Eye of Heaven

by Marjorie M. Liu

  One man left. Gunmetal glinted, but the draw was not fast enough; Blue got to the weapon first, grabbing the wrist and arm holding it, twisting the joints with enough force to make the man scream and drop the gun into his hand. Daniel marched up, his face twisted with rage. He grabbed the man’s throat, forcing him to the ground. Blue backed away, clicking off the gun’s safety.

  Daniel looked at him. “You plan this?”

  “No,” Blue said, trying to catch his breath. “And I’m not pointing this gun at you.”

  His brother’s mouth tightened. He looked back at the man, who was big and broad, his blond hair pressed flat against his head. Muscles bulged in his arms and chest. He was almost twice the size of Daniel, but Daniel never budged an inch as the man bucked and writhed, clawing at his hand, gasping for air.

  “You’re killing him.” Blue glanced at the other men sprawled out on the grass. They were not quite unconscious enough for his liking. He patted them down and found two more guns.

  “Maybe,” Daniel said calmly. “Does that bother you?”

  “Yes.” Blue glimpsed movement just on his brother’s right. “And you’ve got witnesses.”

  Daniel looked up. A little boy leaned against the corner of an RV, watching them. His eyes were huge. He looked too scared to move, and he stared like Daniel was the main attraction of some terrible monster flick.

  The distress that passed over his brother’s face was so fleeting Blue almost convinced himself that he imagined it, but then he saw it again; horror running through Daniel’s expression like a deep fracture. He let go of the man, who fell back on the ground, scrabbling at his neck, face beet red as he coughed and wept. He appeared just as frightened as the little boy when he looked up at Daniel, who stood there for all the world like nothing more than some mild-mannered professor. Blue did not know whether to clap his hands in admiration or make some serious use of the gun in his hand.

  Daniel took a step toward the child, who shied away from him, trembling. Blue watched his brother’s face break just a little more. “Philippe,” he said quietly, crouching so they were at eye-level. “Você vai para casa. I’ll be there in a moment to speak with your poppa and momma, sim?”

  The boy nodded, scampering away, and when his footsteps were nothing but a distant whisper Blue sidled close to his brother, careful not to spook him as he continued to crouch in the dusty grass. The men behind them were just beginning to struggle to their feet, dark clothes covered in dust. Blue aimed his confiscated gun at the nearest one.

  “Daniel? What do you want to do about these guys?”

  Daniel’s fingers trailed through the grass. “Let them go.”

  “No police?”

  Daniel shot him a hard look. Blue sighed. He studied the men—all of them muscle, hard-nosed types with flint for eyes. They looked wary, though; they were smart enough for that, at least.

  “Who sent you?” asked Blue. The men glanced at each other, tightlipped. He’d expected nothing less, nor did he really need an answer. He knew the truth. Only one person wanted Daniel Perrineau, and somehow, despite all his precautions, Blue had led these men right to him.

  Daniel stood, turning on them. “Get out of here. Don’t come back. If you do, I will kill you.”

  Blue was not entirely certain if Daniel was telling the truth, but the look on his face was enough to convince the men. That, and Blue was the one with all the guns. They shuffled backward, and then broke into a quick run into the maze of RVs. Blue tracked them briefly with his mind. Their heartbeats were fast—pulses continuing away and away. They were not being paid enough, apparently, for a second quick ambush.

  Blue held the guns out to Daniel. His brother stared at them. The two men stood like that for a long minute, silently weighing each other.

  “I don’t want those,” Daniel finally said.

  “Then give them to someone who’s responsible. I don’t want them, either.”

  “You’re probably already armed.”

  “I won’t be if you just take these damn things.”

  “And if I shoot you with them?”

  “Why shoot if you can strangle? You seem pretty good at that sort of thing. Practice much?”

  Daniel’s expression darkened. He took the guns, checking the safeties before tucking them in the band of his jeans, beneath his t-shirt.

  “Iris isn’t the only one who isn’t safe here,” Blue said.

  “Stay away from her,” Daniel replied. “Stay away from me. You get the fuck out of this place.”

  “And what will you do? Stick your head in the sand? Those men weren’t here for me, Daniel.”

  His brother said nothing. No acknowledgment, no confession, no nothing. Just stared at Blue like he was taking his measure, and finding it wanting. The silence stung like hell.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” Blue protested, knowing very well it was a lie, but unable to speak the truth, to say out loud the words both of them already knew.

  We are brothers. We are strangers and we are family.

  Daniel walked away. This time, Blue did not follow. He would have preferred being a man of action—running after his brother, grabbing his arm, confessing the truth and then battling it out with guns or electricity or whatever the hell made them both feel better—but preferences were not the same as will or reality, and all Blue wanted to do right now was run, run and hide and lick wounds that should never have existed.

  Blue walked back to the tool trailer, grabbed a tool belt, and locked up the doors. He did not have to think about his destination.

  Pete was gone. Iris stood outside her RV, messing around with her door. She wore tight white shorts and a low-cut tank that showed off a mile of perfect cleavage, partially hidden beneath tendrils of red hair streaked with blonde. She glowed—from the sun, nothing otherworldly—but he felt the heat, imagined gold sleeping just beneath the sheen of her skin. He breathed easier, seeing her, and he realized that despite the violence that had just occurred, he worried more about Iris than he did his own brother. Good or bad, Blue did not know. Nor did he care.

  He had no chance to simply stand and stare, though. Iris tilted her head and without turning said, “That was a fast tour. Daniel didn’t abandon you, did he?”

  “Not quite.” Blue watched her bend large paperclips into makeshift hooks. One of them had already been anchored with duct tape. It took him a moment to fully grasp what she was trying to do, and even then he could not believe it. He bit back a laugh and gently shouldered her aside.

  “Hey,” she protested.

  “Hey, yourself. This tool belt is here for a reason.”

  “Then let me use it. I can fix this door by myself.”

  “I know,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “But let me do it for you.”

  Iris hesitated. Blue leaned in, the heat of her body making his heart jump, his brain go soft. He did not speak, just moved and moved, so tight and close he felt certain his mouth was going to make contact with her lips—but she moved aside at the last moment, making room for him, and he covered by crouching over the door’s one floppy hinge. Two bad screws and a thin piece of metal were making the bottom corner of her door jut at an angle that made it impossible to meet the lock—which also needed some WD-40 to grease the mechanism.

  He forced himself to focus on the work, making no quips as he fixed the bad hinge. There was something about the way Iris had fussed with those paperclips and duct tape that spoke more about her pride than anything else. He did not want to offend her.

  You should not be doing a lot of things, a tiny voice warned. You’re not safe.

  Blue pushed aside the thought. It had been a long time since being around him meant the possibility of death. A long time since his lack of control had resulted in obituaries and hospital visits. He did not need to be scared of love anymore. The people he loved did not need to be scared of him.

  Iris sat down on the step and wrapped her arms around her knees. She turned her head just enough so that he
could see her profile, but her eyes were distant. Blue heard bangs and shouts and music playing; a child crying. He wondered how much more she could hear. Shape-shifter senses went beyond the pale.

  “So I guess you’re not all hot air,” she suddenly said, glancing at his work. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, wrestling with a screw. “I don’t want any crazies invading your personal property while you’re out.”

  “A lock won’t stop someone who really wants to get in.”

  “Better than the alternative.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Blue stopped working. “You’d prefer an open door policy? Hello, strangers?”

  “I’d prefer to be left alone.”

  “Fame and fortune not what you thought it’d be?”

  “Do I look famous or rich?”

  “Seems to me you’ve got the same problems.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it. I feel like a whiner.”

  Blue bit back a laugh. “I’ve seen grown men piss and moan their lives away over nothing more serious than a bad case of beer, but you are the first person I have ever met who worried about complaining too much after getting shot at.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Circus folk have to be tough, and my mother raised me not to complain. She said it was a waste of time.”

  “Why talk when you can act, right?”

  “Something like that.” Iris hugged her knees. “She’s … gone now.”

  Blue thought of her mother’s picture on the side of the trailer. “Did she pass away?”

  “That would be easier,” Iris said, and tension suddenly rolled off her body like a whip crack. She swallowed hard, turning her startled gaze on Blue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  He almost responded with something flippant, but stopped himself at the last moment. Iris seemed truly distressed. Blue set down his screwdriver and scooted close.

  “It’s okay,” he said in a low voice. Iris shook her head, looking away from him.

  “I love my mother. I don’t want her to be dead.”

  “Of course not. But she’s gone?”

  “Two years. She … left a note.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Understatement. She said she needed to get away for a while. And she has. For a while.”

  “With you left behind trying to pick up the pieces.”

  “It wasn’t like I was a kid. But she was—still is—my best friend. It hurt.”

  Hurt like hell if the tremor in her voice was any indication. Blue nudged her with his elbow. “You want to ditch this place and take a walk?”

  Iris smiled, rubbing her eyes. “What about my door?”

  “Almost done. Just give me a minute.”

  It took five. Blue kept expecting Iris to make some excuse to run from him. She had guts, but there was still something about her that was skittish. Too many secrets, something he understood all too well. But when he finished she was still there. Painfully quiet, but ready for a stroll.

  “I’m all yours,” he said. Iris smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  They walked through the camp. They did not talk, but unlike with Daniel the silence was comfortable, easy. Blue kept his mind open, scouting ahead and around them. He did not expect an ambush, but there was no guarantee those three men had completely left the camp—or that there were no others lurking about. Though after catching a glimpse of how the circus had banded together last night, he did not think any stranger, let alone a group of them, could wander around here for long without being noticed.

  Don’t underestimate your father. If he’s even responsible.

  Because the old man was right. A rich man’s son was never safe. The son of Felix Perrineau even less so. His father, despite his reputation for being a good Samaritan, probably had more enemies than a dog with rabies.

  The sun was hot. Blue unbuttoned his shirt a little more, noting with some interest how Iris pretended very hard not to watch him. He walked just a little closer and she did not move away.

  “So,” he said. “Where’s the big top?”

  “Stashed in a truck,” she said. “It was a sight to behold. Big and blue—pardon the use of your name—with room enough to sit up to sixteen hundred people once we put in the bleachers. Back-breaking work to get it up, though. All of us had to pitch in.”

  “Full house every night with roaring crowds?”

  “I wish. In some towns we were lucky to attract even a tenth of our capacity. You don’t work in the circus to get rich. Out on the road you need to train twenty-five hours a day. Wake up yesterday and work again. Circus skills aren’t easy, although I think the trapeze artists and tumblers have it worst. They’re always trying to come up with something new and better, and that’s dangerous work. Sergei, one of our boys from Russia, broke his spine last year. He can still use his legs, but Pete had to send him up to Toronto to recover in Cirque du Soleil’s rehabilitation center.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “It is. Pete had to call in a favor.” Iris smiled sadly. “Sergei still plans on walking the wire again.”

  “Call me stupid, but don’t call me a coward?”

  A quiet laugh escaped her. “Yes. That about sums up all of us.”

  “How long have you been with the circus?’

  “Years. Since I was sixteen. My mom was the one who brought me into it. Before that we lived on a ranch in Montana. A big cat preserve for animals that have been abused, or raised in a domestic setting. Lions, tigers, leopards—many of them born into captivity and then sold out of vans or on private internet auctions. Con? He was kept in a closet when he was a cub, and when he got bigger his owner chained him up in the garage. No fresh air, no heat in the winter, filthy conditions. He was a mess when we got him.”

  “I thought there were laws against that sort of thing.”

  “It’s up to the states. Enforcement is a joke.”

  “So people like you and your mom clean up the mess.”

  “We used to, but the preserve got too expensive to run. We had to give most of the cats to other rescue centers. Petro, Lila, Con, and Boudicca were the only ones we couldn’t part with. That, and they’re good performers.”

  They reached the holding pen, a large circle of chain link. Someone, maybe Samuel, had thrown in some hay and a children’s swimming pool. The tiger lounged in the water, while the other three cats slept in a loose pile, tails flicking lazily against the flies. All of them stood, though, when Iris appeared. Her face lit up into something rosy and lovely, eyes flashing light as she stretched out her arms and greeted them. Not a shred of fear; she unlocked the gate, swinging it wide as she stepped inside. Blue hung back, watching as the cats buffeted Iris with their heads and shoulders, rubbing against her with their eyes half closed and full of pleasure. She ran her fingers through their thick coats, winding herself around them with boneless grace. Blue forgot how to breathe.

  Iris smiled at him. “You can come closer.”

  Blue would if he could make his legs begin working again. He tried to remember what it felt like to be cool and collected, but being around Iris made him feel like he was sixteen, so painfully awkward he wanted to scream. He did, however, manage to lurch into the holding pen. Five pairs of eyes watched him, but the only face that mattered was Iris and that delicate wistful smile on her mouth.

  “You look like you’re afraid of being bitten,” she said.

  “There’s precedent,” he said wryly. Iris beckoned him closer and Blue waded into the tangle of fur and muscle, marveling at the twists of his life that could have him chasing human traffickers one day, helping his father in the next, and mixing with lions, tigers, and shape-shifters in all the same breath.

  “This is incredible,” Blue murmured.

  “They’re family,” Iris said, staggering as the lioness leaned hard against her knees. “Those assholes who tried to take them don’t understand that. They think they have a right to pass judgment on me, or rip u
s all apart because it’s not what they think is … is moral. I just want us to be left alone, Blue. I want to be who I am.”

  She stopped, looking down. He could feel her uncertainty, her embarrassment, and it pained him because he was still a stranger to her and she had no right to trust him.

  “People judge,” he said. “That’s just the way it is. It’s power, control, and suddenly they’re better than the person standing next to them because their skin is dark, or their religion is different, or because they perform in a Las Vegas show with lions and tigers and—”

  “No bears,” Iris said, mouth quirking.

  “No bears,” Blue agreed, smiling.

  “So what’s your hang-up?” Iris tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What gets stuck in your craw? Makes you pass judgment?”

  “Too many people,” he said, trying to keep it light. “I don’t like crowds and I don’t like cities.”

  “Really. Seems you’re in the wrong place, then.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  Iris gazed at the sea of RVs surrounding them; farther, even, to the looming walls and palms of the Miracle. “It would be nice. One day. But this is home—wherever I am—and until I get some money together …” She stopped and looked at him again, smiling ruefully. “I guess we all have dreams of making it, right?”

  “And you aren’t?”

  Iris smiled, and it was breathtaking. Blue swayed forward, unable to help himself. He was dimly aware of some large body pushing between them, but he could have been standing in a pit of vipers for all that he cared. Nor did Iris pull away. She stared into his eyes, sweet as a sunrise, and his hand reached out to touch her.

  On the periphery of his mind he felt an electric tickle that was not a cell phone or television; instead it was small and individual, moving briskly in their direction. Blue faltered. Iris seemed to sense the change and turned from him, looking toward the RVs. So much for privacy. Her smile faded.