Carniepunk

by Rachel Caine

  I repeated everything Peyton had told me, including the cost of admission, at which Will released a low whistle, and Julius said with disgust, “A traveling paranormal carnival in which he displays captured creatures in cages for the entertainment of a crowd of rich fools.”

  “Basically, yes,” I said.

  “You know, I’ve heard this story,” Will said. “Isn’t there a unicorn and a red bull in it?”

  Red Bull? “The energy drink?”

  Will stared at me like I was nuts. I returned the favor.

  “I’d be surprised if our leprechaun was not part of this sideshow act,” Julius said. “Midas told us that a good deal of gold has gone astray since his son’s disappearance.”

  A brief lesson in leprechauns: contrary to popular culture, they don’t hide pots of gold at the ends of rainbows. They are, however, greedy little con artists and thieves. Like the myth of the Midas touch, leprechauns can turn almost any object into pure gold. Unlike the myth, they do this in exchange for a fee—anything from money to goods to services to your firstborn child (and yes, Rumpelstiltskin did collect). The trick is that the object isn’t actually altered. It’s magically switched out for gold from the leprechaun king’s vault. Once the leprechaun who made the deal is safely away, he switches the gold back and is richer his fee. Clever, ancient scam.

  Sounded like Midas’s kid wasn’t able to swap back the gold he was taking. No wonder Midas wanted him back. Balthazar was costing Midas a fortune.

  “Since we’ve shared our interest in Balthazar,” Will said, “would you like to return the favor?”

  Not really. “One of his captives may be a djinn I’m looking for.”

  “Someone you know?”

  While they both could tell I wasn’t fully human, revealing the whole truth meant putting my greatest secret on the line. I’m one of the rarest half-breeds in existence, and I like the way I confuse other Paras who can’t figure out what I am.

  “Yes, he’s someone I know,” I said.

  Julius narrowed his eyes at me, a hard look. “Not someone you’d rather have bound to your will?”

  My eyebrows jumped. He continued to surprise me with his Para knowledge. “Absolutely not. This djinn was bound far beyond the scope of the Rules, and I want him set free again.”

  He studied me in silence, probably deciding how much he trusted my word. Telling him I was half djinn and the target was my dad would be the easiest way to convince him I didn’t want to bind anyone, but I wasn’t ready to go there yet. Such knowledge gave Julius and Will too much power over me.

  “I believe you,” the older man finally said.

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “So how many tickets are we getting to this show?” Will asked.

  I gaped. Had he forgotten the price tag?

  “I doubt Balthazar will believe a new werewolf wants to gawk at other Paras,” Julius said. “So just one for me and one for Ms. Harrison.”

  “It won’t work if she isn’t a good actress.”

  “I think she’ll do fine.”

  “You’ll both need clothes.”

  Was I still in the room? “Hello?” I said. “Where are you going to come up with fifty thousand dollars to get us into this little shindig?”

  Julius flashed a patient smile. “Midas provided me with a credit line for this investigation.”

  “Must be nice to have a sponsor with deep pockets.”

  “It is. I take it you’re out here on your own.”

  “Yes.”

  “So this is personal.”

  “Very personal.”

  “Then you’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “And more.” I knew I was young and not all that tough-looking, but I’d be blessed if I’d let him judge my ability to do this. “I’ll see this through. Balthazar kidnapped someone I care about, and I want him back.”

  —

  PLAN HASHING ONLY took an hour, and I learned two important things about Julius in those sixty minutes. First, he was an Army Ranger for nearly twenty years before a forced retirement (no details provided on that) made him seek a new profession as a mercenary. Second, he had a fantastic knack for improvisation. He created an entire backstory for the pair of us in fifteen minutes.

  I learned exactly nothing new about Will. Which was okay, because I didn’t tell them anything new about me, either. We weren’t friends. We were reluctant allies with a common goal.

  Over the course of about six hours, everything fell into place. Our request for two tickets for “Mr. David Alvarez” and “friend” was approved, and the coordinates were sent. A quick check located them in the parking lot of a Walmart, so I was guessing that we’d all be picked up and transported to the actual carnival location from the rendezvous point. We also did some quick shopping, and I purchased the tightest, sparkliest minidress I’d ever worn in my life in order to play the part of “Mr. Alvarez’s” arm candy. Will’s contribution was the blond wig.

  Since he couldn’t come with us to the show, Will would tail our transportation as long as he was able and provide backup if necessary. We couldn’t risk wearing wires, and we had no real plan beyond “locate the targets.” Freeing them would be an exercise in improvisation for all of us.

  The crowd for tonight’s show was larger than I expected. Eighteen other people were waiting with me and Julius. Balthazar was making half a million dollars from the show, and, naturally, I wasn’t the only arm candy in attendance. I was, however, the only nonhuman. When the black charter bus finally arrived at 10:00 p.m., everyone was visibly relieved.

  The forty-five-minute ride passed mostly in silence. Occasionally someone would start talking business in an obvious “Bring out the measuring stick” way. I hated all of them with a deep, deep anger for coughing up so much money to see other living creatures in captive misery. Paras didn’t exist for the entertainment of humans. We roamed the earth long before humans stopped dragging their knuckles along it, and we deserved happy, free lives too.

  The bus turned up into the mountains, onto a narrow road bordered on both sides by packed snow. The driver, a silent and surly man, took hairpin turns with enough speed to make me nervous. One of the arm candies started complaining loudly, and I had to stop myself from telling her to shut up. Instead, I took her cue and clung to Julius’s arm. You never knew who was watching or why.

  The road ended abruptly. When the driver opened the door but did nothing else, a good thirty seconds of silent confusion passed before the first guest—tall, with thick-rimmed glasses—stood and stepped off the bus. I made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Julius and I disembarked around the middle of the pack. Outside, the air was frigid and still, the only sound the rumble of the bus’s idling engine.

  My skirt was nowhere near long enough for me to stand around in the middle of the Rockies in January. I made a petulant show of stamping my feet and rubbing my arms. An easy act—I despise the cold.

  Trees and packed snow rose up around us like walls, blocking the outside world and keeping our dark purpose contained. And then, in a flash of brilliant blue light that left red dots in my vision for a good two minutes afterward, our host appeared. Decked out in a midnight-black cape and an actual waxed mustache, Stefan Balthazar smiled at us all like some benevolent wizard.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a voice that, strangely, did not echo. “You’re here for an experience unlike any other, and I promise you will see sights unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”

  He raised his right hand, and the air crackled with magic. Directly behind him, in what I’d assumed to be more shadows and trees, appeared the entrance to a tent. Not an actual tent, mind you. Just the pulled-back flap and an open maw inviting us inside—the perfect illusion.

  My heart pounded. My father was in there somewhere.

  “Welcome,” Balthazar said, “to the Freak House.”

  No one moved. I clutched Julius’s arm. It would look like I was cold or scared, but mostly I was trying to no
t storm the tent and blow my cover. Balthazar’s intense stare swept over the group, silently daring us, and then he pivoted in a swirl of cape and strode toward the Freak House entrance.

  As on the bus, Julius and I moved in the middle of the pack. Magic brushed my skin as we stepped inside the tent, making the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end. This was dark magic, abusive magic. I held on to Julius a little tighter to ground myself and stop my own magic from rising up and unleashing the Quarrel in retaliation. I had to stay calm.

  For a good ten feet, the entrance continued in semidarkness before opening up in the perfect clone of a big top tent. Stripes of white and red ran from the ground up to a point in the center of the ceiling. The floor looked like sand but was firm beneath my flimsy spiked heels, and the interior was fantastically warm. A cluster of expensive-looking upholstered chairs held court in the center of the big top.

  Balthazar tilted his head at the chairs, and we descended on them as a group. Our host was eerie and had a presence that would demand attention even without the carnival trappings. He must have been a commanding warlock in his day—until he lost himself to the pursuit of power and began abusing his magic.

  Julius and I chose seats near the middle as Balthazar gravitated to the front like a minister about to deliver his sermon.

  And then the lights went out, casting the tent in complete darkness. I grabbed for Julius’s arm, not faking my jolt of fright. I probably even verbalized it, like some of the other guests.

  “Beings exist whose capabilities extend far beyond our imaginations . . .” Balthazar said, a voice in the black, still oddly free of echo or actual inflection. His sales pitch continued as the real show began, but I was too focused to really hear him.

  Like a curtain rising on a performance, a gilt cage became visible in the darkness.

  Roughly the size of the average Dumpster, the cage had a clear front—some kind of glass, I hoped—and shiny gold surfaces on the other five sides. It sat on ornate gold wheels and had a hitch on one end attached to nothing. The cage was illuminated from the inside, but the actual source was yet to be determined. In the center of the cage, seated on a plain wooden stool, was a naked man in his late twenties. He had a long, lean body, and even sitting I could tell he was tall. His black hair and caramel skin hinted at Pacific blood, Filipino or maybe Hawaiian.

  He also looked pissed.

  “We’ve all heard about werewolves and their Packs,” Balthazar droned. “I’m sure you’ve all seen a recorded shift on television or your computers, but never one in person. Few have . . .”

  The caged man slid off the stool and dropped onto all fours. Black fur sprouted along his spine and spread down his flank. His arms and legs twisted and bent while his face elongated. Someone behind me gasped. The entire shift from man to wolf took about forty-five seconds. He shook himself out, shaggy black fur gleaming in the artificial light. He faced the audience and snarled.

  The angry sound echoed long after the cage was engulfed by darkness.

  “Werewolves are not the only shifters among us,” Balthazar said.

  The next set of lights came on to show a new attraction—a skin-walker, a blond man who shifted into an oversized, seven-point stag. Next came a harpy who was insanely beautiful—the body of a woman, the legs of a hawk, and the wide, feathered wings of an exotic bird colored in shades of blue and purple. Her cobalt eyes flashed as she screeched and preened. She probably longed for the freedom of the skies.

  The pixie cloud came fourth, a brilliant ball of blinking lights that danced and spelled out whatever words Balthazar commanded. Pixies are generally harmless, unless you anger them; then they’ll rip you to pieces with their teeny, tiny hands.

  They shouldn’t be too difficult to sic on Balthazar.

  The fifth time the lights came up, it was on Julius’s leprechaun, which meant my father was last. Leprechauns are proportionally small, like someone took an average-sized man and shrunk him down to about thirty inches tall. They’re physically weak and rely on tricks to get out of sticky situations. After the audience had time to adjust to this vision, Balthazar requested a donation from an audience member, and one of the arm candies offered up her lipstick. He passed it through the “glass” front of the cage, which rippled around his hand like water and caused magic to caress my skin. The leprechaun touched the lipstick tube with his fingers, and it changed into a solid lump of gold, which Balthazar passed around.

  Touching the gold made my stomach lurch, and I quickly handed it over to Julius, who tensed. We’d found his target alive and well.

  The lights went out one last time. I held my breath.

  “Behold a creature of Arabian legend,” Balthazar said. Right then and there I ignored the taunting sound of his voice. He either had no idea of the true nature of the djinn he’d captured or was ignoring the facts of our origin in favor of spinning a familiar story for his paying audience.

  The lights illuminating the sixth cage revealed a man much like you’d see walking down any street in any town. Lean and average in height, he sat unassumingly on a wooden stool, hands clasped in his lap, his gaze fixed far in the distance. My father. He looked bored, but I knew better. He was watching, calculating, waiting for the smallest opportunity for escape to come his way. The tiniest flicker in Balthazar’s spell to give him an out.

  Julius tapped my arm, and I let out a breath. Balthazar spoke again, his words lost beneath the roar in my ears. Magic caressed my skin as my father did whatever parlor trick was required of him and behind me, an arm candy squealed with delight as some menial task was accomplished for her entertainment.

  I wanted to turn around and slap her. I hated them all for paying money to see other people suffer. I longed to fly out of my seat and smash the cages with my bare hands. Seeing my father reduced to a puppet was as infuriating as it was heartbreaking.

  I had to set him free. I had to set them all free.

  —

  BALTHAZAR LEAVES OUR small group and migrates to the next, having perfected the part of the gracious host. We have about thirty minutes left before the entire shindig is over, which means Julius and I need to act fast. Still, we need a plan.

  I’m uncertain as to the extent of Balthazar’s powers and of the enchantments he’s cast over the six cages, which are now displayed in a half circle, hitched one to the next like a train of carts pulled by invisible mules.

  My father hasn’t looked at me, but he has to know I’m here, has to know I’ll do something, try anything to set him free.

  The pixie cloud, which has hovered in near stillness for the last thirty minutes, alters its shape enough to capture my attention. The little things stretch out in a rectangular configuration, their color patterns blinking more regularly. Intrigued, I nudge Julius forward with me. We stand in front of their cage, his arms around me from behind like a doting boyfriend, with enough space between our bodies so I don’t feel trapped. The position puts his mouth very close to my ear.

  “What are you thinking?” Julius whispers.

  I twist my head back and pretend to kiss his cheek. “Not sure yet.”

  The pixies are trying to communicate something, I’m sure of it. Their color flashes create a pattern of shapes. Letters in repetition: L. P. H. E. L. P. H.

  Help.

  Hoping they understand, I give a slight nod. The patterns change immediately. I pretend to be amused and in lust with Julius while they spell out a new word: Harpy.

  I laugh, pretending to be delighted by the pretty colors of the pixie cloud. I twist around in Julius’s arms and fumble with my champagne flute as though I’ve had too much. “I have to let the harpy out,” I whisper in his ear.

  He nuzzles my neck, which almost makes me laugh. “How?”

  “Remember the parking garage?”

  “The irritation thing?”

  “It’s not the only party trick I’ve got.”

  Did I forget to mention I can also walk through walls?

  Okay, so it’s
not quite so simple as that, which is why I tend not to mention it. I can only move through objects made of natural wood or stone, not metal or man-made materials like plastic, and it hurts like heaven’s light when I do it. So I try not to do it very often. Working in my favor tonight is my knowing the limitations that exist on Balthazar’s kind of magic—in order to enchant the cages and keep his prisoners contained, the cages must also be of natural materials. Most metals actually repel human magic, which gives me hope that the “gold” decorating each cage is paint.

  “You ever going to tell me what you are?” Julius whispers.

  “If we make it through this, maybe.”

  “Oh, good, something to live for.”

  I laugh, then slip back into arm candy mode. I point to the harpy’s cage, giggle, and pretend to whisper to Julius, who leads me over. The harpy stares at me from her stool, her cobalt eyes watchful and deadly. Getting into her cage is the easy part. Setting her free will take a little creativity.

  “Pardon the interruption,” Balthazar says from behind us, and we turn to face him. He smiles, but it doesn’t hide the suspicion that flares briefly in his eyes. “Ms. Lafferty, I cannot shake this feeling that we’ve met before.”

  Ms. Lafferty? Oh, that’s me. And he’s fishing. It’s likely he can tell there’s something unusual about me; he’s just not informed enough to correctly guess.

  “I’m sure I’d remember if we had,” I say with a flirty laugh. “You’re quite unforgettable, Mr. Balthazar.”

  “So I’ve heard. You’re from Denver, correct?”

  “Not originally, but it’s been home for the last four years. Before that, I lived in Des Moines.”

  He clucks his tongue. “Perhaps you simply remind me of someone.”

  “I hear that quite a lot, actually, that I look like someone’s niece or cousin or granddaughter. It’s strange . . .” A fine tremor races up my spine and nudges at the back of my mind where the Quarrel resides. Balthazar is attempting to poke into my subconscious, to get a read on me, and it has my instincts going into protective mode.

  Which may not be a bad thing. I hadn’t planned on unleashing the Quarrel without a proper harpy-release plan, but . . . Oh, well. At least I know Julius is good at improvising.