Steamside Chronicles

by Ciar Cullen

  “Oh, God, really?” My stomach churned already.

  “You did the unthinkable. Assumed a woman would run away to join the circus with you.”

  “She won’t?” If she didn’t want to come with me to Normal, she sure as hell wasn’t ready for a commitment. God, I’d really overshot my target. Maybe the Punks were to blame, I wondered. Building me up all the time, making me believe I was more than I am.

  “Of course she will. She’d follow you anywhere. But you didn’t ask.” Petti poked me in the chest.

  “Shit. You think… Oh, hell, Petti, what’s she going to say if I ask her to marry me?”

  Petti’s eyes widened and she held her hand to her mouth. “For real? Jack, are you serious?”

  “I thought so. I mean, I love her. I can’t imagine being without her. Why would I want to be without her? Is that enough? Is there something I’m not thinking of? Help me out here, Annalise. I know I can be clueless about what women want.”

  Petti regarded me curiously and let out a deep breath. “I actually think you’re ready for this. I’m speechless.”

  “God, she’s really mad, huh?”

  “Don’t blame me for the shallow traits of my sex, please.”

  Petti stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. I climbed the ladder to the Wall, steeling myself for the wrath of Fen.

  She turned away when she saw me.

  “Sugar, I know you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad.” She petted her cat and stared at nothing.

  “Whoa, you’re furious. Okay, let me explain.”

  “Save it. You’re a busy man, I understand.”

  It’s not how I envisioned the moment, but she forced my hand. I pulled out the ring and showed it to her.

  She frowned at first, and then her eyes looked a little misty, which encouraged me.

  “I couldn’t do this until I resigned my post as the Man.”

  She mumbled. “What’s this?”

  “This ring. This thing I’m about to do. I need to know if you say yes, that you know you’re…” God, this was hard. My hand shook, my heart felt as if I’d been slapped by those paddles.

  What the hell. “That you’re willing to marry—okay, let’s call it go steady with if that helps—an average ghost with no prospects, no future, and a crazy sister, who plans on starting a circus.”

  “Marry? Marry?”

  “Go steady. Let’s call it that.”

  “Marry? I heard you say it.”

  “You know that thing couples who love one another do? Look, I know it may seem sudden, but it just feels like the right time. Shit, it’s too soon. That’s okay, we can just go on like we are if you want. I’m cool with that.”

  “What if I don’t want to join a circus?”

  Tears flowed down her cheeks and she wiped at her eyes and smiled. My heart rejoiced. She loved me. It would be okay.

  “If you don’t want to join a circus, then we do whatever it is you do want to do. But I promised Petti I wouldn’t skip out on her.”

  Emily stood and threw herself into my arms, into a kiss. “I’ll join the circus, Jack.”

  I went to one knee, but she pulled me to my feet. “You don’t have to beg. I’ve been ready for you since 2010.”

  I pressed the ring onto her finger and she admired it. I guess I did okay. It was important to me to pick it out myself, although several of the Dodgers had offered to steal presents for Emily after my slip at our meeting. And pick it out I did. I’d sold both my scarab and Claude’s scarab—identical of course, to buy it.

  “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  “I love you, Fenwick. We’re a good pair.”

  “Damn straight, Jack Pettigrew.”

  “I don’t know how long you want to wait, but maybe the Reverend could help us out.”

  “Oh, right. Jack?”

  “Hmnn.” I was finished talking, ready for kissing.

  “Did it have to be a circus?”

  “Sorry, Sugar, I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You didn’t ask me if I intend to go back to Modern.”

  “Do you?” My heart stopped.

  “What the hell would I do that for?”

  “You’d see the last episode of Lost.”

  “I’m living it. With the man of my dreams.”

  * * *

  Steamside played. It juggled, twirled, somersaulted, walked a tightrope, fired flaming arrows, and regrettably, clowned around.

  While Jack helped Screw and his crew on the dirigible, Petti planned her circus in earnest. She drew columns on our mess hall wall, with spots for Punks to sign up for various roles. We had too many clowns, that’s for sure. But what the hell were you supposed to do if you didn’t have a classic circus skill?

  Calliope had been a gymnast in college and put together a little routine that would have annoyed me if I weren’t engaged to the man she once chased. Now I felt a little sorry for her, but she was as chipper as ever toward me. I had to give her props for that.

  So far, our plans included Fatty playing the wagon-cart calliope (which we had yet to build or acquire), Screw performing amazing feats of magic, Barber throwing knives, a few tumblers, and several clowns.

  Petti tapped at her lips and frowned. “It’s a little pathetic.”

  “Maybe a month is ambitious. We’ll need animals, right? Lions and elephants?”

  “No animals, except horses. We’re not going to hurt exotic animals.”

  “Maybe I can train Howard to jump through a hoop?” God, this was bad. “At least we have your tent.”

  “My tent?”

  “Sure, just like in Central Park. I remember the sign—every word.”

  “Really? Tell me.”

  “You advertised crushed mummy for cures and pigments; retrocognition—that’s past life regression, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I think it was hypnotism, séances, herbal remedies, and soothsaying, with a specialty in romance.”

  Her expression caught me off guard.

  “Didn’t it say that?”

  “Why, that’s perfect! But I certainly had no such sign, nor was I in a tent.”

  “Of course you were. Weren’t you?” I didn’t remember my work shift before I went to the festival in the park, but I remembered Petti’s tent. True, several hours were missing.

  “Then where did we first meet? Steamside? This is wrong—I remember you, I remember everything about the tent. I even remember drinking a Coke right before I entered. And then I came here, on an old-fashioned train through a tunnel…”

  “There was no tent, no train, no tunnel. Only your partner hugging you as you lay dying. You could see me because you were already gone.”

  “I was already gone. Dead. That’s why no one else can see you in Modern, why you don’t go there anymore. Only the dead see you.”

  “A psychic tent, huh? What a wonderful idea. Let’s move on, shall we? I don’t suppose Sweet Pea can walk on stilts, do you?”

  I glanced at my beautiful emerald cut engagement ring, wondering if I’d trade it for another chance at life. No, I had everything I needed, finally. I had it all. Odd that I had to die to really start living.

  I wondered how hard it would be to hit a target from horseback. I was willing to give it a try.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ciar Cullen—In one word, multifaceted. Swimsuit model, actress, entrepreneur, neurosurgeon, humanitarian, mild psi abilities. Oh, a biography, you said?

  Ciar rhymes with beer and has a “hard c”. Ciar took her mother’s name to honor that grand lady’s Irish heritage. She is actually a middle class, middle aged dreamer with a background in archaeology and a love of history, nature, and good hazelnut coffee.

  She’s published 15 books and several short stories—most of them paranormal.

  Ciar never dreamed about becoming a writer, has not been penning stories since she could pick up a pen, hasn’t won any awards that are actually meaningful, and is not a member of the
RWA. She hopes to retire one day to a small island, population two.

  She lives in New Jersey with her husband, a photographer, and one magical talking cat.

  You can visit Ciar’s website at:

  http://www.ciarcullen.com

  Table of Contents

  Title page