by Debra Kristi
No matter. He didn’t need an army to deal with Bolsvck. He was strong enough on his own.
Beneath the bridge, he stared at the empty spaces, searched for a hint of a door. It wasn’t a door that presented itself readily. There were endless tracks in the muffled dirt from many who had tried before him. Except, he knew it was there somewhere. Kyra had taken him through it not once, but twice.
He wasn’t sure what it was that finally drew his attention upward. A passing car on the bridge, maybe, that was the most likely answer. But when he looked up, from the right angle he caught a glimmer of webbing running between the massive pillars. The spider track was high above his head, yet appeared to make a nicely angled window. There was an old crate sitting alongside the column. Maybe it was there for a reason. Making sure he had firm footing, and that his dress shoes wouldn’t slip off the wood, Marcus stepped up on the crate and reached between the lines of the web.
Nothing.
“Dammit.”
The crate cracked, and his leg plummeted through the broken wood.
“Dammit all to dragon-fire Hell.” He kicked his leg clear, sending the wood crashing across to the other column. That’s when he noticed it. Could be nothing, but in his experience, nothing was rarely truly nothing. And the odds of this something being the thing he sought were increasing by the nanosecond.
On the column a few feet away from him was a black line. A simple black line to the average passerby, yet when he stepped to his left the line grew wider, and with a couple steps to his right, it grew taller and faded. The line didn’t fade away, only faded from black to something with depth, various degrees of grey. When he stepped within foot, he could have sworn he smelled funnel cake and midway sawdust. He stepped closer yet. Fun Zone sounds on low volume.
He glanced back and made a mental check of where his men were. Rick and a few others were putting a heated end to the battle. Men ran from the fight or died in fiery dragon breath. Chet was grabbing Marcus’s jacket from the car, and Toby was only a stride or two behind him. Marcus waved, watched Chet nod and walk toward him. Chet should see what he was about to do. He should be able to copy and follow. Make sure the rest of the guys did the same.
Slowly, like the way he enjoyed exploring and savoring Kyra’s curves, he pushed his hand through the darkened line upon the pillar. His hand, and then his arm, all the way up to the elbow, disappeared. The swirling pull of the portal tugged at him. Marcus scanned the men coming his way, winked at Chet, then slipped into the black.
The doorway pushed and pulled at him, twisting and twining around his body like a prehistoric snake. Everything sucked him in, and then abruptly spat him out.
Right at the entrance to Mystic’s Carnival. His men filed through at his back, and he could feel Davies’s men not that far behind in pursuit.
“You aren’t supposed to be here.”
An inferno of rage and lust for revenge, Marcus turned and glared at a man with glazed over white eyes. Crazy old blind codger was pointing his cane at Marcus, as if he used a sixth sense to know his surroundings. “And where is it I am supposed to be, old man?” Marcus asked. He retrieved his jacket from Chet, slipped it on, and brushed the sleeves straight.
“Not here, that’s for sure.” Zeke lowered his cane, placed his weight on the hilt, and stood, began wobbling forward.
This struck Marcus as funny, the idea that a broken, old man thought he could tell him what to do. A laugh bubbled up Marcus’s windpipe.
“What should we do, boss?” Chet asked.
“Find both Bolsvck and Davies. They’re here somewhere. If anyone gets in your way, strike them down.” Marcus said the last part in a matter-of-fact way. As if the task were as simple as slicing bread. The roar and clatter of fighting rose behind him, the signal Davies’s men had not only reached the gate, but had managed to break through to the carnival.
Marcus started toward Zeke. “It doesn’t matter what you think, old man. We’re already here. And we’re not leaving until we get what we came for.”
Something close to rage pressed into Zeke’s brows, molded to the lines of his face, but if Marcus had to describe the expression, he’d have called it parental and protective, which scratched at Marcus’s curiosity. What is the old man protecting? The damn carnival? But then the cane shot into the air and shook vigorously in Zeke’s hand. The old man charged. Any speck of curiosity fled.
Marcus stood his ground, waiting for the rush the minor altercation would bring. Zeke swung the cane, brought it down in a cross swing. Marcus rose his hand and stopped it dead, yanked it free from Zeke’s grasp, and grinned at the old man’s astonished expression, then whacked him in the head. Zeke tottered backwards before collapsing on the ground.
“Damn foolish, old man.” Marcus stared down at him.
Zeke exhaled and closed his eyes.
The lights of the carnival flickered, then went dark. The rides slowed to a stop, and the music dwindled to static, then nothing at all. The vibrant life Marcus had witnessed around him only a moment before was gone.
Music and laughter were replaced with grumbles and yells of concern. Even a few screams reached his ears from various ends of the park. He turned in a circle, regarding everything around him, before focusing back on the unconscious man at his feet. “Curious,” he said, and tossed the cane at Zeke’s side.
“Boss! Boss!”
Marcus snapped around. “What is it?”
“The portal, it closed!” Darren yelled and ran toward him.
Marcus ran his fingers across his thumb. Everything got more curious by the minute.
“The portal closed with one of our guys still in it,” Darren said, coming to halt, huffing and puffing.
Marcus’s back straightened and head tilted in interest. “Which one?”
“Can’t tell. When the portal closed, it sliced his arm clean off and that’s all we got.”
Marcus winced, then turned back to the body on the ground, kicked Zeke in the ribs. “What’s the deal, old-timer?”
12
MAGICAL FAVORS
Kyra
The bed frame squawked when Kyra sat back down. Her fingers dug and clawed at the mattress stitching, and she stared at the many boxes and bottles across the room without seeing a one. A black hole had swallowed her up for the second time today, and she searched for an inkling of fight within her, but she was coming up empty. How could she come up empty? She knew she was strong. Had always been strong. Had her strength walked out the door with Sebastian?
The tent was quiet. Talia said not a word, and Kyra suspected the embarrassingly painful situation held her tongue. Only the muffled sounds of the crowd beyond the canvas wall kept Kyra’s miserable thoughts company.
“How do you feel?” Talia finally asked.
Kyra startled, stared up at her. What a stupid question. How did she feel? She felt like a rollercoaster had run loop-de-loops through her insides, torn them apart and dragged them away. She felt like she’d spun off the swirling swings and left her heart and soul behind, like she’d fallen facedown in the midway sawdust and been trampled by the elephants. Her fire had blown out, and her carcass was nothing but ashes. “I’m dragon-damntastic,” she said.
“Sure you are,” Talia said. “I meant, are you still cold?”
It was a pretty safe bet to say she wasn’t. Kyra had abandoned the blanket a while ago, and she no longer rubbed or hugged herself. Or maybe she was too stunned dumb to notice the temperature of her body. Either way, it didn’t matter to her.
The countless strings of colorful buttons, charms, and trinkets marking the entrance to Talia’s den of crystal ball reading clattered. “She’s somewhere in here.” Queen Shui’s voice came from the next room. “I can smell her.”
Quick as the ring in the ring toss bounces off the bottle’s rim, Kyra sprang off the bed.
“We’re close. We’ll find her,” Bolsvck said. The sounds of them shuffling through the magical room on the other side of the tent wall dre
w closer.
Kyra turned and grabbed Talia by the arms, panic embracing her like a long-lost friend. “You must help me. I don’t want them to find me,” she whispered.
Talia grimaced. “Why don’t you want to see your parents?”
“I don’t want to deal with them right now. Not with their pushy match-making, nor their hounding for me to forsake my Moorigad status. Besides, I want to figure out what’s going on with Sebastian, and they’d rather kill him than help me.”
Taking one quick glance over Kyra’s shoulder, Talia motioned Kyra to follow her, and they swiftly disappeared out the back exit.
Kyra tugged at her arm once again. “You don’t understand. Not only can they recognize me and have a small army to search me out, but they can track my scent.”
“Don’t worry,” Talia said with a pat to Kyra’s hand. “I got you covered. Just follow me.”
And Kyra did follow Talia, right out of Mystic’s Magical Market and into the Fun Zone. Like an overexcited child, Talia made their course winding, zigged and zagged in and round rides and games, sometimes backtracking. Talia told Kyra this would confuse the dragon clan members, and Kyra agreed it was a rather brilliant idea. It wouldn’t stop them from finding her, but it should at least slow their progress. After circling the carousel and weaving through the crowd at the Zipper, they moved out of the Fun Zone and into the populated tents of Extraordinary Shows Defying Reality.
Here, their movements were no different. They circled tents, ran through one, then crossed over to others. When they finally came to a stop, it took Kyra a moment to determine where they were. They hadn’t bothered with the stage area or seats, but had run in a silly pattern among the outer entertainment area to end up behind the stage, where the space was tightly crammed with wardrobe boxes and smaller boxes, props, hats, capes…
Kyra’s body went rigid with understanding. She was standing in the domain of the creepy Magician. The same Magician rumored to keep a girl so tightly under his wing that she had no freedom. He may be magically talented, but that didn’t excuse such suffocating treatment of anyone. Not ever.
“Why are we here?” Kyra asked Talia, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you’d be able to conjure up something to help me, like you did with the other issue.”
Talia glanced around and shrugged. “I could if you wanted to wait and take the chance of being found. But why take the chance, when the answer is right here?” She gestured to the rack of clothing.
Kyra frowned. “I don’t understand. How would clothing…”
The curtain pulled back with a dramatic flair, and Mr. Creepy Magician himself, stepped into the back room. “To what do I owe this honor?” He tilted his head slightly. Kyra was sure the gesture was meant to show gentlemanly manners, but all she could see was sleazebag and slimeball. She recoiled a step.
Talia held her arm in a lover’s link, as if she thought Kyra might try to get away. “We’re in need of your assistance, if you wouldn’t mind. Kyra here,” Talia glanced at Kyra, “is in need of disappearing for a while, without actually going anywhere, if you get my meaning.”
“I most certainly do.” He strode forward, one eyebrow arched so high Kyra thought it might snap. He appraised her with the skilled eye of a sex offender; it made her skin crawl. He was old enough to be her father, possibly older. She wanted to gag. “I suppose it’s the gown you seek?”
“If we could borrow it for a spell—” Talia began.
“A dress?” Kyra interjected. “How is a dress supposed to help me?”
The Magician peered down at her, slowly walked around her, moving Talia to the side in the process. “My dear, you know so little. I gather you are the reason for the change here at the carnival. The shift in balance. Mind explaining?”
Kyra balked. “The carnival is always shifting. I haven’t caused any changes.”
The Magician stared at her, his eyes eternally intense. “Silly girl. Not the moving and relocating.” He stepped impossibly close, never breaking his glare. “The shift in power. This is the shift to which I refer. A number of powerful beings have recently entered our happy little home, and I have a feeling that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Does any of this ring any bells of recognition?” Kyra bit her lip, blinked, and stared forward, avoiding further eye contact. “I didn’t think so.” He moved to the clothing rack and pulled a dress free from the many colorful pieces. The one he chose wasn’t as wild as some of the others. It was dark forest green, which suited Kyra just fine, but it was still a dress, and she wasn’t too keen on that idea. If she needed to fight Marcus, how was she supposed to manage with that big skirt strapped around her? “You want to hide in every possible way?”
Kyra hesitated, hating the idea of being indentured to this man in any way. Problem was, time was running out, and she did want to hide. She was tired and brokenhearted, and now was not a good time to deal with her family and all the dung they heaped upon her. Reluctantly, she nodded. “I want to hide. I don’t want to be recognized by appearance, smell, or anything else someone could use to find me.”
Creepy Magician appeared even more disturbing with a smile spreading across his cheeks. Watching him made Kyra feel downright green, just like the dress. Holding the hanger in one hand, the Magician flared the dress out in front of him. “Then this, my dear, is your answer. Once you are wearing this, no one will recognize you. It is the perfect camouflage.” His eyes twinkled. Something about them reminded her of the devil on the tarot card Sebastian had dealt her not too long ago. She shivered.
“How does that work, exactly?” She wanted to reach out and touch the fabric, see if it felt different than the average dress, but there was no way she was getting any closer to that man. Not unless her life depended upon it, and as far as she could tell, things weren’t that desperate. Not yet.
He handed the dress to Talia and meandered to the back of his working space. Finally, after fidgeting with a few of his books and taking a sip of a drink on his desk, he took a seat and rested his gaze on Kyra again. “It’s fairly simple, actually. Not to say the magic is simple, only the desired effect. What you perceive versus what others perceive. I must say, sometimes I’m rather brilliant. I astound even myself.” Kyra frowned and inwardly rolled her eyes. “The dress is enchanted, you see. It took some time to get the spell just right, but now that I have it perfected…” He kissed the air with his fingers. “When you wear this dress, and only this dress, I might add, everyone you meet will perceive you in every possible way as the young lady for whom it was originally designed. So as you can see, you will be quite safe. No one will recognize you.”
Kyra crossed her arms. “So you say. Who was the girl?” He arched his brows. “The one the dress was designed for?”
The Magician leaned back in his chair. “No one with whom you should concern yourself. She has never worked here at the carnival, which makes this situation perfect for you. She was beautiful, though, with long, streaming hair of gold, and pink, pouty lips.” He appeared lost in his memories, memories of a girl Kyra would bet was too young for him.
“And green eyes?” His gaze jerked toward her. Kyra motioned to the dress. “She had green eyes, right? Hence the green dress.” He smiled.
The last thing, the absolute last thing, Kyra wanted in all the worlds was to look like some girl this creeper lusted after. Her lips twisted in disgust, and she took a step back toward the exit.
Dress wrapped firmly over her arm, Talia linked Kyra with her other arm and tugged her away from the exit toward an ornate changing screen. “Would you excuse us?” Talia said pointedly to the Magician.
With a smug smile, he rose and sauntered out of the room.
Talia shoved the dress at Kyra. “I know he’s a bit off, but you won’t have to be around him. Just put the dress on, and we’ll get out of here.”
Kyra sulked silently, just a little, then took the dress and held it up. “It’s too small. It will never fit me.”
“Magic, remember?”
Talia gave her a gentle nudge, and Kyra moved behind the changing screen with the dress in her hands. Mounds of satin ruffled around the skirt in fold after perfect fold. A princess waistline brought a soft V to the front, and the bodice was fitted and delicately detailed with colored floral embroidery. The gown buttoned up the back which meant Kyra would need help getting in and out of the garment. But at least the sleeves were short. They had a bit of a flare, but would still allow her arms full mobility. The dress was so pretty, so ladylike. So not her.
Voices carried to her from the stage area. The Magician and—Kyra sucked in a deep breath—Drakhögg. She began to change her clothing at bone-shattering speed, a speed she couldn’t recall ever attempting in her life. Off flew her top and pants, and into the gown she slipped. A hundred tiny buttons ran up the backside of her new outfit, and this brought her to a stop. How did anyone ever dress themselves in such attire? “Talia, help,” she whispered.
Talia was quickly at her back, pushing each button into place. “If I didn’t know it was you, I wouldn’t know it was you,” Talia said at Kyra’s ear.
“It’s actually working?” Kyra couldn’t believe it was that simple—a change of clothes.
“Look for yourself.” Talia’s hand swung toward the mirror a few feet away.
Kyra moved cautiously to the mirror and beheld the beauty staring back at her. It wasn’t Kyra. Not at all. A golden-haired, green-eyed girl with full pink lips nervously smiled. The dress accentuated her eyes and figure quite nicely. Her hands ran down the fabric, smoothing the lines. She was so feminine, so foreign.
“What did I tell you?” Talia stepped beside her and admired the view. Pretty amazing magic.
“I know she’s back here. Stop getting in my way, old man.”
At the sound of Drakhögg’s irritation Kyra’s stomach rolled. Talia moved toward the sound, but Kyra turned around in a quick search and spotted several small blades in a box pushed up against a pile of books and props. She grabbed one and recognized the blades as the type used in the knife throwing trick. If Drakhögg were to find her and she were to end out in the open, there was no way she was going unarmed, not with Marcus still out there somewhere. She shoved the blade in her boot, smoothed her skirt, and turned just in time.
