Vagabond Circus Series

by Sarah Noffke

  “I’m sorry, Zuma,” he said. Those three words carried more meaning than anything he’d said all his life. They said he loved her. That he wanted her. That he pushed her away and that it hurt him. That not being able to be with her was his curse. And that he didn’t like it, but he didn’t know how to change it. And then he said what he knew he had to, to keep her safe. “But we can’t do this.”

  Zuma laid her hand over his forearm, but didn’t hug into him. She wrapped her fingers around his arm and tugged, ever so gently, but still the intent was clear. The movement said, “Don’t.”

  Defeated in almost every way that mattered, Finley dropped his arms and stepped back as Zuma turned to face him. For many months these two had left so much unsaid. All their words were sealed inside hearts they had almost forgotten were locked, keys lost. Zuma looked at Finley now, giving him a cautious stare. She slid another set of tears away, off her cheeks. Her expression shifted into one he couldn’t quite figure out. It was one of pain, but also something else. Emptiness, he thought.

  “I can’t,” Zuma started, her words slow, painful. “I can’t keep reaching out for you. I’m not as strong as you are, Finley. And every time you pull me in tight and then push me away it tears at a part of my soul. Not having you is worse than my curse, because I’ve never known what happiness feels like. I don’t know what I’m missing. But with you, I’ve felt your love and not having it now is agony.”

  Feeling a sudden weight from Zuma’s words, Finley pinned his hands behind his head trying to force oxygen into his lungs. He wanted to lean over to stop the pounding in his head. Finley would have left then but this was his trailer and he didn’t have anywhere else to go that felt safe. So instead he said, “What do you want me to do?” And it was a serious question that he really needed an answer to. He was forced to work side by side with the girl before him, to hold her in their acts. To carry her. To pretend they were in love and that they weren’t. He was forced to be with her constantly and forced himself hardly to look at her, afraid his father would be jealous of the devotion he felt for her. That his father would punish Zuma for owning his son’s attention.

  “Finley, I almost died earlier. You pushing me away isn’t keeping me safe anymore. All you’re doing is punishing the both of us,” Zuma said. “And if you hadn’t shown up earlier and rescued me, then I would have died and all our months of depriving each other of each other would have been a waste.”

  He brought his hands down off his head. Again he said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Don’t push me away. Not now. Not tomorrow. And no matter who is around.”

  He looked at her like she was asking him to throw her off a cliff. “Zuma—”

  “You asked, that’s what I want,” she said.

  He closed his eyes and pictured this strange reality where they didn’t hide their affection for one another. Maybe they were discreet, but they didn’t hide it. They were prisoners at the circus, but they were free about their feelings. It felt like he was imagining living on another planet. Finley opened his eyes and looked at the girl before him, the one he hardly ever looked away from and hardly allowed himself to really study.

  “Well?” she said, and her voice sounded so tired.

  “Zuma, if I lose you—”

  “Then at least you had me,” she said, and the most poetic smile laced itself on her pained face. And that expression simultaneously hurt Finley and made him feel that he could breathe again.

  Come here, he said in her head as he extended his hand to her.

  Zuma’s face shifted into a tentative look as her feet brought her to him. She didn’t take his hand, but rather slid her arms around his waist, tucking herself into him.

  And this, to Finley, was proof that she owned him because that very action lifted a pain so searing out of him. Her arms. Her affection could heal him. And the absence of it had been killing him. Literally putting a strain on his physical heart. Pushing his body to a dangerous capacity. Finley let out a long weighted sigh. He squeezed her into him before peeling back from her a few inches. Zuma’s face looked up at him, smileless, but seemingly satisfied. Finley was about to lean over and kiss her when she pulled her hand up and placed her finger to his lips, pausing him. “Finley, I love you.”

  And he didn’t know until that moment that words had that kind of power. The power to transport. To make him feel like he was floating. To make him feel strong and weak at the same time. Finley leaned down and rested his forehead on Zuma’s. He had said those words to her. Maybe too many times. But to hear them… Only an inch away, she smiled at him. A nervous one. It was in response to the strange, almost cynical look that had just touched Finley’s face.

  “Do you mean that?” he said, his tone even.

  “Of course I do,” she said, pulling back from him, jumping into defensive mode. “I have never said that to a guy. Never felt it for anyone like this.” Her emotions were all over the place. The beautiful, healing moment now felt strangled by him questioning her love. She backed up another step, growing with frustration. But Finley was already pulling her back from where she retreated. His skeptical expression was replaced by an endearing one.

  “Shhh, don’t be mad at my question, Zuma,” he said, both hands gently resting on either side of her neck holding her face, directing it at him. “I’ve just never been told that. By anyone.”

  She blinked back a wallop of tears that shot through her being trying to escape. His words assaulted her insides. “No?” she said in disbelief and wanted to take it back instantly.

  Finley simply nodded.

  Zuma slid in close to him and angled her mouth next to his ear, standing up on her tiptoes. “I love you, Finley. I love you. I love you. I love you,” she said over and over and over, feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly against hers. His hands were now around her back, her arms around his neck. The two pulling each closer, trying to crawl into the other person. Finley slipped back enough to find Zuma’s mouth and kissed her, a gracious affection in his every move. He pulled her up until her feet came off the ground and she laughed against his mouth, a freeing feeling taking over them both.

  ***

  The next morning Finley was awoken by the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains. The warm beam of sun streaked across his face and gave light to the best sight in his whole life. Lying curled beside him was Zuma, already awake and staring at him. She lay on her stomach, her head rested on her hands. Finley reached out and pushed a piece of tangled hair from her face so he could see her better.

  “So it wasn’t a dream,” he said.

  “Definitely not,” she said, sliding in closer to him, a slight smile on her face. She slid her nose against his and then her mouth kissed his once. “I love you, Finley.”

  He blinked down at her with a tamed look.

  “Is this what normal people do?” he asked. “Do they wake up every day next to someone they love and receive affection?”

  “I wouldn’t know what normal people do,” she said, and curled her head down until it was resting on his chest, his heartbeat music to her ears.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Everything is about timing. Everything. Dave knew that. Ian had been taught that early on. And he had made it his mission to find the right timing for the events at Vagabond Circus.

  Things have to happen now, he thought to himself as he crossed his meaty arms in front of his chest. Then he waited for the figure he knew was about to appear to walk out in front of the big top. From Ian’s vantage point, twenty yards away, he could barely make out the details of the man. However, Knight’s features were unique enough that he was recognizable from twenty stories up or twenty yards away.

  Okay, Ian thought, I’ve orchestrated this. Now I sit back and watch. My job is done. He then slipped his eyes closed, to watch the events of the near future as they played in his head.

  ***

  Knight approached Gwendolyn, who was surprised to see her master. She halted on her
path between the big top and the trailers. In her hand she held a Styrofoam container. It was hot on the bottom and she used her hand under it for extra support even though it was slightly burning her skin. Gwendolyn, who was always by Knight’s side lately, had stepped away to grab his dinner since Bill, the circus chef, was strangely too busy to deliver the meal as he usually did for the owner of Vagabond Circus. The red-headed girl dropped her eyes to the straw-strewn ground.

  “Master, was I not quick enough? I hurried as fast as I could,” she said, vibrating with anxiety. The idea of disappointing her master was tantamount to cutting off one of her limbs. Gwendolyn had only suffered from the headaches a few times. Her skill as a power stopper didn’t work on Knight, which was typical of skills like that. Gwendolyn couldn’t stop powers like Sebastian’s, since his skill resided in the physical makeup of his body, and she also couldn’t stop clairvoyance, telepathy, or empathy. Her ability worked on skills that were physical, like blocking people with telekinesis, levitation, super speed, pyrokinesis, and teleporting. If it affected the user’s body then she could stop it but if it affected the mind then she was powerless.

  “No, you weren’t quick enough,” Knight said, his hands clasped behind his back. “Toss that in the trash. I don’t want cold food.”

  “But Master, it isn’t—”

  “Throw it away,” Knight said in a quiet voice. Gwendolyn would have expected him to yell one of those words but he didn’t. Still she stepped three feet and deposited the steaming box of rice and vegetables into the trash can. She then turned, head down to her master. Gwendolyn expected to be punished with a headache but instead Knight said, “I actually need you for a job.”

  “Oh, yes, Master. Thank you, Master,” Gwendolyn said, realizing the mind-stabbing pain wasn’t about to riddle her brain.

  “Open the flap of the tent,” he said and from Gwendolyn’s peripheral she noticed Knight pointing at the big top which stood beside them.

  She didn’t question this odd request, only took off at once, pulling one of the two flaps of the entrance back. The big top was dark and empty since they were in between shows. Knight marched through at once and as dutiful as ever, Gwendolyn took the position behind her master. She stayed three paces behind him, her eyes on his long back, watching for the sign that he was about to stop. The young girl didn’t want to run into him since he always stopped so abruptly. The man she’d known all her life, who had bestowed incredible wisdom and discipline on her, whom she’d follow through fire, led her to the curtain at the back of the ring. He didn’t stop abruptly as usual, but rather slowed a degree before halting. She arched a suspecting eyebrow at him but halted in her mark, three feet beside him. They stood staring at the teal blue velvet curtain. She wondered what this job would include. Knight had such an impressive hold on the people of Vagabond Circus that her help hadn’t been as necessary as it was in the beginning. She longed to block someone’s power again, and watch the aftermath like she did when she stopped Padmal’s telekinesis, sending the sharp blade into her foot, pinning her to the ground. Her master always came up with the craftiest ways to use her skill, like when she blocked Jack’s levitation skill, making him fall to what should have been his death.

  “Go and stand by the curtain,” Knight said.

  “Yes, Master,” Gwendolyn said, her stomach giddy with anticipation.

  He was positioning her so she was in place for his next stunt. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was and what insubordinate would suffer for not complying with her master’s every demand. She kept her eyes low once in place, the curtain barely brushing her back.

  “Move two feet to the right, so you are in front of the seam,” Knight ordered, his words not alternating between slow and an urgent rush, like they usually were. He spoke with an even pace. Gwendolyn almost jerked her eyes up to look directly at her master.

  “Don’t you dare look at me. You move into place now or suffer,” Knight said and this time his voice was right, fast at first and then slow. And he, who knew how to study people, knew she was raising her eyes. All paranoia skipped out of her as she sidestepped to the right, directly in front of the curtain’s seam.

  “Good. Now close your eyes and remain completely still. This won’t take long,” Knight said.

  Close my eyes? she wondered, but did as she was told. Her blood drummed in her head as a smile wrapped around her mouth. Gwendolyn could hardly wait to find out who would be punished, and how. She felt the curtain behind her swish softly against her head. Her eyes popped open and Knight stood still in front of her.

  “I said keep your eyes closed. Now you’ll be punished,” he said, in that same way she was used to. Quick then slow words.

  Gwendolyn expected her head to explode with blood vessels threatening to split. Instead there was a different horrible threat. From behind her, hands clapped down on her throat, cutting off her esophagus and therefore her air supply. Her first reaction was to grab the hands. She tried to rip them off her but they were strong. Calloused. Unrelenting. She dropped her knees, hoping to use her body weight to pull the force off her. But the strong arms didn’t give up. This actually made the cinch around her neck worse. Her head felt like it was about to erupt and still she could see the feet of her master in front of her, not caring about the punishment. She’d never looked directly at him, not since she was a baby and had learned not to. Now she raised her eyes, intent on finding a solution to this mystery. From her oxygen-deprived state she could still make out the sharp features of his pale face. Crooked nose. Thin lips. Small dark eyes. And a forehead that stretched up a long way to a pointy bald head. And although he was standing, watching her struggle and die, he was still beautiful.

  Spots popped into her vision. Bright spots. Black spots. So many they took over. Her head was hot with blood. Her heart slowing. And still the hands tightened, and wrung slightly. Gwendolyn pressed her fingernails into the hands but she knew that was doing little damage. She had little left. Her feet were now not under her because she couldn’t hold herself up. The person behind her was strong though. Steady. And held her up by her neck, choking out her air, unaffected by any of her attempts to fight. She hardly even questioned her master but her last thought was, Why? Why are you doing this?

  “I’m sorry, Gwendolyn,” Knight said. And she could barely hear him over the beating in her head. “If there was another way. But we can’t win with you alive.”

  We? she thought and then her eyes slipped shut and her last remaining oxygen reserves depleted, making her heart go out, never to beat again.

  Knight’s form flickered and then disappeared.

  From the side of the curtain Oliver stepped out. He looked at the girl’s limp figure hanging loosely in the hands protruding through the curtain. He flinched from the sight of the dead girl, but didn’t look away. Zuma stepped out beside him but didn’t flinch. Her expression remained stone.

  “It’s done. She’s dead. No more consciousness,” she said, having stolen a link into the girl’s head. It was how she’d been able to make corrections and communicate suspicions Gwendolyn had when interacting with Oliver’s illusion of Knight.

  The hands dropped the girl and she crumpled to the ground. Then the curtain pulled back and Jack looked down at the girl, the one he’d strangled. He didn’t kneel but he did drop his head slightly.

  “I forgive you, Gwendolyn.” And then he stepped around the body and with a confidence Zuma had never witnessed before, he walked forward. He didn’t hesitate. Every step was strong. Deliberate. Full of grace only Jack possessed. One unique to him. He walked until he was just in front of Oliver and her. “It is done. Good work.”

  Zuma slid up next to him. She looked up at her friend. Cupped his face. “You, Jack Fuller, did the right thing. Thank you.”

  He nodded, his head in her hands. The burden of taking a life already lay across his heart. “I know you’re right,” he said.

  She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’m so prou
d of you.”

  He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  And at their back they heard the two crew members picking up the girl’s body. She would be deposited in a respectful manner, but no reports made. She was one of Knight’s kids and they, as far as the government knew, didn’t exist. Zuma hooked her arm through Jack’s and with Oliver in the lead the three walked out of the big top.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  “I thought I might find you here.” Knight’s voice made Sebastian jump to attention. The boy had been leaning against the trailer beside Zuma’s, which was empty because it used to belong to Jasmine and no one wanted a dead girl’s trailer.

  Knight always moved with a silent grace so Sebastian wasn’t surprised that he snuck up on him from behind. What surprised the boy was that Knight was there at all. His master was regimented. He always ate meals at the same time. This was his dinner time, which was why the boy had taken the hour to stalk his favorite prey. Zuma had gotten away but next time Finley wouldn’t save her. Hell, next time Finley would go down with her. He was looking forward to the things he’d do to Zuma when she was dead. He didn’t mind dead bodies. Actually, before his kiss from Padmal, dead bodies were the extent of his knowledge when it came to intimate experiences.