Vagabond Circus Series

by Sarah Noffke

  “Zuma, this isn’t fair—”

  “He told me to trust you,” Zuma said and waited for the confused expression to jump to Finley’s face.

  It did on cue. “What?” he said, scrunching up his eyebrows.

  “Ian,” she said in answer. “He told me I had to trust you even though you were going to drop me while we practiced. And if you remember, you did drop me.”

  “And that means you…” Finley said, trailing away, talking half to himself, his mind reeling back to that moment where Zuma and he practiced in the big top. He’d had her suspended in his arms, leaning her back in a low dip. She’d pulled her arms out from around his neck and rested them on his arms. Finley took a painful gulp of air as the realization dawned on him.

  “And what that means is that I trusted you,” she said, completing his sentence, echoing the words being broadcast in his head. “And you dropped me. But worst of all is that I trusted you and you hid important information from me. From Dave. You aren’t responsible for his death, but you sure as hell are culpable for it,” Zuma said, her voice trying to sound unhurt, although it was still full of scabs.

  Finley shook his head at Zuma, his brain already going a new direction. She wasn’t seeing this clearly. And he wasn’t either but he almost could see something below the surface of all this, like wreckage at the bottom of a murky lake. “But why would Ian tell you to trust me?”

  “Hell if I know,” Zuma said, frustrated by the diversion. Doesn’t he see the important point here?

  “After I dropped you then you refused to work with me…” Finley said, his eyes cast far away as his mind spun.

  “So…” Zuma said.

  “And then I was frantic, frantic that I lost you for good,” he said.

  “Finley,” she said, her voice shaking. Zuma couldn’t do this. She wasn’t strong enough after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. She had to be close to Finley over the next few days while keeping him as far away as possible.

  “And because of that, I confessed my love for you,” Finley said, his eyes on the dirt, his voice an astonished whisper. Then he brought his gaze up to Zuma, who winced at the startled look in his not-completely-green eyes. “I wouldn’t have ever done that if you hadn’t trusted me enough to drop you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “None of this makes sense.”

  “Not to two people who don’t see the future, but Ian knows what he’s talking about,” Finley said.

  “So you trust him too?” Zuma said, sounding suddenly curious.

  “Well, yeah,” Finley said, surprising himself. He didn’t trust anyone. Well, not now that Dave was dead. And he couldn’t trust Zuma as long as she hated him. But there was something in Ian’s eyes. A sweet sincerity. And he had looked at Finley with such fondness. How could he not want to trust this guy?

  Zuma pulled her gaze away from Finley. Just looking at him hurt her and she was so afraid of herself around him. She felt instinctually like he could mend her, but she must be going insane with pain because he was the last person she’d trust with that job. After everything he’d revealed about himself she knew she would never give him an opportunity to drop her again. “My car is down here,” she said, walking off. She pulled the key from her jeans pocket and hit the button on her fob and the lights of the Audi S5 flashed on.

  “That’s your car?” Finley said, pausing to admire the clean black coupe with custom wheels and the chrome all blacked out. The treads of the tires were brand new, clean of wear or tear. The car probably had less than five hundred miles on it although it was roughly two years old.

  “It was a present from my parents for my sweet sixteen,” Zuma said absentmindedly.

  “How sweet,” Finley said, his voice in awe.

  “Yeah, well don’t get any ideas, you’re not driving.”

  She thought Finley was in awe of her car, but it was more the fact that parents would buy such a gift for their child. The idea confounded him.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t need to drive this car, I already have a hundred times,” he said, walking to the passenger side.

  She halted, reaching for the door handle. “Wait, you have?”

  “Well yeah,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. How had he just allowed that to slip out of his mouth? Dave’s death had made him take down so many walls. He’d have to build them back up. Zuma knew what she did about his life, but she didn’t need to know any more. Not now. And not that it mattered, but Finley needed to try to preserve himself in her mind even if only to protect his own ego.

  “Oh,” Zuma said, drawing out the word, her mind connecting the details. “You’ve stolen these cars before.” Then her face took on an astonished look. “They have a pretty incredible security system though, and tracking.”

  “Yeah, well…” he said, shrugging his lean shoulders. Whereas Ian was bulky and round, Finley was slight, all toned muscles and sharp angles.

  And just then Zuma realized without him having to say it that Finley was an extremely good thief. Using his skills of super speed and teleporting would make him almost unstoppable, but Finley was also incredibly smart. She knew it from the first time she practiced with him. No, he couldn’t read, but that only included one type of intelligence. And still, to do all he had while not having that skill was also impressive. She shoved down this realization like it was a dirty truth which deserved no room inside her head. Zuma plastered a repulsed look on her face.

  “No wonder my combat sense never picked up on your lies, thieves must make excellent liars,” Zuma said, shaking her head at Finley.

  “I never lied to you, Zuma,” Finley said, through clenched teeth.

  “No, I guess you didn’t, but you hid the truth. You might as well have just lied,” she said, reaching for her door handle.

  That remark pushed him. Pushed him past his restraint. Finley was a blur as he moved around the car. Then he was pressed up close to Zuma, his hands locking down on the car door, pinning her against it. She sensed his quick approach, but still the suddenness of it made her hiccup on her breath. “If you want my help finding Jack then you should stop this. You don’t have to be nice to me, but you need to stop treating me like I’m the villain,” he said, his voice low and demanding.

  She recovered and stood to her full height, just a few inches shorter than him. Then she placed a hand on Finley’s chest, encouraging him back to give her space. It wasn’t a kind touch or an aggressive one. It was simply a utilitarian one. “I’ll think about it,” she said, her eyes cold, unforgiving.

  “Then I’ll think about helping you save Jack,” Finley said, having stepped out of Zuma’s reach.

  She regarded him for a long moment. “You don’t mean that. You wouldn’t leave him to die,” she stated with certainty.

  “Of course I wouldn’t, Zuma,” he said, working to keep himself from yelling. “Because I’m not a bad person.”

  She huffed, obviously trying to show she didn’t agree. Finley brought his hooded eyes up, a measured glare piercing Zuma. She wasn’t sure if he knew how effective his looks were at punishing her, but she hoped that her flat expression kept that truth hidden. Then Finley reached out, and Zuma stepped back suddenly, but he only grabbed the door handle, not her as she was expecting. He yanked the driver’s side door open, the movement reeking of his fury. “Get in and let’s go. It’s a long trip,” Finley said.

  With a composure to impress, Zuma drew in a long breath as she regarded Finley. Unrushed, she locked eyes with him, studying him, spying the multiple aspects of his face that registered his stress. The things only Zuma could see with her combat sense. Inside he was punishing himself, it was so obvious to her. Outside he was fuming about everything that he couldn’t fix. And she was pretty certain over the next few days they were going to tear each other’s hearts in pieces when she knew all they wanted was to love one another. Finally, she turned to the seat and climbed into the car, like the idea had been hers all along. Before sh
e could close the door, Finley shut it with a deliberate force. She didn’t have a second of solitude because an instant later Finley appeared in the passenger seat next to her.

  “Do you have to teleport all the time?” she said, annoyance heavy in her tone.

  “Why? Is it another thing about me that you hate?” he said, slipping on his seat belt.

  She turned on the car and pulled it out of its spot, refusing to answer him. And the truth was there was nothing about Finley that she hated. The girl was heartbroken by the decisions he made which led to Dave’s death. She was certain she would never understand him or forgive him for those decisions, but Zuma did not hate the guy next to her. The way she felt about him was unique, an emotion she never thought she’d feel for anyone. But Zuma was cursed because she was going to have to banish the feeling. There was no way she could love the person responsible for the ringmaster’s death.

  Chapter Six

  Titus kept his head down as he trudged through the aisle of the big top passing by employees on his way to the center of the ring. It was where he and Dave always stood when addressing the group in meetings. From the far corner he heard Oliver’s voice. The illusionist’s had a unique tone. Like his eyes, his voice was memorable, it had a permanent hoarseness to it. “Where’s Dave?” he heard him ask Padmal, one of the triplets.

  Everyone else must have heard this too because whispers spread like measles among the crowd. Titus tried to ignore this as he rounded on the people of Vagabond Circus. However, he couldn’t ignore the look of pure horror on Sunshine’s face. Her empathesis had clearly given her a sneak peek of the news he was about to spill. His eyes fell on her with remorse and she mouthed the word, “What?”

  Titus made the smallest movement with his hand by the side of his leg, hoping the way he pushed his palm down also calmed her. The last thing he needed was Sunshine exploding before he had a chance to tell the rest of the circus. Oliver and Padmal were now whispering adamantly to each other. Oliver’s eyes, one green and the other brown, shot between Titus and the back exit. Padmal even wore a strange look on her usually irritated face. She looked concerned and that was a first. Padmal wasn’t a person who cared about other people. Yes, she cared about her brothers to an extent, but such was the obligatory relationship of a triplet. And she seemed to care about Oliver at times but the girl didn’t hide the fact that her own well-being was far more important than others. And her curious face contrasted greatly from Fanny’s, the caretaker and healer for Vagabond Circus.

  Fanny sat in the front row with her three charges, Emily, Tiffany, and Benjamin. Their ages were four, eight, and ten respectively. But it was these three children who seemed to be holding a distraught Fanny up from either side. She worried her hands through her long skirt, her eyes on the neon green carpet under Titus’s feet. She was told last night that Sebastian had made his own choice to leave Vagabond Circus without her knowing it and she was to accept this until more information was available. That’s what Titus told her, but soon he’d have to tell her the truth. That Sebastian was a murderer.

  While people whispered inaudible questions about Dave’s whereabouts, Jasmine stood suddenly, searching the tent like she was missing something. Loudly the acrobat said, “Where’s Zuma, Jack, and Fin?” It was customary for the four acrobats to sit together. That’s how it was most of the time during meetings and rehearsals, although Finley spent his meals with the freaks.

  Titus held up a hand, pausing any further questions. “I’m going to answer that question and many more, but you must give me a chance.”

  Jasmine nodded reluctantly, continuing to search the tent like her comrades were just hiding somewhere.

  “Now what I have to…” Titus said and then paused. “I’m here because…” he tried again. His eyes fell to the ground. He couldn’t look at the faces urging him to provide heart-shattering answers. “I’ve called this meeting…” And again the words stuck in his throat. He simply couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell the people of Vagabond Circus what they needed to know. What they deserved to know.

  And then quite unexpectedly he felt something on his arm. He brought his gaze up to find Sunshine standing beside him. Titus had been too distracted to notice her approach. The girl’s pale hand was now on his arm, her green eyes swelling with tears but a determined look on her face. She nodded her head at Titus, encouraging him to continue, supporting him in what she felt he must do now. Her black hair framed her always sad face which had somehow grown even sadder. She looked like a doll made by the cruelest toy maker. Titus returned her nod and revolved his solemn gaze to the silent crowd. With Dave and the acrobats missing, and Sunshine lending her support to Titus, they weren’t about to hear good news. This would be a day of great sorrow. And everyone instinctively knew it.

  Chapter Seven

  “I don’t know how to make what I have to say easier on your ears,” Titus began, having a renewed sense of strength, although his voice still had a nervous raspiness to it. “Honestly, I don’t know how to soften this news because for me it is the greatest loss of my life. I have many regrets today and one is that I must tell you all something that I’m certain will bring unending sadness.” He drew in a long breath, trying to steady himself on his trembling legs. “Dr. Dave Raydon, the founder of Vagabond Circus, is dead.”

  Sunshine let her hand slip off Titus’s arm. He had said what she felt to be true. It was now confirmed for her. Benjamin hiccupped out a loud sob. And then Fanny fell to the side, fainting.

  Chapter Eight

  For one solid hour Zuma and Finley rode in complete silence. They’d have to travel twelve hours south before they hit Los Angeles County. Zuma was familiar with Los Angeles and the surrounding cities, having grown up there. However, that gave her barely any confidence. From the little Finley shared with Jack, Titus, and her, these people, Charles Knight and his kids, sounded like nightmare creatures. Sebastian could touch someone and kill them. Knight produced Dream Traveler children with the intention of creating an army of thieves. And he’d starved, beaten, and neglected Finley. This man had the ability to produce excruciating headaches using his telepathy. And almost worse than any of that was that Knight hated Dave. How could anyone hate the ringmaster? she wondered. He was the epitome of love. How many souls had that one man saved? These troubled thoughts danced through her mind, a series of chaotic movements trespassing through her head. She held in the tears that felt as if they’d now always accompany the thought of Dave. She had to remain strong.

  Zuma’s eyes slid to the right and she realized Finley was watching her. It wasn’t like how he’d been staring at her for the last three months, like he was entranced by her. Right then he was studying her, his eyes stroking over Zuma, searching for something. The two had been silent, only listening to the hum of the road under the tires since the trip started. Zuma wanted to break the silence to tell him to stop playing detective, but she didn’t like the way he punished her earlier with those eyes and that look of scorn. So instead she connected her iPod, which she kept in the center console, and pulled up a playlist. Music filled the car and threatened to rip emotions out of her like a thread being pulled from a fabric, unraveling it. She punched the pause button.

  Silence once more.

  “Zuma, can I ask you a question?” Finley dared to say. His voice had the opposite effect on her as the music though. It made the girl feel not alone. She shook off the forbidden comfort.

  “What?” she said, pretending to pay extra close attention to the open road.

  “Do you ever remember a time where you were happy?” he said, his voice careful. Finley knew it was a gamble to ask her such a question, but he had to know if the curse Fanny spoke of was true, and Zuma was the only person who would know. And more than ever he needed to know if Knight’s curse was working on Zuma.

  “That’s the most ridiculous question,” she said, acid in her voice. “I’m not answering that.”

  This didn’t deter Finley. He had nothing to lose
. Literally. No one had less than Finley. He had no family. No possessions. Little money. And none of Zuma’s goodwill. He was impoverished in every way that meant something to him. However, he did have his health. But that only made him alive when he wished he was dead. He was cursed, but differently than Zuma.

  Finley cleared his throat and said, “I don’t mean like a moment where you laughed with Jasmine or the high that you get on flying trapeze, but real unaffected happiness. Something that you’ve sustained for a long time. Do you remember ever having that?”

  “Damn it, Finley! Are you insane?” She slammed the steering wheel with her palm. “I’m grieving Dave’s death and you’re drilling me about my happiness.”

  He leaned forward, trying to catch her gaze, which was cemented on the road in front of them. “Yes, because I need to know. It’s important. Do you think you’ve ever been happy? Really happy?”

  “Why do you need to know this?” she said, unable to understand this line of questioning and its horrible timing.

  “I just do,” he said, his voice soft, troubled.