by Sarah Noffke
“I think I got to take a leak.”
“No problem,” Finley said, turning on his blinker to give Zuma in the car behind them plenty of notice that he was about to exit.
“But…uh…” Jack said.
“What’s up?” Finley asked.
“I think I might need your help…you know, in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” Finley said, realizing at once what all that would involve. He kept his face neutral and nodded. “Not a problem,” he said, realizing how much Jack was having to sacrifice at this point in his life.
“Thanks,” Jack said with a quiet breath of relief, his face now a light shade of pink.
“You know, Jack,” Finley said, taking the exit. “You’re handling all of this incredibly well and I just want you to know it’s impressive.”
So much had shifted between these two guys in a few days. It was weird and wonderful and right. And it had made it easy for Finley to relay that compliment to Jack.
The paralyzed acrobat allowed a small smile on his face. “You know I used to pity myself,” Jack said. “Because of my parents’ treatment. Because I didn’t measure up to my brothers. Because I thought I wanted Zuma and couldn’t have her.” He stared out the window a moment, his eyes soft. Then he brought his gaze back to Finley, who was watching him from the rearview mirror.
“Not until I broke my legs did I realize I never had a good reason before to actually pity myself. And now that I do have a fantastic reason, I finally realize I don’t have time for it. Self-loathing doesn’t benefit those who want to persevere and that’s all I’m interested in doing,” Jack said, a thoughtful finality in his tone.
Finley was careful in how he negotiated the car off the road. To him, there were few people as innately good as the guy who sat in the backseat. Jack didn’t appear to be good because that was expected of him. He was good because that’s who he was, deep in his core. Right then Finley made a solemn silent promise to himself: One day he’d make Knight pay for what he did to his friend. One day.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Zuma knew as soon as she pulled into the Vagabond Circus grounds that something was wrong. It obviously looked different with the black semi-trucks surrounding it like a wall. There were four. However, it was the deserted sense that gave her that feeling of foreboding. Usually crew members were milling around the back lot or performers were somewhere in the distance. It felt abandoned, but maybe that was just because of the late hour. Most would be getting ready for bed or asleep. Still, the energy felt different, she noticed as she parked the car next to Ian’s truck. He was here somewhere. That was a relief to her. Finley was already busy loading Jack into his wheelchair. It had tightened her heart to watch the care Finley took picking up Jack and depositing him into his chair. And the way Jack went along with this process with only a grimace on his face from the pain made her grateful she was his friend. He was a true inspiration to her.
“What do you make of the trucks?” Zuma asked the guys.
Jack didn’t answer, too busy holding in the pain as he adjusted. To most it would have seemed unfair that he could feel the pain from the cuts surgically sealed on his legs, but couldn’t use them to walk. Weren’t paralyzed people unable to feel any sensations? But Jack’s paralysis was due to the complications of too many broken bones. And he wasn’t one of those people who thought this was unfair. He was grateful for the pain, because each sensation would direct him on how to proceed so one day he’d learn how to walk again.
Finley connected Jack’s legs with the holders on the wheelchair and then looked up at Zuma and shook his head. “I don’t know what’s up with these trucks,” he said.
After the long drive she wanted to walk into his arms but she didn’t allow herself. He looked so inviting to her, as he always had, but now finally accessible. She shook off this urge. They had to get Jack to Fanny. Someone would need to call Dr. Chang. And then they’d have to tell Titus about everything. This wasn’t the opportunity for the comfort that only Finley could provide her. Later.
“Well, let’s go and get Fanny,” Zuma said and walked ahead. Maybe the trucks were new equipment. The first new show would be tomorrow and Titus would have had to reassigned performers and rearranged the circus show, especially if the acrobats weren’t back in time.
Who will be the ringmaster now? she wondered. Now that Zuma was back at Vagabond Circus all these questions and concerns she’d been able to keep at bay came surging to the surface. Yes, she’d been grieving Dave’s death before, but to be at Vagabond Circus and see it without him made the reality feel more permanent.
Behind her Finley pushed the wheelchair over patches of grass and rock as they moved to the center of the campgrounds. There wasn’t one light on in any of the trailers. Even the crew in sleeper row seemed to all be tucked in for the night in each of their compartments in the white semis. Usually they were the last group to go to sleep as much of their work was done in evening hours. They’re probably getting an early start by dream traveling to do last minute checks on the big top, Zuma thought.
Relief washed over Zuma when she spied the first light on. It was the most important light in the most important place. The miniature big top. What would now be Titus’s office. Just his.
“Come on, guys,” Zuma said, picking up her pace. “Titus is awake.”
Finley kept his pace slow, knowing that the trip over the bumpy ground wasn’t going unnoticed by Jack’s injuries. Zuma still ran ahead. Needing to see Titus. To offer him her support. To let him know that they were all right and ready to help. That they would be able to perform in tomorrow’s show. She was longing to be in the big top. To perform alongside Finley. The girl burst through the flap of the tent, and then worried at once that she’d spooked Titus from her sudden presence. The man at the table didn’t budge though. Titus had his head bent down resting in his hands. His elbows pinned on the table top. Zuma thought that he must be asleep.
“Titus,” she said, her voice careful, not wanting to jostle him awake.
Slowly he brought his head up and she realized by the wide-eyed look on his face that he hadn’t been sleeping. Grieving maybe. His face was red, his eyes too. His hair greasy and unwashed. He flicked his gaze up at her and then heartbreak slid over his face. “Oh, Zuma,” he said, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“What? Why would you say that, Titus?” Zuma said, stepping forward. She felt Finley and Jack behind her, just entering the tent. She made room for them.
Titus’s eyes slid to the left to Jack, who had been wheeled in beside the girl.
“Oh, fuck,” Titus whispered in horror, his eyes on Jack and then his two legs sticking out in front of him.
Zuma then expected that Titus would rush to the acrobat or rush to get Fanny. Instead he laid his head back down in his arms on the table top. Defeated.
Zuma was about to reach out to the creative director when something jostled the flap at the other side of the tent. It parted and someone slid through it. Someone tall, lean. That part of the tent was dark and whoever entered was cast in shadow. Suddenly Finley was on Zuma’s other side, his hand in hers gripping it tight. Tight enough it hurt. The tall man slipped from the low part of the tent until he’d moved just beside Titus, who was still slumped over. He moved gradually, tracing his feet in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back. It almost looked like a prance to Zuma, but with a sinister grace.
The man was the color of copy paper, his skin having a translucent quality. His head was bald and reminded Zuma of the top of a pen, it was so pointy. His long neck revolved his head on each of the acrobats, almost skipping over her. His rodent-like greenish-yellow eyes paused on Jack.
“Escape, did you? Well, that’s fine. Going forward, I’ll relish every opportunity I have to walk all over you,” the man said to Jack, his voice scratchy and quick on some words and too slow on others.
“What are you doing here, Knight?” Jack said his words with a rough hiss, shock drai
ning all color from his face. Never before had Zuma seen that look on her friend’s face. It sent a surge of panic through her chest.
Knight! Zuma thought. The realization brought a gasp to her mouth. She looked over at the man with the hooked nose in utter disbelief.
Knight didn’t seem to hear Jack’s question. His eyes slithered to Finley beside her. “But who I’m most glad to see is you, Teleporter.”
Zuma noticed Finley’s jaw flex. The pulse in his neck doubled in speed. His back tensed. And his chin dropped, taking his eyes to the ground. And then all his confidence had fallen away, making his shoulders slump slightly.
A ghostly laugh shot out of Knight’s mouth making Zuma jump inside. “It is so unfortunate that my dear old brother has died,” Knight said, unmistakable glee in his voice. “But what isn’t unfortunate in the least is that as his only living heir I now own fifty-one percent of Vagabond Circus.”
No! Zuma thought, her mind racing with dread and panic. She was too stunned to use her telepathy to communicate with anyone. Her vision dimmed, taking with it her combat sense. She was being sucked into shock.
Knight brought up a large hand and pointed a finger at Finley. His nails were long and perfectly round. “You, my boy, appear to once again work for me. Congratulations!” he said and let out another laugh, one so loud in the small space, it almost made Zuma cover her ears. “What do you have to say about that, Finley?”
To Zuma’s astonishment Finley dropped her hand and then sunk into a low bow; all this was done in a quick graceful movement. When Finley stood his eyes were different. The guy she knew was gone, whisked away by that single bow. And then before her stood an accosted soul.
“Thank you, Master. It is an honor to serve you again,” Finley said, his voice low, his tone tortured.
Keep Reading for the Next Installment in the Vagabond Circus Series!
Acknowledgements:
We write alone, but we create in the moments when exchanging with a friend, when listening, when life is happening with other people. That’s one of the main reasons I write an acknowledgement page. This happens because of the people in my life, no matter how much I interact with them, they impact my life…my books.
Thank you to Christine LePorte, my editor. And you’d think after nine books that I’d learn from my mistakes, but I’m stubborn. You’re awesome at making my books fabulous and readable.
Thank you to Andrei Bat, my cover designer. I want to say this is my favorite cover you’ve done, but that would be wrong because now I can’t choose. Your genius overwhelms me, so I give up. I’m running off with the circus. Find me on a trapeze. I’ve gone on a tangent, I realize. I’m done.
Thank you to my beta readers Colleen, Heidi, Melinda, Elizabeth, Kim. I had a horrible nightmare the other day. Yes, I was sleeping during the day. Don’t judge. I dreamed that you all wouldn’t beta read anymore. You’d cut me off. Said, “No more books, Sarah. Enough is an enough.” It was a bad dream. But then I woke up and bugged you all and things were good again. Thank you!
Thank you to my ARC readers. I can’t do this without you. Really. You have no idea how scary it is when I send out those first few books. I want to go crawl into an overstuffed closet and pretend I’m a gnome not allowed to see sunlight. Oh yes, it gets that dramatic. But you all help me come out of my proverbial closet. Your early feedback keeps me coming back to the computer. You deserve gold bars. Not getting them from me, but that’s what you deserve. Colleen gets the first gold bar and she’ll probably be kind of old by then.
Thank you to Dominic and Maja for running the Goodreads fan group. I have bookmarks! Like that means I’m officially an author! The slew of books doesn’t make me an author. When someone likes your books enough that they make you swag, that’s when you’ve made it. Thanks so much Dominic!
Thank you to my family. To my oldest sister, Anne, who loves me more than she really should if she accurately remembered how bratty I used to be. To my youngest sister, Bea, who is such a ray of sunshine. To my parents, those I’m related to and those I’m connected to in other ways. Thank you to Grandma Linda. Thank you to all my supportive family members. Heart you.
Thank you to my BOD family. Yes, I’ve decided to start calling you family. Where would I be without the readers and authors in that awesome group? Nowhere. That’s where. I’ve made the best friends in that group and I kind of want to get a bigger house so you all can come stay with me and we can stay up late watching scary movies and talking about books. Buy my books. And I will get this house, for you of course.
Thank you to the bloggers who make every day easier with your wit, support and all around awesomeness. Seriously (I don’t think I’ve said that word yet), you all really give my books momentum.
Thank you to Luke. You’re pretty awesome in your capacity to deal with my neurotic ways. Your support of my books has gone a long way. You kind of get this look about you when I say I’m going to write another book, but you always nod and give me an encouragement. That’s really cool.
Thank you to Lydia. You were wearing a fairy costume when we went to the circus show that inspired this series. You’d worn it for Halloween. It was May when we went to the circus. And you sat on the front row with your wings and flowery bow and your face showed the most beautiful awe. That’s when I decided that I needed to write about the circus. I needed to bring that magic into my books. Always my muse, my sweet dear.
Love,
Sarah
One-Twenty-Six Press.
Released
Sarah Noffke
Copyright © 2016 by Sarah Noffke
All rights reserved
Copyeditor: Christine LePorte
Cover Design: Andrei Bat
All rights reserved. This was self-published by Sarah Noffke under One-Twenty-Six Press. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you are seeking permission send inquiry at
http: www.sarahnoffke.com
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Summary: To some, death isn’t the worst case scenario. Living in an inescapable world ransacked by unspeakable evil, that’s much worse.
Published in the United States by One-Twenty-Six Press
ASIN: B01BFX0O74
For Stephanie Colman.
Because of your support.
And because you scare me.
RELEASED
Chapter One
The temperature in the miniature big top seemed to have dropped suddenly. Zuma’s teeth chattered against each other as she stared at Finley beside her. She hardly recognized him suddenly. Everything that made him him had shifted. His confidence had drained in a single second. The fierceness in his greenish-hazel eyes was somehow stolen by Knight’s presence. Now Finley stood in Titus’s office motionless beside her, his eyes on the dirt ground, his pulse beating wildly in his neck.
Titus still had his head cradled in his hands, defeat oozing off his slumped shoulders. He reminded Zuma of an ostrich right then. The fact that Knight, the man responsible for Dave Raydon’s death, now owned the majority share of Vagabond Circus was the worst-case scenario. The man was dangerous and cruel and Titus was burying his head and pretending that it wasn’t happening.
Jack, who sat in his wheelchair beside Zuma, hadn’t shifted his reaction since setting his eyes on Knight. Zuma could see, using her combat sense, that Jack was in pure shock. His mouth had fallen open, his pulse had slowed. And besides these observations, Zuma’s telepathy told her that the thoughts streaming through his head were mostly unintelligible. Broke me. Bad man. Not happening. Nowhere to go.
Knight’s dark eyes looked all too pleased as they rested on Finley. He seemed to almost regard the boy with fondn
ess, as if he’d missed him in the long three months since Finley’d escaped Knight’s compound. The man who stood before her wasn’t intimidating just because of all she knew of his cruelty or the fact that he, like Finley, could lock her out of his head. Knight’s very height made him appear like a monster to her. He was impossibly tall, maybe close to seven feet. His skin was the color of copy paper, and just as translucent. This made it easy to see the tiny expressions going on within him that told Zuma he was the only calm person inside the miniature big top.
“Now Finley,” Knight began, saying his name with a certain degree of power and conviction, like he owned the word, “this is what’s going to hap—”
“You’re the one who murdered Dave,” Zuma said, cutting him off and stepping forward, her eyes like sharp blades aiming to cut Knight.
NO! she heard Finley say in her mind. He briefly had opened a telepathic link, but as soon as she spun to look at him she knew it was closed. And Finley’s eyes were still locked on the ground, a hollow expression in them. Nothing about him communicated the urgent message he’d just sent to her.
Knight revolved his gaze on Zuma with a nonchalant expression. “I do believe my poor brother died from a heart attack. That’s what the coroner’s report stated,” he said, a smile in his voice, which reminded her of a bear’s growl.
“We all know it was you,” she said, vibrating with a hostility she’d never known before. “You and your kid—”
And then something else new happened to Zuma, cutting off her words. It wasn’t a telepathic message from Finley. It wasn’t a telepathic message from Titus or Jack, who hadn’t changed from their prior states. It felt as though a hammer had crashed onto the top of her head. Then blinding pain shot down her brain, all the way to the base of her skull, and radiated out until her entire head felt close to exploding. She clapped both her hands to her ears as the scream she couldn’t stop shot out of her mouth. Tears raced down her eyes and she fell to the ground. She’d buckled over from the pain. Lost the ability to hold herself up as the all-encompassing stabbing in her head stole her attention.
