“You know I don’t like performing with my hair loose,” Valorie said quietly. “It gets in my face. It’s all a little too nineties music video for me.”
“Try it for a while,” Bell said. “Give the follicles and your forehead a rest. It won’t run off if you don’t tie it down.”
“Are you being metaphorical again?” Valorie asked.
He didn’t let her know one way or another, which meant he was. “You think that if you look soft, they won’t take you seriously. You have all the hard edges you need, Valorie. You’re the knife trap at the bottom of the pit, and I love you for it. Having some softness doesn’t make you weak, and it doesn’t detract from the hardness. It merely provides a basis for comparison.”
“I think I’m close to enough sweet people to sand down the rough places,” Valorie replied. After all, her tent was between Kitty’s and Troy’s. But she tucked her hair behind her shoulders, and it did feel better on her temples. She’d gotten used to the pull of it on her skin. “I don’t need to be sweet.”
“Who said anything about sweet?” Bell said with a crooked, catlike smile. “I’m merely saying that a knife must have a handle.”
“God, did I use to have a daily diet of that much metaphor, or are you just feeling poetic today?” Valorie asked.
“That’s my contortionist,” Bell said, stroking the small of her back. His palm ghosted just over the curve of her ass, but not quite there. “Go cut some throats. Just not mine, my dear. Not today.”
“I won’t wait forever, Bell,” Valorie said before she ducked out. “I’ve got things I could be doing, and I think I’ve waited long enough.” She wasn’t talking about how horny she was.
“Who said anything about forever?”
Ooooh, he’s in rare form today. A girl could pull her purple hair out in patches when he was like this. Scheming, secretive son of a bitch. If he wasn’t the boss and she didn’t still have a soft spot for him, she’d slap his smug face and hope some sense got in. However, he’d probably like it. And a man like him didn’t learn.
* * * *
She’d been right. Having her hair down meant that it got in her way, but it was mostly a nuisance when she was doing contortion in her tent or among the patrons, when it could get caught under her while she was trying to shift from one position to another. She’d had to ask more than one customer to move her hair for her. Sure, it got her more tips, but Valorie wasn’t keen on strangers touching the goods. If Bell wanted her to keep her hair down instead of in Heidi braids, she’d have to compromise and find a rubber band in Kitty’s stash to keep the color within at least a few lines.
Up in the air, however, Valorie understood the change he’d intended to make. It didn’t get in the way up there because there was nothing for her to lean against. Instead, she simply had an violet curtain of hair hanging over her, making her more human in the audience’s eyes, less otherworldly…which deepened the creepiness of her face and created a contrast to the edge of the leather and latex.
As usual, Bell had his vision. He respected Valorie’s in most cases, but she respected his whenever he offered it. Arcanium was his baby, his magnum opus, his purpose. He never steered his people wrong when it came to the circus.
She was also a little less headachy when the evening performance was over, so that was a plus.
This time she had nothing to hurry home to, so she stayed until the end with most of the rest of the cast.
“Whose idea was it to let it loose?” Kitty asked, finally getting a chance to breathe after double-checking everyone’s hair and makeup for each act. She knew Valorie preferred her hair braided and well contained.
“Didn’t have the time to put it back up after the gang bang,” Valorie said.
“I don’t believe a word out of your mouth about gang bangs. You’re not Maya,” Kitty said.
Valorie sucked on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Bell. Picture it. A romantic moment alone where he slowly…lovingly…painstakingly unbraids my hair…and that’s it.”
“I heard Lennon’s back in his own trailer,” Kitty said. “I take it you’re in a dry patch?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re not usually this sarcastic.”
“Shame,” Valorie said. “Because I’m so good at it.”
Kitty rolled her eyes like a mother. “You damaged women and the walls you put up. You’re lucky some people like the challenge.”
“Not lately,” Valorie muttered.
“Ciàran and Moss never say no. They still talk about you,” Kitty said.
“Those two are a glutton’s appetizer. I’m looking for a meal I can eat all the way through. Thanks, but no thanks,” Valorie said. But acknowledging reality over her pride, she added, “Not yet.”
“You and Victor seem to get along,” Kitty suggested. “He’s without a woman to call his own.”
“Your old sweetie is a sweetie,” Valorie said. “He prefers outsiders, like you. He’s a good beer. Not a meal.”
“Are you hungry, by the way?”
“A little.”
“There’s always Marcus,” Kitty said.
This time, Valorie had to cover her mouth to keep her laughter from making it past the curtain. Bell could muffle the noise backstage, but he’d never had to, and Valorie didn’t want to be the one to break unspoken tradition.
Marcus was a relatively new acquisition, and not under very good terms, given that he’d tried to break into Lord Mikhail’s trailer. From what the rest of the cast knew about him, he’d been something of a dull petty thief with a mean streak who also happened to be gay and exceptionally susceptible to Lord Mikhail’s magic. He’d gotten the drop on Lord Mikhail with a Taser, which had deeply shamed the strongman incubus, like a high-school jock who’d been pantsed. It had also earned Marcus one of Bell’s famous second chances— Die by clown or serve Bell in a manner of his choosing through an open-ended wish.
Most of them usually wished for what Bell wanted, when given the chance. Marcus was no exception. No matter how bad things got, people chose life over death.
And that was around the time Arcanium had introduced the Rotting Man. There were some unusual and unlikely pairings in Arcanium, but no one went near Marcus. Valorie doubted anyone would for at least a century. He tended to slough, and he was a bit…moist. In Arcanium, weird wasn’t a deterrent. Not even gross was, otherwise Misha probably wouldn’t get as much as he was getting. Turned out decay was the line freaks drew. Even Carlo wouldn’t tap that.
“Have I really reached that point? Have I sunk that low?” Valorie asked, once her laughter had worked itself out without disturbing the audience.
“Yes,” Kitty replied. “You’re untouchable now. No one is ever going to want you again.”
“Ouch. Can I get some salve to go with that dose of truth?”
“I was kidding, Valorie.”
“I’m pretty sure I recognize sarcasm, pussycat,” Valorie said. “But if you tell me it’ll happen when I stop looking or someone’s out there for me because there’s someone for everyone, I’ll slug you right in your furry face.”
“I was going to suggest you take out the big dildos, but okay.”
“Now you’re talking my language.” Toys didn’t work much better than masturbation against sex demon magic, but it took some of the edge off.
Valorie leaned back until she was resting the wrong away across the foot of the chaise longue she and Kitty shared while Bell and Maya continued their act out in the ring. Another evening concluded.
“It’s because I’m mean, isn’t it?” Valorie said.
“You’re not mean. Well, you are mean, but you mean to be mean, and most of the time, it only seems mean if a person doesn’t know any better. We all know better, Valorie,” Kitty said.
“Is it because I’m too normal?” Valorie asked. “Is that it?”
“Now I’m going to tell you to give it time,” Kitty said.
“Bitch.”
&
nbsp; “Hear me out. You spent most of your years in Arcanium with Bell. For all that time, you were Bell’s. You didn’t really look beyond him, and because you were his, no one pursued you either. They weren’t foolish enough to go after Bell’s girl. You’ve only been away from him for a short time in comparison, and you had Lennon for most of it. Now you’ve been a free agent for all of a day. I suggest you get used to beer and appetizers and toys and take a breather. It’s hard to be alone in Arcanium, but it can be done,” Kitty said.
Valorie was about to say something snide to Kitty, but she caught herself. She only would have been snide because Kitty had actually said something smart that Valorie didn’t want to hear. And Kitty had her own issues, so the woman knew her shit. When she’d joined Arcanium voluntarily, Bell hadn’t needed to do anything to change her. She’d been born the Bearded Lady, with hair all over her body. Valorie didn’t pity her for it—Kitty never demanded pity. But Valorie did sympathize, because it couldn’t have always been as carefree as Kitty had pretended to be while banging the Ringmaster on the side. The woman had demons of her own.
Basically, though, Kitty was speaking the credo of the single lady—Take a breath and learn to love you for you. Figure out who you are without a man.
Worthy advice, except it had never really been about not being single for Valorie. She knew what she was like on her own. She was mostly fine with herself. Who was a hundred percent fine with all of themselves if they had an ounce of self-awareness? And she had well more than an ounce. She’d never been owned by her men. Kitty had inadvertently called Valorie Bell’s, but that wasn’t how it had been. It hadn’t been one-sided like that. She hadn’t belonged to the boss, and she hadn’t belonged to Lennon. With Bell, she’d been in love. With Lennon, she’d just needed a fuck. Now, she wanted something real. And Valorie wasn’t sure Kitty understood that, nor did she know how to explain it without sounding like a hopeless romantic and ruining her reputation.
“Sure. Thanks. I’ll put it under advisement,” Valorie said, running her fingers through her hair.
“You do that. And please, for the love of God, eat something,” Kitty said.
Valorie hit Kitty’s hip with the back of her hand, but the gesture was halfhearted and limp. She could definitely go for something greasy right the hell now.
After waiting for the audience to clear out of the circus, Valorie headed for the food booth and asked for fried things that she’d need lots of napkins for. They always stayed open for requests after Arcanium closed, since not all the cast liked to eat and feel heavy before a performance. After Caroline came around, the food booths had started staying open all night. Her carousel men only came to life after the audience left, like the opposite of Cinderella’s pumpkin, and they sometimes got fed at odd hours.
Valorie noticed Caroline and her men eating at one of the picnic tables with Joanne and Jane and Seth and Lars. A threesome and a weird-ass foursome. She didn’t join them. Everyone was set up together like a pre-planned orgy. Valorie had no interest in being the eighth wheel in their hippie love fest. That, and she was eating like a caveman with no regrets. It was easier to have no regrets when other people couldn’t see her.
Except the clowns. She didn’t have any problem with the clowns seeing her eat, because they had worse table manners than she did. She gave them a nod of acknowledgment as Tragedy, the female of the group, and Comedy and Murphy did their rounds near Oddity Row, searching for stragglers and felons, anyone who didn’t belong, fair game. Valorie found it was best not to interfere with the doings of killer demon clowns.
She dumped the paper, cardboard basket and dirty napkins from her meal into one of the trashcans in their little trailer park. Eating comfort food hadn’t made the high-tension hum of arousal inside her any better, but it had made her a little less cranky.
She didn’t like being around herself when she was cranky either.
Valorie opened her RV door and turned on the light. She nearly tripped over the legs of the man who took up half her living room.
John, the fire-eater, had been bound in rough sisal rope on his ankles and wrists—easy knots to untie when one wasn’t the person tied up—and he hung from the bar she used for practice during travel days. He’d been gagged with something Valorie assumed was fireproof, or else she wouldn’t have an RV anymore.
He looked massively pissed.
Tucked into the front pocket of his pants, in Bell’s spiky, somewhat old-fashioned cursive, was a note.
Why not play with this one for a while? Wish granted, absolutely free.
Chapter Three
“He doesn’t always mean well,” Valorie said, glancing up at John before considering the note again. “But this time he really does, the endearing jerk. If I take that gag off you, you gonna be nice? Because I did not put him up to this.”
John nodded, some of his annoyance dissipating—slowly, but dissipating nonetheless.
Over a year of quiet reflection had done wonders with this one. His bullying felon compatriot, Shawn, still hadn’t recovered from the shock and trauma of his transformation, which was why he was confined to his exhibition tent when the circus was open and didn’t perform in the ring, although sometimes the Cyclops was trotted out under the spotlight to show him off.
John’s eyes were bright and aware as she untied his gag. He had a tent on Oddity Row too, but he didn’t use it much. Bell wouldn’t let the canvas or anything else within the boundaries of the tent catch fire, but for both the man’s and the audience’s peace of mind, it was much better to have lots of open space around him when John’s fire act got more elaborate. The clowns had a makeshift ring of driftwood planks and sawdust. When the clowns weren’t cavorting, John would often do his act there, for the protection of the customers. It never went wrong when people were watching, but better safe than sorry—whatever John needed in order to do the things that Bell wanted of him.
“How long have you been here?” Valorie asked.
He performed during the day, but he hadn’t been assigned an evening act yet. He could have been here for just fifteen minutes or the last few hours.
“Since everyone started gathering in the big top,” he replied.
She hoped he’d used a toilet before Bell had abducted him.
“Anything hurt?”
“Does my pride and dignity count?”
“No,” she said.
“Then no. Wrists, a little.” John leaned his head back and stared at his wrists bound to the bar. He was a tall boy, and with his ankles bound and deliberately stretched out in front of him so that it was difficult to get his footing, most of the weight was on his wrists. The flesh had been chafed by the unpleasant rope.
She thought of him as ‘boy’. He was about Seth’s and Lars’ age, the age that she appeared. Still young for her as she actually was. He had a football player’s broad shoulders and physique, though not as meaty as Shawn. His skin was darker than hers, but not as dark as Lars’. It took on a pinkish cast where his scars boiled over his hands and face.
“You know why you’re here, fire-eater?” she asked. He hadn’t earned his name yet, this relative stranger in her home. Calling him Freddy before, however, had been unkind. She didn’t usually jibe about freakishness with her fellow oddities. And she didn’t know him well enough for her insults to be considered affectionate.
“The genie didn’t elaborate,” John answered.
The common English pronunciation for jinni was close enough for Western purposes that Valorie wouldn’t slap his knuckles with a ruler.
“He just grabbed me, poofed me over here, tied me up and told me to wait like a good boy.” John sneered. With the scars, it was a good sneer. Valorie approved.
She jumped back to sit on the small kitchenette counter.
“Aren’t you going to let me down?” John asked. She gave him a point for trying to conceal the petulant demand in his question.
“Not yet,” she said, crossing her ankles. “You know, I’ve been whi
ning with my people about how awful it is that I have to go without sex for a while. I’m used to a lot of it, and I’m not pleased that my access has been cut off for the last few days. Actually, I’m the one who cut it off, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”
“Gee, just a few—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, or I’ll leave you up there all night,” Valorie said.
She’d do it too. There were potions for healing something like rope burn—superficial wounds were a cinch. There weren’t potions for insolence. Or if there were, Bell didn’t supply them.
Valorie leaned forward with her elbows on her thighs, looking him over.
“It occurs to me that you must have had it quite…hard these long, long months. All the same impulses that the rest of us have, plus your healthy young male libido, finally liberated from the more depraved impulses that brought you here in the first place… All the magic and none of the release. Your hand doesn’t cut it anymore, does it? What do you use these days? Do the golems bring you fruit that you warm up in the microwave? Or pie? Do you use pie?”
John opened his mouth, whether to protest or stammer she’d never know, because he shut it again. His expression had twisted from annoyance to comical bewilderment—and discomfort, like any boy who had been caught in his desire. She deliberately avoided looking at his trousers, but she didn’t have to in order to know what she’d see. Poor boy was probably on a hair trigger after all this time.
“It doesn’t matter what you use,” Valorie said. “I’d been planning on using a slew of toys tonight to keep myself satisfied. Probably wouldn’t have worked very well, if the tingling in my nethers tells me anything. Lord Mikhail is feeding. Would you say Lady Sasha’s doing the same?”
John nodded. He swallowed thickly, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing like an arrow trapped in his throat.
“Now, Bell made a big gesture in giving you to me. But it was all show,” Valorie said, sliding off the counter and stepping closer. Her feet didn’t make a sound. She wanted to disturb nothing but him. “I can’t make you want me. I can’t make you have sex with me. But now that you’re here, I see potential, boy. I really do. You’re nice to look at.”
Contortion Page 5
