Flesh Circus (34 page)

I
t was a relief to take the heavy weight of ammo off. I stowed the grenades carefully, tossed the black canvas bag into the
trunk, and slammed it to find Perry leaning against my car, his pale hair and linen suit immaculate. The night was young,
and as I stood there watching him, the first few shufflers arrived. A quick flicker of movement was a new Trader in the admissions
booth—a round little dumpling of a male in a bowler hat and pencil moustache. His eyes glittered as a tall heavyset man in
jeans and a stained
Friends Don’t Let Friends Vote Democrat
T-shirt eased up to the booth and handed over a snub-nosed .38. The man’s mouth worked wetly, his hair was uncombed, and
he looked like a dreamer caught in a nightmare.

The Trader stamped his hand and motioned him past. The man stumbled through the turnstile, his hands plucking at the hem of
his shirt. The big stain on the front, right over his belly, was very dark against his white fingers.

“Nothing ever really changes, you know.” Perry’s grin was wide and stainless, his bland blond mask firmly in place.

“You knew.” I meant to sound accusing. I only managed “tired.” I pulled the key out of the trunk’s keyhole and clenched it
in one nerveless fist. The scar had gone quiescent, humming slightly as etheric force pooled in it and spooled through my
body, encouraging and compressing the natural processes of healing.

I was going to be hungry, to fuel the healing. In a little while.

Perry shrugged. “Not the specifics. But this is how the Cirque gains its new hostage.” His face lengthened into mock-concern,
and his eyes burned blue. “You didn’t know?”

God, just go away. I’m tired.
I lifted my chin slightly, drying blood crusting on my face. Thunder rumbled in the distance again, a sweet cool wind touching
my hair. Silver jangled, and my scalp crawled. “I’m done here, Perry. Get off my car.”

He didn’t move. “Where is your cat? Have you lost your taste for bestiality at last? Though that was a lovely touch, with
the chickens.”

That wasn’t me, Perry. That was a
loa,
and it was payment.
“Leave Saul out of this.” God, I was so heavy. It was an effort to focus on him, to force my weary body past another iron
barrier of exhaustion. My eyes were crusty and hot, and adrenaline was fast losing its usefulness as a spur.

Too bad, Jill. Deal.

“He’s been looking weary lately, my dear. And you look weary too.” A pause, and then the silken trap. “I saved your life.
You owe me.”

So that’s your game.
I made a small beeping noise. “Nope, no deal. You helped out because you didn’t want the Cirque loosening your grip on the
city. I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

His grin widened, became sharklike. The essential inhumanity under his shell gaped and yawned. “You belong to me, hunter.
It’s only a matter of time.”

It was a relief to find out he was lying. No matter how many times I feel that relief, it’s always profound. “I’ll tell you
again: hold your breath until I call. Fuck off, Perry. I’m going home.”

“You owe me,” he insisted.

“I don’t owe you jackshit.” My fingers rested on a gun butt. If he attacked me now, I would probably lose—and lose badly.
I was just too fucking tired.

But I would still inflict a lot of damage before I went down. And here outside the barriers of the Cirque he couldn’t count
on their help—
or
on them not running riot once I was out of the picture. It was the same basic situation, me playing them off against each
other again.

It was necessary. But it still made me feel dirty, in the worst way. Like I might never get clean again.

The indigo threading through the whites of his blue-glowing eyes retreated a little. “Such a righteous soul you have, Kiss.
I only ask an inch of it.”

That’s more than enough room to damn someone.
“Not this time, Perry. Go home and suck eggs.”

He bared his teeth, a swift snarl. I cleared leather and had both guns on him, back leg braced, arms straight. The scar woke,
a blinding jolt of pain pouring salt on every recent injury. We faced each other, and the only sound was the shuffling of
the doomed circling before they slid through the ramheaded turnstile into the Cirque’s poisonous glow. With a
click, click, click.

That and the calliope, singing softly. A well-satisfied, cheery little song threading just under the subliminal noise of my
pulse. My coat flapped slightly, and the thunder drew closer. It smelled like rain.

Even the rain isn’t enough to wash this off.
I didn’t blink. I barely even breathed. The world narrowed to Perry and me, facing each other over a chasm the width of a
hair.

He bared his teeth again, another snarl. This one poured through the subaudible register, I could barely hear it even with
the scar amping my senses into the superhuman. My pulse slowed, skin chilling under its mask of drying blood, sweat, spatters
of rum and other fluids I didn’t remember getting splashed with.

“Someday,” he said, finally. “Some fine day, Kiss.”

Maybe. But not tonight.
“Not tonight, Perry. Get out of my sight.”

He moved. I threw myself back and down, but he just went
over
me with the spooky stuttering speed of the damned. Hit the ground, and heard the fast light patter of his footsteps retreating
toward the meatpacking district and the Monde Nuit. A chilling little laugh, fraying in the distance, and the calliope sighed.

I pushed myself wearily to my feet. Didn’t look at the shuffling victims in front of the Cirque.
Not one more fucking thing tonight, please. Not one. Okay, God?

There was no answer. There never is.

I got into my car, and got the hell out of there.

I
sat in the car for a while. My garage is narrow, but well-equipped. I considered putting the seat back and sleeping right
there. I itched all over and would feel crusty in the morning, as well as dirty inside and out. And I’m accustomed to the
weight of my weaponry, but sleeping in my guns was a bad idea.

Still, the thought had merit. Especially when I thought of the empty house, and—

The door to the house opened. I blinked as a slice of warm electric light fell across the car. The figure in the door was
tall, broad-shouldered, and his shorn hair was starred with silver. He stepped down into the garage and came to the driver’s
side, opened the door.

I shut my eyes. Tears rose.

Finally, he crouched down. His fingers touched my hair, brushed my cheek. He rubbed a little, dried blood crackling under
sensitive fingertips.

“Jesus,” Saul said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—”

“Jill.” Kindly, quietly, calmly. “Shut up.”

I did.

His fingers circled my wrist, pulled gently. It was work getting out of the car, but he helped pull me upright. The door slammed,
and he folded me in his arms. The sound of his pulse was a balm and blessing.

Are you staying?
I couldn’t make myself say it.
Don’t leave me. Dear God, please, don’t leave me.

“I just want you to do one thing,” he said into my filthy hair. I almost cringed.

Anything. Just stay with me.
I stilled, waited.

“Just nod or shake your head. That’s all. Now listen, Jill. Do you still need me? Do you want me around?”

“I—” How could he even ask me that? Didn’t he
know?
Or was he saying that he felt
obligated?

“Just nod or shake your head. I just want to know if you need me.”

It took all I had to let my chin dip, come back up in the approximation of a nod.

“Do you still want me?” God help me, did Saul sound
tentative?

It was too much. “Jesus Christ.” The words exploded out of me. “Yes, Saul.
Yes.
Do you want me to beg? I will, if you—”

“Jill.” He interrupted me, something he barely ever did. “I want you to shut up.”

I shut up. For a few moments he just simply held me, and the clean male smell of him was enough to break down every last barrier.
I tried to keep the sobs quiet, but they shook me too hard. The breeze off the desert rattled my garage door, and the last
fading roll of thunder retreated.

He stroked my hair, held me, traced little patterns on my back. Cupped my nape, and purred his rumbling purr. When the sobs
retreated a little, he tugged on me, and we made it to the door to the hall, moving in a weird double-stepping dance. He was
so graceful, and I was too clumsy.

He lifted me up the step, got me into the hall, heeled the door closed. My coat flapped. My boots were heavy, the heels clicking
against concrete. I probably needed to be hosed off.

I had to know. I dug in, brought him to a halt, but couldn’t raise my eyes from his chest. “A-are you s-s-still—” I couldn’t
get the words out. I was shaking too hard.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he informed me. “I’m staying, Jill. As long as you’ll have me. I can’t believe you think I’d leave
you.”

That did it. I broke down completely then, and as he half-carried me down the hall I cried. I couldn’t tell if I was crying
for myself or for Arthur Gregory, or for the whole goddamn world.

Tomorrow night I would have to get up and do this all over again. Make sure the Cirque left town and find out what new mischief
was brewing under the night skies. It never ended, this job.

It never would. And now I owed a
loa
a bullet, I had an apprentice to train, and Perry was looking to be trouble again. How long could I keep up mortgaging bits
of myself?

As long as you can, Jill. As long as God lets you.

But for right now, Saul held me. My legs failed me and I went down in a heap. He went down with me, and he held me just inside
the door to the living room. The first spatters of rain rang hard on the warehouse roof. I cried without restraint, and he
held me.

We all Trade for something.

And God help me, it was enough. He was enough.

I just hoped I would always be enough for him.

Arkeus:
A roaming corruptor escaped from Hell.

Banefire:
A cleansing sorcerous flame.

Black Mist:
A roaming psychic contagion; a symbiotic parasite inhabiting the host’s nervous system and bloodstream.

Chutsharak:
Chaldean obscenity, loosely translated as “oh,
fuck.
”

Demon:
Term loosely used to designate any nonhuman predator with sorcerous ability or a connection to Hell.

Exorcism:
Tearing loose a psychic parasite from its host.

Hellbreed:
Blanket term for a wide array of demons, half-demons, or other species escaped or sent from Hell.

Hellfire:
The spectrum of sorcerous flame employed by hellbreed for a variety of uses.

Hunter:
A trained human who keeps the balance between the nightside and regular humans; extrahuman law enforcement.

Imdarák:
Shadowy former race who drove the Elder Gods from the physical plane, also called the Lords of the Trees.

Martindale Squad:
The FBI division responsible for tracking nightside crime across state lines and at the federal level, mostly staffed with
hunters and Weres.

Middle Way:
Worshippers of Chaos, Middle Way adepts are usually sociopathic and sorcerous loners. Occasionally covens of Middle Way adepts
will come together to control a territory or for a specific purpose.

OtherSight:
Second sight, the ability to see sorcerous energy. Can also mean precognition.

Possessor:
An insubstantial, low-class demon specializing in occupying and controlling humans; the prime reason for exorcists.

Scurf:
Also called
nosferatim,
a semi-psychic viral infection responsible for legends of blood-hungry corpses, vampires, or nosferatu. Also, someone infected
by the scurf virus.

Sorrow:
A worshipper of the Chaldean Elder Gods.

Sorrows House:
A House inhabited by Sorrows, with a vault for invocation or evocation of Elder Gods.

Sorrows Mother:
A high-ranking female of a Sorrows House.

Talyn:
A hellbreed, higher in rank than an
arkeus
or Possessor, usually insubstantial due to the nature of the physical world.

Trader:
A human who makes a “deal” with a hellbreed, usually for worldly gain or power.

Utt’huruk:
A bird-headed demon.

Were:
Blanket term for several species who shapeshift into animal (for example, cougar, wolf, or spider) or half-animal (wererat
or
khentauri
) form.