mystic caravan mystery 01 - freaky days

by Amanda M. Lee

  Bailey Hamilton was sixteen years old – going on thirty – and she wanted to hear only good news. She was convinced she’d found her soulmate and was considering giving up her “big prize” to keep him happy.

  Brett Stevenson, her boyfriend, looked bored with the process, but was willing to put up with it because he was convinced he would be winning that prize and it would be glorious.

  I had bad news for them both. “I think that finding your soulmate at such a young age isn’t always easy,” I said, keeping my smile fixed as I regarded the two teenagers. I’d seen their future – and it wasn’t pretty. “Sometimes the love we feel in the present can be something we look back fondly on in the future.”

  Bailey wrinkled her pert nose. “What does that even mean?”

  It means he’s going to have sex with your best friend in the bathroom on prom night, you idiot! That’s what I wanted to say, but I wisely kept it to myself. “It means that you have a long life ahead of you,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “I see many smiles.” I also saw three ex-husbands and no job skills because she was going to drop out of college as soon as one of the deadbeats she was attracted to proposed.

  “Are you saying I’m not going to marry Brett?” Bailey asked, her smile tipping down. “If that’s what you’re saying, I want my money back.”

  She definitely wasn’t going to marry Brett. He was going to date rape the wrong girl in college and find himself on the business end of an angry father’s steel-toed boots. His … longevity, for lack of a better word … was never going to be the same after that. Innocent women around the St. Louis area could breathe easy on that front.

  I wasn’t going to volunteer that little tidbit, though. I also wasn’t going to give her money back. That’s not how the game is played. I tapped the sign on the wall behind my tarot table. “No refunds.”

  “I don’t like what you told me,” Bailey said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Brett and I are going to be happy forever.”

  “Then you really didn’t need to come in here and ask how your future was going to turn out, did you?”

  Bailey huffily jumped to her feet. “I think you’re a fraud!”

  “Have a nice evening,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. Arguing with teenagers is a no-win situation. If I engaged now I would be doing nothing but fueling her ire. Nothing would change her upcoming decision.

  Bailey turned on her heel and stalked out of the tent as Brett shot me an apologetic smile.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Brett said. “She’s a little … high strung.”

  That was a nice way of putting it.

  “You should probably go after her,” I prodded. “She’s going to need some … consoling.”

  Brett smirked. “She’ll be fine. She likes to cry for attention.” He started shuffling toward the door, but when he turned back his face was thoughtful. “I’m not going to marry her, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good,” Brett said, exhaling heavily. “That would’ve been a real downer. My mother says I have bad karma and that would be proving her right.”

  I considered telling him his karma was going to get worse, but opted against it. “You will not marry Bailey. I promise.”

  “Just for curiosity’s sake … um … she is going to put out, right?”

  I scowled. “Have a nice night.”

  THE midway was mostly empty by the time I closed up shop. Although we have a dedicated set of movers who take care of the furniture, everyone is responsible for packing and unpacking their own props. Most of my stuff fits into a rolling suitcase, and I was pulling my black bag behind me when I caught a hint of movement beside the big show tent.

  The letdown after a show is often referred to as the “blow-off.” Most circus regulars enjoy it for what it’s worth, but there’s not a lot of relaxation involved with the process. It merely means we’re off duty for the night.

  We’re on a tight weekly schedule in the spring, summer and fall months. Winters are for relaxing – mostly – but the rest of the year is a never-ending jaunt from city to city.

  We pack up Sunday nights and take off Monday mornings. Depending on the distance we have to travel, we usually reach our next location before darkness hits Monday night. Tuesday and Wednesday are spent setting up and getting the lay of the land. Our first show is usually an early one Thursday evenings – although that doesn’t always hold. Some cities only want weekend shows.

  The weekends are full tilt, especially Friday and Saturday, and we knock off early Sunday so we can pack up. Then we repeat the process all over again. To most people that sounds hellish. For wanderers and adventure lovers, it’s heavenly.

  Sunday nights are akin to ghost towns when we’re packing. Everyone has a task – and they know how to do it correctly – and there’s not a lot of dallying. We like a good night’s sleep before a long drive. That’s why the unexpected movement caught my attention. I was out later than normal. The grounds should have been quiet and empty. Someone else was here, though. I could feel it.

  I stopped for a moment, considering my options. Finally, I decided to leave my suitcase in the middle of the pathway and started moving toward the tent to investigate. The tent would be taken down in the overnight hours, almost as if by magic. There was a lot of magic at the Mystic Caravan Circus, but even we couldn’t get out of manual labor.

  An open field looks inviting to the criminal element. We have our own brand of security, though, something the naked eye can’t see. The fact that the alarm hadn’t been triggered was enough to keep me from panicking. I had no reason to fear anything here … and yet something wasn’t right.

  I tilted my head to the side and listened. Nothing.

  I peered into the darkness. I couldn’t see anything.

  I’d almost convinced myself that I imagined the earlier movement when the hair on the back of my neck jumped up. This wasn’t right. If something paranormal crossed the Mystic Caravan camp boundaries we would have been alerted almost instantaneously. This was something else. This was something … human.

  That’s always worse.

  Some paranormal entities are born evil. They can’t help themselves from doing what they do. It’s in their very nature. Putting them down is almost a blessing – for us at least. Oh, did I fail to mention that in addition to being a traveling circus, Mystic Caravan is also a group of monster hunters? As with all things in life, nothing is ever truly what it seems.

  Dealing with a paranormal threat is never pleasant. It’s often easy, though. When you’re dealing with an evil human on the other hand, that’s when things get difficult. I knew that’s exactly what waited for me in the shadows by the big top.

  I moved forward despite the threat. Letting evil escape wasn’t an option – human or not – and this had to be taken care of quickly and quietly. This was Kade’s first night with us and he would never understand what I was about to do. I could only hope he was in his trailer and not loitering around to observe the moving process. That wouldn’t go well for anyone.

  “You should probably come out now,” I said, my voice strong but low. I didn’t want our conversation to carry. “I know you’re over there.”

  My statement met silence.

  “I’m not going in there after you,” I said. “If you want me, you’re going to have to come and get me.”

  The challenge worked. A figure moved under the limited moonlight, the silhouette small for a man and yet still big enough to give me pause. I couldn’t make out the features. Whoever it was wasn’t afraid of me. Of course, whoever it was didn’t know the truth about Mystic Caravan.

  “You’re a pretty little thing,” the man said, shuffling forward. “You shouldn’t be out in this area so late at night … especially alone.”

  He was trying to frighten me. I held my ground. “You shouldn’t be here at all,” I said. “Why didn’t you leave when everyone else did?”

  “I just wanted to look around.”

&nb
sp; “Why?”

  “I’m curious,” the man said, moving nearer but not entirely closing the distance. “Isn’t that what circuses are for? They’re full of freaks, right? Oddities of nature? I’m … curious.”

  “You’re thinking of a sideshow,” I corrected. “Those are pretty rare these days.”

  “You have sideshow attractions,” the man said.

  “We do, but that’s not our main business,” I replied, watching him as he stepped closer. He was trying to lull me with the conversation and then attack me when I least expected. He didn’t realize I always expected it. “We keep a few sideshow attractions, but they’re generally part of the show and not something for ridicule. None of them are here now.”

  “I noticed.”

  “You should go.” He didn’t realize it, but I was giving the stranger an out. I knew he wouldn’t take it, but at least I could say I tried.

  “Oh, I don’t want to go, little gypsy.”

  Well, that did it. “That is an incredibly offensive stereotype,” I snapped.

  The man was taken aback. “I … .”

  I’d thrown him off his game. That wasn’t my intention, but I wasn’t going to argue with the outcome. “I am not a thief. I’m not a vagabond. I read fortunes for a living. There is a very big difference.”

  “You have a big mouth,” the man said. “I’m thinking I could give you something to fill it with besides words.”

  “I’m thinking you should try,” I shot back, involuntarily shuddering as I got a glimpse of his intentions as they pushed to the forefront of his mind.

  That was all the invitation he needed. He launched himself in my direction. I expecting the move, so I easily sidestepped him. He overshot his mark and by the time he turned around I was ready.

  “You’re quick, little gypsy.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Come here,” the man said. “I want to see what you have under that skirt.”

  “Come closer,” I prodded. “I want to see what your insides look like when they’re on the outside.”

  The man stilled, the dim moonlight and his proximity giving me a hint of what he looked like, and then he dove at me again. I didn’t get a chance to hit him – even though I really wanted to – because a set of strong hands caught him mid-air.

  Dolph Smirnov, the World’s Strongest Man, wasn’t in the mood to play games when he grabbed the interloper. “Who is this?”

  “Evil,” I replied. “He’s a rapist.”

  “Let me go!” The man tried to wriggle out of Dolph’s grip. It was no use. If Dolph didn’t want to let you go, he wasn’t going to do it. “You can’t hold me.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Dolph asked, the moon bouncing off his smooth head. “He’s human.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s not evil.”

  “We don’t have time to bury a body,” Dolph reminded me, smirking as the man’s mouth dropped open. “How do you suggest we hide his death?”

  “How do we always do it?” I asked, nonplussed.

  Dolph sighed. “Nixie.”

  “Did someone call my name?” A young woman, her green hair glinting despite the gloom, popped into existence at Dolph’s side. She was in her pajamas – fuzzy sleep pants and a tank top, to be more precise – and she had enough Clearasil on her face to serve a small high school classroom.

  “I hate it when you do that,” Dolph grumbled.

  “You’re the one who called for me,” Nixie reminded him.

  “I said your name,” Dolph countered.

  “What is going on here?” The man asked, redoubling his efforts to break free of Dolph’s iron grip. “Where did she come from?”

  “Who is this guy?” Nixie asked, wrinkling her nose. “He smells evil.”

  “He is evil,” I said. “I read his mind. He’s raped at least seven women. He was hoping to make it eight tonight.”

  “Oh, he’s dirtbag evil,” Nixie said, nodding sagely. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “We don’t have time to hide a body,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “We need a little of … your special brand of help.”

  “But he’s … ugly. He’ll never sell.”

  “Hey!” The man was beside himself. Nixie’s magical appearance, coupled with Dolph’s matter-of-fact demeanor and my bloodthirsty response to his threats, made him realize he’d messed with the wrong circus performers. “I want to leave! You can’t keep me here!”

  “We need to end this,” I said. “Kade could be walking around. He doesn’t know anything about this.”

  “He’s really hot,” Nixie giggled. “I’m very excited he’s joining us.”

  “Yes, he’s a regular George Clooney,” Dolph said, rolling his eyes. “Can we get on with this?”

  “He doesn’t look like George Clooney,” Nixie protested, casting a look in my direction. “Tell him.”

  “He definitely doesn’t look like George Clooney.”

  “Oh, whatever,” Dolph said. “There’s a reason I can only spend so much time with you women before I want to pull my hair out.”

  Nixie arched an eyebrow. “You’re bald.”

  “Because I spent too much time with women.”

  “I want to go!” The man was howling now and was bound to draw curious onlookers. Before I could give the order to silence him, Dolph clamped his hand over the man’s mouth.

  “Sprite, do your thing,” Dolph ordered. “Half of the camp is going to be out here in thirty seconds if you don’t.”

  “Fine,” Nixie said. She smiled at the man, giving him her best “it’s going to be all right” look, and then slipped her hand into the pouch at her waist. When she pulled it out her fingers clutched small granules of sparkling dust. She raised it above the man’s head. “You should have been a better man.”

  The man didn’t get a chance to register what was happening because when Nixie sprinkled the dust over him his head – and ultimately his body – began to shrink. The magic didn’t stop until the man was no more than a few inches tall and resting on the ground. Nixie bent over to pick up the husk, taking a moment to study it before she glanced at me. “I guess he’s going in the ugly pile.”

  “Whatever floats your boat,” I said. “Come on. We need to get out of here and go to sleep. The fewer people who know about this the better.”

  “You’re very bossy,” Nixie said, tossing her new toy in the air as she followed me to my abandoned luggage. “Do you think the new guy likes bossy women? If he does, I’m not going to stand a chance with you here.”

  Could this day get any worse?

  Four

  “What are you doing?” Luke asked as we made camp the next evening, forcing me to cease spying long enough to focus on him.

  “I’m trying to watch Kade,” I replied, making a face. How could he possibly not know that? Shouldn’t it be obvious?

  “Ah,” Luke said, hefting a box out of the back of his truck. “I knew you were hot for him.”

  “I am not hot for him,” I argued, placing my hands on my hips. “I happen to be worried that he’s going to find out the truth about us. It’s nothing more than professional … curiosity.”

  “Whatever,” Luke said, rolling his eyes. “I see the way you look at him.”

  “And how do I look at him, wise one?”

  “Like you want to see what he’s hiding under those cargo pants he’s always wearing,” Luke replied without missing a beat. “You want to see if he’s … packing.” Luke laughed at his own joke. “You want to see what he’s packing while we’re unpacking. I kill myself sometimes.”

  “If only that were an option,” I shot back.

  Luke sighed and ran a hand through his hair, fixing me with an unreadable look as he decided how to proceed. Moving days were always tiresome. He acted as if I was doing something crazy, though. For the record, I never do anything crazy. I’m very pragmatic and … “Hey, what is Raven doing over there hitting on the new guy?”

  Luke
moved to my side and followed my gaze, his eyes brightening when he caught sight of the scene on the other side of the camp. “Wow. It looks as if Raven is going all out to snag your man.”

  Raven Marko is thirty years old – in human years – although she doesn’t look a day over twenty-two and she flirts as if she’s sixteen. Her hair is long and silver, with a few black highlights shot through for good measure. She runs the House of Mirrors so she spends a lot of time looking at her reflection. Men everywhere fall at her feet because of her beauty. Her personality runs closer to that of the snakes she covets, though.

  Raven is a Lamia. In some mythology people believed Lamias boast snake tails. I don’t know if that was ever true, but I’ve often wondered if Raven doesn’t have a little snake in her. She’s not a shifter, and I’ve never seen her take on a serpent’s form, but she is a practicing witch and she collects snakes so she can use their skin and venom in spells.

  Raven doesn’t bother me most of the time. She’s flirty with everyone, but she’s also … standoffish. While my personality runs hot and cold, Raven’s idles at downright frigid – unless she wants something. If her constant petting and ceaseless giggles were to be believed, she clearly wanted Kade.

  “You’re so strong,” Raven said, looking Kade up and down as he helped her settle her bistro table outside the door of her trailer. “Usually it takes two people to set that up properly.” She ran her hand up Kade’s bulging bicep. “How often do you work out?”

  “Go get your man,” Luke instructed, wrinkling his nose. “If you don’t put a stake in now, Raven is going to capture him with that forked tongue of hers. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Wow! She’s really laying it on thick.”

  “Stop saying things like that,” I said, reluctantly tearing my gaze from Kade and Raven. They were not my concern. I don’t care if he bangs her scaly bottom from one end of the circus to the other. What? Did that sound bitter? “I am not interested in him.”

  “You’re such a bad liar,” Luke said, organizing the bistro table and chairs we shared between our trailers. “You like him. I know you do.”

  “I don’t know him.”