Lilith Saintcrow: Fresh Circus

I stepped toward him. The hostage’s breathing evened out, became deeper. The scar tingled, expectant.

“Jill.” Perry’s tone was a warning.

I’m in a trailer with two hellbreed I’m not killing and a Trader I’m trying to save. Jeez. “Just a second, Pericles.” I eased forward another step, leather-clad shins whispering along the side of the foam mattress.

The rattling in my pocket decreased.

That isn’t right. She’s after the Ringmaster, isn’t she? It’s the only thing that makes sense. I looked back at the hostage, who stirred restlessly and curled up on his side, unconsciously making a lizardlike movement with his head to make the collar’s spikes fold down on one side.

I wondered how long he’d been doing this, to be so easy with the thing.

The thought of what Ikaros might have paid for that might have made me shudder, if I hadn’t been so tired.

“What did he Trade for?” The words fell into a sudden dangerous silence, filling the dark, trash-strewn interior. The jagged edge of sunlight falling over the door wasn’t a beacon of hope—it was a sterile blanket. In the distance, the calliope rollicked on, and I suddenly wanted to find out where the music was coming from and fucking shoot the goddamn thing so I didn’t have to listen to it.

“None of your business,” the Ringmaster finally said, each sibilant laden with menace.

I turned my head, met his pumpkin-hellfire gaze. “You brought trouble to my town. There’s people dead in the streets, and I’ve been attacked.” Besides, this is an old unfinished case, and I’m going to see it carried through. “Any question I care to ask about, any dirty laundry I take an interest in, is my business. What did he Trade for?”

The Ringmaster did his best to stare me down. But Perry shifted slightly, the folding chair creaking, and the thin, crow-haired ’breed actually cowered, perched on the end of the bed like a vulture.

If this keeps up, Perry, I might just even get to like you. Or at least, hate you a very little bit less.

“Henri, this is excessively wearying.” Perry sounded bored, but the Ringmaster flinched again. I took another half-step toward him, and the buzzing rattle in my pocket diminished again.

Another little piece of the puzzle fell into place. Not a big one, but one that stopped me and made me examine the hostage’s face again in the dimness.

“For the same thing every hostage Trades for,” the Ringmaster finally said. “For peace. Forgetting. An end to pain.”

Why do I not believe that for a minute? “He had something he didn’t want to remember?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Even our kind has regrets.” He shifted, and I saw his feet were bare, horny calloused toes gripping like fingers. The muscle under the skin flickered in ways no human meat would move. “Not many, true. But still.”

Regrets from a hellbreed? Jesus. “Yeah, like you regret you didn’t kill someone painfully enough? Whatever.” For the hundredth time, I took a firmer hold on my temper. “What did he trade for?”

“I told you. He traded to forget. And he was valued here among us.”

Valued, yeah. As a way to keep the hunters off your backs, or a way to allay suspicion? As a mascot? Don’t break my heart. I let out a sigh, my cheeks puffing up and the sensation of Perry’s eyes on my leather-clad back like ice against fevered skin. “I’ve got other business to transact. The attacks won’t start again until dark, and I’ll be back before sunset. Perry, you keep watch. And you. ” It was an effort not to jab a finger at the Ringmaster. “Clear out the bigtop. Before it’s dark we’re going to need the hostage in there and people watching the entrances and exits. The rest of your people need to be outside the city limits by the time dusk hits.”

That got a reaction. The hellbreed stiffened, and the scar burned with sudden hurtful awareness. “You’re throwing us out?” He showed his boneridge again, and a sudden certainty boiled up in me. If he mouthed off just one more goddamn time…

Calm down, Jill. Get some perspective. The exhaustion both helped and hindered. I was too tired to go on a homicidal rampage, but the chain on my temper was fraying.

Hard.

“No. I’m catching your killer and finishing this up. You give me any more flak and you’re going to be auditioning a new Ringmaster instead of a new hostage. Get me?”

Hey, they’re not the only ones who can threaten.

“I do not think—”

“Of course you don’t.” Perry’s tone was smooth as silk. “It is not your strength. Our little hunter doesn’t wish to lose whatever advantage she has. She will keep the identity of our killer secret until the last possible moment, to ensure we do not make alliance with him and to ensure this ends the way she wishes. With the Cirque firmly under control and myself, I suspect, neutralized.”

It didn’t sound bad when he said it, but I was kind of irritated that he twigged to it. More irritating was how surprised he sounded, as if he didn’t think me capable of realizing my best chance of wrapping this up and making it so the ’breed didn’t get any funny ideas was controlling the dispersal of information.

“The thing is,” he continued meditatively, “she cannot be sure what I know. And here she is, with her back to me and her throat within reach of your claws. She must be very sure, this canny little wench, of at least one thing—that I want her alive for my own purposes.”

The only thing I’m sure of right at this moment is that I’m not going to murder you just yet. And that I can’t trust you as far as I could throw you with two broken arms. I said nothing, but the sudden drop in my pulse-rate was warning enough. If either of them moved on me now Zamba might just be a loose end to tie up at my leisure, instead of part of a ticking time bomb of an equation. “Don’t flatter yourself, Perry. You’re occasionally useful, but in the end you’re just one thing.”

His laugh was as cold and slow as the sudden chilling of the scar, a chunk of dry ice pressed against my skin, eating its way down. “And what is that?”

“Just another hellspawn.” I swung toward the hole in the side of the trailer. “I’ll be back by dusk. Nothing should pull on the hostage before then.”

They rumbled at each other in töng, metal rubbing painfully against itself in some deserted trainyard. The Ringmaster’s tone went up at the end, an inquisitive ear-flaying squeal, and Perry’s deeper answering rumble swallowed it whole.

I stepped out into the curtain of golden light. The cold around me cracked reluctantly, threads of heat touching my leather-clad shoulders. The cup rattled a few times and was still, a weight in my largest pocket.

Calliope music surged and drifted. The shadows were alive, lean dogshapes twisting and leaping through them. The sun was higher, working through the shell of ice over me. It was going to be another scorcher of a day, and I wasn’t going to get any more rest.

Come on, Jill. You can rest later. Right now, you’ve got to break few traffic laws.

I lengthened my stride. Dust lifted on the morning breeze, and I caught a breath of cotton candy and sickness. The Cirque shimmered, even more frayed and tawdry in daylight, thick electrical cables strung between the tents. The avenues and alleys were deserted, but I could feel eyes on me.

I tried not to feel like I was retreating, and had to remind myself to keep my chin up as I headed for the entrance.

Galina met me at the door, in jeans and a gray T-shirt. “Jill, thank God. I remembered. I can’t understand why I forgot—”

“Voodoo,” I said shortly. Memory is as easy as electronics to subvert. It’s honest paper they have trouble with sometimes. “Where’s Gilberto?”