by Amy Boyles
“Y-yes?” Arnold said.
Samson plucked the blade from the table and fingered the tip. “You made a mistake today, boy.”
Arnold’s eyes glimmered with fear. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the show. I won’t do it again. I promise. I won’t mess it up anymore.”
Samson scowled. “You’re so yellow-bellied it’s disgusting. If it weren’t for your mama, rest her soul, I would kick you to the curb, easily.”
“No, please, Mr. Magnum,” Arnold pleaded. “Please don’t do that. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
As Samson stared into the pitiful gaze of the boy who he considered to be not only wounded but broken, Samson was reminded of the truth. Arnold didn’t have anywhere to go, but Samson had showered a lot of pity on him already.
“Please”—Arnold prayed his hands—“please give me one more chance. You’ll see, Mr. Magnum. I won’t mess up again. I promise. I swear it to you.”
Samson felt his heart soften to the boy, and it disgusted him. He shoved Arnold away, hard. The kid’s arms pinwheeled as he hit the dirt on his rump.
Samson, feeling a bit of triumph, brushed his hands. “See that you don’t mess up again. I’ve got big plans that rely on this town, very big plans.”
Tears streamed down Arnold’s face. Weakness, Samson thought. That boy is pure weakness.
Samson turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the kid in the dirt. Served him right. Besides, Samson did have big plans for this carnival and Witch’s Forge—one of them had to do with a vampire; the other had to do with a particular blonde named Kimberly Peterson.
Arnold
Arnold sat in the dirt for a moment before painfully standing. His rear end throbbed. He glanced behind him and saw his jeans were scuffed with soil.
He’d need them washed before tomorrow as Mr. Magnum did not like for anyone in the carnival to be dirty, even though the owner’s shirts were sometimes pungent from old sweat and grime.
Arnold rubbed the heels of his hands in his eyes and thought about how stupid he had been to mess up Giorgio’s show. He hadn’t seen the strong man since then, but he knew facing him would be worse than Magnum.
After Arnold finished putting away the last of the blades, something he had taken upon himself because he liked how they shined, he pulled the thing from his pocket—the thing he had found on the ground earlier that day.
The stone was dark, but it had a bluish tint. Arnold wondered if it was a bit of meteor, as one side glowed slightly. It didn’t matter either way to him. All Arnold knew was that it was cool, different, and he wanted to keep it.
He palmed it as he walked back to the RV he slept in with a few other guys—men who had no interest in him and never attempted to talk to him. Often Arnold walked in when they were laughing. As soon as Arnold appeared, they would stop, which made Arnold think they were making fun of him, and they probably were.
He had no friends in this carnival, but it was the only family Arnold knew. His heart felt heavy in his chest, as if an iron chain were coiled around it. Arnold had just pushed the loneliness aside when a voice took him by surprise.
“Hey, Arnold, is that you?”
The words dripped with a heavy Italian accent and Arnold froze. Giorgio sounded mad.
The strong man stepped from the shadows. He tweaked the ends of his mustache and scowled. “You made me look like a fool today. You know what I do to little brats like you?”
Arnold stumbled over his apology. “I-I’m so sorry, Giorgio. I-it won’t h-happen again.”
But Giorgio didn’t seem to care. He grabbed Arnold by the collar and started squeezing, cutting off his air.
Arnold struggled for breath as the force on his throat continued to tighten. Fear shot through his veins. Arnold didn’t want to die; Arnold wanted to live.
He scratched at Giorgio’s hands, trying to stop him, but he was too strong for Arnold. His hands were like kitten paws as they weakly fought against the bearlike grip on his neck.
Giorgio sneered. “After tonight you will never again bother me or anyone else. You are nothing, a fool in fool’s clothing.”
Arnold’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. His grip on Giorgio loosened, and he felt in his pocket for the one last thing that had some meaning in his life—the glowing bit of meteor he had found.
As his fingers brushed the cool rock, Arnold wished that for once he wasn’t the scaredy-cat. He wished it was Giorgio who feared him, because then maybe Arnold would have stood a chance in this life and he could have mastered it, knocking every minute out of the park instead of fearing what the next would bring.
As all those thoughts swept through his brain, Arnold felt the world tilt and shift. He felt the fear that had pulsed through his veins since as long as he could remember, begin to dissolve, receding into the back of his mind as if it had never existed in the first place.
Giorgio’s grip on him loosened, and the strong man dropped Arnold to the ground. Arnold landed face-first in a pile of dirt that he sucked into his mouth as he fought to breathe, to fill his burning lungs with oxygen.
His lungs filled and Arnold coughed, dislodging the dust from his mouth. He rolled over, still coughing, and caught sight of Giorgio.
The strong man backed away from Arnold. “Stay away from me,” he whimpered. “Don’t hurt me.”
That was when Arnold noticed something else about himself. Not only had his fear dissipated, but it felt as if a wave of confidence and strength had crashed over him.
Arnold slowly rose and studied Giorgio. “What did you say?”
Fear lit in Giorgio’s eyes. “I said, please, don’t hurt me.” Tears spilled down his cheeks as he fell to his knees.
But Arnold did want to hurt him. He felt that need deep in his chest. It sat like a rock in the pit of him. The feelings of frustration started to bleed out as Arnold stalked toward Giorgio.
For the first time in his life, Arnold watched as someone cowered before him. It made Arnold feel powerful, and he understood how intimidating a person could make you feel like you had worth.
Because in that moment Arnold had worth. Seeing the fear in Giorgio’s eyes was worth any cost to him. He would have paid anything to see what he was seeing and feel what he was feeling.
The best part was that it hadn’t cost a dime, though maybe, Arnold wondered, was he paying a different price than money for this spectacle?
Whatever the cost, he would gladly give it to feel this power, this confidence. It was almost as if he was sucking Giorgio’s essence from him and inhaling it. The power that flowed through his veins made Arnold feel as if he could do absolutely anything.
“I won’t harm you,” he said to Giorgio. “I only want one thing.”
“W-what’s that?” Giorgio stammered.
Arnold felt a satisfied sneer draw across his face. “I want to watch you scream in fear.” Giorgio looked puzzled, but then Arnold bent over and said, “Boo!”
The strong man threw his hands in the air and squealed as he ran straight down the middle of the carnival and out of sight.
Arnold threw back his head and laughed and laughed and laughed. No more would anyone call him yellow-bellied. No longer would they call him a scaredy-cat, because he was neither.
Arnold had confidence, and he couldn’t wait to use it.
Pepper
Betty came raging down the stairs, hollering something about a stiff knee. I tore my gaze away from the article I was reading about a magical donkey that could talk, to see what she was yammering on about.
“What about your knee?” I asked.
Betty grabbed her coat off the peg and threw it over her shoulders. “My knee hasn’t throbbed in ages, kid. It never used to do that at all, in fact, but since this mess has happened with the heart fire, nothing surprises me.”
“Do you think it’s just arthritis?” Amelia dared to ask.
Betty shot her a dark look. “No, I don’t think it’s just arthritis. I don’t have arthritis.�
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“Are you sure? You’re pretty old,” Amelia added.
Amelia was asking for it now. Betty glared at her so hard I was surprised Betty’s eyes didn’t glow red.
“I’m sure I don’t have arthritis.” Betty tapped her fists to her chest. “I’m as young and virile as a filly. I don’t get aches and pains.”
I swiveled my chair to face her. “So what are you saying?”
Betty smacked her hands together in triumph. “I’m saying another piece of the heart fire has been discovered.”
I shot a concerned look to my cousins. “Have y’all read about any strange magical occurrences?”
Cordelia shook her head. “Nope, not a one. Amelia?”
“Me neither. The last thing I read about was a matchmaking Pig in Witch’s Forge, Tennessee.”
“Witch’s Forge, that’s where that witch Charming and her vampire boyfriend are from.”
The front door opened, and Axel strode in. He had a newspaper in his hand, and he dropped it onto the table. “Witch’s Forge,” he said. “Is that what y’all are talking about?”
“We are. But not exclusively,” I explained, “because Betty has an ache.”
“Dagnabbit, will y’all listen to me?” Betty yelled. “I’m saying something has happened. One of the pieces of the heart fire has been found.”
“But we don’t know where it is,” Amelia said. “Just because you feel it in your knee doesn’t mean we know which way to go—unless your knee can also point us in the right direction.”
Betty’s mouth clenched tightly. She glared at Amelia. “What I’m saying is y’all need to read the articles and reports more carefully, because something should be coming our way any day now.”
“Because you have a feeling,” Amelia said skeptically.
“You’re darn right because I have a feeling. Isn’t that enough?”
Axel sat on the arm of a chair. “I’ll tell you what’s enough to get fired up about.”
Finally, a piece of conversation that hopefully didn’t revolve around arthritic joints. “What’s that?” I said.
He nodded to the paper. “In here is an article about a certain vampire named Leopold Blackwood.”
I frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”
“Not Leopold, but the last name.”
I racked my brain. “Was Blackwood the name of that Thorne who Charming brought with her?”
Axel snapped his fingers. “Exactly.” His ocean-blue eyes turned the color of slate, a sign that he was troubled. “Thorne Blackwood is the son of Leopold Blackwood, who sits on the vampire council.”
“And?” I asked.
Axel folded his arms and shot me a confident smile. He had information, something he was proud of. “And guess who also sits on that council?”
“Blake Calhoun?” Cordelia said.
“Bingo. So it reckons to stand that it’s possible Thorne Blackwood knows more about Blake Calhoun than he’s letting on. Either that, or his father knows quite a bit—enough that he can either lead us to Blake or get us a visit with the council and they can stop Blake.”
“So that at least we have one less thing to worry about,” I said.
Axel nodded. “Exactly.”
It made sense. If we could get the council involved, they may be able to curtail Blake, and we wouldn’t have to worry about him gaining any pieces of the heart fire. That would at least alleviate some of the pressure that was weighing us down.
Betty popped her corncob pipe into her mouth and lit it with magic from her fingertip. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this, Axel.”
He nodded grimly. “I have. I don’t trust vampires, and I didn’t like the fact that one led a witch into our town.”
“I don’t think Thorne Blackwood is our enemy,” I said.
Axel said nothing, which meant he didn’t trust Thorne. I always thought it was better to get to know someone before you decided not to trust them, but that’s just me.
Axel obviously had a different take on the subject.
We sat in silence for a moment, long enough that I knew idea wheels spun inside both Axel’s and Betty’s heads. I sat up and stretched my legs. My calves had started to cramp, and I rubbed the knots out.
“So,” I said after a long silence filled with Betty’s puffs from her pipe, “what do y’all want to do?”
Axel’s eyes narrowed. “I want to go to Witch’s Forge and talk to Thorne Blackwood, see if he can introduce us to his father.”
I raked my fingers through my hair nervously. We needed allies in this quest, not enemies. I prayed Axel wouldn’t run in and offend Thorne. “They said they would help us.”
Axel’s jaw flexed. “I just want to make sure that they do.”
Betty clapped her hands and did a little jig before yelping in pain. “Oh, my knee. Anyway, what are y’all doing standing around like a bunch of sad sots? Get your bags packed; we’re going to Witch’s Forge.”
“Yay,” Amelia said.
Betty’s gaze snapped to my cousin. “Except for you and Cordelia. I need y’all to man the articles, keep looking for signs of the heart and call us if you find out anything.”
Amelia deflated. “Shucks.”
My grandmother pointed at me and Axel. “As for y’all two, pack a bag and let’s get out of here.”
Charming
“Charming, I think I met my soul mate.”
I groaned as Kimberly Peterson approached my table. I sat in a coffee shop a few doors down from the house, reading over a file. Kimberly, bless her, sashayed up in a pink sheath dress and silver pumps. Her blonde hair was curled, and I swear she looked more like J-Lo about to perform in the Superbowl halftime show than a witch roaming about town.
Kimberly sat and pointed to the barista. “A skinny mocha, please, with soy milk.”
The barista started to build her drink. Coffee gurgled into a cup while milk hissed low as it foamed.
I glanced up from the file I was reading. It was about an earth wizard who wanted to find his soul mate. I was supposed to meet with him later, but I had the feeling that Kimberly was going to take up a bit more of my time than I wanted.
I took a sip from my coffee and settled the paper cup on the table. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
Kimberly scoffed playfully. “Come on. You know what I mean, Charming. I’m talking about Samson Magnum.”
I tried to play coy. “What makes you think I know what you’re talking about?”
Kimberly leaned forward. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Samson told me how you spoke to him and touched him so you could discover his soul mate. He said that you saw it was me.”
I grunted.
The barista called Kimberly to pick up her coffee. “Be right back.” She wagged a finger at me. “Don’t go anywhere. I want to discuss this.”
My mind whirled. How the heck had Samson figured out that Kimberly was who I had seen? Or had he figured it out at all? It was possible Samson only told her they were soul mates because Kimberly was a pretty blonde. Heck, he could have told every pretty woman he saw that she was his soul mate.
Perhaps the entire situation was a big coincidence. I hoped so, because the alternative—that Samson had seen what I saw about Kimberly, made my stomach tighten.
Kimberly got up to pay for her drink and thank the barista. She shimmied back over to my table and dropped into her chair, a wide grin splitting her face.
“Let me just say this, Charming,” she said, continuing our conversation, “I never thought that I would like a carnival man, but there’s something very charming—to use your name—about him.”
Kimberly stared at me as if waiting for me to agree with everything she said. I struggled to find the right words.
“Kimberly, don’t you think that you’ve had kind of a bad track record with men lately?”
She frowned. “Well…”
“It’s just that if you get involved with Samson, what kind of
life will that be? Will you go with him from town to town?”
She scoffed. “Charming, we just met. It’s not like I’ve fallen head over heels for the man—yet,” she added, laughing.
My hopes for keeping her away from Samson splashed to the ground. “I think you should go slow, is all.”
Kimberly lowered her head and sipped her coffee. When she glanced up at me, a curtain of bangs covered her left eye. “But I wonder why you didn’t tell me about him? Why didn’t you call me if he is supposed to be the man for me, like he said?”
I squirmed. It wasn’t easy to dash anyone’s hopes. Kimberly’s last boyfriend had died, and the one before that tried to kill her. So attempting to explain my reasoning, that Samson Magnum gave me the willies, was about as fun as dropping into a barrelful of snakes.
“Well, um,” I started, “Kimberly, first of all, you have to believe that everything I do is to help you.”
She nodded and smiled, her eyes appearing vacant, as if she was barely listening. “Sure. To help me. I get it.”
I licked my lips as my mind churned, working out a way to gently put this. “I met Samson, that’s true. He showed me around the carnival. He seems very charming, and he’s obviously a smart businessman.”
She kept right on nodding as if her head would bobble off her neck. “Yep. I agree.”
“The only thing is”—I bit my lower lip, trying to wrap my head around the right words—“I did touch him, but after, there almost seemed to be something sinister about him.”
Kimberly scowled. Then her face morphed into a bright smile. She swatted at me playfully. “Charming, you’re joking, I’m sure. Something sinister about Samson? You must be kidding. He’s a kitty cat. Did you know that he’s the carnival magician?”
“No, I can’t say that I did.” But the information didn’t shock me. “I’m sure he’s very good.”
“He’s asked me to fill in for his usual assistant,” Kimberly said. “She’s got the flu or something, and he needs help. How could I say no when he’s so handsome? Of course I didn’t. I said yes, and I’ll be performing with him today at three o’clock. You should come. I’d love to have you in the audience. You know, moral support and all that.”
