Chapter 1 #2
I turned over the next card, pushing it in front of the others and toward her. A man dangled upside down from a spiral pillar, his legs entangled with a serpent, a crown of thorns encircling his head.
“What’s that one?” He lowered his head, squinting at the table.
“The Hanged Man.”
He choked, jerking backward. He grabbed the woman’s shoulder again to half-drag her from her seat. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
When he released her and turned to straighten his waistcoat, I slipped the final card across the table. The woman took it, glancing quickly at the picture and the inscription before slipping it back face down.
“You know what she would have said,” I whispered. “Because that’s what you believe as well. Trust your instincts.”
She swallowed, her eyes wide, cheeks drained of color.
She bestowed a small smile upon the man as she delicately took his arm, as if suddenly repulsed by the thought of touching even his clothing.
As they walked away, she turned back to me and nodded.
My chest tightened as my breath paused on the inhale.
Good. No one should be trapped by another.
I reined in my emotions, crushing them beneath years of well-trained lies. The air thinned again as the cool breeze drained the incense.
Perhaps there would be time to linger when the fayre closed, and the patrons had departed.
We could all finally be ourselves. I did love toffee, probably more than the small caramel droplets Candyman kept in a bowl for melting.
Maybe tonight I would line the small candies down his chest, arranging them like stars, before using my tongue to trace swirls and patterns and galaxies as they melted from his body heat. ..
There she was.
Everything stopped. The dragon of fire Marianne shot into the air paused, a great tongue of jade flame cauterized from its mouth. The jaunty spring from the bow of the violin froze on the strings. The clouds of pink candy floss strangled the white stick.
Then the breath whooshed from my lungs, adrenaline igniting my body as the world revolved once again.
She was here.
I’d studied every inch of the small portrait I had been given when assigned this task. Ingrained the details onto the corrugations of my mind while traveling through wood and dale, skirting cities and plowing through barren countryside.
As I closed in and navigated the labyrinthine streets of this town, I imagined every conceivable change of hair color, added wrinkles or frown lines, each blend of fabric she could opt to wear.
I had questioned the baker, the tailor, the midwife, all in a roundabout, casual tone, painting an amicable smile on my face while secretly probing their answers for the minutiae.
Dully, she was as expected. Mid-forties, brown hair streaked with gray, thick glasses perched upon a straight nose.
Her clothes were average—well-pressed, but clean.
She hid her wealth in the diamond necklace that peeked out of her frilled collar and the pointed shoes inlaid with golden thread and satin bindings which serpentined up her ankles.
What had she done? And, more importantly to whom?
Maybe it was better not knowing. Then I was just doing a social service—for a hefty fee.
The chase had been fun, the funneling of the hunt heart-pounding.
But the kill? I may not be directly slitting her throat, but I was handing over the knife.
My stomach flipped, the sweat beading upon my palms.
I flicked the top card at her. It fluttered on the breeze, dying at her feet.
She stooped to pick it up, turning toward me with a cock of her head as she considered what I could deign to offer her. I raised my face, allowing the color from the fairy lights to fall upon me as the hood lifted, unmasking the shadows. I gestured toward the empty bench.
Don’t run. Don’t flee. I don’t want to have to chase you.
She moved closer, a smirk stretching her lips. “That was a silly little trick.” Her voice stretched, the sarcasm snagging the attention of passersby. “Is this my likeness?” She twirled the Death card in her fingers.
“A warning,” I said.
She didn’t believe in the power of the deck, for her fortunes were not told in fables and fairytales. She would sit just to prove a point. To prove how ridiculous this was.
The crowd grew steadily around her, magnetized by her scorn.
My heart hammered and my mouth dried. The hood flapped back over my face as she settled herself, elbows planted upon the velvet cloth, the bells cackling wildly with the movement.
Don’t leave.
Don’t hate me.
“I don’t need a fortune read,” she said. “What else do you have?”
I pulled the tarot toward me and positioned them perfectly square at the edge of the table. I held out my palm hoping she wouldn’t notice the sheen of congealing sweat.
She extracted a dainty coin purse from the depths of her outfit and handed over one copper. “You can have more if these fine folk are impressed.” She waved her hand, inviting the hovering people closer.
A small throng had gathered. It wasn’t surprising.
She was well known, respected, and feared.
It had been difficult getting anyone to talk about her, to reveal even the smallest morsel of information.
Once they sniffed where the conversation was going, they rapidly scurried away.
Being tantalizingly close for such a long time had been half the fun.
They were as curious as I was about the woman underneath.
I reached under the table and pulled up a velvet-draped divider.
It was a foot high and the same width with an ebony cloth attached.
She watched me intently as I reached across and gently lowered her left arm.
I moved it to the side, palm down, fingers splayed.
I slid the board along the table and into the crook of her arm, arranging the cloth over her left shoulder so she seemed to melt seamlessly into the fabric.
Next, I flopped out a doll’s arm. Stuffed, pink and plump, perfectly proportioned to her own body size. I slid the severed end under the cloth, positioning the hand and unpainted nails exactly like her real one.
Candyman’s eyes lingered on mine through the packed bodies as they jostled for a better vantage point, but the flirtation had gone. His brow furrowed, a fleeting look of worry marring his features until my view of him was engulfed by the crowd again.
If this went wrong, I would need access to all his hidden rum. Gorging on sugar and drinking myself into a stupor would be a good swan song for my life thus far.
I tugged the two strands of silver ribbon out from under the tarot. I ran each length along the fake arm and her real one simultaneously. Her brow furrowed, a small crinkle of disgust burrowing into the skin above her nose.
“Do you feel this?” I asked.
She huffed, her eyes darting to those closest before answering, “Of course I do.”
I stopped stroking her real arm but continued to slide the ribbon up the doll’s arm. “And now?”
She scoffed again. “Yes.”
A small murmur arose from those watching. The woman stilled, her blue eyes narrowing on me.
I nodded. “Very well.”
Returning the ribbons to the corner of the table, I scooped up a handful of fire jacks from an alcove underneath. Marianne had kindly lent me a few dozen at the beginning of the fayre, in return for a doctored reading of ill omens when her ex-wife visited.
I cracked one of the jacks between my fingers, tossing it quickly into the air as a small ball of white-hot fire cracked into life.
It hovered for a split second before sizzling into ash and drifting toward the table.
I shifted in my seat, pressing my thigh into the table leg where another aroma waited.
This would release the charred scent of burning flesh, raising the air temperature by a few degrees with it.
I took another jack between my fingers and squeezed, dropping it quickly onto the doll’s arm. As it landed, I cracked the vial with my leg, the noise lost amongst the woman’s shriek.
She gaped at the fake arm and the charred circle marring its pink wrist. The crowd tittered.
Whispers of, “Did you really feel that?” and “She’s part of the act.
” I waited until they quieted and took another jack to her real arm.
She couldn’t see over the screen, hadn’t even noticed my arm move to the side as she stared transfixed at the black stain on the doll’s arm.
I cracked another and rested it on her real hand. It ignited, a brief ripple of heat firing into the crowd. They drew back, some gasping, a few honks of nervous laughter, but the woman did not move.
She frowned at me, then swiveled to assess the crowd. I reached out to tug on the fake arm. “Sit still please.” As if I’d pulled her physically, she turned back and settled. The crowd gasped again.
I pushed the remaining jacks aside, willing the tremble in my fingers to cease and pointed toward an elderly lady to the right of the woman. She wore an elaborate jewel-spattered hat, braided with ribbons and flowers.
“A pin, please.” She extracted one, a fine specimen, two inches long with a diamond head.
I started on the woman’s real hand. Gently, the pin sunk into the flesh between her fingers, skewering her to the velvet table as if she were a butterfly.
She made no sound, nor even flinched. The crowd was silent, sensing the finale, their eyes wide, muscles tensed as they hung on every little movement.
I pulled the pin out slowly, a smear of blood coating the barb. Moving toward the fake arm, I gently prodded the flesh of the forearm. The woman jumped. I did it again, and she flinched. Hovering the pin just above the fake skin, my eyes locked with hers beneath the hood.
My right hand crept toward her real arm, nails silently extending. Power coursed through my body, pooling with a tingle in my fingertips as I dragged my nails down her arm, the jagged ends biting into her flesh.
She didn’t move an inch.
I fought to stop an exhale of relief as the magic rushed out, my body yearning to lay limp as if exsanguinated.
A young boy popped up beside the woman and crammed himself next to her on the bench. “What’s going on, Ma?” He shoved a pink and green swirled lollipop into his mouth and stared at the fake arm with my pin hovering over it, before peering past the barrier.
My stomach twisted. She had a child?
It was too late, but the real question was, would it have stopped me?
I smoothed the blood away using the velvet tablecloth and tugged down her long sleeve. Unfolding the cloth from her shoulder, I returned the barrier beneath the table and lowered my head. The audience broke into applause.
In a daze, the woman cautiously wound her arm in as if the nerves had all come loose. Coppers rained onto the table, bouncing off one another until the excited voices turned away to see what other wonders the fayre held.
Midnight had barely struck, but I was done.
When I pushed the remaining fire jacks toward the boy, he pocketed them gleefully.
I waited until his mother had fully roused herself and shepherded the boy away before tugging down the wooden sign above my stall.
Candyman was obscured again in the rush of customers who had left my performance, blocking my last view of him.
I scooped up the coppers, left the tarot and other equipment, and headed toward the far end of the field.
Once the grass began to tickle my knees and the colorful glow from the fayre had dimmed to an ashy firelight, I doubled over and retched.
When there was nothing left in my stomach, I straightened, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
The woods bordering the field were thick and almost impenetrable, but I had scoped out my retreat already.
Picking my feet high along a narrow game trail, I made for the other side, a distance of only a few miles if I stayed true.
I didn’t know how much time I had before the Collectors came.
They wouldn’t snatch the woman at the fayre, it would be too public.
On her way home, perhaps? Maybe they had a shred of decency left and would wait until she’d tucked her child into bed, sparing him the eternal nightmares.
It would be better to wake and find her vanished than the alternative.
This, I knew firsthand.
The wood pressed in around me, brambles snagging on my cloak and razor-thin spiderwebs caressing my face. Where were the night creatures? The hooting owl, the mouse rustling through the fallen leaves? Even the bats were not silhouetted against the dark clouds.
I ignored the acid roiling in my stomach, the ever-deafening roar in my ears to turn back and spend the night in the warm embrace of Candyman. Safely tucked up amongst people and far away from the darkness that lurked everywhere else.
A twig snapped like bone from just ahead.
Is that why the animals had fled? The Collectors were already waiting?
Crunch.
I tried to submerge the screaming of my subconscious mind, the instinct for self-preservation and pushed through toward a small clearing.
A figure emerged from the shadows on the other side.