Magic Brew

by T. Rae Mitchell

  Damn. I miss my Djinn powers. I’m a lame-assed loser without them. I’d tap into the Highborn powers Maddox cracked open in me if they weren’t so frickin’ unpredictable. I’ve got to figure out how to use them, but this is no time for experimenting. Not while I’m racing across Macombs Bridge. Right now I’ve got to focus on getting us out of the city.

  I’m racking my brain trying to remember what’s on the other side of the river. The neighborhood surrounding the station should be safe ground. We’ll be going past the Polo Ground Houses, one of my old hideouts. I’ve never known any supes to run that turf. Only human gangs, and a lot of them were ruined by brown sugar and nose candy. That’s why Maddox banned the use of man-made chemicals in our gang.

  Bewilderment crashes back in, slowing my pace to a labored jog. Why’d he bother to act all strict and protective when what he was really doing was setting us up for the slaughter? How does someone do that?

  Anger fires through me. My legs shift back into high gear and I pass everybody like they’re standing still. Everyone but Constantine. He’s way ahead of us. When I reach the end of the bridge, I skid to a stop, grabbing at the sharp pain in my side and panting like an old dog.

  “Where to now?” Constantine asks. He’s been waiting for us to catch up. He doesn’t exactly fly, but he can sort of catch air and bound like an astronaut on the moon, thanks to the griffin in him.

  I point at the stairs leading down to 155th.

  Everybody crowds around the top, groaning when they look down and see the long, steep grade of stairs. Except Gort. He’s not winded either. His machine parts obviously do most of the work. But Zulu’s in even worse shape. He’s spewing out another newt and looking pastier than ever after that marathon run.

  “What’s to bitch about? It’s all downhill from here,” I say.

  Hurley spits over the edge and watches it fall. “Somehow I don’t think so.”

  Knox takes a deep drag off his cigarette, then burns another one of our signs into the top stair, this time with a bit stronger flame. Waving me over, he steps aside. “Take it from here. If it ain’t Brooklyin, it might as well be China for all I know of this place.”

  The stairwell is narrow, hemmed in by a stone wall on one side and a thick bunch of trees and bushes on the other. A perfect place for an ambush. After we get about half way down, we see a gang’s bright red insignia spray painted on the stone. A jester’s hat over a masquerade mask.

  Nyx stops on the step above me. “Harlem Carnies. Weird. I didn’t think they owned territory this far north.”

  “Me either. Thought they always stuck to the valley.”

  “Looks like we just pissed on their turf with our mark,” Constantine says as he wedges in between us to get a look. “What do you know about ‘em? Should we be sweatin’ it?”

  Carnies are ghouls whose gang colors come as a mixed bag of mimes, clowns, jesters and harlequins. Gullies take them for creepy street performers and aggressive pests. But if you look past all that circus paint, you find demon grins unnaturally wide and eyes a bit too large to be human. I shrug. “Never had any run-ins with ‘em, so there’s not much to tell. From what I remember they’re a small gang with no real rep to brag about.”

  “Think maybe they changed up their game over the last ten years?” Nyx says.

  “Could be. I saw some Carnies at the summit. Only heavy hitters were invited. Still, I can’t see the Carnies being any threat in a fight. They’re more tricky than anything else.”

  “Ah, tricksters bound to Darkness,” Justice inserts in his usual apocalyptic way.

  I nod. “True that. Maddox always said Carnies are beasts at calling up illusions.”

  “Better than you?” Constantine says.

  I gulp dryly. “Right now? Yeah.”

  Nyx shifts nervously. “Don’t ghouls eat people?”

  “Gross,” Zulu grumbles as he grabs his gut, “don’t get me goin’ again.”

  I turn away from the Carnies’ blood red tag. “Gullies are on the menu for sure, but I never heard of supes getting eaten. If anything, they probably feed on energy.”

  I get a bunch of tense stares. We all know how to deal with a straight up rumble, but the thought of getting eaten or drained of our energy and powers presses some hot buttons.

  “Ghouls don’t have the muscle to take us on,” I add, wanting to keep the others calm. “Why do you think they use illusions? They’ve got no real game.”

  “Kinda like you,” Zulu grumbles.

  “What about the Nightmare Circus?” Nyx adds before I can get into it with him. “I’ve heard about supes who got trapped under the Carnie big top. Word is they turn up later like ghosts of themselves. They’re never right afterwards.”

  Knox blows out another thick cloud of smoke as he lights up another cigarette. “Don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I’ve never heard of any circus big top,” I say. “Probably some urban legend started by the Carnies to build a rep.”

  Nyx crosses her arms and frowns. “I’m not sure about this. If we can’t see what’s down there, I say we hike our asses back up the stairs.”

  “I’m with Nyx,” Justice says, leaning over the railing to look down into the gulley. “Who knows how many odious ghouls are lurking in this nethermost abyss.”

  “I vote for sending Gort down there to scout it out,” Constantine says, staring at Justice with a challenging glint in his eye.

  Justice looks at the Mech. “You know what to do.”

  Gort turns to Constantine and flips him off.

  “Really? You won’t risk Robocop here to save us?” Constantine yells. “What’s with you and this Mech? You doin’ each other, or what?”

  That scary, demonic light flares in Justice’s eyes, but then he smiles. “I see my new favorite provokes your envy.”

  Constantine rushes Justice. An electrical cable snakes from Gort’s arm, zapping him in his tracks. Staggering back, Constantine grabs his chest. “Up yours, canned meat,” he gasps.

  Jesus. Why’d these two have to pick today to keep going at it like Louis and Lestat?

  “Break it up!” I shout, startling everyone. “Look, we’ve only got a short ways to go. Once we get back on the train, we’re golden.” I point at the looming, cross-shaped towers ahead of us. “All we gotta do is cut through those two buildings and we’re at the station.”

  “I’m in. Let’s bust a move,” Knox says.

  “Yeah, screw this. I’m not gonna let some clowns scare me,” Hurley says.

  Nyx shakes her head. “No, Constantine’s right. We need to scout this out first. I’ll surf down there and take a look around.”

  I grab her arm. “Can ghouls see past your shadow cloak?”

  “Don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.” Before I can argue, she folds a dark cloak of mist around herself and vanishes.

  We all fall into a restless silence while we wait for Nyx to come back. Time slows to a crawl, stretching our nerves with every minute that ticks by. Heads are turning, looking this way and that, jumping at the sound of firecrackers going off blocks away.

  “What’s the plan if she don’t make it back?” Zulu asks.

  Pandora cuffs him up the backside of his head.

  “Hey, bitch. Cut me some slack. I’m tryin’ to recuperate,” he mutters.

  I look at Pandora. “What’s happening down there?”

  Pausing a minute to connect with Nyx, she signs, “We’re good to go.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s bounce,” I tell everyone.

  Something whooshes past our heads and lands at my feet. A barrage of fiery sparks and smoke explodes from a long string of firecrackers. I jolt backward, nearly knocking Pandora over. Righting myself, I press my back to the wall, checking the top of the stairs.

  A lone Carnie’s standing there, his face painted white, eyes circled with a mess of charcoal and mouth a garish red smile. He’s shaking with laughter as we stare up at him, looking like we’ve been caught
with our pants down.

  An overwhelming urge to jump over the railing comes over me. It’s safer down there in the woods, where I can blend into the bushes and trees. Except at this height, I’d probably bust a leg. All the same, I can’t keep from staring down into the ravine, once again seeing the same golden light rimming the leaves and the currents of life sparks coursing throughout the tree trunks and branches. What’s that all about?

  Pandora claps her hands in front of me.

  Blinking out of it, I look at her. She grabs me by the arm, pushing me to run down the stairs. Hurley, Justice, Gort and Constantine are near the bottom, making short work of the stairs, skipping three to six at a time. Pandora and Knox are right behind me. Zulu’s trying to keep up, but the gap is growing.

  A little farther up, the Carnie creeps up behind Zulu. Smiling wickedly, he rubs his red-gloved hands together like a cartoon villain.

  “Zulu, on your six!” I yell.

  By the time Zulu turns around, the Carnie’s right above him. Holding an anvil, of all things. He shoves it at Zulu, causing him to stagger backwards with its tremendous weight. With one finger, the Carnie pushes Zulu over the railing. He drops over the side like a boulder.

  Knox roars in anger, blasting a stream of fire at the Carnie.

  The flames hit him. Screaming, he rolls down the stairs, his fall broken when he hits Knox’s leg.

  It’s Zulu. Knox fried Zulu. I knew the Carnies were good, but that’s one impressive illusion.

  Knox goes white as chalk. “What the hell’s going on?” he bellows.

  Zulu opens his eyes, with what might be a permanent look of surprise on his face. His eyebrows are burned clean off, along with one side of his afro. “Asshole move, man. Why’d you do that?” he croaks.

  “I…I thought you were…” Knox swallows hard, his eyes darting around, searching for the Carnie.

  He’s still there, standing about ten steps above Zulu, and he’s not alone. There’s a Carnie on each step all the way to the top. There must be twenty of them. I don’t know how they could’ve gotten there in the last ten seconds.

  “Knox! Get Zulu and run for it!” I yell as I rush down the remaining steps in a blur of frenzied jumps.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, my feet suddenly slide out from under me. I’m on my back, sliding over a slippery surface at a crazy speed, scrambling to grab hold of something to stop myself.

  Everything around me goes out. The streetlights, the lit windows in the buildings, even the drone of traffic on the bridge goes quiet, like someone stuffed me in a dark, sound-proof room. Can mean only one of two things. I’m caught in an illusion or I’ve slipped into some other dimension.

  Either way, I’m hosed.

  11

  Ghouls Will Be Ghouls

  RISING TO STAND, I STARE BLINDLY into a black void. Where are the others? Am I the only one who got caught?

  A spotlight comes on, shining down on a dark-haired girl in a crimson jacket and tight jeans. She’s crouched with her head turned away from me.

  Right on, it’s Nyx. If there’s anyone who can get us out of here, it’s my queen of shadows. I run over and kneel next to her. “Hey, girl,” I say, touching her arm to make sure she’s real. So far so good, she’s not a mirage.

  Slowly, she lifts her head to look at me. When I see her face, I lurch backwards. It’s some Carnie girl, made into an ugly caricature of Nyx. Her bone-white features screw up into a distorted smile. One eye is shut, charcoaled black to match Nyx’s eye patch and the other eye–a pale dead gray–has one dark tear painted down her cheek. Her eyebrows are drawn in with sad lines. Her lips are ruby-red and purposely heart-shaped.

  Snickering in a nasally voice, the girl stands up as another mime appears out of nowhere directly behind her. It’s a guy with strings attached to his head, arms and legs. He’s moving like a puppet. His black lips are painted downward in a grim line. His eyes glow violet and they’re rimmed in charcoal with Harlequin points drawn up and over each eyebrow and down his cheeks.

  A queasy feeling ices through my gut. I think he’s supposed to be me.

  They squirm out of their red jackets, exposing white tank tops, ghost-pale arms and gloves the color of blood. There’s a large black club painted on the front of her shirt and an upside down red heart on his. Acting all flirty, the girl whispers in his ear. He gives her the cold shoulder. She grabs her heart and sags to the floor while he swaggers back and forth.

  I might’ve been scared at first, but now I’m just mad. And insulted.

  The two characters circle each other. He moves in for a kiss and she melts against him. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and dances around like a drunk.

  “Yo, take your sick joke and shove it!” I yell.

  They both turn to me, pointing and laughing.

  I lose it. “Come on, let’s throw down right here!” I yell, charging at them with both fists ready to rock n’ roll. Only, I’m not moving. My legs are going at it like the roadrunner, but I’m stuck in the same spot.

  They laugh even harder.

  Their laughter’s suddenly drowned out by horns, drums and electric guitars bashing out an obnoxious circus march. Out of breath, I stop running. More Carnies than I’ve ever seen in one place step out of the blackness. There must be close to a hundred of them. White, grease-painted faces wearing twisted cartoon smiles stare back at me, some of them contorted and bent at freakish angles, crawling and scrabbling as they form a wide circle around me.

  There’s too many of them to fight alone. I’m a dead man.

  A wild-eyed ringmaster, most likely the Carnie leader, enters the circle. Filthy ribbons and grimy ostrich plumes droop from the brim of his warped top hat. Smears of dried blood streak down from beneath his hat, dripping over charcoal-rimmed eyes all the way to his blackened mouth and rotted teeth. His fanged grin is so wide I can practically see his tonsils.

  Slicing a long finger under his chin for silence, the irritating music crashes to a stop. “Greetings,” he announces dramatically, “welcome to the Nightmare Circus.”

  Sweat breaks out on my forehead and the back of my neck. The rumors about the Carnie big top are true, which means I’m on tonight’s menu. I should’ve listened to Nyx. She’d heard enough about the Carnies to have a healthy amount of fear about them. I’m a fool for not paying attention to what Carnies are. After all, ghouls will be ghouls.

  “Tonight, for everyone’s enjoyment, we will laugh while others cry,” the ringmaster’s voice booms. “We will dance on the bones of the miserable. We will sip on their tears and feast on their screams.” Then he turns and looks straight at me. “And when the sun comes up we shall see what’s left, if anything at all.”

  Someone shoves Nyx into the circle. The real Nyx. Moving in next to me, she frowns. “Told you we shoulda left.”

  “I know,” I mutter. I look out past the Carnies at the darkness surrounding us. “Besides this spotlight on us, it’s pretty dark. Any chance you can Houdini us out of here?”

  Her mouth forms a tight line as she shakes her head. “Demon dimension.”

  Meaning, we’re royally screwed.

  “What about the others?” I ask. “Any word from Pandora?”

  “The line’s are down, but from what I can tell, it’s just us.”

  “How’d they catch–”

  “Uh…time to zip it,” the crazy-looking ringmaster says, pinching his grubby fingers over my lips.

  I swipe his hand off me and shove him back. Thrown off balance, he catches himself, never losing that awful grin. Ready to punch my fist straight through that twisted smile to the back of his head, I start to shout exactly that, but my mouth won’t open. Grabbing at my face, I feel solid skin where my lips should be. I have no mouth. Filled with rage, I scream, but I’m reduced to strangled noises deep inside my throat.

  The clowns and jesters standing nearby laugh at me uncontrollably.

  A wave of fatigue hits me, making my legs shake.

&n
bsp; Nyx stares at me. No longer angry, just concerned.

  I look away, embarrassed and ashamed. This is all my fault. I should be busting heads and getting us out of here. I’m not the warrior she is. I never have been. Depression crashes in on me. I’ve never felt so defeated. My legs give out from under me and I drop to the floor.

  “Edge!” Nyx yells, her voice sharp as a drill sergeant. “Don’t let them get to you!”

  The Carnie who’s dressed like her, runs up to Nyx, yelling silently, mimicking her movements perfectly. Then she puts her face close to Nyx’s face, biting down, chattering her fangs together.

  “Back off, bitch!” Nyx screams.

  The Carnie girl jerks back, pretending hurt feelings.

  “Don’t make me have to remove those pretty lips,” the ringmaster warns Nyx. He turns to his audience. “Are you ready for the second act, boys and girls?”

  The Carnies cheer, stamping their feet like crazed fans at a football game.

  Removing his top hat, the ringmaster sweeps his arm and bows. “It’s shoooowtime!”

  A magician strolls in. A Marilyn Manson look alike. He’s got an antique deck of oversized playing cards in his hands, which he fans out smoothly and expertly. “Pick a card,” he says, holding them out to me.

  I shake my head no.

  Smiling, the magician cocks his head to one side. “Play the game or we go straight to the dyin’ part of the night.”

  Scowling at him, I pull a card. It’s the Queen of Clubs. I look up from the image of the queen and glance at Nyx. She stares back, tense and puzzled. India’s given me enough tarot readings to know the Queen of Clubs represents a strong, smart female. She works hard, hates laziness, weakness and mental handicaps in others. That’s Nyx, and her card turns up in my readings every time.

  Taking the card from me, the magician folds it in half and keeps folding until it’s the size of a matchbox. He hands it back. “Unfold the card.”

  Huffing through my nose, I do as he says. But I have to keep unfolding because the card is much bigger now. By the time I get it completely unfolded, the card’s as tall as the magician.