Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
A marillo, Texas
May 1932
Paul and Irena Gallier spun and swooped high above, their sparkling leotards making them look like hummingbirds. They didn’t use a net; gravity was their plaything. Sometimes the audience gasped at a particularly daring move or clapped and cheered when Irena soared through the air and Paul effortlessly caught her. But Simeon just stood against the canvas wall and gazed upward as the aerialists flew.
As usual, he hadn’t paid attention to where or when the carnival was located today. It didn’t really matter—the weather would always be pleasantly warm, his chores would be the same, and Crow Rapp would be there with him.
As if Simeon’s thought had conjured him, Crow said, “Shirking again, I see.” Simeon turned his head and saw the grin.
As always when he caught sight of his lover, his heart did a funny little swoop as if it too were on a trapeze. He’d come to accept a great many strange and wondrous things in his life, especially in the last couple of years, but he could never entirely believe that Crow was real and that he and Crow truly belonged to each other.
“I’m entitled to breaks now and then,” Simeon pointed out. In fact, the workload was generally light during the daytime, while the carnival was open to the public. It was the setting up and taking down that kept roustabouts busy.
“And you’ve been spending most of your breaks in the big top lately. How about some food instead?” Crow’s Southern Illinois accent still sounded exotic to Simeon, who’d spent most of his life in London. He liked it and liked the way Crow blushed when Simeon whispered to him that it was sexy.
They could go together to the back of the lot, where their caravan would be cozy and welcoming, where Simeon could strip off Crow’s jeans and shirt and lick the salty sweat from his collarbones, taste the bittersweet remnants of coffee on his lips and tongue, nibble on?—
“Dinner, Simeon.”
Swallowing his laughter, Simeon allowed himself to be towed out of the tent and onto the midway. A stream of visitors walked the grassy path between the tents, laughing and chattering. He could tell from the way they spoke that the carnival was somewhere in North America and that the time was well after the 1880s, where he’d come from, and well before the 1970s and 1980s, where he’d found Crow. Or, more accurately, where Crow had found him.
Although Crow had let go of Simeon’s arm, it was easy to follow him through the crowds. Crow was taller than most people, and his pale, sun-bleached hair acted like a beacon. The enticing aromas of sugar and popcorn and grilling meat grew stronger with each step until Simeon and Crow arrived at the food tents. The offerings varied depending on the carnival’s location, but they were always tasty and the prices were low enough that even the most cash-strapped locals could afford treats. This evening Crow chose a hamburger, Simeon a hot dog and something called Fritos, and they both bought frosty bottles of grape soda. They found an empty table near the edge of the seating area and dug in to their little feast.
“I dunno how we both haven’t developed scurvy,” said Crow as he stole a few of Simeon’s Fritos and then crunched away. “Can’t remember the last time I had fruit or veggies.”
“There are tomatoes on your hamburger, and yesterday you had a toffee apple.”
“I don’t think that counts.”
Simeon shrugged. “Just another bit of magic, yeah? No use questioning it. Anyway, I thought you were immune to most illnesses.”
“I am, I guess. But what about you? We don’t really know much of anything about what makes you tick.”
“I’m not a clock, love.” But Crow had a point. Their adventures a year earlier had given them a good deal of insight into Crow’s identity and capabilities. One of his grandmothers had been an angel—or something close to that—and Crow had inherited some things from her, including the ability to survive and heal quickly from horrific injuries.
As for Simeon, however, all they knew was that he was… a rook. He’d learned quite by accident that he could change his size and shape to that of a bird, at which point he could fly, which had proved useful once or twice. All of that was nice enough, but he had no idea whether there were others like him or what it all meant.
Crow was regarding him solemnly. It was a familiar expression, one that meant he was feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders and expected something terrible to appear around the next corner. He used to look like that nearly all the time, but in recent months less so. He smiled more often now, and strode the carnival grounds with a more relaxed body and less tightness at the corners of his mouth; his pale blue eyes sparkled more brightly.
Not at the moment, however. In an attempt to erase Crow’s dour look, Simeon threw a Frito at him and then took an exceedingly lascivious bite of his hot dog.
“There are children here!” Crow couldn’t quite keep his scowl in place.
“Nobody said a carnival has to be entirely wholesome.”
Crow took a final bite of his hamburger and a long draw of soda. He was probably wishing for a beer. Although there wasn’t any for sale today at the food tents, there were a few bottles back in the caravan.
“You’ve been watching the Galliers a lot,” Crow finally said.
“They’re bloody talented.”
“Yeah. All the performers here are talented.”
Simeon sighed. “I’m not fancying a go with any of them, if that’s what’s worrying you. I warned you that rooks mate for life. You’re stuck with me.”
“I’m not worried about that. I trust you.”
That simple statement almost made Simeon cry, which would really have frightened any nearby children. He’d spent most of his life as a thief and a generally untrustworthy person. But still, Mr. Ame had hired him on at the carnival, and Crow loved him, and both men had faith in him. It was a heavy burden, but one he was grateful to carry.
Simeon cleared his throat. “What are you worried about, then?”
“That you’re not happy. I see the way you watch the Galliers. They remind you of flying, don’t they?”
“A bit. But?— ”
“Do you feel trapped here?”
Simeon gaped at him, slightly aghast. “No!” The carnival was the only true home he’d ever had, and while he’d loved living and working in it before, it had become even more wonderful when Crow joined him.
“There’s something restless in you. I can feel it.”
“How can I possibly be restless when we’re somewhere new every bloody day?”
Crow didn’t answer, but his gaze was unrelenting. Simeon felt as if he were a butterfly pinned to a board. He pushed the rest of his Fritos toward Crow and stood. “I’m going to see if Nik needs anything. Shouldn’t you be getting back to work as well?” He didn’t wait for an answer and instead hurried off into the crowd.
It was past two in the morning as Simeon returned to the caravan. He was tired and achy, but in the pleasant way that meant he’d completed a good day’s work. He’d be able to have several hours of solid sleep before awakening to set things up again. He knew that they’d wake up in a different location and a different time—and how that was accomplished was one of those matters best left unexplored.
Traveling across the lot filled with the various vehicles the carnival folk called home, he saw warm lights shining in the windows of the caravan and felt a responsive loosening in his chest, as if his heart had more room to beat.
He jogged up the wooden steps and went inside, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the door lintel. As soon as he was inside, he smelled tea. He bent over and took off his shoes, stowing them in a little nook just inside the door.
“It’s warm,” said Crow, nodding toward the teapot on the shelf over the stove. The pot was covered by an intricately embroidered tea cozy that had mysteriously appeared in the caravan soon after they’d moved in. Neither of them knew where it had come from.
Simeon inhaled the mint-scented steam rising from his cup and joined Crow on the couch. That piece of furniture, like most of the caravan’s other furnishings, was built in. With a frame of dark polished wood, several drawers beneath, and cushions of gold-colored silk, it was just wide enough for the two of them. Crow had a bottle of beer and an open newspaper, and for a while they sat in silence and sipped.
It was pleasant to just lean back, feet resting on a stool, and gaze sleepily around. When Simeon had first joined the carnival, he’d shared this wagon with Pete, a nice enough bloke, and had been happy with that. But when he later returned to the carnival—this time with Crow beside him—Pete was gone, and so Simeon and Crow had been given the caravan for themselves. It was a bit like living inside a jewel box, with gilded wood, richly colored fabrics, and bright stained glass shades on the table lamps and ceiling light. A small space to be sure, but the bed—raised up under a window at one end of the caravan—was exactly big enough for the two of them, and there was plenty of room for the things they truly needed. There was even a tiny room with a toilet and shower, which hadn’t existed when Simeon first lived here but was certainly convenient now.
“Anything interesting?” Simeon asked after a while, gesturing at the newspaper.
“Amelia Earhart flew from Newfoundland to Ireland.”
“Is she a rook as well?”
Smiling slightly, Crow shook his head. “She used a plane.” He folded up the paper and set it on the table beside him, then started mauling the beer label. “You know, right now, my grandparents are young. My mother hasn’t even been born yet. Hitler’s still running for president.”
“Who?”
A strained expression flashed across Crow’s face. “A very bad man. He ran—well, will run Germany.”
“Are we in Germany?” asked Simeon, surprised.
“No, Texas. I was just thinking about… the power of knowledge, I guess. How we might change things, knowing what we do about what’s going to happen.”
Ah. They’d had other versions of this conversation before. “You know what Mr. Ame says.”
“It’s a really bad idea to mess with your past.”
“I believe he put it more eloquently, but yes. Creates all sorts of problems, it does.”
Crow sighed and leaned his head back, eyes shut. “I know. I can’t help but think about it, though.”
“Then what if I gave you something better to think about?” Simeon leaned against him and turned his head to nuzzle at the crook of Crow’s neck. While Simeon himself never grew whiskers—perhaps because he was a rook—Crow tended toward a bit of scruff. It was pale enough that it was hard to see against his skin, but Simeon liked to feel the scrape against his skin.
Although the attempt at distraction was obvious, Crow didn’t seem to mind. He drank the last of his beer, took the teacup from Simeon and finished that as well, and then reached out a hand to help Simeon to his feet.
Ah, and there was the kiss that Simeon had been imagining earlier in the day. Crow was in an insistent mood tonight, perhaps a bit impatient, but Simeon didn’t mind. Whether fast and hard or slow and gentle, he treasured every touch he shared with Crow, every moment their bodies connected.
Crow used his chest to push Simeon steadily back until he was against the wooden wall, kissing him all the way and then engulfing him in an embrace that was as mighty as anything Samson, the carnival strongman, could have managed. But this hold was meant to simply bring them closer, not to crush, and Simeon returned it just as tightly. The two of them had fought powerful demons and won, and when they were together like this, Simeon could almost believe they were invincible.
“I ache for you, love,” he whispered.
Crow, who wasn’t much for fancy words, moaned in reply, and that was more than good enough.
It was hard to remove clothing without detaching from each other, but they managed somehow and then were gloriously naked, hot skin against hot skin. Simeon ran his palms over Crow’s sharp shoulder blades—marveling at how they were a bit like wings—and down his spine, then grasped Crow’s fine ass.
Simeon had encountered people who claimed that sex between two men was sinful. He’d never truly believed that, not even when he stepped into London alleys so he could suck lads’ cocks and nick their wallets. But he’d never been completely convinced of the beauty of the act, of its rightness, until he met Crow and discovered how perfectly they fit together. If humans had been created by some deity, that god had made it so that Crow and Simeon could stand mouth to mouth and groin to groin, pressing together soft parts and hard, joining as tightly as the dovetail joints in the table that was currently digging into Simeon’s leg.
“Bed, love?” Simeon panted.
Crow groaned slightly, as if separating from Simeon for even a moment were too much to bear, but then moved toward the bed. The sleeping platform was above waist height, which meant you could use the footstool or, as Crow did now, clamber up without, which was never an entirely graceful act, especially after many hours of lifting, pulling, and carrying heavy things.
In this instance, however, Crow climbing onto the mattress put his naked and quite lovely arse in a convenient location for Simeon to grab and give a squeeze. Crow made a sound somewhere between an indignant yelp and laughter, hauled his legs up, and rolled onto his side to leer at Simeon.
And although Simeon had intended to scramble up immediately, he couldn’t help but pause to admire what he saw: Crow’s bare body, long and lean; his face and arms golden-brown from working in the sun. “You look like a prince,” said Simeon. “No—a prince’s courtesan. A harem boy, perhaps? Someone rare and expensive, stretched out on silks and eager to please His Royal Highness.”
“I’m just a farm boy, remember? But pleasing you sounds like fun. Gonna be a lot easier if you join me, though.” Crow patted the empty mattress between them.
So of course Simeon accepted the invitation. Crow immediately rolled on top of him and proceeded to lavish attention as if Simeon truly were royalty. Except a courtesan might not have teased so much, stroking and licking almost enough but not quite, until Simeon was nearly mad with the need for more. And a prince wouldn’t have then resorted to begging.
“Bloody hell, love, just fuck me already. Please!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
As soon as Crow slid a pillow under Simeon’s arse, Simeon wrapped his legs around him, imprisoning the delightful tormenter. Crow produced a tube of slick from Christ knew where—it might have been a conjuring act, for all Simeon knew—and applied it hastily enough to reveal that he was as impatient as Simeon. Then he was inside, his head tilted up as if he were looking at the stars, his lips parted, his hands in a vice-like grip on Simeon’s thighs .
Some of the blankets were bunched uncomfortably under Simeon’s back. And his legs were sore from the day’s labors. Crow was beautiful to look at like this, but Simeon couldn’t touch very much of him. And the moment of bliss—when Simeon became one with the infinitely expanding universe—would last but a moment, and then there would be a sticky mess to contend with and bedding to rearrange.
In other words, the sex wasn’t perfect.
And yet somehow it was, because this was Crow, who loved Simeon.
A bit later the two of them lay tangled under a sheet, Simeon feeling the warm flush of Crow’s skin against his. The lights were doused, and the lovers’ breathing had finally slowed, but neither of them fell asleep. Crow ran his fingers gently through Simeon’s long hair, a habit that soothed them both.
“This is the longest I’ve lived in one place since I was eighteen,” Crow said softly.
“We’re somewhere different every day.”
“The carnival is somewhere different, but we’re always here.”
Simeon squirmed around and propped himself on an elbow, but the caravan was too dim to discern Crow’s expression. “Does that bother you?” he asked.
“No. I like it. This place feels solid. Which is crazy, because it’s probably the least solid spot in the world. Sometimes I feel like we’re standing still and all the towns are coming to visit us.”
Simeon collapsed back down and set a hand on Crow’s chest. “We’re the center of the universe?”
“Guess so,” said Crow, chuckling. “But I was wondering… are you all right with our life now?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I have everything a bloke could possibly want. ”
There was a slight pause before Crow spoke again. “A bloke , yeah, maybe. But what about a rook?”
Oh. He was on about that again. Simeon wanted to tell him this was nonsense. That he wasn’t lying when he said he had everything he needed. And yet… deep inside him was a restlessness, a question in need of an answer. It wasn’t any more noticeable than an eyelid twitch, but it was definitely there.
Simeon thought a while before answering. He may have been a thief, but he wasn’t a liar—at least not with Crow. “As long as I’m with you, I could be happy anywhere. I am happy. But I think perhaps someday I might want to fly again, just for a bit. I might want to see if I can find out more about myself.”
Crow turned his neck so he could kiss Simeon’s forehead. “Whatever you decide to do, you know that as long as you want me, I’m there with you. Right?”
“Yes.”
Outside, the wind picked up. Simeon didn’t know whether this was a genuine weather pattern or a side effect of whatever magic moved the carnival each night. Either way, it sounded lonely as it whistled between the caravans, lorries, and other carnival vehicles.
“Let’s get some sleep, yeah? Soon enough we’ll be back at work.” It was his turn to kiss Crow. Then he adjusted his pillow and the blanket and closed his eyes.