Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
The second the sun hits the horizon, the vamps wake.
Lacey sits up in bed with a yawn like someone plugged her in, while Colt takes his time rising from his nest of blankets on the other side.
We’re on the road again by full dark and the tension stringing between me and Grayson thickens.
Impossible to ignore.
Despite what happened at the vending machine, he refuses to look at me and sets his sight on the blur of trees and buildings we pass at a whopping forty-five miles an hour.
I rub my hand over my thigh, uncomfortable in my skin, tucking my chin down to my chest.
Lacey turns in her seat. “So, what are we going to do when we get there? Break down the door? Demand access like we’re prying into the secrets of some cult?”
Her senses are spot on. Her gaze flicks knowingly between me and Grayson but her attempts to erase this discomfort with humor doesn’t work. How can it?
I shrug. “If we have to. I thought we’d go for a conversation first.”
She pauses for a moment. “We at least need to have a plan. We can dress Grayson up as a clown and send him in for an audition. I bet you’d look great with a red nose.”
“No one is going to fall for it, Lace,” Colt says. “No games, not with the vamps running this show.”
Silence stretches and folds over itself. I curl forward, hunching like I’ll somehow shrink and avoid this stress.
Why would bringing up Jrue mean anything to Grayson?
Why would it shut him down the way it did? It’s not like it matters. If I’ve accepted it, then so should he.
We’re going our separate ways when this is done—we have our lives to get back to. His to start, mine to endure.
“Our best bet is to wait for the show to start, so the vampires are occupied. Then right before the shaman goes in for his act, we’ll corner him.” Colt nods decisively. “He’ll have no choice but speak with us.”
“And what? Force him to give us the cure?” Lacey asks.
“Money opens doors. We’ll pay him for it and he’ll make the trade. I have money to give. Hopefully it’s enough.”
I sigh, frustration flexing my muscles. “I doubt he’s going to want to accept anything from us if we corner him in his trailer.”
“He might if we flash him the cash.” Colt’s insistence comes from a business standpoint where deals are made by who offers the highest dollar amount.
But hell. I don’t want him paying for anything.
There’s got to be a better way to isolate the shaman and get the cure.
Another few hours pass and we hit the spot where the circus is thirty minutes to midnight. It feels heavy.
Appropriate.
The countdown has always been loud in my head and now it’s unbearable, ticking away with every second lost. We park the car a few streets over from the field cordoned off for those massive tents.
A glimpse of the big top is enough to have me gripping the door and fighting the urge to wrench it open and run.
My heart jumps into my throat and stays there, more comfortable closer to escape than it is in my chest.
Colt cuts the engine and I freeze. The potion has calmed the physical ailments from the bite—the pain and throbbing and blistering heat. It doesn’t help the rest of it.
Grayson meets my gaze, his glittering gold, before he opens the door and makes for the woods, into the dark and desperate for the escape.
Sensation scrapes against my heart, too similar to regret for my taste.
His heavy footfalls lead the way and I follow, the four of us making little sound as we cut along the side of the road. The asphalt crumbles off into a deep gully filled with knotted weeds and the flotsam that accumulates after a storm.
The underlying scents of gasoline and popcorn mingle in the air.
I keep my senses on high alert and my nerves bite at my next glimpse of the big top. The tip of the red-and-black tent sears into the night like it’s trying to reach the stars.
The field has been transformed into a small city with maze-like alleys between smaller tents. Trailers and canvas yurts perch on the outskirts of the circus closest to the tree line. The entire center of the field is dominated by the main tent.
Despite the hour, the field is packed, cars parked at dangerous angles in whatever spot they found. People laugh, shriek, and devour pink clouds of cotton candy, unaware of the real monsters waiting in the wings.
We keep to the tree line now, avoiding the rows of cars.
Air leaves my lungs in a rush.
“How are we going to know which trailer belongs to the shaman?” I stage whisper.
Colt winks, then cuts through the night faster than my brain can process. His form is a blur, moving from trailer to trailer. Within seconds he’s back, barely out of breath, his hair still in place.
“The last trailer is different from the rest. Smells like herbs. Not the cooking kind,” he informs us.
Lacey sets him with a beatific smile. Grayson and I only fall in line, refusing to acknowledge each other
I glance sideways at him and although he doesn’t turn, he shakes his head. I hate the tears brimming in the corners of my eyes.
This trailer does smell different from the rest.
Even with my nose raw and aching, my bellowing lungs, my overwhelmed senses, there’s a change in the air around it. A pulse of magic. It’s impossible to miss once you’ve gotten a feel for it.
Decorative rungs line the side of the steep steps leading up to a circular door decorated in gingerbread patterns. The spikes of painted flowers and arches, arrows and moons, bleed together in an ominous welcome.
From the outside it looks like a colorful version of a Romani caravan plucked from history.
I catch Grayson’s eye before he climbs the steps, jerking his head to get me to hurry up and follow him. His knuckles poise in the air above a crimson red poppy north of the handle.
This is going to be one hell of a surprise to the shaman.
With only minutes left before the show, and Lacey and Colt keeping a lookout to make sure none of the vamps who run this place surprise us, Grayson knocks.
The door swings open before he makes contact a second time and we exchange glances.
“Hello.” A soft voice greets us, stealing the words from my mouth. Like our visit was expected all along. “Come inside.”
Grayson and I step into the caravan and the door swings shut behind us, surrounding us in a world of pink.
I can’t get the world to stop spinning in a tornado of blush and rose, flamingo and bubblegum. Acid climbs up my throat and Grayson’s’ fingers on the small of my back are the only thing grounding me.
A young girl sits cross legged on a bed of peony sheets and soft ruby blankets. Blonde hair curls over her shoulders, half of it pinned to her head, the other half left loose and wild.
Ruffles on her dress bunch like blossoms, accentuating her curves.
“Where are the shrunken heads?” Grayson is the first to break the tension.
I have the same thought.
The girl laughs She is young, probably around fourteen, fifteen. Younger than us in any case.
“I know, right? It’s the kind of thing you expect. Like I should have normal shrunken heads and bones everywhere, but isn’t this nicer?” she scolds. “It’s so cute and peaceful.”
A raspy meow sounds from around our feet before a fat white cat jumps onto the bed beside the girl.
“Isn’t it so cute? Yes it is,” the girl coos to the animal. Finally, she drags her gaze away from the fluffy beast and sets it on us. “I’d prefer your friends to join us…”
A ripple of unease pulses across my chest.
The strange ringing in my ears grows louder as the door opens and Colt and Lacey stumble into the caravan, forced by magic. It ripples in the air, the room spinning with it.
Grayson keeps hold of me as Colt steps in front of Lacey to protect her.
The shaman is saying something but I can’t hear what it is. I stare at her, the cat, the floor, until the ringing subsides.
“How can I help you?”
None of this is what I expect, and the scent of rose water and frankincense are strong in the air, smoke billowing from an abalone shell filled with incense. Dizzy, I lean to the side, almost knocking into a waterfall of rose quartz crystals hanging like a windchime.
“We must have the wrong trailer. We’re looking for the shaman.” Grayson recovers faster than I do. I have to give him credit.
The girl smiles, her eyes lit. “That’s me.”
“Excuse me?” I squeeze the words out from the stranglehold my throat has on the rest of me.
“Yeah, I’m the shaman. I mean, my dad used to be the shaman, but he’s dead. So now it’s me. I know all his tricks.”
Her hand strokes the cat’s fur methodically, a meditation.
“We were sent here by a pair of witches.” I tell the girl their names, hoping against hope it sparks some kind of recognition in the girl. “We were told you can help us.”
The girl shakes her head. “They must have known my father, then.”
How in the world will this preteen know everything we need her to know? My heart sinks.
Flower dress, high voice, pink fluff everywhere…the trailer is a princess paradise.
The cat, taking one look at the pair of vampire newcomers, lets out another foghorn meow and hops down to wind around Colt’s ankles.
“Wow, Fifi likes you. That really tells me everything I need to know. Fifi Floofkins is the best judge of character. Aren’t you, my little lubbie wubbie?” The girl’s lips round with the nickname, her hands clutching her cheeks like this scene is so cute she might die.
Colt shakes his leg, a quick jerk of motion, but the cat keeps rubbing, leaving a blizzard of white behind.
“Can you do something with her?” His voice tightens with annoyance.
“Oh, I think it’s adorable. Fifi Floofkins is obsessed with you already! And it’s Mister Fifi Floofkins,” the girl says adamantly.
Colt grimaces.
The girl wipes her hands together and slowly unfolds herself from her bed of blankets. She hops down and the folds of her dress sway down to her feet like she’s dancing.
“Let’s make this quick. I have to go on in a few minutes and being late will heighten the audience’s expectations, but it’s a delicate balance. You can’t be too late or they get restless and the spell doesn’t settle right.”
She sets us with a stern look but the effect is dampened by the twitch of a smile she can’t hide. For the cat.
Grayson allows himself to grin wide. “What’s your name?”
“Charlotte.” She rolls her eyes like it should be obvious. “Whatever you want, it’s got to be something crazy to bring two werewolves and two vampires into my trailer. So, what’s going on?”
She drops her gaze to make kissy faces at Mister Floofkins, who has curled like a knot around Colt’s ankles, ready to trap him in place if he dares to move.
“Moon madness.” I push the word free. “We were told you’d know how to cure it. Well, we heard the shaman can cure it. We’ve been trying to find a cure on our own but our packs are inundated and we need your…”
I trail off when Charlotte leans close, her head only coming up to my chest. I’m short but she’s delicate and tiny. A pixie with power.
She draws in a deep breath.
“Oh, honey.” Her eyes are much older than her face or her voice. “What happened to you?” She turns to Grayson to give him the same sniff test. “You might have put a band aid on your symptoms but you’re running out of time, aren’t you?”
A lump in my throat catches everything I want to say.
“We need the cure. Do you have one?” Grayson pushes.
Charlotte sniffs. “I mean, of course I do. My father worked on it for years before he died. I know exactly how to help you.”
I’ve never heard such a hypnotic tone.
Her skirts shift around her in a subtle flow but there’s no wind in the cramped trailer. And she says it so easily, like we haven’t been killing ourselves to outrun this madness.
“But it’s going to cost,” she adds.
The slyness in her voice is unmistakable. It glides through her statement and turns the words to oil.
“We have money,” Colt replies.
Her laughter splits the tension in the air like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Money? Come on, I don’t need money. I have literally everything I want. Don’t I, Mr. Floofkins?”
She speaks to the cat.
The tension points in my back pulse harder, sharper. Grayson slides his hand flat, the movement stable. Despite our exhaustion, despite our sickness, Grayson is there and he looks like he can catch me in his arms and keep me safe.
“Money means nothing in the circus. But what I could use…” Charlotte trails off. Her gaze lifts to mine. “Memories.”
Why is that word the single most insidious thing she’s said yet?
“Memories?” I try to remember how to breathe.
“Sure. Those you can use for anything. Missing an ingredient in a spell? Supply a moment of memory from a child’s tenth birthday pizza party. Got a zit? Take a sip of a memory of the first snow after a woman’s husband died.”
Her lashes flutter down, dark like spiderwebs against her pale cheeks. Charlotte shudders, ecstatic, before she faces us again.
“So what will it be? Do you walk out of here with your cure and a few memories you won’t even know you’re missing? Or let the moon madness take you?”
“It’s an outlandish thing to pay with.” Lacey sputters.
“Not around here.”
There’s no more hint of wickedness in the teen’s smile, as though she understands exactly what kind of position she put us in. Money would have been so much easier.
The bottom drops out from under me.
But seriously…what would I miss about a few memories? I have so many bad ones to spare, the good ones are lost in the haze.
I open my mouth to agree but shouts batter against the wooden trailer.
“Charlotte! It’s time.”
A chill announces the newcomer before the door swings open, the vampire ringmaster’s eyes glowing coal-red. A black burnished-velvet cloak marks his status and the top hat rests against black hair with silver salt around the temples.
Dark kohl liner paints his eyes and emphasizes the silver ring around the iris.
By the time his gaze locks on mine, my insides twist into an impossible maze.
My hands are steady, the rest of me isn’t. I’m staring death in the face, and he’s hungry.