by Trudi Jaye
His heavy bag smashed against his bad leg, and he swore. All he wanted to do was curl up in a nice warm bed and go to sleep. Preferably for several days.
But his ride was nowhere to be seen. In fact, she was more than an hour late.
Maybe parking had been lousy. Maybe she was waiting at the wrong terminal.
Or maybe his mother had forgotten.
His heart dropped, and all he could think about was how it had felt when he was little and his father and sister had left him and his mother like rubbish on the side of the road because he needed medical care. His mother had been the only one who’d cared, who had stayed with him through the hospital stays and the doctor visits.
He knew logically that his mother would never desert him—was in fact more likely to cling to him like a limpet—but he wasn’t feeling very logical at the moment. He hurt all over, and he was tired, dammit.
It had been five months since the accident, and the only time he’d actually talked to his mother was one crackling phone call early on when he’d been half out of his mind on pain meds. He’d expected her to come rushing to his bedside, but she never did. He’d been confused by it but figured she didn’t have the money, and he sure as hell didn’t have enough to get her to Europe, not with the hospital bills he’d been forced to pay up front. He was going to hound the insurance company until they coughed up the money they owed him, but in the meantime, his funds were short.
He took a deep breath and picked up his luggage. He’d have to get a taxi. He just hoped he had enough money in the bank to pay for it.
He limped over to the taxi stand. There were no seats, so he stood awkwardly in the queue, leaning on his good leg, trying not to think too hard about the pain relief he would have been on at the hospital in Prague.
It took another hour to finally get a cab. Zeph settled back in the leather seat and closed his eyes with a sigh of relief, rubbing at his thigh to try and ease the throbbing pain.
A throat cleared in the front of the car. “Excuse me, sir, but my air-conditioner isn’t working. You just open the window, and it’ll be fine,” said the driver apologetically, his voice soft and musical.
Zeph opened his eyes again and stared at the man, who’d already turned back to steer his way out of the busy concourse. Pink fuzzy dice swung from the rearview mirror, and a small Buddha statue was stuck precariously to the dashboard. For a moment, it seemed like the Buddha did a little dance, but he shook his head and it returned to being motionless.
“You look beat. Long flight?” said the driver, glancing at Zeph through the mirror. His eyes blinked rapidly behind thick glasses. “You just sit back and relax. I’ll get you where you’re going.”
Zeph looked at the strange man through pain-focused lenses and just nodded tiredly. What did he need air-conditioning for? He laid his head back and stared out the open window, letting the humid, smog-filled air of L.A. blast over his face.
He was home. That was all that mattered.
Two hours later, after a long journey on traffic-clogged freeways and roads, he wasn’t so sure home was where he wanted to be.
“Come on, Mom. Where are you?” He banged on the front door for a third time, trying not to scream with frustration. He’d already done one painful loop of the house and discovered it was a mess. The lawn was overgrown, the gutters were blocked, and there was a layer of debris on the drive that needed to be swept away.
On the drive home, he’d been worried he hadn’t waited long enough for his mother. She was probably still waiting for him at the airport, pacing up and down, wondering where her baby was. But the longer he looked around, the more he realized his mother hadn’t been at the house for some time. It had a deserted air about it, a loneliness that sent chills down his spine. Where the hell was she?
Mom had always been a bit hazy about communication. She refused to get a mobile phone, didn’t like to email more than a couple lines, and often didn’t even reply. They’d always managed to stay in touch through long-distance calls on her landline, usually with Zeph phoning her. All this meant when she hadn’t replied to his email about coming home, he hadn’t been too concerned. She’d always been there to pick him up in the past.
But when he thought back, he realized he hadn’t talked to her in at least four months. He’d been lying in a hospital bed that whole time, with other stuff on his mind, so he hadn’t noticed. His pulse started to pound, and he walked a little faster back around to the front.
“She’s not been here for months.” The voice creaked up at Zeph as if being pulled forcefully out of a mouth.
Zeph turned. And blinked. He thought he knew all his mother’s neighbors, but this wizened old woman was a new one. “Uh, okay, thanks. Do you know where she went?” His thoughts were spinning even as he stared at the woman in front of him. Hair rollers, housecoat, and slippers—all in matching fluorescent pink.
“Sorry, sonny. Just saw a couple strangely dressed folk visiting. All bright clothes and too much makeup. She left with them a couple hours later and hasn’t been back since. Didn’t tell me what she was doing.” There was a note of censure in the old woman’s voice.
“Strangely dressed? How?” A chill went down Zeph’s spine. It could mean only one thing. But he had to make sure.
“They looked like they were from the circus or something. Not how normal people dress.”
Zeph clenched his hands. The damn Jolly Carnival. Mom had always warned him they would never let go, that they’d be back one day to claim them both. He’d thought it was her usual paranoia. But she’d been right.
He nodded his thanks to the old woman and then raced across the road to the only neighbor who’d been any use to him when he’d been growing up. He banged on the door of Ralph’s house and waited impatiently while he listened to the old man shuffling to the door.
“Zeph!” Ralph grinned in surprise, his lined face lighting up. “I didn’t know you were coming home.” He was dressed in his usual trousers, shirt, and sweater, all in various shades of brown. Blue rabbit slippers adorned his feet.
“Hey, Ralph. I got discharged.” He hugged his old friend and smiled at the familiar glimpse of seventies retro wallpaper in the dark hallway behind him.
“You been sick?” Ralph pulled back and looked him over.
“Mom didn’t tell you? I was in an accident.” Zeph paused. “On my bike during a show.”
Ralph winced. “How’d your Mom take that?”
“I don’t really know. I haven’t talked to her properly since it happened.”
“Well, I’m sure she took it as badly as you might expect.” Ralph smiled. “Come on in, son. Don’t hang about the door like a salesman.” He stepped aside to let Zeph in, waving him on down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Some lady across the road said Mom hasn’t been around for a while?” asked Zeph. A little bit of outside confirmation wouldn’t hurt.
“Bright-pink dressing gown?” Ralph’s expression said what he thought of her.
“Yeah.” Zeph laughed. “So was she right?” Maybe it was all a mistake.
Ralph nodded, shuffling up the hallway. “She left about three or four months ago. With some strange folk, even for her.”
“Did you talk to her?” Zeph led Ralph into the bright kitchen area. Yellow and red flower-patterned curtains hung at the windows, and a pot of coffee was brewing on the stove. Zeph took a deep breath; it finally smelled like home.
“She came over to say good-bye. Told me it was for the best.” Ralph frowned. “I’m not sure what she was on about, but she seemed happy enough. I didn’t figure it was my place to be fighting her on it.” Ralph looked at Zeph, a question in his eyes.
Zeph thought of his mother, with her paranoia and her strange quirks. She wouldn’t have left unless she was forced to. “I think it’s my father and his Carnival. Mom always said they would come and get us, but I didn’t believe her.” He considered mentioning why—but decided the old man wouldn’t believe stories of magic and gifts.
He wasn’t sure he did either. “I’m going to get her back.”
“She didn’t seem opposed to the idea of going with these people. If it had been your father, I’d have thought she’d fight tooth and nail, the way she talks about him.”
Zeph shrugged. “All I know is circus people came to get her, and she wouldn’t have gone back to the Jolly Carnival if she could help it. She took us away from there when I was a kid because it was a bad influence. My dad was an asshole, and he was training my sister to be the same. All that mattered to them was the Carnival.” He struggled to dampen the bitterness that infused his words.
Ralph put one hand on Zeph’s shoulders. “I know, son. It’s a hard pill to swallow when your own father doesn’t give a damn.”
The old hurt pushed to the surface, and Zeph ruthlessly shoved it back down. He didn’t care about his so-called father and the ragtag bunch of losers who followed him at the Carnival. He just needed to get his mother away from there before they used her up and threw her away again.
He paused, words trembling on the tip of his tongue.
“Out with it,” said Ralph.
Zeph sighed. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Since when were you anything but trouble for me?” The humour in his eyes softened his harsh comment.
Zeph grinned. Ralph was right. “I need to borrow your bike.”
Ralph’s immediate shake of his head was just what Zeph expected.
Zeph leaned forward. “Look, Ralph, I wouldn’t ask you unless I was desperate.”
“Can’t you hire something? A car? Why do you need my bike in particular?”
Zeph sighed. “I don’t have any money. It’s all tied up in hospital bills. I was expecting Mom to be here so I could borrow a bit off her, until the insurance money comes through.” He rubbed his leg where he now had a huge scar. It was going to hurt like a bitch, but he had no choice.
“I can’t loan you any money, lad.” Ralph’s voice was quiet.
Zeph shook his head impatiently. “I don’t want your money, Ralph. I just need a ride out to the Carnival. I’ll bring it back in pristine condition. I promise.”
Ralph narrowed his eyes up at Zeph. “You break it, you buy me another one, just the same. Same year and everything.”
Zeph grinned, relieved. “Of course, Ralph. You know I will.” He hugged the old man hard, grateful something was going his way at last.
An hour later, Zeph was on the motorbike he’d learned on as a kid: a pristine-condition black-and-chrome 1969 Harley Davidson, complete with sidecar. As he cruised along the open road, heading away from L.A. and toward deepest, darkest Midwest, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.
One thing he was sure of: his leg did hurt like a bitch.
CHAPTER TWO
Missy walked into the bar, still fuming.
Who the hell did they think they were? She knew just as much as they did about what worked in the ring. More, in fact. The latest styles in circus acts were down and dirty, often in a sexy cabaret style. She’d been to see a few on her latest trip to L.A., where she’d earned the damn Carnival a bunch of cash to pay off some more of the debt Abba had lumped them with. And now they were telling her it was too much? That she had to go back to the boring old style of circus? Be more traditional?
She’d damn well do what she wanted. They couldn’t tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She was the star of the show—she’d do what she liked. Her breath hitched and a little sob worked its way up her diaphragm.
Slamming her bag down on the bar, she scowled over at the bartender. He was a handsome guy and seemed kind of familiar. She stared at him, trying to recall where she’d seen him before. There were a lot of people like that in Madison. She’d grown up around here and had gone to school in the off-season. But she’d never quite managed to get to know people enough to remember their names. She’d always been too busy. Her focus had always been on the Carnival, learning everything she needed to be perfect up in the air. Learning to fly. It had always been everything she needed—until now.
Missy swallowed down the lump in her throat that was making her eyes tear up. She would not cry.
“Hey.” She cleared her throat. “Can I have… uh…?” What the hell should she drink? She wasn’t used to drinking in general. “Can I have a cocktail please?”
“What kind of cocktail?” The bartender gave her a friendly smile. Like he knew her.
Missy blinked. “I don’t actually know. Something with juice in it? Not too sweet?”
“Sure, Missy, coming right up.” He moved off to get her order.
Missy winced. He did know who she was. She’d probably sat next to him in algebra or something equally stupid. She glanced around the bar. The place was kind of old and seedy and smelled of alcohol. Despite the lateness in the evening, there were a lot of people around. The bar was attached to the local hotel, the closest place to the Compound with alcohol, which was why she’d picked it. Easier to get home in a taxi once she’d drunk herself into a stupor.
She didn’t usually like alcohol, but sometimes it just made the most sense. She needed to blunt the edge of her anger, and sitting around in the Compound wasn’t going to do that. Neither was working on an act Rilla had vetoed.
The bartender came back with a large pale-yellow drink in a tall curved glass with a piece of pineapple and an umbrella perched on one side. He grinned at her. “I figured you’d want the full treatment. It’s a Piña Colada.”
Missy raised her eyebrows at him and then looked down at the drink. It didn’t quite match her mood—maybe she should have ordered a Bloody Mary. She took a sip, then another. It tasted good. “Thanks. Just what I needed.” She smiled at the bartender and turned around, surveying the bar. The only table left was by the door, presumably because of the cold breeze every time someone opened it. Missy shrugged. She was wearing a thick leather jacket that would keep her warm.
She sat down and was afforded a lovely view of the parking lot at night. Taking another sip of her drink, Missy wondered who owned all the different cars and what their lives were like. Were they being treated like a child? Did they have to fight tooth and nail for every little concession? One thing was for sure—they didn’t have the Carnival, and they survived perfectly well.
But then, they didn’t know what they were missing.
Missy slumped back in her seat and took another sip of the sweet drink. Rilla and Jack had been so dismissive. That was the most annoying part. She knew they were busy, and things weren’t going according to plan with the payments they still owed the bank, but she’d still expected more when she’d shown them her new act. She’d been working on it for the last couple months since the Winter Spectacular. It had seemed like the perfect way to get her mind off everything that had been happening lately, and she’d been so sure they’d love it.
When they’d sent her to L.A. to do the shows—a couple of celebrity birthday parties and some corporate events—the other circus acts she’d visited had been a revelation, making her realize she’d not been pushing the boundaries enough. She’d been doing the same old shows her mother before her, and her grandmother before that, had been doing. It was time to bring the show into the next century.
But Rilla had totally disagreed.
We’re teetering on the edge as it is, Missy. We need to stay solidly in the space where we excel. Traditional circus. Entertainment for families, people coming to the circus for the same experience they’ve always had, the experience they expect, only better. Not some far-out experimental show they don’t understand. They need to be inspired, not confused.
The sound of a motorcycle interrupted her thoughts, and Missy blinked. She took a sip of her cocktail as she peered out the window. A big, old Harley Davidson—with a sidecar no less—pulled into the lot, the chrome glinting beneath the overhead lights.
Her interest perked up. She’d always liked bikes and had followed Viktor’s son Henry around for a couple years when they were teenagers, wa
tching everything he did on his old bike, trying to pick it all up. He’d let her do it, which said something about Henry’s patience rather than what she’d actually managed to learn. At one point, she’d even planned to convince Viktor to have her on the Thrills crew. But she’d never really been a natural at it, not like she was up on the high wire, and her obsession had passed.
Mostly.
The man outside climbed off the Harley and stretched. He was tall and rangy, and a muscled stomach showed under his leather jacket as he lifted his arms high. He pulled off his helmet, and she saw straight black hair in a longer California-style cut. Pulling a bag out of the sidecar, he limped toward the front of the hotel, his face showing clearly that he was in pain. He soon disappeared inside, and Missy forgot about him—mostly—and continued to examine the large bike. It was pretty impressive and looked quite old. She was contemplating going outside to take a closer look when the side door of the bar slammed and the guy appeared from the hotel foyer.
***
To read the rest of High Flyer, click the link to Amazon here.
Hidden Magic Excerpt (Book Five)
CHAPTER ONE
Henry whistled through his teeth as he gazed up at the steel and glass monstrosity in front of him. It towered overhead, making him squint as he tried to see the top through the glare of Tampa’s midday sun. He glanced at the piece of paper again, just to make sure. Yep. It was the right place. He was going to have to put up with this for the next month.
It’s just a month, Henry. And the money they’re going to pay for the contract will cover a third of what we owe on the last installment to the bank. We’re relying on you.
Jack’s words still ringing in his ears, Henry sighed. He didn’t have much choice. He glanced back at his car, a pristine condition 1974 Dodge Charger SE parked across one and a half spaces, and considered leaving. When Rilla had said she would fly him down to Tampa from the Compound in Montana, he’d shaken his head and insisted on driving. It had taken him a few long days of driving, but he’d arrived in one piece, and was far calmer than if he had flown.
