“I feel like I really get Rob Zombie, you know?” Puck was saying loudly over the rushing air and the blaring synthesizers. “They don’t make music like this anymore.”
Even though I really didn’t think the music was that great, I didn’t remember ever feeling so cool. And then Calyxtus turned around in her seat. “What are you, kid? Like fourteen?”
I nodded in time with the beat and she took it for a yes. Instantly, I felt even cooler.
“So, are you guys are going to watch the circus?” I asked Puck.
“Hardly!” Calyxtus forced a condescending laugh. “You know circuses are heinous, right?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, confused.
“First, they are for babies. And second, even if it wasn’t Bartholomew’s Circus of the Incredible, they…they’re just awful. They torture animals. You think those lions and elephants and whatever else want to be there? Walk on their back legs and let people put their heads in their mouths, and stand on balls and—”
“Balls!” sniggered Puck. Calyxtus rolled her eyes.
“They’re awful,” she finished. “Just awful.”
“So I’ve heard,” I agreed, thinking about what I’d read online. “So if you’re not going to the actual circus, what are you doing?”
“Holding another séance. Closer to the source—but we’ll be right next to it, so you can walk there, you know, if you’re a baby who watches circuses.”
“I so thought the cemetery would be place we’d reach him,” Puck said.
The séance! I’d almost forgotten about the whole Bartholomew-killed-a-guy story! Getting the wind knocked out of me had pushed it right out of my head.
Skeleton Face stopped at a stop sign and he and Calyxtus started kissing. I tried to look away and pretend I wasn’t seeing them mash their faces together. Puck looked depressed.
“Zacharias Pizz-hat, right?” I asked, turning to Puck.
“Prizrak!” corrected Puck.
“Did you say the circus killed him?” I asked. I hadn’t read anything about this guy on IHateBartholomewsCircus.com, but maybe they knew things the site didn’t.
“Oh yeah,” Puck said. “It’s a well-known fact.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely interested.
Puck looked excited to be telling the story. “See, Zacharias was a famous magician in The Incredible. He could disappear into anything—a box, a refrigerator, a small safe. He’d just bend himself up, lock himself in—and poof! He was gone!”
“Dark magic,” Calyxtus added. She was looking at me in her sun visor’s mirror, reapplying her black lipstick after the big smooch. “That’s how he did it.”
My mind flashed to my mom in the filing cabinet. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t into dark magic.
“But before that,” Puck was saying, “Prizrak was just a P.E. teacher here in Algodones.”
“No he wasn’t, you nitwit,” said Calyxtus. She turned down the music.
“I’m telling the story I heard, okay?” Puck glared at her.
“Anyway,” Calyxtus took over for him, “he was from Algodones—or at least, it was the last place he lived before he joined The Incredible. It’s where he perfected his craft. That’s why we can reach him here; it’s the last place his soul was free.
“See, Zacharias was one of the greatest magicians in the world. Like, the real deal. None of this fake, camera-trick, rigged-cards kind of thing. Real spirit-realm stuff. But nobody knew about him because he was only allowed to perform with The Incredible.”
“And they wouldn’t let him leave,” said Puck. “Bartholomew never lets anyone leave. It’s like the mafia—once you’re in, you’re in for life. The only way to leave that place is in a body bag.”
I swallowed hard. I’d read a lot of Bartholomew rumors, but this one was new to me. I’d never thought about him killing people before—I mean, sure there was the severed finger, but that could just be, you know, a warning. What if my mom was afraid to leave because she knew how dangerous he was?
“How’d Prizrak get killed?” I asked cautiously.
“One night they were performing in Chicago, and Prizrak climbed into a small trunk onstage and did his disappearing act as usual. The audience cheered, expecting him to come back, but the show went on. Everybody forgot about him. The circus left and went to another town. Three days later, they found his body in an empty Wells Fargo bank vault, three blocks away.”
“He was dead?” I asked, confused.
“Yeah.”
“How’d he end up in the bank vault?”
“You tell me,” Puck said, his eyes glinting. “A magic trick gone wrong? A setup?”
“Bartholomew couldn’t control Zacharias’s dark magic,” said Calyxtus, turning back to face us. “It was too strong—and Bartholomew was afraid of him. So, during the show, Bartholomew used his own black magic to trap Zacharias’s soul in the trunk, which had an ancient Egyptian mirror that Bartholomew had bought from Romanian gypsies. Bartholomew channeled Zacharias’s material vessel, his body, into the spirit realm and then into that bank vault. At least that’s what they say.”
“What?” I asked. My head hurt trying to follow the way that she talked.
“He got sent into that airtight bank vault on the Friday before a three-day weekend,” clarified Puck. “He suffocated in there.”
“How did you learn all this?” I demanded. “Who’s ‘they’? Why didn’t anyone call the police?”
“Algodones may be a desert, but it’s hiding a river of secrets,” Calyxtus answered mysteriously.
“Cal’s aunt is a private detective,” Puck added. “But she couldn’t figure out the case and she dropped it.”
Calyxtus glared at Puck, and then whipped her head around to face forward.
I swallowed hard, thinking about all of the things I knew about Bartholomew. Kidnapping, black magic, performers killed in accidents, animal abuse, and now this—whatever it was. Murder? Maybe. I didn’t believe all the stuff about the magic, but the rest? How did a person disappear in front of a large crowd and then reappear somewhere else a couple blocks away?
There had to be some truth in it if they believed it so much.
We got into Albuquerque just before seven-thirty p.m. and it was almost dark. We stopped at a convenience store a few minutes from the circus and I sat anxiously in the car with Puck and Calyxtus while Skeleton Face (who still hadn’t spoken and didn’t seem to have a name) went in to buy snacks and boxed wine. He was either twenty-one or he had a fake ID. Calyxtus said we had to stay in the car or it would blow the whole deal (but she promised he would bring me some food for my poor empty stomach).
Puck and Calyxtus were saying something about auras and past lives when it hit me.
My mission was about to happen.
Time to get myself together.
My plan was to go into The Incredible with just the empty suitcase, so there would be room for my mom to contort herself into it. So I took everything from my pockets and suitcase that I didn’t need and stashed it in my backpack.
“What are you doing?” Calyxtus finally asked, seeing me stuffing my backpack. I could barely zip it.
“Uh, getting ready,” I said.
She scrutinized me, but I said nothing more as I changed into my suit shirt and tie from the first day, and, even though it was warm, pulled on my dark blue hoodie. I added Will’s black baseball hat and then slipped his pocketknife into my right pocket and the small screwdriver and ball of string into my left.
I was putting Eli’s dad’s stethoscope around my neck when I saw someone familiar through the window, in the convenience store. In line in front of Skeleton Face.
It was Mom.
Chapter Eleven
Since my mom left, I’d kept having this dream where I’d see her in weird places. I’d
dream that I was walking home after school, and she’d be walking down the other side of the street. Or I’d dream I was in class and she’d stroll by in the hall. Or in places I’d never been before. She would always be going about her own business, and never even notice me.
When dreams suddenly happen in real life, though—that’s when things get weird.
By the time I’d pulled the suitcase out and launched myself out of the Bronco and onto the sidewalk, Mom was already out the glass doors and walking away, her tall red boots clacking on the cement. Except for the circus-type boots, she was in street clothes, which was weird because the circus should have been starting any minute. I practically bowled her over, suitcase in tow.
She seemed stunned as I clutched her hand.
“Mom, I know it’s a surprise to see me,” I said, racing through my rehearsed speech. I pulled her by the arm toward the side of the building as I spoke. “There’s no time to explain. You have to get in the suitcase now. I’ll get you out of here.”
“What are you talking about? Let go of me!” Mom yanked her hand free and shot me a look like she didn’t know me. “And you’re nuts if you think I’d fit in your stupid roller bag.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I mean, I knew it was possible, what with the whole Stockholm syndrome thing where you fall in love with your kidnapper—but still!
“I’m here for you, Mom,” I said, slowly now, in what I hoped was a calm voice. I’d heard doctors talk this way to patients on TV. “Just get in the suitcase.” I took her hand again, but this time she shook it off more violently.
“Let go of me!” she hissed. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
Now I was shocked. I stared at her, and she glared back, the yellow streetlight playing across her face. I realized something was wrong. I mean, this was my mother. It was.
But that wasn’t her nose.
And there was a mole on her chin. Mom didn’t have a mole. But the rest, the rest was, it was Mom. But it wasn’t…
Just then a man’s voice came from the other side of the parking lot.
“Hurry up!”
“Coming!” Mom yelled back, marching away from me.
I hesitated for just a moment before chasing after her. At that point, I was only fifty percent sure it was Mom, but I couldn’t just let her go.
At the other end of the dimly lit parking lot, Mom joined a large man in a suit. Neither was even looking back in my direction as they walked toward—gulp—a black van! It looked just like the one in my imagination, the one Eli had described the day after Mom disappeared. Could it be that this really was Mom, but that the circus had disguised her for some reason?
I had to do something. I couldn’t let them get away again. When the man stopped to get his keys, I swung my suitcase up blindly and hit him in the head.
I don’t think he even flinched.
When he turned, unscathed and unconcerned, I saw that he wasn’t a man. I mean, he was, or at least he had been at some point. But somewhere down the line, he’d turned into a shark.
Yeah, I’m talking about an honest-to-god sharkman.
No hair, no eyebrows, and eyeballs that were completely black. He had flaps of skin on his neck that looked like gills. He even had a dorsal fin that poked through a slit in his jacket. How does a man have a fin?
And I’d just hit him in the head with a suitcase.
“And you did that because…?” the sharkman asked me, speaking carefully. That’s when I noticed that he had way too many teeth, teeth filed down to points.
His blank, black eyes narrowed and all my organs felt like they were shrinking at the same time. But he didn’t take a step toward me. Instead, he turned to the mom look-alike.
“Come on, Charlene,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road. We’re late.”
Mom looked at me like I was a bug to be stomped. I mean, Charlene did. Then she bent down to whisper in my ear, “I’m not who you think I am and you’d better back off with your little suitcase trick before you try it on the wrong woman. You do this again and Bartholomew will pop your head off like a dandelion. Got it?”
I nodded carefully, my head feeling only barely attached to my body. Then, the sharkman and my mom—I mean my not-mom—got into their black van and drove off into the night.
My legs shook as I walked back to the Bronco.
Who were they? What was that about? Why didn’t they…? Well, honestly, I don’t know what I expected them to do to me—but letting me just walk away seemed impossible.
I couldn’t stop picturing that guy’s teeth. And his gills.
Then I remembered that Bartholomew kept a plastic surgeon on staff. Besides making Bartholomew look young, maybe he made men look like sharks? And maybe that was why that lady looked like Mom?
Another idea hit me. Not-Mom and Sharkman were probably headed to the circus now, meaning I had more people to watch out for.
Ugghh.
Skeleton Face stood in front of the Bronco, waiting. Calyxtus and Puck stared from their seats with jaws agape as I heaved my suitcase in the back. I clambered into the back seat, flinching as Skeleton Face got in and slammed his door too hard.
“So, you sleep in cemeteries and you knock huge freaks over the head with suitcases?” Puck said finally.
I reddened. I didn’t know they’d been watching me.
“You’re one crazy piece of work,” said Puck. Calyxtus gave a low whistle of agreement.
“This, um, this isn’t just a normal day for me.” Boy, was it not.
“That guy was what, a vampire?” Calyxtus asked.
“No, I think he was a shark,” I said. “He had a fin.”
“Circus folk,” said Puck. He looked off into the distance, frowning. “They cross everyone.”
But that was all they said about the strange encounter. I guess they had their own ‘Incredible Weirdness’ to focus on. Puck muttered under his breath about Zacharias; Calyxtus dug through her basket, manically counting candles. And, of course, Skeleton Face said nothing; he simply got us back on the road. The traffic was thick. Up ahead about a mile, searchlights crisscrossed each other in the sky.
Bartholomew’s searchlights.
We were close.
The four of us were stuck in a line of traffic leading up to the circus. That’s when I was startled by a low, gravelly voice.
“You said getting to the circus was a matter of life and death.” It was Skeleton Face. Skeleton Face was actually talking. To me.
His black-rimmed eyes met mine in the rearview mirror for a split second before going back to concentrating on the brake lights ahead of us. Puck and Calyxtus sat with their mouths open, exchanging a look.
“Steve hasn’t said a word in three weeks,” Puck whispered to me.
“Life…and death,” Steve repeated, making each word sound like he was weighing them in his hands. “What did you mean by that?”
I didn’t answer right away. I weighed words, too: the lies I could tell. The truths. Maybe I should explain everything. I mean, they hated Bartholomew almost as much as I did. But then I remembered what Hailey had said: you don’t trust people until they’ve earned it. I liked these guys and all, but what if they couldn’t keep a secret? What if they blew my plan?
“Whose death?” Steve said. “Yours or…?”
“My family’s,” I answered, not meaning to say even that. It just slipped out, but when it did, I knew it was the truth. That’s what I’d meant when I first said “life or death,” even if I didn’t realize it at the time. If I didn’t get Mom back, I would blame Dad, I would blame Will, and I’d blame myself. And Will and Dad would never trust me again. No matter what happened, if I didn’t get Mom back, things would never be the same in the Zander house. Ever.
S
teve swung into a makeshift parking lot in someone’s yard. The big, jovial guy taking our parking money saw Steve’s made-up face and everyone else’s weird clothes and grinned.
“Well, I see the circus has come to town!” the man laughed, handing Steve his change. When no one laughed, he tried again: “Send in the clowns!”
It wasn’t the awkward silence alone that stripped the smile from the guy’s face, but also the force of the four sets of glaring eyeballs. He was outnumbered.
“Uh, take the last spot there, by the fence,” he muttered, looking sheepish.
Apparently, the stink-eye is a million times more powerful when you’re in a group.
I could use a posse at home, I realized, thinking about the gas station attendant calling me Poop Lip. Some comrades beside me. Another Blue and White word.
We marched single-file down the side of the highway, headed toward the fairgrounds. Just before we reached the black-barred fence, Skeleton Face—I mean Steve—stopped so abruptly that Calyxtus walked right into the back of him. The crowd passed around us like we were stones in a creek, looking at us warily (I think it was Puck’s cape, more than anything).
“This is where we need to leave you,” Steve said. “We can’t have outsiders witness the séance.”
“Oh, hey, no problem,” I said, honestly grateful to be losing them so I could concentrate. “Thank you for the ride. I would never have made it.”
“We’re happy to help a kindergoth,” said Puck.
“Let’s not get carried away,” said Calyxtus, turning to him with an irritated flip of her hair. “He’s no kindergoth.”
“He could be. Or maybe he’s a baby bat. But in a good way. Look at him! Sleeps in cemeteries, wears a tie? And look at that sunken, pale face!”
I have a sunken, pale face? The road must have been getting to me. Still, I had no clue what they were talking about. I needed to get out of there. Mom was maybe a hundred yards away, and I was just standing here.
“He might just be weird,” argued Calyxtus.
“You’re always so snotty!” Puck shot back.
Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible Page 13
