Chapter 4
Chapter Four
brEXLEY
A slow, steady rocking roused me from a deep sleep, my lids lifting to the dim light of twilight.
In the distance, I could see the sunset slipping quickly over the horizon, the darkness encroaching.
Disoriented, fear spiked through me, not understanding where I was or what had happened.
My mind was heavy, my muscles limp and sore, my head pounding.
My gaze darted around the covered wagon I was in. I laid on worn, musky pelts, crates of aging vegetables, cans of beans, and salted meats stacked around me. The sound of the creaking wood of an old wagon and the rhythmic steps of dozens of horse hooves tapped at my ears from outside.
Trepidation thickened my throat. Sitting up, I noticed I was still wearing my prison outfit. It was ripped and caked with mud and dried blood. My hair hung in filthy chunks around my face. My mind scrambled, trying to recall my last memories.
Recollections flooded my mind—running through forests and towns, over mountains, down ravines, like something out of my control was pulling me.
I sprinted for hours, never slowing my pace, until my body gave out, collapsing by a stream.
The memory of why I was running—what I did—slammed into me like a tsunami.
“Oh gods,” I croaked, tears brimming my eyes.
Tad.
I killed him.
My friend, someone I considered family, my lifeline in Halálház.
I was about to hurt Simon, and he pointed all my magic at him instead to protect the boy.
I killed so many of them. I recalled their faces, frozen in fear, slaughtered by an invisible army.
All because I couldn’t control my power . . .
The nectar.
Sucking in with panic, my hands frantically searched the pelts I was on, knocking against an object hidden under a fur.
Relief blew from my lips as my fingers curled around the box, pulling the familiar burnt container to me.
When I peered inside, the substance lay innocently, empty of its past crimes, devoid of power.
It was so small, so unassuming compared to the magic it contained and what it could do.
The extreme conflict of wanting to toss it into the river to never see it again was defeated by the utter sick terror of letting it out of my grasp. To cut off part of me.
With a lurch, the wagon came to a shuddering stop, a man’s voice hollering out, “We camp here tonight.”
Movement exploded outside, dozens of voices rising from behind the canvas separating me from them. Sucking in, I rammed myself against the board, my attention sweeping the space. I grabbed a can of beans, tucking the box in my waistband.
Boots crunched under dirt and foliage, a tall shadow walked next to the wagon, coming around the back. Pushing myself up more, tension bracing my muscles, primed to defend and attack.
The flap was pulled open, and a large murky outline filled the entrance.
“Our vagabond is finally awake.” His raspy but oddly soothing voice struck my ears.
I stayed silent, ready to fight if he came for me. My body shook with exhaustion, weak, but survival pumped adrenaline into my blood. I would fight to the death if I had to.
There was a flick of a match, the man lighting a lantern in his hand. The soft glow of the flame kindled to life, revealing half his face.
I swallowed down the small intake of air. He was not what I was expecting.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties, far younger than my mind put with his voice.
The man was alluring and rough at the same time.
A contradiction like his voice. He was dressed in dull, worn pants, a long-sleeved Henley shirt, a thick long jacket lined with fur, and his waist belt was loaded with guns.
He had dark hair, thick scruff, and dark, sultry eyes, which felt like they could undress you and slit your throat at the same time.
He wasn’t classically handsome, but something pulled you to him.
Seducing. Enthralling. Mysterious. I had this feeling he could make you crawl over glass to be near him.
Definitely fae, but I had no idea what type.
“I’m sure you are quite hungry,” he stated, looking at the can of beans in my hand. His gaze darted up to mine. His lips didn’t move, but I still felt like he was smirking at my weapon of choice.
“Who are you?” My voice came out withered and broken. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“I found you, half drowning in a creek bed.” His voice slunk around me, goosepimpling my flesh. “As to where you are . . . about a day’s ride from Ko?ice.”
“Ko?ice, Slovakia?” I exclaimed in disbelief.
“We either left you there to die, or you came with us. You were not conscious enough to let us know your choice.” His dark eyes tracked me like he was trying to pry more information out of my head.
“How long have I been out?”
“Over two days.”
My mind tried to wrap around the prospect that I had been unconscious for two days, vulnerable, crossing a border into another country. Two days since I escaped Věrh?za. Two days since I killed Tad and hundreds of others. Two days since I left Warwick . . .
It was what I wanted, to get away from the people I loved, to protect them, but now I felt scared and homesick. The link to Warwick and Scorpion was severed. I was completely alone with people I didn’t know or trust.
“Even unconscious, you wouldn’t let go of that box.” He nodded to the bulge tucked into my waistband.
No emotion or reaction reflected back at him, no sign of my terror that he’d figure out the truth of what it was.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I could ask the same of you.”
A bonfire flamed outside the caravan, crackling against the stars and icy air. The commotion of people chatting, laughing, and moving around pulled my attention outside.
“What is this?” I nodded at the wagon. Did I just land myself in some outlaw gang?
“Come see for yourself.” He waved me on, stepping away from the entrance, leaving me in darkness.
I took in a heavy breath. There was no other choice. I was far from home, with no money, food, or transportation. I was stuck until I could come up with a solid plan.
Taking one of the pelts to keep me warm, I followed him out of the wagon, climbing down the steps into the freezing night air. I trailed after him around the wagon before I came to a complete stop. My mouth dropped as I took everything in.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. In the short time since stopping, this open area had been transformed into another world.
Lanterns hung from the dozens of wagons circling the huge bonfire in the middle, keeping the wind out and heat in.
Over twenty canvas-covered wagons holding supplies and brightly painted vardos circled around like a wall.
The vardos, which were houses on wheels, were decorated with intricate and ornate details and designs, gilded in gold trim, and painted in bright colors, something you would picture a cliché fortune teller in.
These were rundown, though that almost added to the magical eeriness in the air.
Dozens and dozens of people milled around, setting up tables and chairs.
Pots were put on the fire to cook, drinks, plates, and utensils set down on community tables.
My attention went to the various people.
All ages, types, and sizes: a woman who had the skin like a lizard, a man who had a horse’s tail and hooves, a little girl who walked on her hands because her legs were actual frog legs.
They reminded me of Carnal Row, where the fae could partially turn into their other form to entice the customers. Why were they in half-forms here?
Most appeared normal on the outside, dressed in variations of the guy standing next to me, but something told me they were not. By the energy in the air alone, I knew most, if not all, were fae.
I stared in awe, watching the horse-man pull out two pure white horses from a trailer type of wagon, their coats and manes glinting like stardust. The roar of lions from another wagon shivered up my spine.
“What is this?”
“This is our home. Our family. Our livelihood.” He turned to me, his voice once again making me shiver with anticipation.
“It’s where the freaks and shunned of the fae world, those who don’t fit with their own, can find a place.
” His dark eyes moved over me as if he knew I was one of those people. “I am Jethro.”
“Laura.” I muttered the name I used in Halálház.
The side of his face tipped in a smirk, as if he also knew I was lying.
“Well, Laura. Welcome to Circus Mystique.”