Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts

by Erin Johnson

  A deep voice sounded to our right. “It’d be horrible, wouldn’t it? To have someone you loved taken from you.”

  I gasped in a breath, suddenly coming back to myself and remembering where we were and who I was. Almost…. What was my name again? Hank had turned my brain… and my knees… to jelly. Maybe a few others places as well.

  Hank cleared his throat and we stepped away from each other. I turned to find Edward the Strong standing on the other side of the table. He held his thick arms crossed over his broad chest, the twin phoenixes playing up his arms.

  “Edward. Hi.”

  He didn’t look my way, but instead glared at Hank. He didn’t even bother bowing. I mean, I didn’t either, but I felt I was a special exception. Edward stepped his feet wider. “You care about all your citizens like that? How devoted of you, oh golden prince.”

  Beside me, Hank muttered the phrase a few times, as if mulling it over. “Golden prince… golden prince….”

  Edward huffed out his nose. “Because it wouldn’t do for the prince to be seen showing favor to a young lady besides his fiancée, would it?”

  Hank flushed and clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

  Edward continued. “Of course, being a prince, it would hardly affect you. But you might think of the young lady’s reputation. She doesn’t have the benefits of fame, fortune, and power.”

  I flushed with annoyance. I liked my friend and he’d helped me so much with magic. But I’d never seen him act this way, and I didn’t understand where it came from. Jealousy? I’d never gotten any romantic vibes from him. Protectiveness? We’d certainly bonded, but I’d only known him for a week.

  I held up my hands and tried to keep it light. “Edward, I appreciate your concern for my reputation.” I winked. “But if you knew me better, you’d know that ship already sailed.”

  He sighed heavily, and after another long glare at Hank, finally turned to me. He swallowed and his eyes softened. “I hate to see my—friend, get involved with someone who doesn’t appreciate her.”

  “Watch your tone,” Hank ground out. “You’re overstepping your bounds.”

  Edward raised his dark brows, and the corners of his handlebar mustache twitched into a smile, though his furious eyes told another story. I raised my arms and angled myself between them. Holy testosterone! Iggy decided to be helpful by quietly chanting from the oven, “Fight—fight—fight!”

  I glared at him and he smirked, then slid back out of sight. I looked from a fuming Hank to a smirking Edward, and shook my head. I didn’t know how to sort this out. I should’ve asked Edward to teach me a disappearing spell. I would’ve backed away, not today, right out of there. I nearly laughed with relief when Amelia, clipboard in one arm, walked around the corner.

  “Amelia!”

  She looked up, one hand pressed to the round communication device in her ear. She muttered a few words, then strode over. “Imogen, what can I do for—” She noticed the standoff between the prince and the strong man. “Oh….” She pressed her lips together. “Uh, Prince Harry. I’ve got some permits I need signed. Right now.”

  Hank took another breath, then shook himself and blinked at her. “Right. Of course.” He turned to me. “I’ll be back. I’d like to speak more, soon.” He stepped away, shooting one more dark glance at Edward. Again, he muttered under his breath. “Golden prince? Where did I hear that before?”

  Amelia led him away. When she glanced over her shoulder to shoot me a puzzled look, I mouthed, “Thank you.” Then I turned to Edward and planted my hands on my hips. “Was all that necessary?”

  He swallowed and looked down at his feet, his massive arms hanging at his sides. He raised his eyes and gave me a puppy dog look. “Sorry. I’m protective of my friends. And that guy—he’s not a good one, okay?” He lifted his hands.

  Whoa. Where had that come from? Obviously, he didn’t like him, but why? “Do you know him?”

  He looked away. “No. I just—the royal and the wealthy like him, they don’t understand what it’s like for us average people. They use people like us—take from us and hurt us—and then forget. They don’t see us as their equals, and they treat us as disposable. I don’t want you to be some fling for him, when we both know it can never be and you’ll just get hurt.”

  Well, that definitely hurt. Ouch. My stomach clenched. “Hank’s not like that. But… that last part is true.” I sighed and nodded. “It can never be and it’s better to keep things friendly.” Too late for not getting hurt, but I didn’t feel like discussing it. I shrugged. “So. I’m assuming you didn’t come by to pick fights with princes?”

  He gave me a sheepish grin. “No. I wanted to say goodbye.”

  I pulled my lips to the side in a sad smile. “Not forever. I’ll see you again right? At the carnival next year? And we can write.”

  He nodded. “Actually… I have something for you, too. Back in my caravan. Do you have a minute to come with me?”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to ditch Maple and the booth again, but hardly any tourists had come by this morning and it’d probably be okay for a half hour. “Maple?”

  She peeked around the corner immediately. She’d clearly been eavesdropping. “Yes?”

  I smiled and rolled my eyes. Nice try playing innocent. “Mind if I step out for a minute?”

  She came over and smiled at Edward. “Of course not.”

  I pulled my apron over my head and looped it on one of the tent poles. “I won’t be gone long. Bye, Iggy.”

  Edward smiled and swept his arms to the side. “After you.”

  We strolled through the quiet carnival grounds, past the carnie campground, across the field with the tall grass swaying in the wind, and finally to his caravan, alone on the edge of the dark thicket.

  28

  Reveal

  I settled onto the upholstered bench that served as a sofa, and pulled a quilted throw pillow onto my lap. Edward moved about the caravan like an elephant in a china shop… a graceful elephant.

  The copper kettle bubbled on the stove, rocking slightly as it heated. Outside, the wind chimes danced in the wind, kicking up a tangle of noise. I stared at my feet resting on the ornate, tasseled rug as he tidied and moved things aside. He pulled the full-length mirror forward from the corner, its reflection still covered by the thick veil.

  I raised my brows as I fiddled with the hem of my dress. “Is that what you wanted to show me?” I gave an exaggerated wink. “’Cause I already know what I look like.”

  I swallowed through a tight throat. I’d felt perfectly normal coming to Edward’s caravan the several times he gave me lessons. But this time felt different. This time, I felt aware of our seclusion, the great distance between us and the rest of the carnival, and the cramped nature of the space.

  Maybe it was the awkwardness from earlier between him and Hank. I scratched at my cheek. I hoped he didn’t think of me as more than a friend.

  He finished adjusting the mirror and turned. He leaned back against the raised bed platform and interlaced his fingers, folding them behind his head. “It’s part of it. I’ll show you soon.”

  I nodded, waiting for the rest, but he just stared at me, lids half closed. I smiled, unsure what else to do. And when he didn’t return the smile, I looked away, swallowing.

  “Well, not to rush you or anything, but I’ve got to be getting back to the booth to help Maple soon, so if—”

  “No. You don’t. Maple… she doesn’t need you.”

  I froze, staring at the copper kettle, the water inside it bubbling and hissing. I swallowed and darted a glance at Edward. He hadn’t moved an inch.

  My clenched stomach was sending me pretty clear danger—something’s not right here signals. Still, I tried to play it off. “Ouch. Not making a girl feel special, here.” I grinned, though it didn’t reach my eyes.

  He gave a slow blink and brought his interlaced hands from behind his head, to rest in his lap. “Imogen. You’re a swallow. I’ve tried to impress upon y
ou how rare and powerful that makes you.” He stared straight into my eyes, until I had to look away. “You’re wasting yourself on baking… for the royal family, of all things.”

  I whipped around and shoved my hands on my hips. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

  Edward gave a dry chuckle. He lifted his chin in the air and let out a heavy sigh. “Ah. I have to remember you weren’t raised here. Your ignorance can be excused. I’ll remedy that soon—you’ll learn, Imogen, that your dear prince is a heartless coward. He’s not your friend—he’s your enemy.”

  My heart thrummed in my chest as the kettle rocked and whined, steam escaping from the spout. I scooted further away and darted a glance at the door. I didn’t like the sound of any of this.

  “You know, Maple’s expecting me back any minute, we have a batch of—”

  “Imogen.” He cocked one brow and shook his head. “We both know that’s not true.”

  I tried to swallow, but my throat dried up. Icy fear washed over my stomach. “What is this?”

  He gave another slow blink, one eye closing slightly before the other. “I want you to do the spell we worked on together.”

  My breath came in short gasps. “What?”

  “The reveal spell. I want you to reveal my true nature.”

  I shook my head and inched further away.

  “No?” He stood, pushing off the bed platform. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “But you’ve gotten so good at it. I often wondered if you’d find me out sooner, on accident.”

  Find him out? My chest heaved as adrenaline rocketed through my body. The kettle whined louder.

  “Ah well. As you wish.” I blinked, and when I opened my eyes he was someone else entirely… someone familiar. He’d shrunk—whereas Edward’s head had brushed the roof of the caravan, the man who stood before me appeared only a few inches taller than me. He looked muscular, but in a slight way—certainly no carnival strong man.

  His hooded, pale blue eyes looked out at me laconically from a pale face, framed by wavy brown hair that fell to partway down his neck. I’d seen his sharp jaw, full lips, upturned nose, and bored expression many, many times before. Just never in person.

  “Horace,” I breathed. My body trembled as I moved further away from the man I’d seen on countless wanted posters.

  He let out a heavy sigh and cocked his head to the side. “You’re afraid.” He shook his head. “This is what they do. Turn us all into monsters in the minds of their people.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you’re not their people. Don’t you ever think you are.”

  “What have you done with Edward?”

  He gave me that bored look. “I was Edward the whole time. Well….” He glanced to the side. “I had to dispose of the real Edward to assume his identity.”

  “Dispose? You killed him?” Oh, this was bad. I looked around the caravan, suddenly horrified to think his corpse might be lying behind the bed-curtains, or stuffed up in the chimney.

  Horace lifted a brow. “His body’s not here, relax. It’s thousands of miles away—you’ll soon see.”

  I widened my eyes. Oh, very reassuring, thanks.

  He sighed. “You’ll soon see the land I took him to, not the body.” He tilted his head to the side, examining my face. “There are bigger things in play here, Imogen.”

  “But you—you caught the tent pole? How are you not the strong man?”

  He sat on the arm of the sofa and I slid back, my heart thrumming in my chest as the kettle shot steam from its spout and the wind chimes clanged frantically outside.

  “Imogen, I’ve been trying to make you understand how much potential you have. I cut the guy lines as a way to meet you, and I caught the pole by pulling energy and making myself strong. Imogen, we swallows can be whatever we want to be.” He sniffed. “A strong man is the tip of the iceberg.”

  I raced through the events of that day. He’d orchestrated the whole thing, from the pole falling, to him saving us, to—

  “Wait. Is that why Sam collapsed? You pulled power from him?”

  He shrugged. “Shifters have a lot of power, Imogen.”

  I shrunk back, shaking my head. “He’s my friend.”

  He huffed. “He was fine.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He splayed his hands. “Why do any of it? For you, Imogen. I came here to see you, I had to.”

  My mind raced, unable to make sense of any of it. Why would Horace, the leader of the Badlands Army, want to meet me? Maybe Nate had been right. Maybe he really did want to recruit a swallow that badly.

  “I’ll never join your army.”

  His eyes flashed, for just a moment, and he pressed his full lips together, making his sharp cheekbones jut out even more. “Never say never. I never thought I’d see you again.”

  Again? My heart stopped.

  “I risked capture. Imogen, you don’t know what we could do together. Give me a chance to show you.”

  The kettle erupted into a high-pitched scream, and when Horace pulled his attention from me to look at it, I leapt to my feet and lunged for the door. An invisible rope wound around my ankles and arms, binding them to my sides, and I fell hard on my left shoulder. Ow.

  Horace slid over. “I didn’t want to force you. I’d hoped you’d come on your own. But you’ll change your mind. I promise. Don’t be scared.” He crooked a finger and I floated upright, hovering magically on my feet.

  “Come where?”

  Several cuckoo clocks, scattered around the caravan, went off. CUCK-OO, CUCK-OO, CUCK-OO! They joined the wind chimes and kettle in a nerve-fraying cacophony as Edward pulled the veil from the mirror. “It’s time.”

  In place of a reflection, the mirror revealed a swirling vortex, glowing blue and purple.

  “What is that?” I’d never seen anything like it.

  “A portal, and we have less than a minute before it closes.” He crooked a finger at me, and though I wriggled and struggled, I floated forward toward the swirling magical mirror. Just as Horace was about to push me in, the door flew open, banging against the wall.

  The sound of the howling wind and the clanging wind chimes came louder now. I craned my neck to look behind me as Hank stepped through the open door. A jolt of hope shot through me.

  His round eyes found mine. He dipped his chin and scowled at Horace. “Let her go.”

  29

  A Cryptic Message

  The wind whipped Hank’s dark hair across his shadowed face. I looked between him, Horace, and the swirling portal before me.

  “Ah. The golden prince.” Horace’s lips pulled to the side in a smirk, his eyes dark and full of hate.

  Hank stepped closer, ducking into the caravan. He held his arms tensed at his sides, long fingers spread. “Golden shoes on golden feet, down a golden path tread.”

  Horace chuckled darkly. “And bleeding feet on ragged wretches, do walk among the dead.”

  Hank’s throat bobbed. He kept his eyes glued to Horace’s. “I remembered. You came to the hall once to speak to my father. We were teenagers, and you said that to me.”

  Horace’s lip curled back. “I came to speak, but your father declined to listen.” He spread his arms out. “And here we are.” He pulled his lips to the side in a subtle grin, his eyes still half closed as if bored. “And now we go to walk among the dead.”

  He pulled on the magical cords binding me and stepped into the portal, half of him disappearing into it. He tugged me after him and I screamed as I lurched forward. As if Hank had thrown a lasso, a ring of magic fell around my waist and held me.

  I gasped for breath, feeling as if I might be torn in half by these two men pulling in opposite directions. Horace ground his teeth and flashed his eyes at Hank.

  Couldn’t they share? Hank must’ve tugged, because I lurched backward, feeling like a rope chew toy two dogs were fighting over. Then I remembered that this chew toy had a strong preference for one puppy over the other. Okay, this analogy ha
s to stop. The inability to breathe must’ve been affecting my brain.

  I shook my head to clear it and took a deep breath, closing my eyes and trying to tune out the chaos of wind chimes, cuckoo clocks chiming noon, the screaming kettle and battling magic that surrounded me. Urg. My frayed nerves wanted some quiet. But that gave me an idea.

  I reached for energy from the sound of the kettle, the chimes and the wind—it felt frenetic, wild and erratic. I pulled it to myself and pictured magic ropes flying from me to Hank somewhere behind me. I looped around him—I could feel the shape of him, his broad shoulders and strong arms. I held to him like an anchor. When he pulled again, I lurched several inches back, away from the swirling portal.

  Horace’s face darkened. His thick brows lowered over his blazing eyes, and his nostrils flared. He reached an arm toward me, fingers splayed and trembling. “What are you doing?”

  My chest heaved, my breaths coming quicker and shallower. “Let me go!” I screamed over the wind.

  “Never!” he screamed back.

  Goose bumps covered my body and I clung magically to Hank, our combined strength sending me a few more inches back, away from the portal and Horace. He looked wildly from me to Hank, his blue irises ringed in white.

  He parted his lips to say something, glanced into the portal, then turned once more to me. He gazed at me intensely, his wavy hair blowing.

  “Monsters Rise!” he shouted. “Find it!”

  I blinked at him in confusion. I opened my mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he released his magical hold on me. Horace stepped through the portal in time with the last cuckoo from the wall clocks.

  Hank and I had been pulling toward each other with such force that when Horace released me, I flew into him and it knocked us both flat on our backs—or really, Hank on his back and my back on his front. I lay there panting at the ceiling, then scrambled to sit up, Hank pushing himself upright behind me.