That had been one of the many things that had conspired to take her away from him. Her impulsiveness. Her curiosity. Her terrible boss. His introversion. Bell’s will, his covetousness, his possessiveness.
She kept trying to find something to blame, be it her, him, Bell, fate, God. She’d never been able to pin the fault on any one thing except Bell—but who knew what Bell had been working for at the time? Chaos, justice, logic, God, the devil, himself, the rules of the wish…?
A person had to search for some kind of reason. Insanity was never finding the reason. Sometimes, if Valorie thought too hard, she believed she really had gone a little insane. Why else would she be stalking a customer through Arcanium, a man who couldn’t possibly be who she thought he was, even though he’d been unmistakable when he’d first caught her eye? Why else would she have seen him at all, this cruel hallucination?
She didn’t know exactly where Arcanium had put down its stakes, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t anywhere near where she’d left him. What were the odds he’d be in Arcanium and not be where she left him? He was a homebody. He’d want to be close to family. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he’d moved, but put it all together with the rest, and it didn’t add up.
Either he’d never been here, had never been Charles, or she coincidentally was always in the places in Arcanium that he wasn’t at any given time, like phone tag played out real life.
Which is more likely—that he’s never where you are or that he was never here at all? You’re seeing things, woman. You’re losing the thread.
She thought about going to Bell and asking whether she’d seen what she’d seen.
In the end, she decided not to. If she hadn’t seen him, she was crazy. If she had seen him…
If she had seen him, she didn’t want to know.
* * * *
Bell was avoiding her.
John was avoiding her too, but that was because she wouldn’t let him get near her right now. His neediness didn’t do anything for her at the moment except grate on her nerves like claws on a fucking chalkboard. He suffocated her when he tried to be solicitous, not least because he seemed desperate in his submission—as though if he tried hard enough, he’d still get his gold star and another month off his pain sentence.
Valorie hadn’t quite thrown him to the curb last night and this morning, but she’d left him in the cold, and that had him panicking like a kicked puppy in the corner, stroking his collar as though to reassure himself it was still there. She hadn’t withdrawn from the arrangement as long as he was still collared.
He could keep telling himself that.
She didn’t mind John keeping his distance. She needed the space. But when Bell was avoiding her, Valorie had to wonder. It didn’t help her figure yesterday’s events out, though. He could be avoiding her just as much to avoid her asking to leave as to avoid her asking about whether she’d seen Charles.
“You okay?” Kitty asked. “It’s not like you eat as much Caroline—”
“Hey!” Caroline exclaimed. She threw a balled-up napkin at Kitty.
“Or Maya—” Kitty continued.
Maya threw her own balled-up napkin at Kitty too. This one caught in Kitty’s beard. She’d recently started trimming it closer to her chin, in spite of the winter season. It made her look like a chestnut Viking. With litter in her beard. Valorie was startled into a giggle.
Kitty removed the napkin with as much dignity as a person could muster in such a situation.
“Or, say, Ciàran—”
Ciàran raised his head when he heard his name. He blinked his ink-black eyes like a docile cow. His thick, curved, sharp teeth jutted his mouth out as though he had the mother of all braces, so he wasn’t much of a cow. But for a demon, he was relatively docile. In fact, he was kinder than about ninety percent of men in the world, as most of the women in Arcanium could attest.
Case in point, he didn’t toss a napkin Kitty’s way. He just went back to his sausage meal that looked like a plate of fresh intestines. Moss sat on the table next to him, stealing from his plate.
No one understood how Ciàran and Moss worked exactly, even Bell. They were one of Arcanium’s few real mysteries.
“But you’re picking at your plate,” Kitty finished. “Don’t you know there are starving people somewhere else who can no longer eat that food because you put your dirty fork all over it?”
“Send my regrets to the hungry,” Valorie said, stirring the scramble over the picante-sauce-soaked tortilla for the hundredth time. “Not much of an appetite.”
“John came up to my tent last night after the performance,” Kitty said.
“For the love of shit…” Valorie swore.
“I don’t think you thought that one through,” Maya muttered.
“He didn’t do anything,” Kitty said.
“Except meddle.”
“He said you nearly lost your balance yesterday.”
Maya raised her head from where she’d been eating. She was more aware than John and even Kitty what a big deal that was.
“A girl’s allowed to have one bad day. I made up for it during the evening performance,” Valorie replied.
“That’s not what this is about and you know it,” Kitty said. “We don’t have to discuss it here.”
“We don’t have to discuss it at all,” Valorie said, lifting her plate and climbing over the bench. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
It was a bald-faced lie, of course, no pun intended. If it was nothing, she’d stay. Everyone knew that.
But they couldn’t hound her about it if she finished her breakfast in the back of her tent before taking to Kitty’s tent early to do up her face in blue harlequin, light blue rhinestones and black lips. Joanne and Jane came in as she was setting the lip color. She barely recognized herself the more makeup she put on, which was why she considered doing more tomorrow. The less she looked like herself, the less likely anyone would ever recognize her again.
She tied her hair into a loose single braid, still in keeping with Bell’s wishes, although why she should give a damn anymore… At least this way, she wouldn’t have to let Kitty tether her down by her hair and force the discussion on her. Now, what should we talk about? The weather? The local sports team? That time you lost your balance when you never lose your balance?
She left Joanne and Jane perched on their stool, back-to-back as always, without a word.
It was with some relief that she climbed into her suitcase and closed the top over her, enclosing herself in darkness. The only light came through the little air holes.
There had been a time in her life that she’d been a bit claustrophobic—the flip side to her wanderlust, she’d supposed. Now she accepted the close darkness as an embrace. Today was no exception. In fact, it was even more welcome. She thought about not coming out at all, except then Bell would threaten her with the glass box if she wanted to stay confined all day, and the glass box wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the suitcase. The suitcase was lined. The glass box was just glass, and it had originally been created for a smaller contortionist. All those cramped, hard planes on all her bony protuberances… She’d done it on a few occasions when she’d wanted to turtle up, but she much preferred her suitcase.
As soon as she heard customers in Oddity Row, she pushed the small suitcase open and unwound herself, jerking her limbs like a wind-up doll whose springs were slowly being tightened.
She popped up her head to sit upright, with one leg and one arm still and stretched out above her.
Charles stood right in front of the platform, her first customer of the day, with a twenty-dollar bill that dropped into the clear tip bin. He’d been reading her placard with his glasses low on his nose. Now he pushed them back up and met her eyes.
“Do I know you?”
Chapter Seven
He kept his voice low, the musical baritone it had always been. He’d been so good singing in the choir, although he’d been shy singing solo.
Valorie hesitated, practically frozen.
“Please tell me I don’t know you,” he added. The whites of the eyes behind his glasses were red, as though he’d either not gotten any sleep or he’d given himself something to help him sleep.
If she were kind, she’d pretend she was confused. She’d tell him, ‘Move along, mister. I don’t know you and you’re blocking the view.’ If she were kind, she’d pretend he hadn’t spoken, a hint to take a hike, Mike. Scram, Sam. Leave, Steve. Sorry, Charlie.
If she were kind. But no one had ever called Valorie kind.
She unfolded herself. “Hi, Charles.”
He staggered back.
“That’s…that’s…that’s i-impossible.” Charles’ hands clenched and loosened, searching for something to hold him up, but there was nothing. He managed to keep from falling.
“I’m going to need you to move along,” Valorie said, standing. “I have work to do.”
“But you…you’re…you’re still young. It’s impossible.”
“Charles, I need you to leave,” she insisted, although she kept her volume low.
“I’m not going to—” Charles started.
“Good morning, sir,” Bell said, coming around her tent as nonchalant as could be. All he needed was a pimp cane to complete the image. “Is there a problem?”
“That’s my… That’s my…”
Valorie didn’t blame Charles for his inability to articulate. He couldn’t possibly believe his eyes, but he also couldn’t deny what he was seeing. Such was the dilemma of anyone who entered Arcanium. What they’d never know was that, yes, it was all real. That was Arcanium’s biggest trick—convincing the public that their tricks were illusion and skill rather than magic and power. The horror happened when the veil lifted, the curtain closed and nothing changed—nothing except souls. But the magic never ended, and the reflections stayed the same. Could a person really grow when nothing changed?
“She’s indeed a spectacular young woman,” Bell said. “But she’s working at the moment, sir, and I’m going to ask you to not take up her time.”
“You don’t understand,” Charles protested.
“Oh, I do.”
Charles stopped stammering, stumbling over his words, searching for a handhold in reality. Before him was a man solid and immovable as an idol. He carried his power quietly because he was certain at any given time that he was the most powerful being within the borders of his Arcanium. He didn’t need to resort to puffing himself up and declaring his dominance. That was for men who were small, cowardly, lacking. For men who needed to compensate. Bell needed to compensate for nothing. The quietest predators were almost always the most deadly.
When Bell spoke, even when he lied, what he said had power. Charles didn’t understand what was going on, but he visibly recoiled.
“We can discuss your trouble during her break. If you could come with me, sir, I have somewhere you can wait,” Bell said. He smiled, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, and swayed into a welcoming gesture that beckoned Charles to join him, as though they were old friends.
If his guidance was a little forced, only Valorie would be able to see it. The crowd would believe that Bell was taking care of a troublesome patron. Perhaps the professorial man was an admirer or a stalker. No matter the circumstance, the crowd either ignored the scene or paid it little mind. They had better things to look at.
Charles’ confusion allowed him to be led, but he kept looking over his shoulder at her, twenty years of pain and bewilderment deepening the lines on his ashen face.
Bell raised two fingers while Charles’ attention was on her. Then he led Charles beyond where she could see him.
The implication was clear—two hours of work. He wanted her to give him two hours of work. Valorie couldn’t imagine why when the last thing on her mind was grace, poise and flexibility—especially when the latter was the reason for this fucking mess in the first place. It wasn’t so he could have time to think. The bastard had obviously known this was coming.
For the first thirty minutes or so, Valorie’s head filled with visions of what Bell could be doing with Charles while she was otherwise occupied. Maya was the only one who voluntarily took a front seat to Bell doing his work and granting his wishes. No one else had the stomach for it, and most of the human souls of Arcanium preferred not to think about anyone’s wishes but their own. It was the only way to handle living with Bell, accepting his affection and even his love—and yes, he felt both, as varied and textured as the same emotions in humans. One might argue his ran deeper, like veins buried within a mountain from shifting lands over geologic time.
That didn’t make him merciful, if mercy wasn’t his whim. He could be feeding Charles to Lady Sasha right now, although Valorie hadn’t felt a spike in the constant, low-level sexual tension of the circus. He could have invited the clowns into the big top ring and let them feast upon Charles’ body, though they preferred younger meat. He could have granted a wish that left Charles bound to Arcanium like Valorie—leaving behind a wife and two children instead of a fiancé as she had. He could have granted a wish that doomed Charles in any of a hundred thousand ways. By silently demanding that she work, he could have ensured that Valorie stayed out of his way while he disposed of or dealt with the potential threat.
So why was she doing it? Why was she staying in her safe little tent and performing like a music box doll moving to the violins coming from her speakers? It certainly wasn’t because she was obedient.
And she didn’t want anything bad to happen to Charles.
Did she?
Had part of her done what she’d been told so that when she returned to Bell, there would hopefully be no trace left of her ex-fiancé? No trace, no man, no problem.
It made her sick to her stomach.
Somewhere around the thirty-minute line, though, those fears and anxieties faded.
The comfort of routine and the ordinary endorphins from exercise, even when that exercise was magically enhanced, put her into a sort of trance—the autopilot of normal. Normal for her, at least. She went from position to position, song to song. Time ceased to have meaning. The clenching of her stomach subsided. Her brain went delightfully blank.
When John walked through Oddity Row and raised his remaining eyebrow because she hadn’t left her tent yet for one of their joint routines, she just kept dancing and contorting, the burn in her muscles one of continued effort and the early stirring of weariness. She didn’t usually go a full two-hour stretch without at least taking a walking break.
What he was really curious about, she thought, was the fact she hadn’t leashed him up and paraded him around like a damn dog, as though that was something to look forward to. She passed her gaze over John the same way she passed it over the rest of the customers.
Besides, she felt good. Correction, she felt nothing, which was good. She didn’t want to disrupt all her work by bringing John into this. He’d look at her with those dark, puppy dog eyes and kicked puppy expression and puppyish eagerness for a walk, and she’d have to feel all these things she really didn’t want to deal with right now.
Unlike Charles, John could take a hint. When she didn’t do much more than blink at him before turning her attention to the small crowd gathered before her tent, he spun his fire fans in irritation and continued on his way. If there was a pang somewhere in her chest region, she dismissed it as quickly as it occurred, returning to the Zen of her routine.
* * * *
She overshot the two hours by about fifteen minutes. It took her stomach growling for her to realize that it was well past noon and she was allowed to take a break.
Nonsensically, the side of her head that had taken over during the performance to keep her calm and steady whispered, I hope this doesn’t take long. Breaks aren’t supposed to last forever, and I have things I need to do.
The less brainwashed side of her head took that other side to task effectively and efficiently. She could spare the time to meet with
the man who was supposed to have been her husband. Bell could spare the time. And John could give her time off for one fucking day. She was the one in charge of him. He didn’t yet have the right to demand a damn thing.
Valorie put up the placard explaining her absence and made a quick exit, maintaining her performance persona until the last minute. She kept her leather duster in the back these days in case she got cold. She pulled it on now. Some patrons walked the circus in costume, especially if Arcanium was attached to a Halloween park, a festival, a kink convention or a medieval faire of some kind, but they were doing a solo event this time, so there were fewer customers dressed up. Nevertheless, the more skin she covered, the less likely people would feel entitled to her.
The coat worked, as did her determined gait. Nothing beat looking like she knew exactly where she was going to dissuade people from getting in the way. Except maybe being a black girl in leather who looked like she’d take a one of Misha’s blades to anyone who tried. People tended to avoid both freaks and black girls in leather, so she had those in her favor—if one could call that favor. At the moment, she did. She had no use for normals except the one with whom Bell was presently keeping company.
Valorie stopped outside the fortune teller tent. The flap was open. When she peeked in, she half expected to see it empty or with Charles’ crisp white dress shirt soaked Christmas red, portions of him missing or slit open in a bloody murder scene that Bell had hidden from anyone else entering for a fortune.
Instead, Bell sat in his usual spot, with Charles in the short armchair that Maya usually inhabited. He looked uncomfortable, his long legs unsuited to something made for a much shorter woman. Naturally, Bell had kept him safe and unharmed—as far as she could see—but hadn’t gone out of his way to make Charles comfortable. Had gone out of his way to ensure that Charles was mildly inconvenienced, in fact—the wait, the chair, the company, like a doctor’s office.
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