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DO YOU DARE ENTER THE WORLD OF THE TRAVELING CARNIVAL?
It’s a leftover of a bygone era, a curiosity lurking on the outskirts of town. It’s a place of contradictions, where the bright lights mask the peeling paint and a carnie in greasy overalls slinks away while the barker enraptures rubes with his seductive call. Here, one must remain alert and learn the unwritten rules before it’s too late. To beat the carnival, one had better have either a whole lot of luck or a whole lot of guns—or maybe some magic of one’s own.
Featuring stories grotesque and comical, outrageous and action-packed, Carniepunk is the first anthology to channel the energy and attitude of urban fantasy into the carnival’s bizarre world of creaking machinery, twisted myths, and vivid new magic.
CARNIEPUNK
A collection of riveting stories from
RACHEL CAINE DELILAH S. DAWSON JENNIFER ESTEP KELLY GAY KEVIN HEARNE MARK HENRY HILLARY JACQUES JACKIE KESSLER SEANAN MCGUIRE KELLY MEDING ALLISON PANG NICOLE D. PEELER ROB THURMAN JAYE WELLS
Contents
“Parlor Tricks” by Jennifer Estep
Sample of “Painted Love” by Rob Thurman
Sample of “The Three Lives of Lydia” by Delilah S. Dawson
Sample of “The Demon Barker of Wheat Street” by Kevin Hearne
Sample of “The Sweeter the Juice” by Mark Henry
Sample of “The Werewife” by Jaye Wells
Sample of “The Cold Girl” by Rachel Caine
Sample of “A Duet with Darkness” by Allison Pang
Sample of “Recession of the Divine” by Hillary Jacques
Sample of “Freak House” by Kelly Meding
Sample of “The Inside Man” by Nicole Peeler
Sample of “A Chance in Hell” by Jackie Kessler
Sample of “Hell’s Menagerie” by Kelly Gay
Sample of “Daughter of the Midway, the Mermaid, and the Open, Lonely Sea” by Seanan McGuire
About the Authors of Carniepunk
Enter the world of Carniepunk and purchase your copy of the entire anthology today!
Click Here to Order
“Parlor Tricks”
An Elemental Assassin Short Story
Jennifer Estep
“Acarnival? Really?”
Detective Bria Coolidge looked at me. “You don’t like carnivals?”
“Not particularly,” I said. “There are already enough people around here looking to con you without you having to actually pay for the privilege.”
Bria rolled her eyes. “That’s just a stereotype. Not all carnivals are looking to cheat folks.”
“I know that,” I said. “But I also know that this is Ashland. So if there was any place for a carnival to be crooked, this would be it.”
Bria didn’t answer me. She knew as well as I did that corruption was a way of life in our sprawling southern city, along with violence, magic, avarice, and greed. Cheating, beating, and even murdering your enemies wouldn’t get you jail time in Ashland so much as applause, admiration, and respect—and someone immediately plotting to take you down the same way you had your enemies.
My baby sister and I stood at the entrance to the Ashland Fairgrounds, a wide, grassy clearing that was nestled in among the Appalachian Mountains, which ran through and around the city. Tree-covered ridges towered over the clearing, giving the landscape a bowl-like shape. The fairgrounds hosted a variety of events throughout the year, everything from livestock shows to sporting events to camps for kids. On this warm June evening, it was the site of The Carnival of Wondrous Wonders! At least, that’s what the banner stretched above the entrance said.
Bria had parked her sedan in the gravel lot, and we’d eased into the stream of people heading for the white picket fence that cordoned off the clearing. Most of the other carnival goers were families with small kids or sullen teenagers looking to escape from Mom and Dad’s watchful eyes for a few hours. Bria looked a little out of place with her jeans, her blue button-up shirt, and the gold detective’s badge glinting on her belt, right next to her holstered gun. So did I with my boots, jeans, and long-sleeved black T-shirt.
“Well, look at it this way,” Bria said in a cheery voice. “The odds of anyone here knowing you are pretty slim. If nothing else, you can just relax and not have to worry about anyone trying to kill you tonight.”
Heh. I wouldn’t count on it.
By day, I was Gin Blanco, owner of the Pork Pit barbecue restaurant. By night, in the shadows, I was the Spider, Ashland’s most notorious assassin. Actually, I suppose these days I was more infamous than notorious, since most of the underworld thought—or at least suspected—that I was the Spider, the woman who’d killed powerful Fire elemental Mab Monroe back in the winter. As a result, many of the crime lords and ladies had sent men after me, trying to take me out, these past few months. With Mab’s death, all of the underworld movers and shakers were grappling for power, and some of them thought that murdering the Spider would go a long way toward cementing their position as the city’s new head honcho.
“Gin?”
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “You’re right about that. I doubt any of the crime bosses and their goons will be here tonight.”
A country-fried clown wearing blue-and-white gingham coveralls, a blue shirt, and brown boots that were about five sizes too big waddled over to us. Bits of straw stuck out of the pockets of his coveralls, while a battered straw hat was perched on top of his curly red wig. White pancake makeup covered his face, although it had started to run in the heat. His painted-on, oversize red lips were curled up into a garish grin, although red and blue tears also covered his face, as though he didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. I’d definitely cry if I had to walk around in that getup. Or kill the person who’d made me wear it. That would definitely turn my frown upside down.
Bria smiled at him, which the clown took as an invitation to dance around us, mock-tripping over his enormous boots. Finally, he reached inside his coveralls. I tensed, ready to tackle him if he came up with a weapon, but he was only going for a red balloon stashed away among the straw. He spent the better part of two minutes not-so-comically huffing and puffing, trying to blow it up, before he eventually succeeded. Then he danced around us again and started twisting the balloon into a man. When he was finished, the clown sidled up to me, probably hoping to get me to smile and laugh like Bria was.
“Go away,” I growled. “Or you’ll be crying real tears when I make you eat that balloon.”
The clown frowned, not quite sure whether I was joking, but I let the coldness seep into my gray eyes, and he got the message. He tucked his balloon man under his arm and quickly scurried away from me.
“Did you have to do that?” Bria asked, exasperation creeping into her light voice. “He’s a clown. He was just trying to do his job and entertain you.”
“No, I didn’t have to do that, but I don’t like clowns.”
“Is there anything about carnivals that you do like?”
I thought about it, then brightened. “Corn dogs. If they’re not too greasy.”
Bria shook her head.
<
br /> “Look, I’m sorry. But when you said that you wanted me to help you with something, I didn’t expect this. Why are we here anyway?”
“Because I got a report about a missing girl, and this is the last place she was seen.” Bria reached into the back pocket of her jeans, drew out a photo, and handed it to me. “Her name’s Elizabeth Robbins. Sixteen. Parents died in a car wreck six months ago. She lives with her aunt, Fran, who’s one of the police department dispatchers. Fran said she dropped Elizabeth off here with some friends last night. The friends and Elizabeth got separated, and no one’s seen her since.”
“What else does Fran say?”
“She says that Elizabeth’s been acting out a little lately, cutting classes, things like that,” Bria replied. “But she says that Elizabeth always checks in and lets Fran know where she is and that it’s not like her to just disappear.”
“I’m guessing your fellow boys in blue weren’t too concerned about a missing girl,” I said. “At least, not one who isn’t related to someone wealthy and important, even if her aunt does work for the police department. They probably labeled her a runaway.”
She nodded. “You know it.”
Like almost every other institution in Ashland, the police department had more than its share of corruption. Most members of the po-po took bribes to look the other way, but my sister was one of the few good, honest cops on the force.
I stared at the photo. Elizabeth Robbins was a pretty girl. In fact, with her blond hair and blue eyes, she looked a lot like Bria. She was even wearing a necklace, the way Bria always did, although Elizabeth’s was a small diamond heart rather than Bria’s silverstone primrose rune. But the camera had captured the tightness in her young features and the shadows that clouded her gaze. This was a girl who was still grieving for her parents. I knew the feeling, since my mother and older sister had also died when I was young.
I started to hand the picture back to Bria, but she shook her head.
“Keep it. I have a copy.” She reached into her back pocket and drew out another photo.
I arched an eyebrow. “So you knew that I’d help you after you showed me her picture. Have I ever told you how much you excel at emotional manipulation?”
Bria grinned.
“Well, let’s get started,” I said. “Before that clown comes back.”
WE SPENT THE next hour roaming from one side of the fairgrounds to the other, looking at all of the carnival attractions. Game booths, concession stands, a Ferris wheel, and other spinning, whirling rides lined either side of a long thoroughfare. Smaller paths branched off the main drag and led to other areas, including a house of mirrors, a tent where a magician did tricks, and a petting zoo. Like the clown, everything had a southern feel to it, from the boiled and roasted peanuts sold in the concession stands, to the slow, twangy drawls of the carnival workers, to the Mountain High roller coaster, which, really, wasn’t more than ridge-high in these parts.
But the carnival really did have some wondrous wonders, thanks to all the magic users on staff. Fire elementals made flames shoot out of their fingertips before forming balls out of the flickering Fire and then juggling them. Crowds of kids squealed with excitement as an Air elemental took a group of colorful animal balloons and made the creatures float up and down and do loop-the-loops in the breeze, as though the plastic blue and pink bears, lions, and tigers were engaged in old-fashioned aerial combat. Dwarven and giant strongmen and strongwomen hefted miniature cars full of carousing clowns over their heads. There was even a drinking contest for vampires to see who in the crowd could down the most pints of blood in two minutes. The winner got a giant stuffed bat.
I let Bria take the lead. She showed the missing girl’s picture to the carnival workers, but they all shook their heads and said they didn’t remember seeing Elizabeth. Nothing unusual there. It was Friday night, and the carnival grew more crowded by the minute. The workers were all rushing to get folks their food, get them on the rides, and get them involved in—and shelling out dollars for—the games.
But the more people Bria asked about the girl, the more convinced I became that something was wrong.
For one thing, everyone was too damn friendly. Instead of being pissed that Bria was interrupting them, they all smiled and politely nodded at her. Sure, she was a detective, but they had customers to see to and money to make. They should have been more upset that she was cutting into their profit margins. Then there was the fact that staff members were passing signals to each other. As soon as Bria started to move on to the next booth, the worker she’d left behind would either pull out his cell phone and text something on it or make a hand gesture to another carnival member standing nearby. Now, that could have been standard stuff: Be nice to the po-po or anyone else asking questions, but warn each other all the same. Still, the most telling thing was the way all the workers’ eyes slid away from the photo and how the smiles dropped from their faces the second Bria turned her back to them.
Oh, yes. Something was definitely wrong here.
Bria finished talking to the vampire running the ring toss. He moved off to give some metal rings to a group of kids to throw at the poles that were the targets. She watched him for a few seconds, then turned to me.
“Do you get the feeling all these folks know more than they’re telling?” she asked in a low voice.
“Absolutely,” I replied. “Not to mention the fact that they’re all watching us.”
Bria’s eyes cut left and right as we walked down the thoroughfare. Her face tightened as she noticed all the furtive looks that came our way from the workers, especially since they stared at her more than they did me, their features dark, troubled, and twisted with fear. I wondered if it was because of the badge on her belt or for some other reason. Maybe they were nervous because she was a cop. Or maybe they were worried she’d figure out what happened to Elizabeth Robbins—and their part in it.
Either way, Bria kept showing the girl’s picture and asking about her. I watched my sister’s back, ready to reach for one of the five silverstone knives I had on me—two up my sleeves, one against the small of my back, and two in my boots. My weapons of choice as the Spider. But everybody remained just as sugary-sweet as the candy cotton they were selling, and no one made any sinister moves. Still, I thought it was just a matter of time before someone tried something—and I would be ready for them when they did.
Finally, around nine o’clock, a bugle sounded, and everyone headed toward the center of the fairgrounds, where a series of wooden bleachers had been arranged around a circular stage. Bria grabbed one of the pink fliers the country clowns had been passing out, and she read through the colorful, splashy type.
“It says this is the main show,” she said as we climbed to the top row. “And that we should be prepared to be awed and amazed.”
“Awed and amazed. Check.”
We sat down, and the red-, blue-, and green-tinged spotlights focused on the stage dimmed, and shadows fell over the fairgrounds, causing the crowd to slowly hush. A lone white light snapped on, highlighting the center of the stage. A low drumroll rang out, slowly growing louder and louder until my brain pounded from the ominous sound—
BANG!
The sharp, sudden explosion was even louder than the thunderous drumroll, and the noise reverberated through the fairgrounds, echoing up the ridges that surrounded the clearing and back down again. For a moment, everything went dark, making more than a few folks scream in surprise. Then the lone spotlight snapped back on. Pale green smoke billowed up into the starry night sky, and a woman appeared in the middle of the stage to the strains of triumphant music.
Ta-da.
The woman wore a short red ringmaster’s coat over a ruffled white silk shirt and black satin short-shorts. Black tights encased her lean, long legs, while a pair of black stiletto boots gave her a few more inches of height. She bowed low, removing her tall black top hat
and showing off her hair, which was a rich strawberry blond and piled on top of her head in an artful array of soft curls.
“I thought this was a carnival, not a circus,” I muttered to Bria.
“Shhh.”
The woman straightened up. She waved her hand, and a summer breeze gusted through the clearing, whipping away all the wispy strands of green smoke that were hovering over the stage. So she was an Air elemental, then—a strong one, judging from the sharp burst of power I felt rolling off her. I was an elemental myself, gifted with Ice and Stone magic. Since my elements were the opposite of hers, the woman’s Air power felt like invisible needles stabbing into my skin. Her magic also made the scars embedded in my palms itch and burn. Each of the marks was shaped like a small circle surrounded by eight thin rays—a spider rune, my rune, the symbol for patience. Something I would need a lot of if this show was as cheesy and over-the-top as the rest of the carnival.
I shifted in my seat, trying to get away from the uncomfortable sensation of the other elemental’s power, although I knew that it would vanish as soon as she quit using her magic. Beside me, Bria did the same thing, since she had Ice magic as well. She didn’t like the feel of Air power any more than I did.
“Greetings, kind friends!” the woman proclaimed in a voice that was almost as loud as the smoke explosion had been. “I am Esmeralda the Amazing, and I’m here to welcome you to our wonderful carnival!”
The crowd politely clapped. Esmeralda beamed and bowed low again, accepting the applause.
“And now,” she purred, “be prepared to be awed . . . and amazed!”
Zippy, cartoonish music blared to life, and the colorful spotlights zoomed this way and that as a variety of performers ran, tumbled, cartwheeled, and took pratfalls across the stage. For the next half hour, Esmeralda narrated the action as carnival members performed trick after trick. Clowns goofed off and tried to escape from the strongmen and -women who tossed them back and forth like rag dolls. Acrobats tumble-tumble-tumbled before forming swaying human pyramids, while a guy coaxed a black bear to roll back and forth on top of an oversize red ball embossed with white stars. There was even a woman dressed up like a superhero—Karma Girl, I think—who got shot out of a cannon.
Carniepunk: Parlor Tricks (Elemental Assassin) Page 1
