Smoke, Mirrors and Demons (The Carnival Society Book 1) Page 3

  See, once you got inside, it didn’t take long to realize this was no regular suburban home. Old habits die hard. Sigils marked the doors. I wasn’t even sure what those sigils meant but Ma had drawn them on the walls throughout my childhood. I’d never thought to ask her why.

  Hex bags hung from the curtain rods. I knew what was in those. Herbs I gathered from my garden.

  I had more mundane protections too. An alarm system, the best locks money could buy and security glass. Maybe I was a little paranoid but I’d seen enough of life to know the damage that could be wreaked by both humans and non-humans. You could never be too careful in this life.

  Other than that, I had so little clutter, the place looked clinical.

  I’d been to other people’s houses and secretly I envied the signs of life they surrounded themselves with - family photos, kids’ drawings taped to the fridge, souvenirs from an overseas holiday. The only photo I had was one of Buzz and I together on a vacation. Both of us forcing grins for a stranger who’d insisted on taking the photo. Neither of us were much for photos.

  I’d heard horror stories about other kids’ foster homes but I’d hit pay dirt when I’d gone to live with Buzz. For the first time in my life, the cards had been stacked in my favor. Buzz had given me a focus for all the screwed-up feelings inside me, a step toward redemption. From him, I’d created a road map to survive in this world, to fit in and escape attention.

  I’d not only put my past behind me, I’d boxed it up and sealed it as tightly as I did my home. Not just the weirdo stuff either but all of it. Most memories of my real parents and my early years had faded to the extent that it was like trying to recall the details of a late-night movie you’d watched years ago.

  Until today.

  Returning to that world would pry open that box. Those memories would surge out and overwhelm me. The walls of safety I’d constructed would crumble. My heart pounded but I ignored that pounding. I had a schedule to keep. The schedule was the most important thing.

  Stay inside the bounds of my well-planned life and everything would stay fine.

  I walked through the living area and dumped my bag in the bedroom. My watch beeped. Even without that beeping, I knew it was time to get ready for the gym. If it was Tuesday night then it was boxing class. Just like every other week. Unless I had a work assignment, I never missed a single week.

  I took off my suit and hung it in the closet then put on my shorts and singlet. The gym was five minutes’ walk away and I preferred to change at home.

  Once I’d changed, I grabbed my gym bag and went through the process of locking the house back up.

  At the gym, I handed my card to the attendant.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  I shrugged. She didn’t care about my day and I didn’t want to tell her. Small talk was something I avoided whenever I could.

  The sound of the TV in the reception area got my attention.

  “Madame Esmeralda,” the receptionist said. “I love her.”

  I didn’t. I reached over and grabbed the remote control.

  “Hey, I was watching that,” she said as I changed the channel.

  “TV psychics are bullshit,” I told her. “Don’t let yourself get sucked in.”

  Once I got in the boxing studio, my mood improved. The smell of leather and sweat always made me feel better. It was an honest smell.

  I did a check of the room. There was equipment around the room from the last class. Lazy bastards. I gathered it all up to put back in the store cupboard.

  A pain shot through my hand. I dumped all the gloves and pads on the floor to check it. Something had cut my palm. Weird.

  Luckily I had antiseptic wipes and band aids in my bag. I cleaned up my hand then checked through the equipment to see what had cut it. There was nothing broken or sticking out on any of the gear but one of the pairs of gloves had a few spots of my blood on them. I rubbed at it with one of the wipes but it’d sunk into the leather. I put those gloves aside. No one would want to use boxing gloves with someone’s blood on them and I needed to tell the instructor.

  No one else had turned up yet so I got my boxing wraps out of my bag and wound them around my hands then grabbed a skipping rope and started on the warm up. The cut on my hand had been shallow and didn’t really stop me from working out.

  A few people came into the room. Some of them nodded at me. Their faces were familiar but I didn’t know their names. I kept to myself. Talking led to friendships and friendships led to people wanting to know about your private life. I knew things about them, though. The one with the red hair had just had an operation and the guy with the Nike singlet recently divorced his wife. Every week their stories revealed themselves bit by bit. That’s how people give themselves away.

  A newbie came in. A big, bulky guy. All muscle, no brains by the looks of him. He looked around then picked up the gloves I’d put aside.

  “Hey, you probably don’t want to use them,” I said. “I cut myself earlier and...” I pointed to the spots of blood.

  The guy shook his head. “Wouldn’t be here if a few drops of blood worried me,” he said. He put the gloves on.

  Gross. The blood was only on the outside, not in contact with his skin but still. I didn’t bother pointing out to him that using the gloves without wraps was not a good idea. He could learn the hard way.

  The instructor came in and set up his music.

  “Everyone ready to get started,” he said.

  I put the rope down and got into position with everybody else. Once we’d gone through the warm up, we paired up for some drills. I got the newbie.

  “Go easy on me,” he said with a grin like he thought that wouldn’t be an issue.

  Yeah, I’d go easy on him. As much as I enjoyed the class, I’d never once used my full strength. I didn’t even know what my full strength would be.

  It only took the first round of drills to figure this guy was no fighter. He looked strong but they were air muscles. I’d be able to take him on in a fight without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t just lack of technique, it was a lack of fight sense. He had no instincts.

  I grabbed my water bottle.

  “Nice ass,” he said as I bent down.

  I stood up straight. He did not just say that? The look I gave him should’ve withered his balls but he didn’t look away. Jerk.

  During the second round, I mess with him a bit. He aimed every punch at my pads but I swerved to the side, throwing him off balance. He stumbled then huffed at me. Every single time he fell for it. Maybe it was stupid to provoke him like that but I hated the smarmy looks he kept giving me.

  When we finished the set and I handed him the pads. He was going to try the same thing on me, that much was certain, but he was way too transparent.

  The guy tried the swerve thing but I was one step ahead of him. I moved as he moved and every one of my punches landed square on his pad.

  He huffed again. I shrugged. The guy had a problem. Whatever.

  My next punch was a little harder but I only half focused on what he was doing. The rest of my mind was on this damn audition. I’d been a damn fool, showing off like that and now I had the conversation with Larry to look forward to.

  Suddenly, a memory from my childhood rushed back to me. Clear and vivid.

  At five years old, one of the older performers had put me on the tight rope for the first time. It probably wasn’t that high but to me it’d seemed like miles above the ground. My whole body shook. I looked at that damn rope stretching impossibly before me then down at the ground. Even at that age, I knew backing down wasn’t an option. The only way to do this was to walk across that rope. Even if I fell. Even if I died. The only failure was backing down.

  My body trembled as I put my foot forward, making contact with the rope, getting used to the unfamiliar feel and the change in my balance. All the oxygen seemed to leave my body as I moved my back foot. No more solid ground under me.

  Those sensations flooded my b
ody again now. The fear, the sickness settling in the pit of my stomach, the need to prove myself and not be a crybaby, to never be a crybaby.

  The man’s yelp bought me back to the real world. He glared at me and suddenly the instructor was beside me, telling me not to punch so hard. Maybe he should’ve told my partner not to be such a little girl instead. It’d just been a couple of punches.

  “You told me not to go easy on you,” I said with a shrug.

  “When I said that, I thought you were a girl, not a... what are you?”

  That was a good question. The acrobats, Felice and Mitch, had asked the same thing when I’d walked across that tightrope. I did what I thought they’d expected but no one got it right first try, they said. They’d put me on there, expecting me to fail.

  “A cop,” I told the man as he pulled the pads off.

  He handed the pads to the instructor.

  “No need to leave,” the instructor said. “We can pair you with someone else.”

  The man shook his head. “I think she strained my wrist.” Then he glared at me. “Freak,” he said under his breath.

  “Weakling,” I replied before I could stop myself.

  As the guy walked out of the class, I noticed something weird.

  “Hey, that guy stole the gloves,” I called out to the instructor.

  The instructor rolled his eyes. “I guess if someone wants to souvenir a pair of smelly old boxing gloves, it’s no big deal.”

  Except it was stealing — and wrong. That made it a big deal.

  Chapter 5

  THE DAY STARTED OUT like any other day. Bumper to bumper traffic driving into headquarters, same old crap on the radio. People in the cars around me put on makeup or ate breakfast. I wondered about their time management skills. It’s not that difficult to get up a little earlier but, hey, if they wanted their eyeliner crooked or egg stains on their shirts, that’s their problem.

  I held up my ID when I got to the car park at headquarters. The guy in the booth didn’t even look at it. He just raised the boom gate.

  I’d mentioned this to the car park manager several times. This is a federal law enforcement building. Security needed to check IDs. They could hardly be called security if they didn’t even do that. Otherwise any bozo with a fake ID could come in off the street and tamper with police vehicles.

  But every time I mentioned it, the manager rolled his eyes and told me he’d been doing this job for twenty years and he knew what he was doing. He might think that now but he’d be sorry when shit went down.

  Even with the traffic issues, I got into the office before anyone else. I glanced at George’s desk next to mine. Even though we had a clean desk policy, George’s desk overflowed with empty coffee cups and scrunched up donut bags. He had sticky notes with random scribblings stuck everywhere and case files sitting open for anyone to read - totally against regulations - in amongst the mess.

  My hands twitched to tidy that mess. Maybe just throw the trash in the bin, that’s all.

  Nope.

  I turned in my chair to face my screen. I’d pretend that mess didn’t exist.

  Surely throwing out some trash wouldn’t hurt. But I could hear George’s voice in my head. That whine, almost on the verge of tears, the last time I threw his stuff in the trash. Just because I’d accidentally thrown out his fantasy football notes. And no sane person would’ve thought keeping that donut to eat later was a good idea. Of course I’d thrown it out. It was almost going moldy and attracting flies.

  George had bitched and moaned until I bought him a fresh one to replace it.

  “It was still good...” was all George could say. It hadn’t been “still good” for at least a week.

  Even now, a year later, George still bitched about that donut.

  Our boss Larry had said just to leave George’s mess alone. Even as I tried to control myself, my hand inched toward that scrunched up paper bag on his desk. It almost touched my desk. That gave me jurisdiction. I’d just throw that away. Just that.

  After all, a clean desk is a clean mind and if you don’t follow the rules, all anarchy breaks loose. I kept telling George that but he never listened. You can’t control the streets if you can’t even control your desk.

  I should make a sign with that on it.

  I turned on my computer then headed to the kitchen to make a drink. That way I could ignore George’s desk. I shook my head when I saw the dirty coffee cup in the sink. People just ignored the signs I’d put up. It said very clearly, “Please wash up your dishes. Dirty dishes invite vermin.” in Arial bold 64pt font. Still, people kept loading the sink up with dirty dishes.

  I washed the cup out and put it back in the cupboard.

  When I got back to my desk, a couple of the other officers had arrived. Akira wished me a good morning and his gaze lingered a little too long. I turned away. Those lingering gazes needed to be nipped in the bud. I had nothing against Akira. Tall with shiny, black hair, a lovely smile and sparkling eyes. He had a tidy desk and often took my side in meetings when I raised issues. Still, workplace relationships never ended well.

  I sat back down at my desk and began reading through case files and taking notes. I’d only just started when Larry came in. I didn’t look up. I didn’t wish him a good morning. If I’d seen him approach, I’d have run to the bathroom. This was a discussion I didn’t want to have.

  “Jayne, get in my office,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 6

  I CONTROLLED THE TREMBLE in my hands but the hairs on the base of my neck stood on end. This didn’t bode well.

  “You passed the audition. Congratulations,” he said.

  I could’ve lied except, I couldn’t. Lies don’t work for me. One more reason why I should never go undercover.

  “Just like I thought, Larry, this case isn’t for me.”

  Larry raised his eyebrow and didn’t reply.

  “I mean it,” I told him.

  “Not comfortable with the circus acts?” Larry asked.

  I nodded but that wasn’t the problem at all. I was way too comfortable. Those skills had come back to me so readily, like they’d been lying in wait for a chance to pounce. And that almost-vision. That hadn’t happened to me in a few years. It’d be just the beginning too. I’d only had to get on the hoop for it to start. Then memories returning to me in my boxing class. All from one lousy audition.

  I looked him straight in the eye and shook my head to reinforce my point. No matter how my insides felt, I couldn’t let him think I had any fear about this.

  Larry leaned back in his chair as the noises of the office outside buzzed around us. The rest of the team had arrived at work. Phones rang, a tinny radio played in the distance and a couple of officers argued about this weekend’s football game. The usual.

  “You have over twenty officers you could assign to this case,” I said.

  He nodded. “Not with these requirements, sweetie.”

  I’d told Larry a million times not to call me sweetie. His use of the word came close to transgressing sexual harassment guidelines. Still every talk with him played out that way.

  “You passed the audition,” he said again. “We’ve been waiting a long time to get someone in there. These guys are connected to the murders. I just know it. But knowing in your bones doesn’t hold up in court.”

  I glanced down at my hands.

  “We don’t have anyone else,” Larry said. “If you refuse, they’ll hand this case to another team.”

  He didn’t have to say any more. Having a case handed off because we were unable to do it just didn’t happen around here. It looked bad, bad for the entire team. The disappointment showed clearly on his face.

  “I could force you, sweetie.”

  I knew he wouldn’t. My stomach knotted but I couldn’t agree to this just to win Larry’s approval or even the approval of the team. The things that happened at the audition scared the bejesus out of me.

  I sat the file back on his desk an
d smiled. “I’m sure when you think about it, you’ll realize I’m not the best person for this case.”

  “You’re saying you’re not the best person?” Larry’s voice had that edge, that friendly tone that meant anything but. The friendlier Larry got, the deeper you’d fallen into the shit.

  “I’m saying I’m not the most appropriate person for the job,” I replied.

  He snorted. “You got through that audition. Akira won a hundred bucks off that. He’s the only one who believed in you. You don’t get more appropriate than that.”

  I stared at the clutter on his desk, searching for a way out of this. Something that would give away nothing about my past or my real reasons. There had to be a loophole.

  I knew the rules. There were only a few reasons that an officer could refuse a case. Personal involvement was one of them. That wasn’t a reason I could use here. Even if told Larry my entire history, the tenuous links wouldn’t be strong enough. Not for him anyway. For me, those links were way too strong. The circus world was a small one and carnie folk have long memories.

  The only other valid excuse was health reasons.

  “He threw knives at me,” I said. “Sharp knives. And I’m not sure he’s that good at it.”

  Larry harrumphed. “You’ve been through worse.”

  I had been but I wasn’t about to tell Larry that. I’d been through worse and it’d all been because of circuses.

  “It’s not something I can take on.” That was all the explanation I could give.

  Larry shook his head. “He said close of business today. You might change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I know there’s more to this than you’re letting on, sweetie. You don’t want to discuss your personal life so I’m not going to pry but you don’t get to do this more than once. It looks bad on your record and it looks bad for the team. You know how many of these guys have refused a case?”

  He waved his hand at the windows that looked out over the office. I didn’t need to turn around to see them. Half the team were out working but I could hear Akira’s laugh from here. That was a question I wasn’t meant to answer. This team didn’t refuse jobs.