Last Kiss Goodnight oa-1

by Gena Showalter

  “Move aside, Vika.”

  Act casual. “No. This is my home. You aren’t welcome.” Act brave. “So go on. Leave.”

  “I will . . . after I’ve had my say.” He shoved past her, and at the moment of contact, bugs seemed to jump from him and onto her, burrowing past her skin and into her veins.

  A far different sensation from her contact with the otherworlder.

  She tried not to cringe as she turned and faced him. “Make it fast.”

  “Why? Do you have somewhere to be?” he asked just to be cruel.

  She wasn’t surprised; he was a cruel man. Oh, he would never hurt her physically or anything like that. He was too afraid of her father. But he liked to poke at her in other ways.

  He plopped onto her couch and fingered one of the necklaces hanging from a bowl on the side table. “We’re going to talk. Understand?”

  “I do.” And she could just imagine how the conversation would go.

  When are you going to stop being so stubborn and marry me? he would ask.

  Never, she would reply.

  Don’t be ridiculous. When? I’m the best thing that could ever happen to a girl like you.

  A girl like her. Deaf. Defective. After I’m dead, I’ll consider it. Maybe.

  He would curse. She would tremble.

  So, yes, she was scared of more than just Jecis.

  “I’ll kick things off,” she said, refusing to back down. “Have you forgotten rule number one?”

  A muscle ticked below his eye, a clear indication of his growing anger. “No.”

  “And it is?”

  “No touching precious Vika. Ever.”

  “And do you recall touching me on your way in?”

  “Yes,” he gritted.

  “Here’s another question. Do you recall rule number two?”

  His fingers curled around the diamonds, and she was surprised the stones weren’t ground into a fine powder. “If I break rule number one, I have to punch myself in the face or you’ll tattle to your father.”

  She waited, blinking innocently. Jecis was the only power she held over this man or any other, and she wielded it often and severely.

  Matas gave his jaw a pop.

  “Well?”

  Scowling, he slapped himself.

  “Good boy,” she said with all the sugar sweetness she could muster. She had seen him with other women, and knew he had attended the Jecis Lukas school of discipline. He wasn’t afraid to punch to assert authority and prove a (stupid) point when angry . . . or even mildly disturbed.

  “Now it’s my turn,” he said. “When are you going to marry me?”

  See? “I’m thinking . . . never. Is that good for you?”

  A flash of annoyance. “I’m the reason your father’s people hate you, the reason even the otherworlders are turning against you. A word here, a word there, and the poison spreads. Marry me, and I’ll make them love you.”

  How dare he! “What have you said?” she demanded.

  He waved the question away. “I want you, Vika, and I will have you.”

  Actually, he was second-in-command of the circus and he wanted to be first. He didn’t yet understand that would never happen. Jecis would never abdicate power, and Matas would never be strong enough to take it from him.

  Before becoming ringmaster, Jecis had performed the magic act. After becoming ringmaster, he taught Matas the secrets of the dark arts, the two spending countless hours poring through books, practicing what they read, and even testing their powers on some of the patrons of the circus.

  In comparison, the two men weren’t even in the same league.

  “You’ll never have me,” she said with a shake of her head. “You repulse me.”

  “Is that so?” Suddenly his shadow moved—while his body remained still—expanding over his shoulders . . . splitting apart, slithering in different directions, each gloomy limb inching closer to her.

  Heart pounding, Vika squared her shoulders. She knew what those shadows were, recognized them from that other realm. They were evil. Evil so real, so vile it had taken some kind of living form.

  Her father carried the same essence. In fact, that was where Matas had picked it up. She’d noticed it a few days after they had begun training together.

  “That’s so. Now leave,” she snapped.

  He grinned, all pearly whites and menace. “Make me.”

  The cramping started up again. “You didn’t used to be this way, you know.” Like her father, he had changed over the years—from a somewhat affable young man who enjoyed sharing cotton candy with her after every show to this, demanding and depraved, capable of any despicable deed.

  “I know,” he said, and he didn’t sound as if he cared. “Now I’m better.”

  “Not to me.”

  “That’s because you haven’t yet evolved. But I could make you powerful, Vika. Think of it. I could make you powerful enough to kill your father and rule this circus by my side. I—”

  “Turned Rasa into a freak.” He’d used his magic to transform her beard hair into hundreds of little snakes.

  He shrugged, unconcerned. “She was heard laughing about my act, and needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “And Audra?” He’d shared his “power” with her, too.

  “I never cursed her. She came to your father and asked for the same gift I’m now offering you. He told me to work with her, and I did. Every day she begs for more of what I have.”

  His sneering tone made her think he gave Audra more than lessons about black magic.

  “I want nothing to do with you or your magic.”

  She would never allow herself to slide into the cesspool Jecis and Matas shared. A hunger and thirst for money and the power he’d mentioned had ruined them both, rotted their souls. And yes, she’d always heard that the greedy bred the greedier and the beaters bred even crueler beaters—but she was breaking the cycle.

  Long ago, Vika had decided not to be like the men in her life. She always told the truth. She refused to bemoan her situation (very often). She refused to hate the people around her. She forced herself to be kind. That didn’t mean she had to like, accept, or support what people did to her. She knew it was possible to love someone and not support their actions. She knew she could fight against what was done to her, and always did, to the best of her ability, without being cruel.

  And, like anything else of worth, such a decision required work. It was hard to be truthful when she knew a lie would temporarily save her. It was hard to walk in love when anger demanded she run in hate. It was hard work to be nice when she was hurting, and even harder to hang on to hope when she was feeling abandoned by, well, everyone. But really, at the end of the day, when she rested her head on her pillow, she knew she’d chosen the better road. They had to wade through the mud. She remained clean.

  “Now,” she said, “if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a little alone time to replay this conversation through my mind and laugh at you. Actually, even if you won’t, I’d like a little alone time. Enjoy your day. Or not. Mostly not.” Okay, so she wasn’t ever nice to Matas. But then, even nice girls weren’t to play with evil.

  She opened the door and waited.

  He slowly unfolded from the couch and stuffed the diamond necklace he’d been fondling into his pocket.

  She almost protested. Almost.

  She might despise what the jewelry represented, but every piece was going to a great cause. In a year, she would have enough money in trinkets and charms to buy a new identity and a home hidden high in the mountains of New Colorado. A place she’d dreamed of owning for the last four years. A place no one would be able to take away from her.

  Without the identity, Jecis would be able to find her. Without the home, she would have to get a job to pay rent, which would put her under someone else’s control, as well as on the grid.

  Plus, the time gave her a chance to look for the key to the cuffs the otherworlders wore. Cuffs that had to be removed, or the captives could
be tracked to the ends of the earth—and maybe even other planets.

  “If Jecis catches you with that,” she said as if she was happy at the prospect, “you’ll be in trouble.”

  “He won’t catch me. It’ll be gone within the hour.” Matas swept out of the trailer, making sure to brush against her.

  Shuddering as the bugs once again seemed to jump on her, she slammed the door.

  Ten

  No weapon formed against you will prevail.

  —ISAIAH 54:17

  V IKA HAD TOSSED HIM a bag of food. The knowledge held Solo immobile. She’d tossed him a bag of food, and she’d done it even with fear in her eyes.

  Why fear?

  What—or who—was she afraid of?

  Just as before, when the two otherworlders had harmed her, Solo experienced an almost overwhelming urge to chew through the bars of his cage. Not that such an action would work, he now knew. But just then, the urge had nothing to do with earning his freedom and everything to do with slaying whatever dragons plagued her.

  Desperate to avenge your keeper?

  Maybe. He’d done the vengeance thing countless times before and had never felt better afterward, only worse. He wondered if he would feel different on behalf of a female. His female.

  No, not his.

  “Jecis is gonna beat her but good for running through the zoo,” the tobacco-spitting male from yesterday said gleefully from the distance. “He’s on his way right now. Do you know how badly I want to watch?”

  Solo’s ears twitched.

  The other male from yesterday chortled. “As badly as me, I’m betting.”

  “It’ll be a shame, though, seeing that pretty face all busted up.”

  “It’s always busted up.”

  “True.”

  A pause. “Okay, here’s a question for you. There’s a gun to your head and you have to do Vika or the bearded lady. But if you pick Vika, Jecis gets to do your wife. Who do you pick?”

  “Jecis can have my wife, the little witch. I’ll take Vika for sure.”

  Vika. They were discussing Vika. Jecis was going to beat his own daughter? His “heart?” Surely not. Surely the man would spank her, and nothing more. But the males had mentioned a busted face, hadn’t they.

  Little black dots flickered through Solo’s vision.

  He didn’t know the girl, and he didn’t trust her. Why should he? He shouldn’t want to help her. And yet . . .

  She had thrown him the bag of food. He didn’t have to look to know that was what was inside the burlap. He could smell the milk and flour in the bread, as well as the sweetness of the honey and the tang of the meat.

  Why would she do such a thing, especially since, according to the brute, she wasn’t supposed to enter this area today? She had risked—and would receive—punishment.

  He had to help her.

  “Vika!” Before Solo even realized he’d moved, his fingers were wrapped around the bars. He was shaking his cage . . . shaking . . . so angry his bones were vibrating. “Vika, come here!”

  Just as before, warmth shot into his wrists and quickly spread through the rest of him. Within minutes, his arms felt weighted down with boulders. Frustrated, helpless, infuriated all over again, he ground his teeth and forced himself to still.

  His mother was probably turning over in her grave. A woman was about to be beaten within his vicinity—he was right here, relatively strong, somewhat capable—yet he could do nothing about it, was just going to let it happen.

  “We must do something, Solo,” X said, materializing, looking stronger and steadier than yesterday.

  No matter where the pair went when they vanished, they always sensed a change in his emotions and returned to him.

  “I say good riddance to the girl. He doesn’t want a female like that,” Dr. E said as he, too, materialized, looking weaker and paler than yesterday.

  A female like that. For some reason, the phrase irritated Solo. She was a female who had tended him gently. A female who had kissed him as if he were precious to her. A female who had nibbled on his lip as if she liked the taste of him and craved more.

  But was she as concerned and kind as she seemed, risking castigation to feed him—why him?—or as deceitful as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, tempting him, luring him into a sense of safety before ultimately striking him down?

  There had been true fear in her eyes, and he couldn’t imagine she would endure punishment simply to trick Solo into . . . what? Not softening, as he’d first assumed, for softening was far too mild to elicit any true results in a situation such as theirs. Perhaps she’d hoped to trick him into trusting her. But why would she want him to trust her? He was already locked up and weakened besides. She had no need for his cooperation. To make her job easier?

  He barely stopped himself from punching the floor of the cage. He was confused, and he did not like being confused. He preferred things in black and white. Or, in the case of X and Dr. E, right and wrong.

  “What can I do for her?” he whispered fiercely. He so rarely asked the pair for advice, they sputtered in bafflement. “I’m trapped.” But he had to do something. Had to repay her generosity.

  In all his life, in all the precarious situations he’d been in, he’d only ever been trapped without any sense of hope once. He’d been a child, and as young as he’d been he probably shouldn’t have retained the memory of what had happened, but he easily recalled sitting in his playpen, his biological mother kissing his cheek and telling X to take care of him while she showered . . . and Solo having to watch as three masked men burst into the house and gunned her down. Her body had fallen, a pool of crimson flooding her.

  He’d smelled the tang of gunpowder, felt the warm stickiness of the blood.

  His father had run in from the other room, his skin already changing from bronze to crimson, his eyes glowing with concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but the boom, boom, boom of bullets drowned out his voice as he, too, was gunned down. He toppled mere inches from Solo’s mother, his own blood deepening the pool. Both of their eyes had been wide with fear and pain, the light inside dulling. . . .

  One of the men asked the others what to do with him. All three had peered down at him, discussing the matter and deciding to shoot him, too. An argument ensued as the shooter was chosen. A gun was raised. Another boom thundered. The pain . . . the utter darkness that had descended over Solo . . . X cooing, “Sleep now.” The return of consciousness, with Michael cradling him close, shouting for paramedics.

  “Bid me to help Vika,” X said now, his voice terse with the force of his determination. “Just bid me, and trust me to do it. You’ll see. You can sit back and watch as miracles happen.”

  Dr. E snorted. “If you help the girl, you’ll be in a weakened state and unable to help Solo if something happens to him. He’s not stupid enough to allow that.”

  “Solo?” X said, ignoring the other being. “Come on. Bid me.”

  Solo didn’t mind losing X’s strength, not for something like this, but they had gone down this road before and X had only disappointed him. A best friend had never appeared. A good girl had never chosen him above all things. His adoptive parents had not risen from the dead. He had no more trust to offer.

  “Solo?” X prompted.

  But . . . maybe a good girl had finally chosen him. Vika had helped him despite the danger to herself. Such generosity was better than heat in a winter storm, light in a darkened cavern. Hope bloomed. “What will you do for her?” he demanded.

  “Why are you even asking? You can’t escape if you’re weak. Therefore, you can’t risk anything that has the potential to make you weak.” Dr. E paced from one side of his left shoulder to the other. “Plus, when X fails, and he will, you’ll be upset and unable to function properly. If you can’t function properly, you can’t, what? Escape.”

  And he wanted to escape more than anything. Right?

  X remained focused on Solo. “I won’t know how to handle things until I reach her, but I will d
o something. All I need is your permission.”

  “Don’t do this, Solo. Please.”

  “X,” he whispered. “Do it.”

  “No! Don’t be an idiot,” Dr. E said with a sharp shake of his head.

  “What, exactly, do you want me to do?” X insisted, still ignoring Dr. E. “Be specific.”

  How well he knew the importance of words. “I want you to—”

  “No,” Dr. E interjected harshly. “Are you kidding me with this?”

  “Save her,” Solo finished. “However necessary, whatever the cost to me, save her.”

  “Consider it done.” A grinning X vanished.

  “Idiot!” Dr. E shouted, stomping his foot. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Yes. He did. He’d turned to the only avenue available to him, trusting in a power greater than himself. And he couldn’t allow himself to worry about the outcome. Something he’d noticed over the years: worry always weakened X further, and strengthened Dr. E.

  Solo glanced at the tiny man who so often fueled his rages, no longer surprised to find his skin devoid of color. “Go away.”

  “You cannot . . . how dare you . . . Oh!” Dr. E vanished too.

  “Hey, no fair, I smell food,” Criss said, drawing his attention to the cages.

  Good. He couldn’t allow himself to think about Vika, and a distraction had just presented itself. “Your nose is working correctly. I have food.” Delivered by Vika.

  When would that fact cease to shock him?

  Criss stretched her arm through the bars and waved her fingers at him. “Share with me. I haven’t eaten in days.”

  “That’s your own fault. You wasted what you were given.”

  “For a good cause!”

  Was that so?

  He opened the bag. The corners of several of the biscuits had crumbled off, and the crisp bacon had broken into multiple pieces. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. “You want half?” he asked, taking a section of a biscuit and a quarter of a bacon slice and tossing them at her.

  First rule of fishing: Use the proper bait.

  She caught the pieces with surprising grace and, with a speed his gaze struggled to track, stuffed both portions into her mouth as if she feared someone would try and take them away from her. Her eyes closed as she savored the food, her skin brightening . . . radiating a pearls-in-sunlight sheen . . . making his eyes tear with its radiance.