House of Mirrors (11 page)

“Will we get paid more?” Claudia asked.

Rafe chuckled. “My blooming rose, always cutting to the thorny heart of the matter.”

“How much?” she pressed. “I may be country, but I ain’t dumb.”

“Let’s set up the show first and see how it goes.”

Jonah couldn’t imagine how they could put together yet another attraction when almost everyone in the carnival was already working two or three jobs. When Jonah wasn’t calling for the freak show, he often ran the pony ride for Jamie. After doing their tricks in the ring, even the miniature ponies had more work to do, plodding in a circle with squealing children on their backs. It was Jonah’s duty to put the little ones on and off and make certain no one fell.

“Talbot.” Rafe’s voice snapped him back to the moment. “You’re theatrically inclined. You put something together.”

“Me, sir? I’ve never read Poe.” Such lurid, gothic stories had been taboo.

“You can borrow my book,” Claudia said. “You’ll love the stories. So dark and creepy, they give me chills.”

Rafe clapped his hands together. “There you go. Your niche discovered, Talbot. You can develop your dramatic flare while earning your keep. I suppose it’s time I started paying you with more than food and a bedroll. Now it’s time to open the gates, lads and lasses. Let’s go.”

Rafe stalked away with a dramatic swirl of his cape. His showman’s outfit made him a larger-than-life, romantic figure, someone for women to swoon over and men to imagine themselves being. Even in the late June heat, his appearance remained cool and intriguing. No one, especially Jonah, could take their eyes off him when he walked by.

Another carnival day began with first a trickle and later a stream of customers through the gates. Jonah began the day calling for the freak show, but customers weren’t too interested in what he was promoting. After a bit, he traded off with Jones, one of the rousties, and took a turn at the House of Mirrors. For some reason that was an easy sell, attracting customers like bees to pollen. Maybe it was the idea of entering another world and perhaps seeing one’s future in the mirrors. Jonah did his best to infuse his spiel with as much magic and mystery as Rafe had on the first night he’d seen him. He almost began to believe himself when he told about the amazing world within the wagon.

After a desultory flow of traffic early in the day, the carnival came to life in late evening, when lanterns created more illusion of a magical place. Jonah’s voice was hoarse and his throat sore when Jack Treanor finally came to spell him.

“Go see Parinsky,” the clown ordered as he commandeered Jonah’s money apron. The pouch was heavy with coins from the day’s collection, and Jonah didn’t like surrendering the belt to Treanor. He didn’t trust the man, who was quick with a joke and a laugh but had cold, calculating eyes.

Jonah located Parinsky near the hoochie-coochie tent, only to learn he was being demoted to janitor. “Kid puked by the lion’s cage. Go clean it up.”

Swallowing his irritation, Jonah went to find a bucket and shovel. It was a task any of the rousties could’ve performed. He wondered if Parinsky had chosen him because the doctor didn’t like the newcomer’s suddenly elevated position. The odor of Sir Lancelot’s rank, feline piss had Jonah’s eyes watering as he scooped dirt and vomit into the pail.

The cat stared at him with golden eyes, opened his mouth, and yawned, exhibiting his few remaining teeth. Lancelot’s breath rumbled in his chest—either a purr or asthma.

Jonah saluted the beast. “You get bored in there, big fella? I bet you’d love to get out and run around once in a while. Not much of a life, stuck in a cage, is it? I know exactly what you’re feeling, but I was lucky enough to get away.”

He retreated from the tent, gasping. After taking care of the bucket, he meandered down the midway, listening to the calls of barkers and the excited chatter of people enjoying rare entertainment. This carnival might not be top-notch, but it was a breath of fresh air to hardworking people whose lives were caught between weekday drudge and Sunday prayer meetings.

By the time Jonah stopped by the chuck wagon and finished eating a bowl of stew, Rafe had blown the last call. The customers drifted away, leaving litter and quiet in their wake.

Jonah caught a glimpse of Rafe’s tall, gaunt figure walking briskly from one tent to another far down the row, and his tiredness evaporated. There were much better ways to relax than going to sleep. Since that night—two weeks ago now—when he and Rafe had gotten together by the horse paddock, things had changed. When they grasped their precious minutes each day, neither pretended it would be the last time. Without discussing the change, both understood their meetings would continue.

Jonah had stopped questioning whether Rafe cared for him at all. He only knew that he must have a taste of the man every single day—usually after the carnival folk had bedded down for the night. It would’ve been easiest to meet in Rafe’s wagon and use his bed, but he never invited Jonah there. Instead they met as if by accident in some secluded spot on the grounds or in the woods or fields beyond.

They’d embraced and kissed in a farmer’s haystack and desperately rubbed each other’s cocks behind the main tent while suppressing their groans. They’d grappled on the damp ground amid tall weeds. Once, Rafe had pinned Jonah against the wooden side of the enclosure next to Lance’s wagon and kissed him until he couldn’t think. Jonah had listened to the big cat shifting restlessly and growling at the intrusion on his solitude.

Each encounter was different and new, sometimes fierce and hungry, other times just kisses and conversation. Jonah never knew what to expect and enjoyed the mystery, but he was getting impatient to move beyond stroking or sucking. He craved the pressure of Rafe’s cock piercing him and imagined the pleasure of burying himself deep inside the other man. He wanted the next level of connection.

Still, there was no hurry. For now, he would take what Rafe was willing to give and be grateful for it. A furtive coming together. A little light talk. Better than to be without the man he’d come to need like oxygen. That was what he told himself, at least, but it was growing increasingly difficult for Jonah to be satisfied with the physical aspect only. The truth was, he wanted to know Rafe’s mind and see inside him.

Jonah helped the cook empty the grease trap and batten down the cook wagon for the night, then went to make certain the House of Mirrors was secure. Once again he saw Rafe from a distance, and the already familiar wave of warmth swept through him. Anticipation quickened his steps.The ringmaster was locking the wagon, but when he caught sight of Jonah, he opened the door and went inside, leaving the door ajar.

Jonah scanned the empty grounds, noting others going about their business, closing booths, meeting with friends, or smoking end-of-the-day cigarettes. By the time he entered the wagon and locked the door securely behind him, Rafe had lit a lantern. The light shone in the sheets of glass angled to reflect one another, bouncing back and forth, magnifying, filling the small chamber with eerie light. Rafe’s slender figure was repeated in the distorted mirrors. And Jonah saw his own pale face reflected a dozen times over. The kaleidoscopic effect was dizzying. Jonah could only imagine how impressive it would be with better-quality mirrors and more of them.

Without a word, Rafe grabbed Jonah and pulled him up against his hard body. Fevered kisses and grasping hands knocked all other thoughts from Jonah’s head. For the moments they were together, he became a creature of instinct, driven by desire and emotion. Guilt, sin, consequences, future were not concepts that applied when Rafe dug his hands into his backside or ground his erection against Jonah’s.

When Rafe at last surrendered his lips and let him breathe, Jonah gasped for breath. “Good night at the gate?”

Rafe shrugged, and Jonah felt the movement beneath his hands. “About what you’d expect in hill country. Can’t squeeze blood from a turnip. Most of these folk swarm around and look but don’t pay for the sideshows. Maybe we can lower the prices a penny while we’re down here in the mountains.”

Rafe let him go then, turning to gaze into one of the mirrors at his reflection. “Did you think about your show?”

“I didn’t know if you were serious,” Jonah replied. “Do you really want me to put something together?”

Truthfully, ideas had bombarded him all day. It was a project that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. Even in his father’s church, where anything resembling the theater was considered devil’s entertainment, tableaux of Bible scenes with narration had been allowed during the fall festival. Helming the presentation had been the height of Jonah’s year.

“I’m always serious where business is concerned.” Rafe played nonchalant well. “Besides, I thought you would enjoy the challenge. Shakespeare it won’t be, but still, a chance for you to create something.”

Jonah accepted the gift in the spirit it was given. Casual though the gesture seemed, it told Jonah that Rafe had been paying attention to him. “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”

Silence fell. There were always these moments of awkwardness between them, when they were torn between physical desire and the need to carry on some kind of conversation. There were still so many things Jonah wanted to ask about Rafe and his mysterious past, but he feared making the man close up like a trap from one ill-considered touch.

Jonah moved in behind Rafe and reached around to unfasten the cape he still wore. He let it drop to the floor and smoothed his palms over the vest beneath before beginning to unfasten buttons. Too many layers—vest, shirt, undershirt—kept him from the warm skin he was eager to feel.

“Have you seen the British man with the cowboy hat again?” he prodded.

Rafe tensed beneath his hands, tightness coiling in his muscles, and Jonah sought to soothe it by stroking his cock through his trousers.

“He delivered his message.”

“But you’re not going to tell me what that was.”

“No. I’m not.” Rafe covered Jonah’s hand with his own, moving it to a better position on the bulge in his trousers. “Just because we do this doesn’t mean we share confidences.”

Jonah wanted to walk away at those words, but the heat had risen too high in him, and his flash of anger slid into aggression. Very well, he wanted all he could get—he’d take it. He let go of Rafe’s cock, unfastened his trousers, and delved a hand inside, skin sliding over skin. Rafe groaned and leaned back against him as Jonah cradled his thick shaft.

Jonah stroked his hand up and down a few times and then whispered, “We could, though. I would never tell anything you said to me in private.”

“Some things are better not shared. My past is not something I want to talk about with you or anyone.”

So the stranger in the white hat was connected to Rafe’s history. Well, maybe it would take the offering of a secret in order to win one. Jonah’s heart pounded, and he took a deep breath, his hand still cradling Rafe’s cock.

“I think you know why I turned up at the carnival, beaten. There was a man, a minister like my father, who came to stay with our family for a time. He was older, wiser, and he opened me up to—” He chuckled, struck by the double meaning in the words. “I mean, he helped me to understand the feelings I’d been holding back for so long. He taught me how to direct those feelings and introduced me to my true nature.”

“He took advantage of you.” Rafe’s voice was hoarse, angry but also aroused.

Jonah shook his head. “No. I was eager to learn all he taught me. This was no seduction of an innocent. What we did together was good for a brief time. Very educational.”

He pressed his cheek against Rafe’s back, feeling the slickness of the other man’s vest, smelling the scent of his body, and realizing that when Burns had betrayed him, he’d lost absolutely nothing. There’d been no cost except for the loss of his family. For a moment his throat tightened, and he had to remind himself to breathe. His father he didn’t miss, but his mother… Jonah forced himself away from the edge of a chasm of sadness. Easier to recall the loss of Burns; the man himself meant nothing. The budding emotions he’d felt for Burns had merely been lust, physical sensations that had been so new, he’d lost himself in them and imagined it was love. He hadn’t really known Burns at all.

Nor do you know Rafe Grimstone
, a logical inner voice reminded him. But another more visceral voice responded,
Yes, but you never cared for Burns the way you care for Rafe. He never made you laugh or think
. The sight of Burns had never made him smile, only feel that queer, hot longing in his gut. He felt that when he saw Rafe—but he also found himself grinning.

“What happened?” Rafe’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “Someone caught you together?”

“Nearly. Not quite.” Jonah exhaled the tension that began to build in him at the memory of the humiliation and fear of that afternoon. He saw the scene now as though through the wrong end of a telescope—reduced in size and very far away.

“I was on my way to meet this man, Reverend Burns, at the church vestry, as we often did. It was the most secluded place we could find. No one besides the cleaning woman or my father would be in the church on a weekday, and if we were spotted entering or leaving the building, we had reasons we could cite for being there.”

Rafe reached down and pulled Jonah’s hand away from his cock to hold it in his warm grip. Jonah swallowed before continuing his tale.

“I believe my cousin Randall had suspected something was off about me for a long time. He and his brother Brian teased me unmercifully all my life, and now Randall had taken it on himself to expose me. I was blissfully ignorant, certain I was getting away with my wonderful, terrible secret. But he must have been watching me for some time, noting my extra visits to the church and how I behaved around our guest. I suppose I wasn’t as circumspect as I’d thought.”

Rafe made a low sound in his chest, a grunt of understanding or perhaps agreement that Jonah still wore his heart on his sleeve.

“Randall followed me into the building. I was about to be with Burns again, and I’d begun unfastening my clothes before I even reached the vestry. When Randall threw open the door of that room behind the altar, I was shirtless and on my knees, reaching for Reverend Burns’s fly. The minister was still fully clothed. He immediately shoved me away from him, protesting that he’d already told me he’d have nothing to do with me and I must stop this shameful behavior.”