by Trudi Jaye
Missy stared at him, her large eyes flashing brilliantly in the afternoon sun. “If you want to get to L.A.—to your precious mother—any time this week, you need to let me take charge and give your leg a rest. You have no choice.” Her expression softened. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Zeph wanted to yell no at the top of his voice, to tell her she could go to hell. That he was in charge of the bike and he didn’t need her to help him. “Do you even know how to ride a motorcycle?” he said instead. The thought of getting back on the bike and trying to hold his leg still in one position for another few hours was too much.
Missy nodded. “I’m a carny kid. I’ve been riding bikes since before I could walk,” she said with a grin.
Zeph paused and gazed into the distance, watching the colors spin in the landscape ahead of them. It was a long, straight road that should have been an easy ride but had somehow become a torture chamber for him. He rubbed his leg, trying to ease the muscles, but they just screamed in pain back at him. He’d pushed himself too far and he knew it. His body was weak, his leg unable to cope with the kind of action he’d always taken for granted.
“Okay, you can ride the bike. But you have to be careful. This isn’t mine, and I’m screwed if we break it.”
Missy grinned. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
***
Missy tightened her hands around the handlebars and revved the engine, hoping riding a motorbike was something you remembered from your childhood. She hadn’t been on one since she was about sixteen, and even then, she’d not been that great. Now she was pretending to Zeph she could ride not only an ancient Harley, but one with a sidecar that was going to change the weight and dynamics, probably beyond what she could actually cope with.
But she had to do it. The look on Zeph’s face had been enough to convince her she had no other choice. He was in pain, real pain. And he was desperate to find his mother.
She liked to think she had a hard shell, that she didn’t give a damn. And she did actually have a rather bad temper that helped maintain this idea, because she was always saying stuff without thinking it through.
But at the end of the day, in the inner chambers of her heart, she was a big ol’ marshmallow. No matter that she was still a little annoyed at Zeph for lying to her—she couldn’t bear to see him in pain.
Glancing over to where he sat next to her, his face set and looking into the distance with grim determination, she knew she was doing the right thing.
She slowly moved up and off the gravel on the side and onto the road. Without the need to balance the bike, it was somehow both easier and harder at the same time. The strange extra weight of the sidecar unbalanced her at first, and she did little speed wobbles until she took a deep breath and straightened up. Then she leaned forward on the bike and let it rip.
***
It turned out she had a natural aptitude for bikes. At least this one. Things had obviously changed since she was sixteen. She was probably more confident, more determined to get this right. But whatever it was, she loved the experience of riding the Harley.
Beside her, Zeph had stopped clinging to the edges of the sidecar and had relaxed back into the small hard seat. It wasn’t really designed for a man his size, so he was probably going to get sore in that position too. But at least for now, it was a relief, and for the first time all day, she was glad she was here with him.
They rode for the rest of the day, and by nightfall, Missy’s legs felt like they were deadened lumps of meat, her arms aching from the constant vibration. She saw a town up ahead and pulled into the small motel that was one of the first buildings to greet them.
“What are you doing? We can’t stop.” Even as Zeph argued with her, his eyes regarded the motel with a yearning that clearly said he wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest his body.
“We’re stopping here. We’re both exhausted, and pushing ourselves beyond our limits is stupid. It won’t help you get your mother back.” She pulled up in front of reception. “Wait here.”
Missy climbed off the bike, pausing a moment to reorientate herself to walking, and then strode off to the office. Inside, a small grey-haired woman sat watching a talent show program.
“Kick him off,” she was saying to the television. “He’s no good! Can’t even sing.”
“Um, excuse me,” said Missy, clearing her throat.
The woman held up one hand. “Just a minute, love. Just need to finish watching this song.”
Missy shifted her feet uncomfortably. “I just need a room for the night. Two single beds.”
“Shh!” The woman glared at Missy, the lines on her face flickering in the blue light from the television.
“But I just need—”
“That’s it! You can’t stay here. We’re booked up. Now get outta here!” The woman waved her arms toward the door and then turned back to the TV set.
“You can’t do that! You clearly have rooms available.”
“I don’t have room for the likes of you. Now shut up and get out!” the woman hissed at Missy. She turned back to the small television, clearly prepared to ignore anything else Missy said.
She stood there a moment watching the strange light flickering and the intent expression on the woman’s face as she watched some young boy singing his heart out. She huffed out her breath. They didn’t need to stay here anyway. They’d find another motel, easy as anything. She stalked out the door.
“Where are we staying?” Zeph had climbed out of the sidecar but was leaning against it, his face pale.
“The old biddy said they were out of rooms. We need to find somewhere else.”
Zeph glanced pointedly around the empty lot. “What did you say to upset her?”
“Nothing. She was watching some stupid TV show.”
He rolled his eyes and pushed himself to standing. He limped slowly toward the reception office. Missy scowled as he opened the door and smiled at the woman behind the counter.
She watched through the windows as the woman turned toward him, started talking, and then began to smile. She even tittered; a silly little laugh that seemed to come from a completely different person than the dried-up old prune Missy had spoken to.
By the time Zeph came out clutching a room key, Missy was boiling mad. “That old heifer! She ignored me, and then she flirts with you!”
“If you’ve got it…” said Zeph, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning. His limp was almost gone, and he walked with a cocky swagger that made Missy want to kick his sore leg.
“I’m embarrassed to be female if that’s the way they all fawn all over you,” she muttered before turning back to the bike. She followed Zeph to the last room in the row of units, parking the bike right outside. Zeph turned the key in the lock and went through the door. She grabbed her bag from the bolthole in the sidecar and followed him.
It was small, barely clean, and only had one bed, a huge king-size monstrosity in the middle of the room. “You couldn’t get us twin beds?” she asked, feeling prudish.
Zeph glanced back at her. “I didn’t ask for anything in particular, just a room.” He gauged her countenance. “Hey, you can go back and talk to her if you want to change it.”
He couldn’t help laughing at her expression.
Missy sighed and walked farther into the room. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept in the same bed just the night before. She glanced up. “This isn’t an attempt to seduce me into sleeping with you, is it? Because it won’t work.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are so full of yourself. What makes you think I have any interest in having sex with you? My leg is killing me, I’m tired all over, and all I want to do is damn-well sleep. Get over yourself.”
Missy nodded, grateful for the straight-up answer. She could deal with that. “Okay, then I call the left side of the bed,” she said. It was the closest to the bathroom and farthest from the door. She wasn’t used to sleeping without the security of being surrounded by about a hundred frien
ds and family in the next caravan or house.
She sat on the bed with a thump, the hard mattress resisting her attempts to get comfortable. Her legs were tired and she wanted a shower, but for the moment, she was just going to sit. She closed her eyes.
A phone rang in the silence, and she opened her eyes again. It was her mobile phone in her bag. Frowning, she reached down and pulled it out.
Rilla’s name flashed up on the screen. Missy considered not answering for a second. But she wasn’t afraid of Rilla.
“Hello?” she said innocently.
“Missy, where the hell are you?” Rilla’s voice was angry. She’d obviously discovered Missy wasn’t in the Compound anymore.
“I don’t have to account for myself to you, Rilla. You’re not my boss anymore.” Missy felt her anger, never far away, boiling to the surface.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve left and I won’t be coming back. You don’t want me as Showmaster, and Jack thinks I killed his aunt on purpose. I can’t live like that.”
“He knows you didn’t do it on purpose, Missy. That it was self-defense.”
Missy shook her head. “I’m not stupid, Rilla. I can see for myself what he thinks. And I know it was him that let me renounce. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not coming back.”
“Have you seen Zeph?” she asked hesitantly. “He’s gone as well.”
Missy glanced over to where Zeph was pulling items out of his bag, considering what she should tell Rilla. But they weren’t children, and Rilla wasn’t their mother or their boss. “He’s here with me. We’re going to L.A.”
“Can I speak to him? I need—”
“Look, Rilla, we’re not your responsibility. Neither of us. We’re going to get his mom back and do our own thing. That’s it. Have a nice life.” Missy ended the call and turned off the phone.
She glanced up to see Zeph staring at her. “What?”
“Did you just tell Rilla to piss off?” he said.
“Yes.” Missy glared, daring him to challenge her on it.
“Good,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Daphne, it’s time to ring Zeph,” said Veronica. “Go talk to your new friend Helene and suggest she call her son, would you?” She looked at her elegant friend as she delicately sipped her tea. Daphne could be capricious, self-absorbed, and mean. But she always did what Veronica asked her to do, even without the use of Veronica’s persuasion magic. Sometimes it troubled Veronica—she didn’t understand where Daphne’s loyalty came from. But mostly she just shrugged and accepted it.
Daphne sighed. “Why me? You’re the persuasion power. What if she doesn’t do it?”
Well, almost always, thought Veronica. “It’s falling into place. I can feel it. Zeph will be here soon. And his mother thinks you’re her best friend. Of course she’ll do it if you tell her to.”
Putting down the teacup carefully into its equally delicate china saucer, Daphne stood. “I’ll go talk to her now. Kitten should be arriving soon. Can you look after her for a while?”
Veronica smiled. “Of course. You know how I feel about Kitten.”
The power was pulsing around Kitten even stronger these days, and Veronica shivered a little in anticipation. The young girl’s potential as a source was immense, and Veronica knew the child would be hugely valuable to her in the future.
Not that she would ever say that to Daphne.
Daphne disappeared with a wave, and Veronica sat contemplating her tea. She knew Zeph was already on his way; she could feel it. They’d been unable to contact Daphne’s other daughter Tilly at the Carnival, who could have told them for certain.
That had been the whole point of putting the stupid girl there—the advance information she could give them. Although Veronica couldn’t be too angry with her. Tilly had already given them enough to make a direct play at the Carnival in the very near future. But first she needed to concentrate on convincing more performers to join their group—especially those with a strong connection to the blessings of the Carnival, like Zeph—to amp up her power load. She clenched her hands. She could feel Marco slipping away, his consciousness getting fainter and fainter.
She wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Miss Veronica…?” a small voice said from her doorway.
“Come in, my darling,” she said, smiling at Kitten. “You’re always welcome.”
“Mama said to meet her here.” Kitten didn’t smile or fidget or do any of the things Veronica associated with children of this age.
“She asked me to look after you for a few moments while she’s running an errand. Come, sit with me.”
Kitten slowly moved into the room and came to sit next to Veronica. Her large eyes watched everything closely.
“So have you been at school today?” asked Veronica.
Kitten nodded.
“Did you learn anything?”
Kitten shook her head.
“Nothing?”
Kitten shook her head.
“What is the problem? Surely you must learn at least one new thing in a day?”
“It’s too easy, Miss Veronica.”
Veronica frowned. The children were all home-schooled together, and their teacher, Lacey, was very experienced. “You already know everything?” said Veronica with some acid in her voice. She disliked it when a child showed off.
Kitten blushed. “I don’t know, Miss Veronica.”
“I suggest you listen harder tomorrow.” The child was too precocious; Daphne had let her get away with too much over the years. And now she was a know-it-all.
“Yes, ma’am.” Kitten’s head dipped and she squished her hands together.
Veronica felt impatience with the child. Automatically, she pushed out and tried to manipulate Kitten’s thoughts so the child would learn to be more grateful for the learning she received. But as usual, the natural block all three of them had—Daphne, Tilly, and Kitten—held her away.
She clenched her hand. It was a source of great irritation that she couldn’t control this family the same way she could most others in her sphere. She’d hogtied Tilly with magic and her mother’s full permission, and that had been very satisfying.
She would just have to find a way to do the same to Kitten, one of these days.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A scream broke the silence of the night, pulling Zeph out of his nightmare just as he was about to ride down the ramp that had almost killed him. His body was sweaty, and his first thought was relief at being woken before the familiar scene could really get going. He looked around, trying to shake off the effects of the dream and figure out what was happening at the same time.
It wasn’t hard. Beside him, Missy was thrashing and kicking under the sheets, her face contorted with fear and her whimpers a sad match for the violence that was obviously taking over her dreams.
“Hush, Missy,” he whispered, leaning toward her and putting one hand hesitantly on her bare arm. What had they said? That she’d killed someone? He looked at Missy’s face, twisted with emotion, and wondered how anyone could think she’d do something like that on purpose. He rubbed his hands up and down her arm and made soothing noises, trying to gently wake her from the nightmare. “It’s just a dream, Missy. Don’t be scared. It’s just a dream.”
At the sound of his voice and his touch, Missy quietened, curling into a ball like a cat, murmuring in her sleep. She snuggled in against his side, and Zeph put one hand around her body, softly rubbing her back, trying to soothe her even as she returned to a peaceful slumber. Missy snuggled closer, using his chest like a pillow, and put one hand over his beating heart.
Zeph sighed and tried to get comfortable.
***
Missy woke slowly, feeling too cozy to move. All she wanted was to stay where she was a little bit longer. But her internal clock, the one that had been waking her at six o’clock for the last ten or more years—ever since her mother had let her start practicing with her as a teenager—co
uldn’t sleep in.
She opened her eyes and was met with a muscled chest. She frowned, not understanding at first.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Zeph, his voice a rumbling vibration under her body.
Missy pushed herself up off Zeph as if she’d been stung. “What the hell are you doing?” she said, grabbing the sheet and holding it up against her fully clothed body.
Zeph lifted his hands in the air. “I didn’t do a thing. You curled into me in the middle of the night. I figured you needed the sleep, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” The twinkle in his eye said he knew what her reaction would be.
Missy groaned and fell back onto the bed, hiding her head under the white pillow. It was too late to be shy or stuffy now. “It’s just a natural reaction to having someone warm in the bed with me. Next time you can wake me.”
“You do that with all the boys, then?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
Missy peeked out from under the pillow, trying to see if he was digging for information or just teasing her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it either way. Both seemed too personal, too intimate.
But then, she probably should have thought of that before she slept in the same bed with him… again.
Missy sighed and pulled herself up in the bed. “Did I have a nightmare?” she asked more seriously.
Zeph nodded, the twinkle leaving his eye. “Don’t worry. I know what it’s like.” He paused. “So what happened? Why the bad dreams?”
Missy swallowed, trying to decide what to tell him. “You know most of it already. A while ago, we were attacked. This guy Hugo and his sidekick Lucietta tried to take out several members of the Carnival, including Rilla and Jack. I ended up at the top of the high wire in the middle of a performance, fighting with Lucietta. My dreams are always back there, in that place where I thought I was about to die.”
