“Yeah,” I say, looking around, trying to find my quarry. Everything here seems dusty and antiquated, from the hand-painted signs proclaiming the bearded lady (classic), bat boy, and serpent fingers, to the makeshift tents and pavilions set up for the shows. I don’t see Mab or the blond guy anywhere.
“Looking for something in particular?” he asks, the hint of a joke on his lips. “I hear the fire eater’s quite hot this time around.”
“Mab,” I say, ignoring the horrible pun. His face becomes serious in an instant.
Roman clears his throat. He doesn’t ask me why I want to know, doesn’t ask if I’m getting into trouble. We stare at each other for a moment and it’s clear he already knows something’s up, and he’s not interested in getting involved. Mab doesn’t come into the freak show; whatever’s going on is serious.
“She went that way,” he says, pointing to the side.
I glance around. The tents back here are chaotic, all jammed together with no real rhyme or reason. Small alleys appear between a few tents, leading off in more directions and more shows. Hiding somewhere behind them is Mab and the man, and my time to find them is running out fast.
“Any idea which one?”
He shakes his head. “Went down Alligator Alley. You’ll have to look.”
Across the circular pitch from Roman stands a tank as wide as I am tall, and twice my height. In its depths, waving slowly with a grin on her face, is Penelope. Her red hair floats around her in a halo, her pale skin looking even paler in the clear water. She’s wearing a bra made of sequined seashells, and from the navel down, her body is that of a fish, with opalescent blue scales and a beautiful fin as diaphanous as a betta's. She smiles at me, a tiny trail of bubbles escaping her lips, and I wave back, trying not to look as rushed as I feel. To the right of her giant aquarium is a space between a couple tents. A wooden sign strung above it reads
“Thanks,” I say.
“Be careful,” he says in return, not looking at me. I nod and head into the crowd.
The air back here is stifling. It smells of sawdust and horses, kerosene and sweat. I cram down the tight passage next to a couple others and squeeze my way forward. I can’t see Mab or the blond guy over the heads of everyone, and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t just be standing out in the open. They’re hiding.
I come to an opening in the tent on my left. I glance up.
The moment I enter the tent, I feel like I’ve stepped into the Amazon. Stunted trees arch under the tent’s canopy, and long strands of moss droop down like broken wings. All I can see is the winding path in front of me. The floor is dirt and the air is thick and moisture immediately starts dripping down my forehead. There isn’t much of a crowd in here, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why; every surface is covered in spiders. Big Brown fuzzy creatures the size of my thumbnail or larger than a plate roam freely over the tent. They dangle from webs in the ceiling, crawl over the moss. A few scurry across the path in front of me.
I shiver in spite of myself. I’ve never been afraid of spiders, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy the idea of a large one dropping down the back of my neck.
I creep through the undergrowth, careful not to step on any of the spiders making their oblivious way underfoot. The only sound in the tent is the hum of cicadas and the occasional disturbing crunching noise; I can’t hear the music from outside or the voices of the audience. I feel completely alone. I walk a few steps deeper and turn a corner. The trees close in, reaching out with their leg-like branches. Cobwebs stretch from floor to ceiling.
Something slides across my neck and I jump, my hand immediately swatting at it.
A woman stands behind me. Her hair is long and braided, her skin deep brown. She’s wearing leopard skin and leather. Her feet are bare. There’s a tarantula the size of my fist on her shoulder and another creeping through her hair. Tiny spiders crawl up and down her legs.
“Vivienne,” she says, flashing a razor-toothed smile. Her eyes glint gold and black.
I take a deep, steadying breath and thank the gods I didn’t scream.
“Taran…tina?” I say.
She laughs, though her voice deepens. Her face changes.
“
He chuckles. It’s just Heath’s face — stubble and all — that’s similar. The rest is definitely feminine. He gestures to his body with the hand not holding the spider.
“Convincing, eh?” he says. “Janet usually does this gig, but she’s on security instead.”
“Security?”
Heath’s smile slips. He doesn’t answer.
“Oh, right.” I pause. “Has Mab come through here?”
“Hell no,” he says. “You’re my only visitor so far. Well, a couple kids came through but they ran off when they met Honey.” He holds up the tarantula.
“Okay, thanks,” I say, turning around.
“You’re not looking for trouble, are you?” he asks, his voice sliding back into cool feminine tones.
“Never,” I say, and head toward the exit.
“Good,” he/she says. “Because I’ve got a feeling trouble won’t have any problem finding you.”
The alley is a little less crowded now. I can hear the music from the big top and know they’ve probably already called out that the second half is about to start. Everyone is heading toward the chapiteau. I stand on tiptoes, trying to peer over the crowd, and see a shock of pale white hair near the end of the path. I don’t wait. I push into the crowd and make my way toward the end of the lane.
When I get there, the man is nowhere to be seen. The crowd has thinned out and I’m standing alone in a small cul-de-sac. I turn around. I would have seen him leave, and Mab wouldn’t have allowed magic with punters around. That’s when I notice the small space hiding between the tents. A backstage exit.
I step toward it and then stop. If Mab catches me sneaking out through there, she’ll know I was following her. I might as well sign my own death warrant. I need to be crafty. Inconspicuous. I glance at the tent next to the alley.
I duck under the tent flap and enter a room filled with dim light and the scent of hay and oil smoke. The sounds of a viola are coming from a man in the corner, and it’s like I’ve been transported back a few dozen years to the heyday of sideshows. The inner tent walls glow orange in the lantern light and there, on a wooden platform, is a Shifter girl. Her hair is pink and done up in six-inch spikes, and the only thing she’s wearing is a black dog collar around her neck. Every square inch of her naked flesh — from neck to nipples to heels — is pierced. Rings, studs, even what look like nails and acupuncture needles, all sparkle in the lamplight as she weaves a small, slow dance on the platform. The tent contains mostly speechless men, all watching her undulate like a slow-motion belly dancer. She catches my eye as I walk in and winks, then goes back to entrancing the crowd. The black cauldron at her feet is already brimming with bills and coins.
I take advantage of the crowd’s fixation and sneak to the edge of the tent, where the canvas overlaps, and crouch down. I peer out through the tiniest of cracks. Hidden from the crowds, Mab and the blond guy stand beside a few crates. They’re talking, but I can’t make anything out over the music. I don’t want Mab to see me, but I’ve already come this far. And besides, I now feel like if someone’s fucking with the circus, they’re fucking with me. I take my chances and give the occupants of the tent one more glance to make sure no one’s looking, then slip out into the night.
I stay low, crouching behind boxes and sticking to the shadows. Mab and the man are talking near one of the parked company semis. I crawl closer, praying that she’s too fixated on the man to notice me slinking around. I weave behind the semi and crawl underneath, until I’m only a few feet away from their legs. I nearly yelp as something brushes past me, but a quick glance shows it’s only Lilith’s cat, Poe. Which means… I look to my other side and sure enough, there she is, hiding next to one of the wheels like a solid shadow. If she sees me, she doesn’t make any motion to show it. I try not to sneeze as the scent of brimstone fills my nostrils.
“…direct violation for you to be here, you know this,” Mab says. I inch closer and peer up, trying to see her
