Chapter 2 #2
This wasn't an order—this was a command.
I could feel the weight of it in my stomach.
He surveyed the group again. His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than the others, and I felt something cold slide down my spine.
It was like being examined by a predator deciding whether you were worth the effort to kill.
"Your assignments have been distributed, I believe?" Mortis asked.
"Yes, sir, we're all set," Fang confirmed.
"Excellent. The carnival is open to the public in thirty minutes. I suggest you familiarize yourselves with the layout before then. And..." He paused. "Men." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Do try to remember not to cross me."
With that cryptic warning, he turned and glided back toward the entrance, his coattails billowing behind him like wings.
"What the hell was he?" Diesel muttered as several guys shook their heads.
"Just stay alert," Fang ordered, then lowered his voice so only we could hear him. "Remember what the President said—keep your eyes open for anything valuable. Now spread out and get to your positions."
The group dispersed, with each team heading to its assigned areas. I watched them go with a familiar pang of isolation. Tank and Diesel were already joking around as they headed to the main gate. Heavy, Torch, and Wrench disappeared toward the backstage area, talking strategy.
Swinger, Bulldog, and I spent the next twenty minutes walking the grounds, getting a feel for the layout.
The midway stretched out in front of the main tent, lined with game booths, food stalls, and smaller attractions.
All decorated in the same unsettling style—beautiful but somehow wrong, like a painting that was just slightly off-center.
"What'd you two think of that Ringmaster guy?" Bulldog asked when we'd reached the end of the midway.
"I felt like I couldn't breathe," Swinger said, looking over his shoulder.
"Me too," I added. "He looked like a walking skeleton."
"Freaked my damn gorilla out, that's for sure," Swinger said in a low tone. "I bet he's got magic. Dark magic."
"Yeah, I say we do our jobs and stay as far away from that fucker as we can," Bulldog suggested.
Swinger and I nodded our agreement. None of us wanted to piss off the creepy man.
The game booths were staffed by people who looked normal enough at first glance, but my enhanced vision caught details that made me wonder.
The woman running the ring toss had scales that glittered along her hairline.
The man at the strength test had hands that looked more like claws than fingers.
The couple operating the funnel cake stand whispered to each other in a language that sounded like wind through dead leaves.
Each of them had eyes that burrowed into me when we locked gazes.
There wasn't anything wrong with a paranormal carnival. When magic became real and outed to the world, a lot of our kind found homes in this world. But this one, this carnival—this felt off. It had an alluring darkness that drew you in while making you feel thrilled to do so.
As I made my way toward the opposite side of the midway, I passed a walkway that led to a row of smaller tents and campers. This area looked different from the rest. More private. More... protected. These had to be the performers' personal quarters that Mortis spoke of.
My suspicion was confirmed when I caught sight of Diesel rounding the corner of one tent. He looked at me. I gave him a single nod of my head and continued on my way.
I'd taken three or four steps when I spotted a tent a little way from the others.
It appeared as if someone had deliberately set it to the side.
Taller than the other tents, but no wider than could accommodate two or three people.
It appeared to be made from deep, rich red-looking fabric.
Something about this tent made my gorilla instincts go haywire.
Every nerve in my body was on high alert. My enhanced senses were picking up something—a scent, maybe, or just the feeling of power in the air. Whatever it was, it was coming from the direction of that red tent, and it was calling to something deep in my DNA.
I took a step toward it before catching myself. I was assigned to the midway. Fang would love to have an excuse to write me up for not following orders.
"Probably that sicko's tent," I said to myself as I turned away. But as I did, I could have sworn I heard something. A sound so soft I might have imagined it. Like a whisper, but it was so faint I couldn't make it out.
"Hey, you!"
I spun around to find a carny approaching me—a burly guy with a handlebar mustache. The tattoos covering his arms seemed to move.
"You're one of the ground patrol guys, right?" he asked.
"That's right. Problem?"
"I was told to tell you guys—we've got some VIP guests coming through Friday night. Rich folks who paid extra for the full experience. They might get a little rowdy, especially if they've been drinking."
"I'll make sure the guys know," I assured him.
The carny nodded and walked away, disappearing into the maze of tents and attractions.
I made to take a step but stopped. Coming toward me was the cast of a horror movie.
Five man-sized clowns were walking like a well-practiced unit, each having their own terrifyingly distinct look, but they all had the white face and the white jumpsuits most clowns wore.
The blue-haired one appeared to have spikes covering his face.
The neon orange-haired one's cheeks stretched to a pointed smile, his eyebrows triangled into his hairline.
The green-haired one's face was made up of puzzle pieces, and I couldn't help but wonder if they rearranged themselves based on his mood.
The purple-haired clown had deep scratches starting at the corner of his forehead, meeting over his nose and then continuing over his cheeks to his jawline.
The red-haired one had a mean, angry look. Even with his bushy eyebrows and a classic red nose, he looked like he would beat the tar out of you, then stand over your body and tell you a joke.
"What in the ever-loving hell are they?" Bulldog asked, stepping next to me.
"Ah, the entertainment?" I said, not averting my eyes.
"Entertainment isn't the word I would have picked." Bulldog took a stance, shoulder to shoulder with me.
"Oh, my goodies," the orange clown giggled, doing a little jig. "Look what I see." He pointed at us.
"Yummie," the purple clown licked his lips as he made a point of hovering his eyes between Bulldog and me.
"NO," barked the red one. "Not now. Remember, we have to be quick."
"Aww, no fun," the blue clown stuck his lip out.
They parted and flowed around us as if we were a boulder in a stream.
"What happened to happy fun clowns?" Bulldog asked as we spun around, watching them walk away.
"That orange one looked happy," I said, side-glancing at him. Bulldog blew out his breath and walked after the clowns. "You're following them?"
He turned to face me. "I figure the safest place is behind them." He shrugged and returned the way he had been heading.
I made my way back toward the main midway.
I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on with this carnival.
Something sinister. But what did I expect?
This place felt like there were eyes in the shadows and voices calling, luring you as you passed the booths.
Not to mention that damn music. I blew out a breath forcibly.
By the end of the week, if I'd gone crazy, it would be because of that music.
The Carnival of Shadows was definitely living up to its name. But whatever secrets it was hiding, whatever valuable merchandise the President was after, it was sure to be bad news.
A creak that sounded like a scream washed over the space, causing me to half-shift into my gorilla form. The closest booth carny called out, "Whoa, big boy, we just opened. Chill the hell out."
I saw the first visitors begin streaming from the parking area, so I headed to the end of the midway near the entrance.
Might as well make sure people saw there was security on the premises.
Once there, from my vantage point, I could hear and see the ticket seller.
I watched a group of college-aged women dressed in micro-mini skirts and decorative bras.
Most carried matching zippered sweatshirts to ward off the October chill after the sun went down.
Everyone had parts of themselves out on display.
Someone's gonna love them. Literally.
As the ladies bounced toward the ticket booth, their laughter died.
"Sorry, darlings," the ticket seller called out, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge that made my skin crawl. "This is an adults-only establishment."
One woman from the group gestured to her friends. "We're all twenty-one."
"Oh, not you, pretty things. You're more than welcome to come in and play tonight." The ticket seller's eyes gleamed. "Them." She pointed to a young couple approaching with a stroller. The college girls stepped to the side and allowed the couple through, silently watching.
I too watched, fascinated and disturbed, as the ticket seller addressed the couple.
"You will have to find a babysitter. We're an adults-only establishment."
"He's just a baby. He's not going to ride anything," the mom explained.
"Even worse. No, no." The ticket lady shook her head. "Believe me, go home, get a babysitter, and come back."
"Look," the dad swelled up. "It's no big deal. He's just going to be in his stroller."
The ticket seller's demeanor snapped. She seemed taller, with longer arms. Her voice, which was originally welcoming and friendly, now sounded haunted and hollow.
"The innocent aren't allowed to cross our gates." She leaned out of the booth, brought her hands forward, touching each of the parents. "You will go home. You will find a babysitter. You will come back."
I watched their expressions go blank for a moment, then the man nodded slowly.
"Perhaps we should go home," he said in a monotone voice. "We'll get a babysitter and come back."
"Good idea, honey. I'll call my mom in the car," she said, staring straight ahead as they turned and walked back in the direction they came from.
The college girls and I looked at the ticket seller, who was back to her original self. The ticket seller laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Now, ladies, who's ready to have some fun?"
The college ladies cheered as they bounced and clapped, whipping out their money to buy their tickets.
"What the hell was that?" Swinger muttered, appearing at my shoulder. "And what does 'the innocent can't cross our gates' mean?"
"Hell, if I know," I said, watching the couple disappear into the darkness. "This place just keeps getting weirder and weirder."