade referred to him as a stalker. Tomasz said they weren’t uncommon in show circles, but this one was tenacious. “What do you want with Cade? Some kind of miracle healing? It’s no miracle trust me. ”
Edward’s eyes lit up. “I want to hunt him.”
“Hunt him, like an animal?”
Edward nodded. “He can’t die, so I can really test my skills. He’s perfect. Look, pal…”
Leo wrinkled his nose at the overfamiliarity. Some people had money but no manners. Or maybe they just acted this way around him because he worked as a freak.
Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out a single bill with a calling card wrapped up in it. “…you’re a friend of Cade’s, I can tell. I have, I believe you call it, a G-note here. It’s yours. Just promise you’ll talk to him for me. Ok, pal?”
He stuffed it in Leo’s breast pocket and gave it a little thump. “Write me at the home address if he says yes. We’ll set something up.”
Edward walked away whistling a little tune.
Leo pulled out the card and stared at it. The idea was absurd. He’d waited his whole life for this. Cade wasn’t about to get off so easily.
Still, a plan B never hurt. He slid the card in his pocket.
Cade ran through an empty blackened field, but the disembodied voice followed him.
Why do you get to live while I rot in the ground…
Cade fell into a giant hole. As he looked up, he realized it was a grave. Dirt buried him alive while worms came out to feast on his flesh.
…You’re a murderer. I’ll make you kill in your sleep. You won’t be able to help it…
Cade found himself in a graveyard staring at a pile of dead bodies. A corpse grabbed his arm. “You did this to us.” He hissed.
“I didn’t mean to.” Cade’s voice held repressed fear.
The arms reached out, clawing at Cade, ripping him apart.
Cade sat up in bed with a scream, his body drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. Moonlight flooded his room, telling him he was safe. He rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands
Such an awful dream… what did it mean, “I‘d kill in my sleep?”
Cade lay back down. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he heard the voice again.
Sleep tight Cade. When you’re asleep, you’re mine. Surrender to sleep and me.
Cade forced his eyes open and sat up.
He got out of bed and looked out the window. The moon’s position told him a long night loomed ahead of him if he didn’t sleep.
And he had no intention of sleeping. He made himself a cup of tea to stay awake and chose his favorite book to read until morning.
It was a good plan.
All he had to do was stay awake.
He sipped his tea slowly, letting the steam bathe his face.
Within minutes, the teacup slipped from his hands and he leaned back on the padded bench.
************************************************
BREAKFAST WAS AN unending clash of sounds and smells. Cade gripped his tray so hard his hands hurt. He hadn’t slept at all last night, not unless the drug induced blackouts counted. His body screamed for relief, for natural, undisturbed sleep. He trudged his way across the dining tent, barely able to lift his feet. He thought the extra cup of tea would help wake him up, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Each blink lasted forever and not long enough. His brain floated over the tent. His mouth fell open and a tiny trickle of drool collected at the corner.
It took too much effort to close it.
“Cade? Cade?” Cade struggled to focus on the person speaking to him. Harry.
Cade rammed his eyes open and tried to think through the fog.
Harry’s concern registered on his face. He touched Cade’s shoulder. “Cade? Are you alright? You seem distant this morning.”
“I’m ahh very…” he wanted to say all right, but his tongue tripped over the words, blending them together.
Harry shook his head. “Cade, I don’t think you’re well. Perhaps you should go back to bed. Cade? Are you listening?””
The voices surrounding him sounded like they were across a cavern. The tray fell to the grassy earth with a heavy thud. Cade’s knees buckled and he slumped to the ground. The mossy surface caught his aching body. The cool, wet grass felt so good against his cheek, pillowing his head.
His burning eyes snapped shut.
************************************************
Everyone gathered around the unconscious Cade. Harry protectively held out his arms. “Back away! Give him air!” he grabbed the fabric of Cade’s shirt and shook him. Cade’s limp body flopped like a rag doll.
“Cade! Cade! Wake up!”
No response.
Tomasz was at Cade’s side in moments. “What happened?”
Harry placed his hand on Cade’s wrist. “His pulse is still there. Still strong. But I have no idea. He just collapsed.”
Kit pushed her way to the front; her stomach writhed to see him lying there, out cold. “Check him for fever.”
Tomasz scowled at her. “Go away. This is none of your concern.”
Kit tried again. “He needs a real doctor, someone from town, maybe.”
Harry protested. “It’s a healing coma. It HAS to be.” It was more of a prayer than a statement.
“But who did he heal?” Tomasz asked. His eyes narrowed on Kit. “You. This is your fault.”
Kit felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “What? No!” her head reeled.
Healing her the other day couldn’t have made him this sick.
Could it?
Harry scowled. “Tomasz, you know that’s not possible. Kit’s resurrection was almost two days ago. Healing comas come on the same day. You know this.”
Tomasz glowered at Kit. “Maybe it’s not a healing coma. Maybe it’s incompatible magic. Maybe it takes this long to show up.”
Harry touched Tomasz shoulder. “We’ll figure out the cause later. Right now, let’s get him to bed. We need to cancel his shows…you there, Paul. Help me pick him up. Grab his feet.” Harry gripped Cade under his arms.
The man he addressed hesitated, the fear showed in his eyes. “Are you sure he’s safe to touch?”
Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “Paul, you’ve been with the show for years. You know Cade’s powers don’t work when he’s out cold. Are you going to help or not?”
Paul grabbed Cade’s legs, careful not to touch any bare flesh.
Pangs of remorse stabbed Kit’s stomach.
Was Tomasz right? Was Cade sick because he helped her the other day?
“Please let me see him.” Kit begged Tomasz outside the door to Cade’s wagon.
Tomasz shook his head. “He’s sleeping. It’s best he’s not disturbed.”
“Can you give him a message for me? Tell him…” her words failed. She didn’t want to say ‘sorry’ in front of Tomasz. That practically admitted guilt. She touched the soft cloth bag dangling from her waist.
Though Tomasz wasn’t very tall, he still intimidated her. She tried again.
“Please, Tomasz. I need to talk to Cade. I know medicinal things. I can help.”
Tomasz folded his arms across his chest. His face had on an even sterner look. “No. Besides the fact I don’t think the two of you should associate, I do think visitors of any kind are unwise right now. And don’t you have a show to do?”
“I’m going.” Kit pretended to walk away, but ducked behind the other wagons until she reached the side. Like most showmen, Cade kept his window open for fresh air while he slept. She took out the note and gave it a quick read.
Cade.
I’m sorry you’re not well. Let me know if I can help.
Kit.
She balled up the note and tossed it through the window. His place was always so neat, he had to notice a balled up piece of paper.
************************************************
KIT AWOKE TO THE SOUND of someone pounding at her door. She rolled over in bed and checked the time. Almost one a.m.
Who was it at this hour?
She dragged herself out of bed and rubbed the grit from her eyes. She was careful to cinch her robe before she answered the door.
Cade stood on her doorstep, a crazed look in his bloodshot eyes. A halo of darkness surrounded his eyes and multiple layers of puffy bags seemed to make them even more sunken.
“Cade?” she asked, surprised.
He entered without even asking. “You’re a witch, right? They say you’re a witch. So you have to know spells.” His gaze darted around the room as if looking for an unseen enemy. He struggled to breathe, as if every breath were a chore.
Kit reached out to take his arm, but he pulled away. “Don’t touch me!” He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.
Kit realized something was very wrong. She’d heard rumors of course; after all, he’d been out sick for three days now. Some said he was sick in the head. Looking at his expression, she could easily believe that.
But she felt deep inside, something else was ruining him.
“Cade.” She gave his elbow a quick squeeze to get his attention.
It worked. He lowered his hands and stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Kit? Where?”
“You’re in my wagon.” She reminded him. “You came about a spell?”
“A spell?” he repeated, blinking in confusion. “A spell…I can’t remember.”
She led him over to the bench so he could sit down. He lowered himself to the seat, leaned back and closed his eyes.
“You seem tired.” She commented.
“I am.” He answered without opening his eyes. “I’m so sleepy. But I can’t…” He forced his eyes open and stood up, swaying. “I need a sleep spell.” He remembered. “Something to help me sleep…”
“You look like you’re ready to collapse right now.” She touched his back and guided him to the bed. He sat on the edge without protest.
“I need a spell to stop the dreams. A spell will stop them, right?”
“You’re having bad dreams?” Kit pressed. That explained why he was scared to sleep. But that didn’t explain why he looked so awful after only a few days, especially since she knew he slept at least a little. “Tell me about the dreams.”
Cade looked up at the ceiling, almost afraid to look her in the eye. “I hear a voice saying I’m going to kill in my sleep. A voice that says I’m a murderer and I belong to him. I’m so scared. And I’m so tired…is.”
Kit’s blood chilled. Hearing voices awake meant either some kind of supernatural force at work, or your mind breaking down. Neither option was good. “Do you hear this voice when you’re awake or asleep?”
“When I’m starting to drift.”
Kit let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Starting to drift time was often ripe with strange dreams. “It’s only a dream.”
“But what if it’s not?” Cade stood up, hitting his head on the low ceiling and sinking back to sitting. “Ow.” He rubbed his head, but didn’t seem to remember hitting it. “I used to get prophetic dreams as a child. I haven’t had one in years…but what if this is one?”
Another facet of his powers to explore. “Prophetic? You can see the future?”
“More like the past, but as someone else?” her voice held a question.
An icy finger of fear ran up Kit’s spine. No one who didn’t have these sorts of powers knew how to explain seeing the future like that.
“Please, a sleep spell?” His desperation showed in his voice.
Kit thought hard. Cade clearly needed rest, but if Tomasz was right about incompatible magic, a sleep spell might do more harm than good. The dueling powers could ravage his body or shred his mind. But if he thought he was getting a spell, maybe nature could do the rest.
“All Right. Lie down. It’s very powerful.” She had to make him believe it. Time to see if she could really sell something.
Cade’s gaze darted around the room. “Here? I should get home…”
“You won’t have time once it starts working. Do you want the spell or not?” She bluffed.
Cade shook his head, but more as if he was trying to clear it than as a way of saying no. “Yes, but I can’t take your bed. I’ll move to the bench.” He started to rise, but Kit grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down.
His exhaustion-weakened body didn’t even try to resist.
“Stay put. You need it more tonight.”
“But I can’t…”
“Cade, if I came to you, sick and in need of rest, wouldn’t you offer me your bed?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No. Because you asked for my help.”
“And you asked for mine. Now lie down.”
Cade obeyed, fatigue overwhelming his ability to fight.
Kit said some nonsense words in a foreign language. It wasn’t a spell, just random phrases that sounded good together. The gestures were random too, but she figured Cade didn’t know enough about other languages to know the difference.
By the time she reached the end, Cade was fast asleep, his breathing was slow and even. His eyes and face twitched, revealing the presence of some disturbing dream.
Kit sat on the floor cross-legged by the side of the bed and mentally prepared for what she was about to do. She needed to know why he was tormented so. Even in sleep, she’d be able to see the past he wanted to hide. She reached out and grabbed his hand so she could get a better look.
A child and a young man stood under the stormy night sky. She could see them as clearly as if she were there, watching the events unfold, but knowing she could do nothing about them.
The frigid wind whipped around them while slushy rain scoured their skin. The man grabbed the boy’s arm.
“You ungrateful little brat. You’re coming home with me!”
The boy squirmed but failed to yank his arm from the man’s grasp. “Let me go!” Frightened tears streamed down his face.
“You heard him.” A much younger Tomasz said. Behind him stood all types of freaks. Harry was the only one she recognized.
“This doesn’t concern you!” The man snapped. “I am this boy’s legal guardian. He belongs to me.”
The boy’s eyes flashed with hatred. “No I don’t! No more!” Every word exploded off his tongue. He held up his hand, palm out, and slapped it on the man’s chest as high as it would go and held it there.
The man let out a scream of agonized pain.
Tomasz held his arms out in an attempt to keep the crowd back. His small arms wouldn’t have worked, but the group was rooted to the spot by a mixture of fear and awe.
The man fell to his knees, his arms falling by his side, limp. His head and eyelids drooped. Young Cade repositioned his hands so they were both over the man’s heart. It took only seconds before the man hit the ground with a thud. His lifeless eyes stared vacantly at the big sky above him.
“Dear god.” Someone whispered, “The boy can kill with a touch.”
Purple mists swirled around, obscuring the scene from Kit. A few faint words got though.
“But he can also cure with a touch. He healed my broken leg.” She couldn’t see who was speaking.
“What are you going to do with me?” Little Cade whispered.
The mists closed in. When they cleared, a thirteen-year-old Cade stood outside surrounded by mists. The mists obscured what was going on, but Cade was looking at something outside the line of vision. His eyes went from solid white to his normal color surrounded by dark halos.
“Good job, Cade,” someone said, out of sight. A hand reached out and touched Cade’s shoulder. It belonged to a silhouetted figure, still not very clear.
“No! Don’t touch me! I’m still on!” Cade’s voice raised high with fear. His eyes rolled all the way back in his head, and his body stiffened.
The silhouetted man let out an agonized cry.
A scream ripped from Cade’s throat as well. A scream of despair. The man couldn’t seem to remove his hand, though the muscles of his arm strained to do so. The aura of the man grew gray and sickly while Cade’s own aura flared red.
Acting on what had to be instinct, Cade grabbed the man’s hand and squeezed. Cade’s aura flared up several feet while the man swayed in his tracks, his precious life energy leaving him for the last time.
Harry and Tomasz rushed over to Cade. The hurried words poured from their mouths; it was impossible to tell who spoke.
“Cade! Cade! Don’t do it, stop! Let Go! Don’t do it!”
The man fell to the ground, still silhouetted, but undeniably dead. Cade fell to all fours and retched. The mists obliterated the scene.
When the mists cleared, thirteen-year-old Cade was alone in Tomasz’s wagon. Harry and Tomasz spoke in hushed whispers from somewhere beyond the mists.
Harry spoke first. “I can’t believe Cade killed Samson. They were such good friends.”
Tomasz’s voice betrayed exhaustion and fear. “I tried so hard to make sure Cade got enough of everything. Food. Rest. Safety. Love. All so he wouldn’t feel the need to eat human life energy. Five years of work and struggle, undone in instant. Harry, what are we going to do?”
“What we’ve been doing. Cade’s a good boy. He slipped. He can recover.”
Tomasz’s voice hushed with shame. “I’m scared of him, of what he can do. What if the others are right? What if I’m raising a monster?”
Hot tears pricked at Cade’s eyes. His thoughts swirled.
My own father thinks I’m a monster? Can that be true? What if I AM nothing but a killer? Destined to spend my life hurting the people I care about? I can’t do it. I can’t live that way. I WON’T live that way.
Cade rummaged through the drawers, clearly looking for something. Repressed tears blurred his vision, but he kept searching. Then he found them, a pair of heavy, metal scissors. He leaned over the table and scribbled a quick note.
It’s better this way. Love to you both.
Cade
He wiped away a tear with the back of his hand before plunging the scissors into his heart.
A scream escaped Kit’s lips before she could stop it. She fell backwards and hit her head on the corner of the padded step she used for climbing. White lights exploded in front of her eyes from the pain. She reached around to rub her head and drew back a hand full of blood.
Clumsy Kit strikes again.
Her taunting name from a previous show. Her cheeks flushed. At least no one saw.
Cade sat up in bed, wild eyed, gasping in fear. “What’s happened?” he asked, not really awake.
Kit ignored the deep ache in her head and touched his knee through the sheets, hoping the thick layer of blankets would protect her from his powers. “Nothing. Nothing. I had a bad dream, and I screamed out. You need to go back to sleep.”
She hoped he couldn’t see how pale and frightened she looked, how hard she worked to control her breathing. Her head pounded. Did she actually hurt myself?
“You’re hurt.” Cade’s arm lifted, as if pulled by an invisible string. His hand fell on top of hers. His slow, unfocused movements almost made it seem like he was sleepwalking.
But sleepwalkers couldn’t have a conversation, could they?
“It’s nothing.” She assured him. “A little bump.” She willed him to move his hand, but he didn’t.
Instead, his grip tightened around her wrist. Fear squeezed her throat. The gash in her head throbbed with each heartbeat. Had she awakened some repressed memories and unleashed a darker part of him with her careless touch?
Why didn’t she listen when Tomasz talked about incompatible magic?
The answer was, since she’d cast the spell on herself, not on Cade, she thought they’d both be safe. But then, she did need to touch him to make it work. Maybe somehow the magic mixed that way.
“Cade, let me go.” She tried to make her voice sound firm, not frightened, but even she could hear the high-pitched nervousness in it.
Cade reached up, still dazed, and touched her cheek.
Kit stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move or scream. Something held her there besides fear, some kind of power that made escape impossible. Pins pricked the inside of her skin, her heart pounded in the back of her neck.
She chided herself for letting him in at all. She really knew nothing about him. She was grateful to him for saving her life, and she wanted to help him. After all, there weren’t that many people with true powers like hers, and that fascinated her. She already understood Cade’s powers far eclipsed her own, and if he truly wasn’t their master, he was very dangerous.
She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for Cade to suck her dry. The bump on her head pulsated as if ready to burst. Then, the pain and the sensation went away.
Was she dead?
Kit opened her eyes in time to see Cade fall back on the bed, his eyes closed. She did a quick check. She felt fine. Better than fine. The pain from the bump was gone. She enjoyed every breath, every beat of her heart.
She still lived.
She almost laughed for joy, but she didn’t want to risk waking Cade again. She longed to check his pulse, to see if he was all right too, but she wasn’t about to touch him again. She watched his breathing for a few moments.
Slow.
Even.
Rhythmic.
He’d returned to sleep without ever being fully awake. Kit grabbed her fringed beaded shawl and headed out into the night air. She’d talk to him in the morning about what happened. Right now, she needed to ignore the fear rising in her chest.
Kit sat in her empty tent flipping over cards. She’d had very few gillies today, even though outside, the show bustled with crowds.
Maybe I should give up fortune telling and work in the Girl Show.
Still, the idea of men staring at her all day wasn’t one she liked. Her friends in the Girl Show insisted it was nothing. Gillies weren’t people after all. It’s not like someone from the show, someone who mattered, ever looked. A showman looking in on a Girl Show was as taboo as looking at your older sibling undressing.
The bells on the flap tinkled. Kit’s entire body responded as adrenaline flowed through her.
Someone’s here. Showtime.
She gathered up the layers of her skirt and shook her hoop earrings. Tomasz suggested she dressed more like a Gypsy and less like a witch. He told her that’s what people expected to see in a carnival fortuneteller, so it might help with her act. Kit didn’t like the new costume, but he was the boss. He even paid for it.
She burst through the fabric flap. “I am Madame Kitralle,” she made her voice deep and otherworldly. “I see all and know all.” She was so focused on her act she didn’t pay attention to the gilly in the shadows.
The shadowy figure clapped and stepped into the light. “I love the new costume.”
Cade’s voice.
Kit returned to her normal voice. “Oh, it’s you. I was hoping for a gilly.”
Cade surveyed her tent. “Slow business?”
“Always.” Kit sank into the divan. “But what am I telling you for? You’ve probably seen the records.” He was acting so normal, like last night had never happened. A knot of realization twisted her stomach.
He didn’t know she knew. Should she tell him?
Seeing the true flip side of his powers and the (clearly failed) suicide attempt made her wonder.
She really didn’t know him at all.
Cade gave a quick nod. “You know, I have a theatrical flair. I could probably help you add some flash to your show. But I’d need to know how it works.”
Kit nodded. It couldn’t hurt after all, and it might actually help her act. She led him to the main part of the tent. “It’s your standard fortune telling show. A crystal ball, a deck of cards, the usual.”
Cad stabbed the ball on the table with one finger as if he were afraid of it. “That’s glass.”
“You broke my real crystal ball.” She reminded him.
Cade blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for that.”
“Don’t bother. They’re impossible to get.”
Cade picked up the ball, trying to guess its weight. “It’s hollow.”
“Most glass crystal balls are.”
Cade turned it over. “You know, there’s this new technology out now, able to project moving pictures on a screen. I bet if we silvered half this ball we could use it as a screen for images. It would really impress people.”
Kit said nothing. It was a good idea. A great idea, in fact, but she just couldn’t concentrate on work at the moment.
Should she say something?
“So how does it work?” Cade rubbed his hand over the smooth surface.
His question snapped her out of her own thoughts. “What?”
“Palm reading. Fortune telling. How does it work?”
Kit smiled. “How do most people do it, or how do I do it?”
Cade laughed. “Well, tell me how you do it.”
“When I touch your hand, I can see into your past. It lets me make guesses about the future.”
Cade’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard before he replaced the ball on the table. “I see.” His body stiffened and folded his arms across his chest in such a way his hands were hidden.
Kit decided to be blunt. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. “What do you remember about last night?”
Cade shook his head. “Nothing. It’s a complete blank. I can barely remember anything these past few days. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I woke up about an hour ago in a wagon I didn’t recognize. Your wagon. I wouldn’t have even known that if you hadn’t left me the fruit and the note.” Horror clouded his face. “Oh my god. Kit, did I do something to you? I’m so, so, sorry. You have to believe me, that’s not like me at all.”
“Something like what?” she pressed. “And why would you think you did if you can’t remember?”
Cade’s blushed deepened. “I used to sleepwalk as a child. I used to drain things and not remember. Never a person, just houseplants. That’s why Tomasz stopped keeping them. But I didn’t try to do that to you, did I?”
He seemed so upset, so remorseful. Still, his confession filled her with fear. He was less in control than she thought. “No,” she assured him, “all you did was sleep.”
Cade’s normal color returned. “Thank goodness. I wish I could remember how I ended up in your wagon.”
“You came to me for a sleep spell.”
“Oh. Well, thank you for that. I really am feeling much better. It must be a good spell.”
“Cade.” she started. “I touched your hands last night…”
Cade’s eyes widened in rage. “What? While I slept? And you saw…” His hand went to his mouth, a reflex over what he guessed she’d seen. His cheeks turned crimson. The words came out in an angry sputter. “You…you had no right! None at all! Which part did you see? Tell me!”
He looked like he wanted to grab her, but he stayed put. He was afraid to touch her.
The tinkling flap bells interrupted Cade’s anger. They both turned towards the cloth covered opening to the waiting area, but neither one moved.
Amir, the snake charmer burst in, the turban wrapped around his head catching the perspiration on his brow. Fresh sweat stains under his armpits and around his neck soaked the bright orange shirt. Dirt clung to the bottom of this puffy whitish pants. His chest heaved with exertion. “Cade! Thank the gods I found you! The whole show’s looking for you.”
The color drained from Cade’s face. “What happened? Is someone hurt?”
Amir’s eyes narrowed. “Someone’s dead.”
The ancient live oak filtered out the unforgiving sunlight, forming a funeral canopy for the lifeless two-year-old girl below. Her ringlets made the perfect pillow for her lifeless head. The crowd stood around, but dared not come too close.
“My baby, my baby.” A young woman in an elaborately embroidered dress sobbed into her lace handkerchief. Three older boys stood close, their shock and sorrow for their sister clouding their faces. Kit pushed closer to the front. She had to see how a resurrection worked when she wasn’t the one on the other end of it.
“Excuse me. Pardon. Let me pass!” Cade pushed his way to the front and stood in the opening along with the family.
The mother looked up. “Who are you?”
“Cade Setterwin. I serve as the show doctor.”
She wrinkled in her nose in disgust and disbelief. “You’re too young to be a doctor.”
Cade knelt beside the girl and checked her pulse. “Maybe. But right now, I’m all you’ve got. Can someone tell me what happened?”
The oldest boy, of about eleven, cleared his throat. “We were just playing, and she collapsed.”
Cade gave a quick nod though his explanation really explained nothing. “I see.” His head jerked up as if responding to an unheard voice. His eyes widened as he looked at something only he could see. “Hey there,” he said, addressing the orb, unseen by everyone but him. He reached up and stroked it like a cherished pet. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be all right. Conditions are fine and I’m here now. Just stay put.”
The woman shook her head. “Someone get him away from my daughter! He’s mad!” She took a step forward, but Harry grabbed her arms from behind. “Easy Ma’am. Cade won’t hurt her. She’s dead. He can help, trust me. I’ve seen him do it.”
The crowd buzzed with excitement.
Cade lowered his eyes partway. “Quiet. I need to focus.”
The other showmen hushed the crowd and Harry let go of the mother’s arms. Kit squeezed between two large men smelling of sweat and perfume to get a better look.
Cade placed his hands on the girl’s chest, the same as he had with Kit. His eyes rolled all the way back in his head, leaving only the white’s showing. Kit’s hands flew to her mouth. A trance that deep normally made the body go limp, but Cade’s still functioned. He ran his hands over the chest, all the while talking to the invisible orb.
The mother begged for someone to stop him, clearly believing the way Cade touched her child’s chest was inappropriate. Time crawled, making each minute feel like a lifetime. Harry kept his hold on the woman’s arms, preventing her from interfering with Cade’s work.
After what seemed like hours, but was really just moments, Cade leaned back on his knees and sighed. “There. All done. You can go home now and have a good life.” His eyes remained rolled back in his head, revealing he wasn’t out of his trance yet.
Silence soaked the air as the crowd waited to see what came next.
All stares were glued to Cade and the child.
Nothing happened.
The mother turned to all sides of the crowd. “What is this? Some kind of sick, Carny joke? You’re monsters, all of you. My husband will see to it that you all pay. We’ll sue. We’ll prosecute, we’ll…”
“Mommy?” Her daughter’s small voice interrupted her rant. The child sat up and rubbed her eyes.
The woman’s entire body lit up with joy and amazed wonderment. “Baby! My baby!” She raced to her daughter, picked her up, and spun her around. “You’re all right.” She hugged her and held her close, running her hand through her little girl’s hair. “You’re all right. He saved you somehow.”
The child squirmed, as little children are prone to do, and pulled back. “Magic.” She laughed.
The mother hugged her tight again. “Magic. I don’t care what it was. Thank you, oh, thank you.”
Cade gave a single nod and staggered to his feet, his deep trance making him unsteady. No one should ever try walking when they were that far under.
The woman put the little girl down and reached out to embrace Cade in a ‘thank you’ hug. Cade must have seen the arms coming.
“No! Don’t touch!” he warned as loud as he could. His voice had a strange almost faraway quality to it. He stumbled backwards, and fell against the sturdy trunk of the tree, his bare hands rubbing the bark. His eyes had still not returned to normal.
The tree shivered as if bothered by an otherworldly wind. Cade turned and pressed his body and face against the tree. He wrapped his arms around it, as if giving it a hug, but the expression on his face revealed something else, something far worse.
The topmost leaves turned yellow, then brown, and fell to the ground dead. With every heartbeat, more dead leaves fell. Ninety heartbeats later, not a single leaf remained. Cade hugged the tree harder, his expression more intense. His face took on the look of someone after they’d enjoyed too much opium. Cade’s eyes closed, and his body completely leaned on the tree for support, a sign he’d just reached the highest level trance imaginable.
“Cade, let go!” someone hissed from the crowd. It was Tomasz’s voice, but all the larger bodies around obliterated his small frame.
A crackling sound filled the air as hundreds of dried, dead branches snapped from the tree. Even a squirrel living in the tree fell to the ground dead. Its glassy eyes stared at the crowd.
In under five minutes, a lifeless tree stood where there was once a beautiful live oak. The horrified whispers of the crowd spoke of witchcraft, of demons, of monsters.
Even the young mother, so grateful just a few moments ago, stood in front of her children, arms outstretched, protecting them from evil.
Cade dropped to all fours, his eyes still closed. When he lifted his weighted lids, his eyes had returned to normal. Whatever happened was over. Cade got to his feet, swaying as if he were drunk. His gaze focused on the dead tree in front of him and the pile of dry brittle leaves around his ankles.
“Did I do this?” his voice came out as a strangled whisper.
He picked up a leaf and studied it, as if looking for answers, before it crumbled into dust.
Leo stared out the tiny window of Malcom’s wagon into the darkness. “Did you see what Cade did to that tree today? And better yet, did you see how everyone reacted to him?”
“We shouldn’t have started this.” Malcom’s voice was barely audible. He huddled on his bed, sitting up, but hugging his knees to his chest.
Leo frowned. He couldn’t afford to have Malcom feeling whatever way this was. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t tell me he was a demon.”
Leo scrunched his nose. He hadn’t counted on Malcom being so superstitious. Leo chided himself for not realizing it sooner. Carnies were a superstitious lot, and Malcom was born and bred here. Implying Cade was a demon made him seem more formidable. Cade wasn’t formidable, he was less than nothing. He had to make Malcom see that. He didn’t know enough about poisons and manipulations to pull this off on his own. “He’s not. He’s a man with power.”
“He’s a monster. What he did to that tree…”
“It was a tree. Not a person. Besides, I told you what he did to my brother.”
Malcom slowly uncurled. “If he can do that to a tree, he can do that to a person. To us.”
“He won’t find out if we’re careful, if we don’t fall apart. This actually works to our advantage. Did you see the fear in everyone’s eyes? I bet it would be easy to turn it into hate. You can start a rumor, right, to have the show turn on him?”
“I can. I know about spreading poisonous rumors.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Leo’s mouth. “Perfect. How do you think he’d react to that?”
“He’d collapse,” Malcom answered going over to the kitchen and fishing around in the cookie jar. “He was raised here, so he doesn’t know other places to go. It’s his home and coffin.”
“Home and coffin?” Leo repeated. He’d never heard that phrase before, but he rather liked the sound of it.
“It means you were born to the show, and you expect to die in the show. It’s a certain mentality that prevents people from leaving. People like me, like Harry. Those who are multigenerational.”
“Cade wasn’t born in the show.” Leo reminded him.
“Doesn’t matter. He was raised here. Tomasz joined up because he’s a freak, but he’s been a showman longer than he hasn’t, and he raised Cade. Cade fully expects to die here someday, so he’d never leave the show, no matter what we, or it, did to him.” He found the cookie he was looking for, checked its buttons, and bit off its head.
“Really?” this new bit of information tantalized Leo. After all, there was always the chance that Cade would end this by leaving. But now, Malcom stood here, telling him there was no way that could happen. His belief in his own limits would keep him here and docile. Everything was going great except…
No matter how hard Leo tried, he couldn’t ignore the nagging dread in his gut. He had to ask the question, even though he didn’t want to know the answer. “Funny how that little girl collapsed today.”
“Isn’t it though?” Malcom pulled out just a head from the cookie jar and flicked it on the table. “To the rubbish heap with that one.”
Leo picked up the cookie and stared at the disembodied man’s grinning face. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s been separated from its buttons. No way to know if he’s from a red batch or a blue one.”
“That wouldn’t happen if you’d keep them in separate jars.” It amazed him how someone as clever as Malcom didn’t seem to realize that.
“If I kept them in separate jars, I wouldn’t be able to give any away without someone getting suspicious. When they see you eating from the same jar, they assume they’re all the same. No one notices the buttons. Besides, sometimes I like to give cookies away that are just cookies.”
Malcom’s statement brought up the question in Leo’s mind again. “Did you give cookies away today?”
“I love giving children cookies, like that little girl and her brothers.”
“And you accidentally gave her the wrong one?” Leo finished.
“It was no accident.”
The horrible words hung in the air. Leo repressed a shudder. Ruining Cade’s life was one thing, but picking on innocent children was something else. “Why?”
Malcom took down a mixing bowl and some ingredients, obviously feeling better. “I needed it. I hadn’t given away a special cookie since James. I try to control it, but sometimes that need just comes over me, that ache for the thrill.”
Leo tried not to squirm. This changed things. If Malcom couldn’t control himself, then getting caught was only a matter of time. “You need to have some self-control.”
“I try!” Malcom spat back. “That’s why I bake. It quiets the need. And don’t lecture me about resisting the thrill. We all have our thrills. Yours is torturing Cade. Apparently, Cade’s is whatever he did to that tree. Harry’s is getting a new punk for his collection. I can name the thrill for everyone in this show.”
“Please don’t,” Leo insisted, even though knowing everyone’s thrill would be useful information to have. Malcom was so perceptive; he really did seem to know everything in a short amount of time. So, he was still useful, even though control was an issue.
Malcom’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Would you like some cookies? These will be ready in about an hour. I don’t think I’ll make any special ones tonight. I’ve had my fill for a while.”
Cade woke up with a start, his chest heaving. He struggled to remember where he was. He didn’t remember how he got here, but he was safe in his own bed.
“Easy Cade.” Tomasz pressed a cup of tea in his hands. “Drink, you’ll feel better.”
Cade took a tiny sip, letting the warm tea sooth his throat before he spoke. “How long was I out?”
“About two days.” Tomasz cleared his throat, the way he always did when he had to deliver bad news. “Cade. Listen to me. We have about a week and half on this engagement before we pull up stakes. Our next spot isn’t ready yet.”
“I know that.” Cade replied. “Why would we need to leave early?”
Tomasz blushed. “Everyone witnessed the tree, showmen and rubes alike. There are rumors flying that you’re not human. That you’re some kind of demon that feeds on humans.”
Cade shrugged. “So? We know that’s not true.”
“The new folk don’t know it, Cade. The rubes don’t know it. I’ve canceled your performances for the rest of our time here.”
Cade leapt to his feet. Indignation rose in his chest. “You can’t do that! I bring in too much money for the show!”
“It’s done.” Tomasz’s voice was flat and unemotional. “I’m also asking you to stay in your wagon until we leave. Harry or I will bring your meals.”
This can’t be happening.
If he had to spend mealtimes inside, that only meant one thing. “You’re putting me under house arrest? But I didn’t do anything wrong!” He saved that little girl. If anything, he should get a simple thank you. It was only a tree after all, not a person.
Tomasz waved towards the opened windows. Fresh air wafted through the gauzy curtains. “Do you see boards on the windows? A lock on the door? Anything that indicates house arrest? I’m asking you to do this for the good of the show. Asking you as an adult. Please, Cade. Don’t fight me on this. The show doesn’t gain if you win.” Sadness and desperation showed in his voice.
Cade bit his lower lip as he thought it over. This show meant everything to him. Only a child put their needs over the needs of their family, and he wasn’t a child any longer.
“I’ll stay inside.” He agreed.
Emma, the young mother, clutched her large bag tighter and stared at the rows of coffin-like wagons sprawled out in front of her. She didn’t want to be here, but reminded herself she had to be. She needed to the find the man who had saved her daughter.
She fought off the hot tears stinging her eyes. She had to appear strong, even when dealing with carnies. A man in a jeweled turban and an orange shirt, carrying a large basket with a lid, hurried by.
“Excuse me sir.” She stepped in front of him to get his attention.
The man looked at her, hugging his oversized basket to his chest. “Madam, you shouldn’t be here. And you shouldn’t stop me. Don’t you know I’ve got hot snakes in here?”
“Hot?” She rolled the unfamiliar word around in her mouth.
The man rolled his eyes. “Venomous. You don’t belong on the backlots. It’s like invading someone’s home. You need to go back to the fairgrounds.”
Emma took a deep breath. She wasn’t about to let this rude man deter her. Carnies didn’t know manners, clearly. “I’m looking for…someone named Cade. I believe his stage name’s The Immortal?”
The basket quivered, and the man lowered his arm on the lid, an attempt to keep the snakes inside. “Is he expecting you? Cade doesn’t really talk to people outside the show.”
“I’d like to thank him for my child.” She explained.
The man kicked the basket up with his knee, hoisting it further up on his chest. The air filled with the snakes hissing. “I’m sure he’d like that. He’s out sick today though, so I don’t know if he’d see you. It’s the wagon with the Immortal posters. Knock first. I have to go now. I have to take care of these snakes.”
The man hurried away with his basket and melted behind the wagons.
Posters plastered the outside of the wagons like wallpaper.
An odd practice, but it must be how carnies identify each other’s wagons.
Cade’s Immortal poster, faded from the sun, drew her attention.
It looked like an interesting show. Too bad was for men only.
Women never got to see any kind of violent shows. Ironic, considering how much violence they endured at home. She’d worn long sleeves today to cover the marks.
She mustered her courage, climbed the few steps to his house, and rapped on the door.
“Coming,” said a voice from the inside.
The door flew open, revealing Cade with tousled hair, a sky blue shirt, and crimson pants. His feet were bare, and he was holding a book. He eyed her with suspicion. “Hello, I think you’re lost. Did you need an escort back to the grounds?”
She shook her head. “You’re Mr. Cade Setterwin?”
“It’s just Cade, but yes.”
“I’m Mrs. Alastair Stansbury. I wanted to thank you for the other day. May I come in? It’s very hot out here.”
It wasn’t very hot. She just said it because standing outside a carny’s wagon surrounded by other wagons made her uncomfortable. Normally, she would never invite herself into someone’s home, but who knew what carny manners were like? Maybe he expected her to just stand there.
Cade nodded and moved aside to let her in.
She squeezed the handles of the bag until her knuckles turned white in an attempt to hide her uneasiness. The entire wagon was smaller than her bedroom, yet it still contained so much furniture, a kitchen, a bed and stuff. So much STUFF everywhere. A claustrophobic feeling clawed at her brain. It was unbelievable people actually lived like this. Still, she had to be polite, and bringing up someone’s economic status, or lack thereof, was NOT polite.
“I’m sorry about my manners and the mess,” Cade acknowledged, as he headed to the kitchen area. He tossed his book on the table. “I haven’t been feeling myself lately. What did you say your name was?”
She touched her hat, her link to the more civilized world. “Mrs. Alastair Stansbury.”
He shook his head and opened a cabinet. “No, YOUR name. Mine’s Cade. Yours is…”
“Emma.” She hated giving it to him. First name basis with a stranger, particularly a carny, just felt wrong. “Mr. Setterwin…”
“Cade.” He corrected as he prepared the old copper pot for tea.
She sat at the table and placed the bag on the floor next to her. “Mr. Cade. I wanted to thank you for saving my child.”
“You’re welcome.” He placed a plate of flat golden yellow disks on the table. “Here, have one.”
“What are those?” She leaned forward and inhaled deeply.
“Honey cakes. I use them instead of teacakes. Honey keeps better. Besides, they’re delicious.” He turned to take care of his tea.
Emma took a cake and politely nibbled it. She didn’t want to offend him when he was trying so hard to be hospitable. Apparently, carnies had some manners after all.
Cade poured the tea in two cups, but the patterns didn’t match. His had an ivy pattern while hers was some kind of purple flower. She stared at the pale tea in the dubiously clean cup. She’d eat the cake, but there was no way she was drinking that tea.
Cade took a small sip, but when he realized she didn’t have any yet, he put the cup down. “I must say, I’m a bit surprised. Rubes…I mean, people not connected with the show never visit me.”
Emma decided to ignore his slip, even though it was clear ‘rube’ meant something rude. He was trying. “Mr. Cade, I brought you some gifts to show my appreciation.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of books. When she plopped them down on the rickety table, it shook. “I asked around and discovered you like to read. These are some of the newest titles. I hope you don’t have them already.”
Cade lifted each book, studying them. “No, I don’t. Thank you. My books are a little old.”
She clicked her tongue sympathetically. “It must be hard to get new books. I can’t imagine you’re welcome in most towns.” She wondered if that was rude thing to say. It couldn’t be, because it was true. It’s not as if she told him something he didn’t know.
“I can pass. But I don’t like going into towns. I belong to a book club, but it’s a long time between shipments. Thank you, I plan to enjoy these books.”
“A book club?” she’d heard of the concept of course. You paid in advance for a set number, and they sent you random books. Since the books were always at a discount it was how some poorer people bought books. Still, it begged a question. “Where do they send them? This wagon isn’t exactly an address.”
“I have my mail forwarded to The Billboard. A lot of showmen do. I pick it up once a year when we’re in town. Not that I get that much mail.”
“The Billboard?”
“It’s the magazine for carnivals,” he explained, forgetting about manners and taking a long sip of tea.
“Oh.” Emma said as if she already knew that. She rummaged around in her embroidered purse. “I have something else for you.” She placed a single five-hundred-dollar bill on the table and slid it toward him. “Your payment.”
Cade just stared at the money as if it were a foreign concept. “I didn’t do it for payment. Besides, you’ve already given me books.”
“I can afford it,” she replied. “Please take it. I can’t imagine you make much money working here.” She regretted the words almost the instant she said them, but this polite routine was going nowhere. She had a more important question for him, and the large bill was the best way to bring it up.
Cade’s eyes clouded over with suspicion. He rose. “What do you really want from me? You didn’t come today to give me books and money. Nobody flashes around that kind of cash unless they’re trying to get you to do something.”
Emma rose. “I have… a nephew.” She almost choked on the words. “He’s dying of polio. Can you help him? There’s another five hundred in it for you.”
Cade slid the bill back towards her. “No. I don’t leave the show.”
“But you have to,” she protested.
“I said no. Now, good day. Thank you for the books.” He folded his arms across his chest indicating an end to this conversation.
Emma laid a calling card on the table. “If you change your mind, you can reach me by telegram. And keep the money. Thank you. I’ll let myself out.”
Outside, the popcorn flavored wind kissed her skin. She leaned her back against his closed door and let out a sigh of relief.
It was better if he didn’t come.
Kit pulled the cloth down tighter over her basket and knocked on Cade’s door.
He answered in his robe. Upon realizing it was her, he blushed and cinched his belt tighter. “Uh, Kit. I wasn’t expecting you. Come in.”
She did and saw everything was tidied up and put away. Even the stove was cold. “Going to bed so early? The sun’s not even down.”
Cade nodded. “I’m really tired, I haven’t been sleeping well.” The dark puffy bags clinging under his eyes spoke of his urgent need of sleep.
“I can come back in the morning,” she offered.
Cade shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. Can you give me another sleep spell? The dreams are back and it makes it really difficult and I…” his voice trailed off, as if he were ashamed of what he was about to say next.
“You’re still having blackouts?” Kit guessed.
Cade nodded. “They come and go. I don’t understand it.”
Kit took a deep breath. She had to tell him about that night, about the sleep spell, what she saw, and how he cured her without even being fully awake. Everything.
“Cade, I didn’t cast a sleep spell before.”
Confusion flickered in his eyes. “But I slept so well…”
“You were just worn out. I just gave you a bed and let you sleep. I don’t know why you slept better at my place. Maybe just because you knew someone cared. Cade, that night, when I touched your hands…”
When his chest rose in protest, Kit spoke quicker. Arguing about the morality of it was pointless, especially since she wanted him to agree to it this time. “It was wrong, a violation, and you’re right, I should have asked you. I took advantage of you and abused my powers.”
His chest deflated, and she continued. “But Cade, I saw some things that disturbed me.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I’d like to touch your hands again. This time, with your permission.”
Cade balled his hands into fists and lowered his head. “No.”
“Cade.” Kit made her voice comforting yet firm. “Powers like ours are a responsibility. We have a duty to use them correctly. To help people.”
“They’re also a curse,” he spat out.
Kit took a deep breath. She had to make him understand. “They can be, if they’re not under control. Let me help you control yours. Let me touch your hands again.”
Without a word, Cade opened his palms and held his hands straight out. Kit ran her fingers over them, hoping for a new image. Instead, the suicide with the scissors invaded her mind. She let go of his hands.
“Cade, my powers show me what I need to see, but they don’t always tell me why. That’s twice now I’ve seen the same suicide attempt, so it must be important. Are you feeling, well…like that?”
She couldn’t bring herself to say the word suicidal.
Cade leaned back on his elbows and sighed. “I’m feeling very tired, confused, desperate. But no, I wouldn’t try to take my own life again, even if wanted to. It didn’t work the last three times; it wouldn’t work now.”
“Three times?” Her blood chilled over the thought of more than one attempt. That certainly explained why Tomasz and Harry were so protective of him.
Cade nodded as he remembered. “The first was with the scissors. That’s when I realized I couldn’t die. At least, not that way. I mean scissors right in the heart; the whole wagon got sprayed with blood. But I was fine. My heart kept beating. The wound healed in minutes. On the plus side though, the scissors were how I thought up the immortal act. Rapiers make much smaller holes. I tried a couple of times after that. Oleanders just made me sick and sleepy. Hanging. That was the worst. I kept dangling there, kicking. My neck didn’t break and I could breathe just fine. But it hurt like hell. Tomasz finally found me and cut me down.” He gave a half laugh as if remembering something bittersweet.
Kit thought about it. Visions weren’t any more straightforward than cards. Maybe the scissors represented crisis in his life, not suicide. It made sense since they were the first attempt. “Cade, I’d like to help you control your powers.”
“How?” he challenged. “Yours aren’t like mine. Yes, they both work by touch, but that’s where the similarity ends. I’m much more powerful than you, and much more dangerous.”
Kit drew in a sharp breath. She knew that was true, but she hoped Cade didn’t know it. “Cade. I’ve been watching you. I think your powers are based on energy transference. The energy flows where it’s needed, through you. Sometimes, that’s into another person’s body. And when that happens, they take your energy. Other times, you need the energy, so you take it from other living beings.”
Cade covered his mouth and let out a deep yawn. “I figured that out already.”
Kit sat next to him. “But, I think if you take just a little beforehand, the urge later won’t be so intense, and you can resist it. Controlling how and when you take energy is how you can master your powers.”
Cade was no longer listening. His drooping eyes and nodding head were those of a man already claimed by sleep.
Kit stood up. “I’ll let you get to bed. You seem tired.”
Cade laid down, his cheek pressed against the pillow. Still, he struggled to keep his lids up. His mouth moved in the last expression of conscious thoughts. “I’d like to learn,” he whispered.
Kit smiled. “Great. Get a good night’s rest and I’ll be back for you in the morning. Sleep tight.”
By the time Kit reached the door, Cade’s heavy breathing revealed he’d already given into sleep. Outside, Kit shielded her eyes from the setting sun. What was really going on?
It wasn’t normal for someone to be fine one minute and passing out the next.
Kit touched the wagon, hoping for an answer.
As she feared, it returned nothing.
Kit knocked at Cade’s door right after breakfast.
“What are you doing here this morning, Kit?” Harry’s voice asked.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, a covered tray in his hands.
Kit forced a smile and reminded herself that Harry was practically a father to Cade. He worried because of the suicide attempt, the powers, and the fact that he loved Cade like a son. “Cade and I are spending the day together and going on a picnic.” It was best not to tell him the whole truth right now. It was clear Tomasz wasn’t fond of witches, and she didn’t know how Harry felt.
Harry nodded. “Well, I would ask you who’s watching your tent, but I’m guessing it’s closed. I know Cade’s been feeling down lately, so a picnic with a pretty girl might make him feel better. I won’t mention it to Tomasz.”
Kit tossed her back. “I don’t care if you do or not.” She lied.
Harry reached the tray towards her. “I know you have food in that large basket, but please give him this. It’s breakfast. It’s not good for him to skip meals. It makes him too hungry later. Do you understand?” His eyes begged her to understand he wasn’t talking about hunger in his stomach.
Kit took the tray. “I’ll make sure he eats.” she promised.
Harry left; satisfied that Kit would watch out for Cade today.
When Kit got no answer to her second knock, she tried the door. It easily swung open.
Kit made a mental note to talk to him about it. Though she knew some people raised in the show refused to lock their doors, it was a bad habit to fall into, particularly in Cade’s case.
As Kit entered the silent wagon, the stale air and darkness greeted her. The muted light from the stained glass window above revealed Cade’s lower half entwined in blankets, his upper half hanging out of bed. His knuckles scraped the floor and his head hung upside down and to the side. The sheets were twisted around his neck.
“Oh, my god! Cade!” Kit put the tray on the table, her eyes widened with fear as she hurried to him.
She dropped to her knees to get a better grip and gave the sheets a sharp tug. She had to untangle them. His chest rose and fell, which meant he was still alive, but she had to get him out of these sheets, fast. Cade’s body slid to the floor and landed with a thud.
He sat up and blinked his way back to consciousness. “Huh? What happened?”
He sounded sleep drunk, but fine.
Kit leaned back on her knees. “Good morning,” she greeted. Nothing like a scare to start the day.
Cade rubbed the grit from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Is it morning? I feel like I’ve barely slept.”
He let out a deep yawn and stretched before he got to his feet.
“More bad dreams?”
“I can’t remember. I think so. I wish you’d just given me that sleep spell.” His anger was really just crankiness after a restless night. “I know I promised to do this, but I’m not sure I want to anymore.”
He pulled the changing screen between them and got ready behind it.
Kit uncovered the tray Harry brought. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I think your dreams are caused by fear that you’ll lose control.”
Cade poked his head up over the screen. “Maybe.”
“There’s a new doctor in Austria. He says dreams are signals from the subconscious. They can be either wish fulfillment, or your worst fears.”
Cade adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves as he came out from behind the screen. “Well, we know what mines are. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
Kit smiled. “Have a lot of enemies, do you?”
Cade sat down at the table and started to eat. “None I can think of, unless you count Edward. And he’s harmless. At least, I hope he’s harmless.”
Kit pulled a large silver flask from her basket. “Here, I brought you a treat.”
Cade eyed the flask and shook his head. “I don’t drink, and certainly not this early.”
Kit laughed and pulled a glass from the cabinet so she could pour the contents. “It’s not liquor. It’s orange juice. I just couldn’t find anything else with a lid for it to go in.”
The bright orange drink sparkled like diamonds as little drops of cold sweat collected on the glass.
“Orange juice?” Cade repeated. “I always start my day with tea.”
“Cade, you need extra energy today. Besides, you don’t have enough fruits in your diet. I went through a lot of trouble to squeeze that, so you should drink it.” The part about it being, ’a lot of trouble,’ was a lie. Kit started every day by squeezing her own juice before going to partake of the communal meal. This morning, she just squeezed a few extra oranges.
Cade took a long sip and wiped his lips with his tongue. “Mmm. That is good.”
Kit knew he was exaggerating on how good it was so as not to hurt her feelings, but she didn’t care. It was healthier than tea and, after a rough night, he needed it.
“I’m still worried about going out today,” Cade admitted. “I mean, I promised I wouldn’t leave.”
“You’re not under house arrest,” Kit reminded him, motioning to the lack of boards on the windows. “We’re going into the woods where we can practice in peace.”
Cade raised one eyebrow. “We?”
A knock at the door interrupted them.
Cade started to rise, but Kit motioned for him to sit back down. “You finish eating and get ready to go. I’ll handle whoever’s at the door.”
Malcom leaned on his walking stick at the bottom of the steps. A cookie jar with tight-fitting lid was tucked under one arm.
He gave a quick touch of his hat. “Morning, Kit. I hoped I’d find you here.”
“Good morning, Malcom. Is something wrong? Are you here to see Cade?”
“Nope, you actually. Knew I’d find you here. You told me yesterday you were going on a picnic.”
“Yes. Thank you so much for agreeing to make sure no one bothers my tent.”
Malcom held out the jar. “We showmen have to stick together. I made you some special cookies for your picnic.”
Kit took the jar and smiled gratefully. “Thank you Malcom. I’m sure we’ll love your cookies.”
