by Lynde Lakes
A chill slipped down her spine. He was a werewolf, and claimed he’d been resurrected; could he be a vampire as well? “How does one protect themselves from a vampire?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the various tales. I think each vampire is different, based on its history. One popular belief is that to remove its evil powers, a believer can draw blood from a vampire’s vein just above the right eye. But no one has explained how the believer can trap the demon into a position where such an extraction could viably be performed. One thing is certain; the vampire is violent, malicious, and has returned to torment the living. If that’s what we’re dealing with, we have big trouble.”
She frowned. “How could it be anyone at the circus? No one there has time to sleep all day in a coffin.” And she’d definitely kept Hugh too busy for lounging around anywhere.
“The vampire is not necessarily a nocturnal creature. It can appear any time, including midday.”
Oh, great. “What could drive a creature like that?” She shivered at the beast’s brutish and depraved ways, while a sense of eeriness whispered around her on the dank air of the cave.
“The vampire’s hatred is the embodiment of an ancient hatred and jealousy of the living. Somewhere back in time, someone may have done him wrong and now, unless stopped, the malignant dead will make everyone pay.”
“You said an angel resurrected you. Are you a vampire?”
He rubbed his jaw and shook his head. “So you still doubt me? I’ll try again to make you understand. I’m not a vampire. This second gift of life is all I get. I’ll have to make the best of it while I’m here. I do have the blessing of extended youth and a long life—that is if someone doesn’t kill me. And I am a werewolf, as you discovered. Now you know all of my secrets. Now tell me all of yours.”
Tension shot through her. “Later,” she said. She had flashed her light over the rock wall facade so quickly she almost missed seeing the long piece of red thread snagged on a low, protruding rock. The bright, silken string was clean and un-weathered. She dug out one of the small plastic bags from her backpack and tucked the red thread inside. She waved her packaged find in front of Hugh’s eyes to divert his interest away from her secrets. Then she dashed ahead and spied a huge boulder that seemed to be sitting on newly turned dirt. “Look, someone’s been digging here.”
He joined her and stared down at the floor of the cave.
“Things are looking up.” Excitement quickened his words. “With the thread and now this, we know someone’s been in here recently. But that boulder is as big as the clowns’ VW Bug.” He glanced around. “We’d need a plank, girder, or cantilever to roll it.”
She grabbed his arm. “What about that downed tree limb about twenty yards north of the entrance? The one that looked like it had recently been struck by lightning. With it and our joint feral strength, we ought to be able to move the boulder enough to dig down and see what’s buried underneath.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s worth a try.”
Together, they half carried, half dragged the limb inside the cave. Hugh shoved the pointed raw end under the boulder. “If we can’t budge this big bugger, we can come back tomorrow with a shovel.” He laughed. “Or an elephant.”
Exasperation and impatience shot through her. “Wait until tomorrow? No way. Whatever is buried here could be gone by then. So we are going to move it. Think positive. It will be easier if you remember whoever pushed the boulder over the loose dirt can’t be stronger than our joint feral strength.”
He sent her a doubting scowl. “What makes you so sure of that?”
“I’m thinking positive.”
“Oh, that again. Okay, let’s do it.”
Together, grunting, groaning, and sweating, they finally rolled the boulder aside. “Yeah! See? It was as easy as riding the merry-go-round.”
He gave her a little hug. “If I’m ever stranded on a desert island with someone, I hope it’s with someone positive like you.”
She noticed he didn’t say he wanted the person to be her, just someone like her. She understood; as cross species they could never have something permanent.
He grabbed up a sharp rock and started digging rapidly wolf-style. The dagger rock she chose was deeply embedded. Hugh stopped digging long enough to help her yank it out. Then side by side they dug as fast as they could. With a sense of comradeship buoying her spirits, she sent up a prayer that whatever was buried beneath the loose dirt was exactly what they were looking for.
Her heart speeded when they uncovered a box. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the plastic gloves. “To protect any prints,’ she said, slipping on the gloves.
“I don’t believe you,” Hugh said. “You are my every-ready girl.”
She laughed to herself. His girl. If only he knew how much she’d like that to be true. The ever-ready part could easily be true. She definitely tried.
Tigra reached for the small metal box with gloved hands and used the hem of her coat to wipe away the dirt. Her breath caught. Underneath the filth, the lid was engraved with the museum’s name. With shaking hands, she pried the lid open. Inside, the velvet-lined container the golden arrowhead gleamed up at her.
Chapter Sixteen
Upon entering Tigra’s caravan, Grandy’s miniature, mantle-sized grand-father clock struck three A.M. After wandering around in the stormy night through icy caves, the indoor warmth wrapped around her like a heated blanket. Hugh followed her inside.
“Where shall I sleep?” he asked in a deep voice, looking around.
His nude image flashed in her mind. “In your caravan,” she said, knowing if he stayed the night she wouldn’t get any sleep.
“No way. I’m not leaving you and that solid gold arrowhead out of my sight until we turn it over to the police.”
She paced to the opposite side of the small room. “I have a safer idea. To protect ourselves from false accusations, we have to get the support of the Museum and their insurance company. If we turn it over to the police first, they may suspect we stole it and lock us up while they run their forensic tests.” Excitement built in her. “My plan is: we take it to the museum and suggest they hire someone to perform their own forensic investigation, or if they wish, let them call the police. Then, we turn it over to the police for the forensics tests in front of the museum director and the head of their insurance company. The museum director will be so glad to get the arrowhead back he’ll be on our side.”
Hugh shook his head.
“Come on. Consider it,” she said, her voice and enthusiasm strong. “Remember, the police didn’t find the artifact. We were the ones who trudged through the storm and ventured into the caves to find and return the historic treasure to the county of San Bernardino. I think our driving desire to return what rightfully belongs to the museum will shine a favorable light on us and the circus—favorable light we circus people need.”
Hugh frowned. “Do you know the ramifications of a spotlight on us?” His voice rose and his expression darkened. ”Our do-gooder deed will be front page news and the real thief will know exactly who to come after to get even.”
“I have confidence that together we can handle him.” She hated the tremor in her voice. “But we have to do what’s right regardless of the cost to us personally. Maybe we can get the museum director and the police to withhold our names from the media to protect our identity until the forensic tests are completed.”
“Don’t count on the forensics tests too much to ferret out the thief. We wore gloves and the thief probably did the same. While I appreciate your strong feelings on this and admire your tenacity, your-charge-ahead-devil-be-damned attitude it complicates things.”
“The red thread should point the investigators in the right direction.” Her stomach tightened and she clutched the metal box to her heart. “What did you think would happen if we found the treasure? You act like you regret finding it.”
“That’s not it. But we should be prepared for the tornado of trouble
we’re bringing down on ourselves and maybe the whole circus.”
She sent up a silent prayer. “As I see it, we have no choice.”
He met her gaze. “As long as you realize we’ll be stuck with the repercussions.”
She nodded. “The important thing is to protect the gold until morning and then keep it safe until it’s been returned. I’ll find a good hiding place after you leave.”
His eyes darkened and he sent her a hard, determined look. “I repeat—don’t think for even a second I’m leaving you and the arrowhead here unprotected. We found it together and we’ll hide it together.”
Aware she wasn’t going to win this argument, she looked around. “Where do you suggest?”
He grabbed a chair, stood on it and easily removed one of the ceiling panels. “Up here should be safe enough until morning, especially if I stretch out and do guard duty here on this day bed.” He pointed to the cushioned side lounge, one too short for a tall guy like him.
If she let him stay, neither of them would get much sleep, but he was right, it was crucial to guard the treasure. “I’ll get you a better pillow and a blanket. And you’d better get out of those wet clothes.” Her heart-rate speeded recalling the muscled beauty of his nude body.
She reached into the closet and got out one of Grandy’s plaid robes. “You can use this robe while your wet clothes dry. I don’t have a dryer. But if you hang your duds in front of the heater, they’ll probably dry by morning. Then you can go get some fresh clothing from your place.”
“Thanks. I’ll work it out.”
Images of his nudity lingered in her mind.
Her queen-sized bed, a pull down, was less than ten steps away from where he planned to sleep.
Several hours later, after hours of hearing his breathing and each time he turned over, and smelling his feral scent, she wondered how she’d make it through the night when already images of them in the steamy pool and their nudity in the cave repeatedly assaulted her senses?
****
The next morning the museum secretary led Tigra and Hugh to the director’s wood-paneled office. The silver-haired man sitting in front of a computer looked up. “I don’t usually see people without an appointment.”
“We won’t take much of your time,” Tigra said as she placed the box containing the gold arrowhead in the center of his desk. “We thought you’d like to receive this back as soon as possible.”
He shot to his feet. “Oh, dear Lord, yes. Thank you. Thank You.” He bent toward the box as if intending to pick it up.
“Wait! Better not touch it without gloves,” she said, handing him a pair.
“Yes, yes of course. Thank you. He slipped on the gloves before opening it. At the sight of the gold gleaming up at him, he let out a sigh of relief. Beaming, he lifted the box and held it tightly against his pristine white shirt as if it were a loved one. “Where did you find it?”
“Acting on a hunch,” Hugh said in a deep, confident voice, “we searched the caves near the circus grounds. We were eager to do our part as humanitarians and on behalf of the circus.”
Tigra would have laughed at how thick Hugh was laying it on, but whatever it took to get the director’s support was okay with her. She leaned forward. “We brought this to you at great danger to the circus and ourselves, and we humbly request that you and the police withhold our names until after the investigation.”
“I can’t promise for the police department, but your names will be kept confidential by our office.”
She opened her mouth to discuss it further when Officers Gonzales and Tanner sauntered in. Apparently the secretary had called them. Both men squinted and their narrowed eyes glinted with suspicion.
Gonzales’ muddy gaze intensified. “Why am I not surprised you two are the
good Samaritans? Let’s hear your story and it better be good.” He poised to take notes.
After they told the officers how they acquired the box, Tigra showed the law men the red thread. “We’re hoping along with any latent prints on the treasure box and the gold arrowhead that the silken thread will help you find the thief.”
“Maybe, I’m looking at him or her,” Gonzales said. “Don’t leave town, either of you.”
Tigra smiled past the slight tremor in her lip. “Thanks, Officer Gonzales. It’s nice to be wanted. I knew we’d be rewarded for doing our civic duty.” She turned to the director. “Keep that safe now.”
He extended his hand. “I’m grateful to both of you and I plan to show my gratitude in every way I can. I’m sure this questioning and warning is just a formality with the police officers. In my book you two are heroes.”
Chapter Seventeen
Skull stormed into Madam Mystic’s tent unconcerned that she was ready to start a tarot reading. As usual, the inside reeked of incense and sawdust. If he hadn’t been enraged, he would’ve laughed at her feeble attempt at intrigue with the exotic aromas, dimly lit interior, and arrangement of skulls and make-believe worm-like snakes crawling out of the eyes and mouths.
He strode up to the table covered with a woodsy brown velvet tapestry where the mystic sat across from the gray-haired, grandmotherly-type customer. The bent, frail client’s eyes widened.
Glaring down, he said, “Out, old lady!” He swept up the money on the table and thrust it into the old lady’s fist. Then he grabbed the granny by the arm, lifted her, and shoved her stumbling toward the exit. “Save your money. You don’t need a fortune teller to confirm you have no future!”
Madam Mystic, or Maggie as most of the carneys and circus troupe called her, shot to her feet. “You’ve gone too far this time, Skully.” The turban-wearing, six-foot tall African flexed her muscled arms threateningly and fisted her immense, ham-hock hands, but the tremor in her calypso accented voice revealed the woman’s uneasiness.
“Sit down! Maggie Maggot. You won’t do anything or tell anyone anything. Now, heat up your crystal ball and spill who absconded with my golden arrowhead.”
Mystic Maggie met his gaze with glints of fear in her dark eyes. “So you admit you’re the thief.”
“You’ve known about my entrepreneurial acquisitions for years, so don’t play dumb with me, Maggie. Who took my arrowhead?”
He willed his teeth to lengthen and glint like sharp shards of ivory, and his eyes to glow red as his demon spirit eroded her willpower and strength.
Full blown terror filled her eyes. “Leave me alone!”
“Not a chance.” She was still useful, so he didn’t want to outright kill her; instead he merely eroded her physical resources in a way that would weaken and frighten. “Who?” he repeated in a violent whisper.
She waved a trembling hand across the crystal ball and the image of the interior of the cave where his treasure disappeared came into view, clearly revealing the culprits. He wasn’t surprised. He’d suspected Hugh was looking for a way to worm his way into Tigra’s heart with heroism. Well, if the roustabout/lion tamer wanted to show off, he’d give him a barrage of non-stop trouble, with a Rolo-method finale to eliminate him forever.
****
Tigra let out a sigh of relief as they passed through the entrance turnstile and stepped into the confines of the place she felt most at home—the circus grounds with all of its excitement and familiar smells. The sun on her shoulders felt warm and gave her hope. If only she could interpret the sketchy patterns forming on the edges of her mind. She realized with a jolt she’d been worrying about more than just the theft and the revenues needed to keep the circus afloat. If the circus folded, Hugh would probably disappear from her life. She darted a glance at him. The sun now gracing the blue sky danced on his black hair. Seeing the blue highlights glinting on his crown and their world gleaming under the sunny brightness sent a surge of optimism. She dared to hope that the thief would be caught, the revenues would climb, the circus would rocket back on track to financial health. Best of all that Hugh would stick around and permanently join their circus family.
Suddenly out o
f the crowd, an unfamiliar white-faced clown in full costume and skull cap ran up to her and silently handed her a note. He danced around her like a frisky puppy. “Who is this from?” she asked, feeling her shoulder tendons tighten.
He grinned wider as though it were a colossal joke and shrugged.
Well, it can’t be very important, she thought, relaxing a bit and tucking it into her pocket.
His brows lowered and he mimed that she should read it.
Still coming down from the stressful police interrogation, she needed a few minutes without someone wanting something of her or pressuring her. She patted her pocket. “Later.”
The clown tilted his head and pointed to the Ferris wheel like an excited child before turning and skipping back up the arcade as though he wanted her to follow him.
She smiled at his mime antics and then met Hugh’s questioning gaze. “Before we rehearse, how about a ride on the Ferris Wheel? Being on top of our world relaxes me and clears my head.”
Hugh’s eyes glinted with amusement. “I love that you’re a kid at heart. And I’d like very much to see the place from a hawk-eye view.”
By the time they headed up the arcade, the clown had disappeared. When they arrived at their destination, they didn’t have to stand in line. Leroy, the attendant, wearing his red shirt and red cap, motioned them forward. It wasn’t unusual for employees, needing to get back to work, to be waved to the head of the line. The three of them exchanged pleasantries while Leroy made sure they were strapped in. Then he saluted and shoved the gear down with wiry muscled arms, and up they went.
She squealed at the rapid, exhilarating ascent. Hugh closed his hand over hers and the simple joy of his touch cheered her soul as they soared into the azure blue together. Happiness sometimes came in the small moments and as a circus gypsy or vagabond, she’d learned to cherish every one. Relationship wise, Hugh and I can’t have anything permanent, but we have now.
Up at the top, close to the puffy clouds stretching over the hills, she inhaled deeply and viewed the bustling crowds in the arcade below. They all looked eager to absorb the magic of the circus as she and Hugh were doing. Together. For now.
