House of Mirrors

House of Mirrors

Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon

www.loose-id.com

House of Mirrors Copyright © April 2011 by Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. eISBN 978-1-60737-986-7 Editor: Sandra Rychel Cover Artist: Anne Cain Printed in the United States of America

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Chapter One May 1902, southern Ohio “Step inside to see real magic. Your face reflected a thousand times over, glass within glass. Which image is the real you? An avenue of mirrors, ladies and gentlemen. An attraction so unique, no other traveling show can boast of such a marvel.” The tall, dark-haired man on the platform wove wonder with his words and hands as he gestured dramatically toward the brightly painted wagon behind him. The open door‟s blackness suggested a mouth ready to devour those who entered. It was both a challenge and an enticement. Fear, danger, thrills, and surely real magic waited inside. To leave humdrum life behind and see something new was too great a temptation to pass up. People began to shuffle forward and offer their nickels. A young man tugged on his lady friend‟s hand as she protested, “No, Tommy. I don‟t want to. It‟s eerie.” “But you love looking at yourself in a mirror, so you should love seeing yourself in a thousand of ‟em even more,” he replied, earning chuckles from those around him. The girl shrieked and slapped his arm but allowed him to buy her a ticket from the lovely lady in the short, sparkly skirt. Together they headed inside. The pretty ticket taker, with her eyes outlined in theatrical black, smiled and fluttered her lashes at the men in the crowd, but Jonah was not interested in her swelling décolletage. He had eyes only for the showman, who never ceased his melodious patter. “Adventure, excitement, and a memory you‟ll treasure for a lifetime.” The man‟s face was long and gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a devilish appearance enhanced by the mustache and goatee that framed his lips. He wore a black cape, which swirled dramatically around him, over a vest studded with tiny mirrors that caught the light and showered the crowd with sparkles. His body was lean and graceful as he conjured anticipation and enthusiasm out of thin air, weaving a spell to push listeners inexorably into the house of mirrors. Jonah didn‟t join the group. He wasn‟t here to enjoy a sideshow but to try to find employment. He tongued his torn lip and tasted metal. His left eye had swollen nearly closed, and every muscle in his body was stiff and aching. He‟d barely been able to stumble over the hill to follow the discordant calliope music and glow of

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lights that beckoned him to the carnival. Even if the traveling show wouldn‟t hire him, he couldn‟t go back. He no longer had a choice about leaving home and realized he should‟ve made a decision to go rather than waiting for the situation to explode in his face. His father‟s righteous anger still flayed him raw. “You‟re a filthy pervert, an abomination who has brought shame on our family.” Well, wasn‟t a carnival sideshow the place for a freak? But a freak of his type wouldn‟t even fit in here. Jonah turned to go find the owner of the carnival. He hoped his battered appearance wouldn‟t alarm a prospective employer. He was strong and capable of lifting and carrying tent poles, watering animals, or mucking out stalls. It didn‟t much matter to him what he did right now. He just needed a place to hide and a way to travel down the road. Clutching his satchel tighter, he threaded his way through the crowd and around the big wagon with MYSTERIOUS HOUSE OF MIRRORS emblazoned in flowing script on the side. A painting depicted a woman with wide eyes and open mouth, looking into a gilt frame angled so the viewer couldn‟t see the mirror. A person might interpret her expression as shock, awe, wonder, delight, or horror, depending on his point of view. Jonah was so intent on gazing at the mural that he barreled into the barker who had leaped down from the platform. A mingled scent of tobacco, alcohol, and sweat came from the man‟s clothing. He grasped Jonah‟s shoulder to steady him. “Easy, lad.” His voice was as smooth as worn leather, with a slight English or perhaps Irish accent. An exotic sound compared to the flat cadence of the Midwest. Jonah wondered what had brought the man here. “Sorry, sir. I wasn‟t looking where I was going.” He met the man‟s eyes, which were black as a night sky with a sprinkling of stars. Maybe it was the reflection of the moonlight on his mirror-studded vest that made them sparkle. “Could you direct me to the manager of this carnival?” “What would you be wanting with him?” “A job.” Jonah smiled and tasted a fresh spurt of blood from his split lip. “Ah, I see.” The man scanned Jonah‟s bloody, disheveled state. “In that case, allow me to escort you to his lodgings. I‟m just taking my break.” He guided Jonah away from the House of Mirrors, past other sideshows: a fortune-teller, a freak tent, games of chance with cheap prizes hung on ribbons, and the main tent in which big acts performed. Barkers shouted to draw people to their attractions. Music blared from gramophones near the booths. The noise was too much for Jonah‟s aching head. He felt his heartbeats thumping in his ears. The vision in his good eye blurred, and he realized he was about to pass out. That wouldn‟t do. He couldn‟t appear weak, or he‟d never get hired. He blinked and drew a deep breath.

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“Do you know if the manager‟s hiring? I‟d be willing to do any work, anything at all. I don‟t care if I get paid much. I‟d just appreciate the chance to travel.” “In a hurry to get out of town, eh? I‟ve been in that position before.” Jonah stumbled, and the man beside him slung an arm around his back, lending him support. That small kindness coupled with the sympathetic words made Jonah‟s eyes sting. After what he‟d been through that evening, he felt as emotional as one of the devoted old women who laundered altar clothes at his father‟s church. “I‟m sorry. I‟ve had a rough day.” He nearly smiled at the understatement. “I can see that.” The stranger cast a sideways glance at him. “Would the fellows who did that to your face be likely to come after you? The show doesn‟t need any trouble. We‟ve enough of our own.” “Oh no. Nothing like that. I haven‟t done anything.” Hadn‟t he? His actions had brought this trouble down on him. He couldn‟t deny that. Jonah gestured at his face. “This was just a…falling out with some family members.” “With family like that, who needs enemies?” The warm band of the man‟s arm left his back abruptly as he turned to Jonah and stuck out his hand to shake. “I‟m Rafe Grimstone, sometimes ringmaster of the big show or talker for one of the attractions, but also owner of this carnival. And you are…?” “J-Jonah Talbot.” He put down his satchel, took the man‟s hand, and shook it, good manners outweighing his surprise at the sudden turn of events. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grimstone. I apologize for my appearance, but I promise I‟d be a hard worker at any task you assign me.” “And you‟d work for nearly free. Yes, I got that.” He nodded, and a lock of long hair fell across his face. “For now I‟ll take you on temporary-like. Time will tell whether you earn a place here. But it‟ll be for no cash, lad. Leastwise not while you‟re on probation.” “Yes. That‟s fine. Just give me a place to sleep and some work to do.” The man pointed at the carpetbag Jonah had dropped on the ground. “What‟s in here? I can‟t be housing thieves, if that‟s why you‟re on the run.” Jonah shook his head, which was a mistake—nausea rolled through him. “No. It‟s mine.” “Way you clutch it, could be filled with bars of gold. Looks heavy enough.” Rather than answer, Jonah reached down to unbuckle the bag. He moved slowly to keep the dizziness at bay. “Books.” The man gave an amused snort as he reached in and pulled one out. “Ach. Shakespeare? Noisy old bugger.” Jonah wanted to protest, tell Mr. Brimstone—or rather, Grimstone—he was wrong. But the man opened the collection at a random page and read a few lines of Hamlet‟s speech to the actors. No, surely he was reciting, for there wasn‟t enough light to read by. Something in his manner shifted. That lovely deep voice stroked

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Jonah‟s senses. He closed his eyes to listen. The man‟s accent had changed to a more educated British tone that sounded perfect for Hamlet. “„O‟erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.‟” Mr. Grimstone stopped reciting and dropped the book back into the satchel. “Full of sound and fury and signifying nothing.” He shoved the bag toward Jonah with the side of his boot. “But how…?” Jonah stopped. He had no interest in angering the man, yet how could anyone who spoke so beautifully, imbuing the words with perfect feeling, remain cold to Shakespeare? “Come on.” Grimstone watched Jonah gingerly heft the satchel and gave a grunt of either impatience or perhaps sympathy with Jonah‟s pain. He slapped the outside of his thigh a couple of times and said, “The condition you‟re in, I‟m thinking you need a watchful eye on you tonight, and Parinsky‟s been at the bottle again, so I guess I draw the winning ticket.” They‟d been heading to a line of freight and animal wagons painted with a bright confusion of murals and gold lettering, but now Grimstone veered toward a wagon at the edge. This one was enclosed, like a little house on wheels. In the dark Jonah couldn‟t see what color it was, but unlike most of the others in the enclave, it didn‟t have bright paintwork or lurid depictions on its side. Inside, Grimstone lit an oil lamp and hung it on a metal bracket by the door. The crowded interior smelled of unfamiliar spices and tobacco. Jonah‟s aching eyes adjusted, and he saw that his first impression of clutter wasn‟t quite right. The single room was crammed with objects yet organized. There was a trunk and neatly made narrow bed that looked like a shelf built into the wall. Two pots hung on a metal loop over a small spirit stove. Most of the hulking objects were cabinets. Anything private, even as personal as a hairbrush, must have been locked away in those cabinets. Funny to glimpse the mundane in the midst of the glittering exotic carnival. But then light reflected off the spangles of something lying across the foot of the bed. A costume? Mr. Grimstone gave him a gentle push toward the corner, and Jonah saw a bedroll lay ready, almost as if Grimstone had been expecting him. “Thank you, sir.” Jonah dropped to his knees, gasping as his bruised ribs creaked. With shaking hands he unrolled the two blankets. Not even bothering to haul one over himself, he lay down and waited for the dizziness to pull him under. If he woke up tomorrow, perhaps he‟d have the strength to mourn all he‟d lost. Except, no; he knew the day after a beating was always worse. He‟d met with a few growing up—a preacher‟s kid was a natural target. He‟d occasionally dreamed of taking the path to hell-bent revenge, but Jonah had been well trained to turn the other cheek. Very few people under the sway of Pastor Talbot would question his stern teachings. His own son had once been as devoted as any parishioner.

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Tonight Jonah‟s aches would be bone-deep, a fine distraction, “the bright side of the situation,” as Rev. Burns would say, for physical pain would be enough to drown other thoughts. Burns—his teacher. Damn the man to hell. “Will you…I mean, will the carnival be staying here long?” he asked. “In a hurry to run away?” Grimstone had hung his dramatic black cape on a hook near the door and was unbuttoning the mirror-studded vest. Yes, please. He wanted to run far and fast. “No, sir.” “We‟re due to head south after tomorrow. That good enough for you?” “Yes, thank you. I-I promise no one will be looking for me.” He shouldn‟t have hesitated over the last part. It made him sound unsure, and he was anything but uncertain. No one would come searching for him here. Perhaps he‟d begun to doze, because he was disoriented when something scraped on the wooden floor near him. He opened his eyes. Only inches from his head, a pair of dusty boots shifted. The leather of the boots creaked as someone knelt and laid a hand on his shoulder. Oh God, no. The beating would begin again. Then he remembered it was his new employer who was bending over him, but that didn‟t relieve his anxiety. Perhaps the carnival man realized Jonah‟s true nature and had come to finish off matters. Jonah had felt strength in that wiry form when the man‟s arm had held him upright, and knew he didn‟t have a chance against Grimstone‟s fists or those boots. He tensed, ready to curl into a protective ball. “Nothing terrifying, Talbot. Just a salve.” He set an open jar of something greasy and stinking of animal fat by Jonah‟s hand. “You rub it on the parts that hurt or that you think might hurt later.” The boots moved out of his sight. “I‟ll be back.” After the door to the wagon banged shut, Jonah forced himself to sit. He unbuttoned his shirt, hiked his undershirt, and rubbed the rancid-smelling goop on his belly and ribs with tentative fingertips. No bones broken that he could tell. The salve tingled on unbroken flesh. When some touched a cut, he bit back a yelp of pain. He smeared on only enough to obey Mr. Grimstone‟s order and only on his torso and arms. He had no desire to unbutton his trousers. Within a few minutes, Mr. Grimstone returned, holding a dark bottle with no label. “You a drinking man?” “No.” Jonah focused on the long fingers that dangled the bottle. “Thank you.” “Might help with the pain.” “It‟s not so bad as all that, sir.” “So you say.” His host grabbed a tin mug from somewhere behind the pots. Holding bottle and cup in one hand, Mr. Grimstone dropped to a crouch next to Jonah, effortlessly, like a man used to a life without chairs. Jonah recalled foreign farm workers who could sit on their heels for hours at a time. Peasants, his father had called them.

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Without a word, Mr. Grimstone poured the grog—or whatever it was—then handed over the mug. The burning liquid stole Jonah‟s breath and made him cough. “No, no. Thanks,” he managed to choke out as he handed the mug back. A flash of a grin lifted the corners of Mr. Grimstone‟s narrow black mustache, making him appear more devilish than ever. “All the more for me, then.” He swallowed the rest of the mug‟s contents without so much as a flinch, wiped his hand over his mouth, and looked at Jonah with glittering eyes. Jonah‟s own eyes still watered from the alcohol. A few days ago he might have been self-conscious about his callowness, a lad unable to fight or hold his liquor. According to the rougher elements in this part of the county, he‟d never been much of a man. But now he didn‟t care what anyone thought of him, except he needed to escape and worried that if he appeared weak, Mr. Grimstone wouldn‟t keep him on. Perhaps he should explain that, despite his scrawny frame, he could and would work hard. His thin body held strength. He might tell Mr. Grimstone how he‟d been outnumbered by his attackers, but he didn‟t want the man to ask about the reason for the beating. “Thank you,” he repeated and stretched his aching body on the bedroll on the wooden floor. He closed his eyes so Grimstone would leave. Despite the kindness the carnival man had shown him, Jonah needed to be alone. Still he could feel the watchful presence hovering, gazing down on him. Jonah only relaxed when at last footsteps thumped across the floor and the door slammed shut.

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Chapter Two After the carnival closed for the night, Mindy took the leather pouch with the day‟s earnings to hide it under the floorboards of the cat‟s wagon. The old lion, discarded years ago by a man who couldn‟t keep up with the meat bill, had lost most of its teeth courtesy of its first owner. Sir Lancelot couldn‟t gum a potential robber to death, but his claws were still effective. Work done, Rafe strolled around the camp, trying to be pleased. Fine weather meant they‟d had a good take that afternoon and evening. A hefty bribe paid to local law enforcement would keep them safe. Even if they weren‟t entirely welcome in this Bible-thumping corner of the Midwest, at least they wouldn‟t be driven out. Except he‟d gone and welcomed potential trouble into the fold. He smiled at the idea that the injured creature he‟d taken in was a fugitive, perhaps a bank robber with a gun. No, the young man was too well-bred, running off with volumes of poetry and Shakespeare. Ha, worse than a robber; Rafe had just invited a poetic fool into his wagon for the night. Rafe walked the perimeter, checking lines, bidding everyone he met a good night, idly wondering about what crimes the straw-haired young man could have committed that might have the law knocking on Rafe‟s door by morning. A shop‟s assistant who‟d taken money from the till? Or a young barrister who‟d run afoul of a local corrupt judge? But Rafe‟s instinct told him the young man‟s trouble was a family matter, as he‟d said. Perhaps he‟d been discovered in the arms of another man‟s wife. That would earn him a beating. There‟d been more than bruises and blood in that face. Sorrow lay in the young man‟s green eyes, as if he grieved a loss so great he might give up hope. He was escaping more than immediate danger. That was just what the carnival needed. Another lost and lonely soul who thought life on the road could provide an answer to his woes. As if leaving everything behind could give more than a temporary measure of comfort. Rafe‟s breathing grew shallow, and for a moment old memories regained their unpleasant hold over him. Dark self-loathing rose in his heart, and he walked faster. Leave it alone, he warned himself. Rafe reflected that he shouldn‟t have downed that cup of Parinsky‟s rotgut. Drinking the stuff always gave him a black view of the world. He purposefully strode up a grassy hill and looked down on his kingdom. With almost all the lights extinguished, the wagons and tents were only dim huddled shapes now. His world to protect.

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He drew a long breath of cool night air. After the magic fled, as the carnival settled in for the night, this was his favorite time. Or perhaps he liked just before dawn best, when the animals grew restless and noisy for their breakfast and the scent of coffee joined the usual stale fug of peanuts, fairy floss, the sweat of longdeparted crowds, and the fresher sweat of roustabouts. Even better, he loved the few minutes before they opened for business, trotting around the wagons, checking that everyone was in his or her place and ready to go. That was his favorite. Good. He‟d come back from the imaginary pain brought on by bloody Parinsky‟s bloody liquor. Now he could crawl into his bed and perhaps even sleep. Except, hell and damnation, there was a man in his wagon. What sort of idiocy had induced him to bring Talbot into his home? Mindy had been busy with the box office. Sam wasn‟t feeling well and had gone to bed early. Parinsky was drunk— again—and too ornery to boot. Head roustabout Crooked Pete was suspicious and never welcomed new faces, particularly a useless, torn one like Talbot‟s. Miss Jamie was far too much of a prima donna to be bothered with showing around a new hire, and he wouldn‟t inflict the Fisher couple‟s drama on any newcomer. The other members of the show wouldn‟t appreciate any rubes thrust into their space. Too many closed circles in the carnival. But the real truth was he could have ordered someone else to look after Talbot, but he‟d wanted to take care of the stray. He entered his wagon as silently as he could. The huddled form in the corner didn‟t move. Rafe kept the bedroll ready should the “Signortoris” have another battle and Henry Fisher, aka “Signor Signortori,” once again require a place to sleep other than his marriage bed. When he was angry, Fisher would look for a fight and find one if he bedded down among the roustabouts or anyone else on the line, but he knew better than to get into it with his boss. Rafe sat on his bed, pulled off his boots, then went still when he realized he couldn‟t hear the other man‟s breathing. Jesus! What if Talbot‟s wounds were worse than they appeared and he‟d expired from some internal damage? Rafe hadn‟t bothered with the light since he could navigate this wagon with his eyes closed, but now he lit the kerosene lantern, replaced the glass chimney, and twisted the wick to high before checking on the stranger. Talbot lay sprawled on his back. His chest rose and fell. Rafe felt his own deep exhalation of relief. The lad lived. He could blow out the lamp and collapse on the bed. But instead he stood over the form of the man now tangled in the blankets he kept ready for the volatile Henry. Blond hair lay over Talbot‟s pale forehead and was matted with blood near his ear. Rafe was used to seeing the aftereffects of tussles and worse, but somehow the blood and bruises seemed more obscene on this innocent-looking face. Rafe scoffed at the thought. A carnival man shouldn‟t have to remind himself that beauty and the appearance of innocence meant nothing. He dropped to a squat and leaned closer to make an unemotional inventory. What exactly gave Talbot that air of innocence? Was it the bruise swelling one eye closed, or the long lashes of the

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other brushing the skin above his cheek? The contrast of his cheeks, pinked by sleep, to the tanned skin? Did he honestly believe that time spent in the sun made a man appear more honorable? Perhaps the full mouth or even the small birthmark on Talbot‟s jaw lent him a look of honesty. Utter hogwash, as Mindy would say. The lamplight picked out a faint growth of golden beard. Talbot‟s unbuttoned shirt revealed pale skin and a rumpled, untucked undershirt stained with blood. Was that fresh or dried blood? Rafe reached down to check the wound near Talbot‟s collarbone. He immediately noticed several facts about his own body. His fingers shook, and he was completely aroused. Rafe shifted his squat slightly to adjust to his erection, but otherwise ignored his inappropriate excitement. He hooked a finger on the undershirt and slowly lifted it to look underneath. Talbot wasn‟t hirsute, but neither was this a boy‟s hairless body. For a moment Rafe stared at the line of fine, tawny hair from his flat belly to the belted corduroy trousers. He noticed the trim waist. Talbot was thin, but there were some lovely muscles on that torso. Oh, for God‟s sake. No. Hell, no. He wasn‟t examining Talbot‟s body for his prurient satisfaction. Pervert, he scolded himself, but without heat or shame. No point in regretting what couldn‟t be changed. Rafe lifted the white knit undershirt higher. No fresh blood by Talbot‟s clavicle, but a bruise was blooming on the skin over his hip bone. The odor of Mindy‟s miracle salve couldn‟t entirely hide the smell of clean laundry, blood, and man emanating from Talbot, and that almost proved too much. Rafe began to lean forward to inhale the scent and touch those intriguing lines. He should probably make sure there were no broken bones. He dropped the shirt and rubbed his fingers over his own thigh, trying to wipe off the urge to stroke the young stranger. He rose to his feet and looked down again—straight into alert green eyes. Talbot stared at him too long, unblinking. Interesting. A lengthy look exchanged between men tended to arouse suspicion—or other things. Rafe turned away quickly to hide that other arousal. He went to the kerosene lamp and turned it low. “No need to wake. It‟s not morning. I‟m sorry I disturbed you, but I wanted to be certain you were still alive.” “Thank you,” Talbot whispered. The blankets rustled as he turned onto his side. “Where are you from?” Had his accent slipped again? He was a good actor, but this Talbot might have shaken him. “Great Britain,” he said vaguely. “But where? Ireland? England? I can‟t place your accent.” Rafe focused his attention on pulling back the covers of his bed. “One thing you‟ll learn, Talbot, is to never ask a traveler too much about his past.”

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“No, of course not. I apologize.” More rustling as Talbot shifted again. Rafe was too aware of his every move. A sigh rose from the blankets. “I think I‟ll be grateful for that rule, sir.” “Call me Grimstone.” “Is it your name?” Talbot began, then gave a short bark of laughter. “Golly. I can‟t believe I asked that. I guess I‟m beat-up pretty good if I can‟t keep a rule in my head three seconds after you give it to me.” “Not a rule. ‟Tis more a way to get along,” Rafe said. “Go to sleep now. I‟m sorry I woke you.” He was indeed. He wished the infernal, intriguing Talbot was asleep. “Oh, you didn‟t, sir—Mr. Grimstone. I was awake.” Hell and damnation. Did he know Rafe had stared down at his body like a mesmerized fool? “Good night, then,” Rafe said coolly, and without another word, slid into bed and blew out the light. He usually slept in only a pair of loose-fitting pants, salvaged from the belongings of some Russian jugglers who‟d left in the night. Tonight he didn‟t even undo his braces before getting into bed.

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Chapter Three Jonah swam up to consciousness like a catfish reluctant to leave the murkier depths of a river to approach the light at the surface. It was dark and safe and comfortable in the depths. Who knew what dangers and predators the sunlight world would offer? He ungummed one eye—the other was swollen closed and throbbed as if someone had punched it, hah—and looked toward the rumpled covers of the nearby bed. Mr. Grimstone was gone. That was good. He‟d have a moment to acclimate to his new surroundings and draw a breath before facing the rest of the carnival crew. He was nervous about entering this strange world and began to wonder if he shouldn‟t simply travel on his own, but he was broke. He‟d barely had time to gather a few possessions and throw them in a bag before leaving home. The savings he‟d earned throughout the years were safely in the Farmers and Merchants bank. His father‟s name was also on the account, and Jonah doubted he‟d find the funds still available to him even if dared go into town to withdraw them. He had to take the job Grimstone offered and the opportunity to travel with a group, which would afford him some safety. The carnival folk were strangers now, but he would make them friends. He could be very personable, and he‟d make certain not to cross anybody and to do whatever work they gave him without complaining. He groaned as he struggled to sit. Right now it was questionable whether he could rise and walk, let alone tote water and oats, haul hay bales, or shovel manure. From outside came the sounds of men‟s shouting voices. Someone was bellowing, “Whaddaya mean we‟re packing it up? We could pull in another night here.” “Nay, rain is comin‟. Poor attendance hereabouts, and I say we‟re done.” Jonah recognized Mr. Grimstone‟s voice. He sounded decisive and more Irish than before. “The one-in-ten side pole broke, as have a few too many staubs, damn the bad wood. We need to make other repairs. That farmer in Bartonville has the big field we‟re welcome to use with no trouble from the law. It‟s less ‟n two days‟ ride.” “We were there less‟n a year ago. Don‟t want to suck the place dry,” the first indignant voice said. “It‟s a straw stand. Plenty of rubes in that neck of the woods,” a woman replied.

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Mr. Grimstone said, “True enough. When the man said, „when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian,‟ he must have been thinking of Bartonville.” “What man said that, Grim?” the woman asked. “No one important. Get ready to strike before the rain starts. Not much worse than packing in a downpour.” His words about the dead Indian seemed familiar; then Jonah recognized the line from The Tempest. For a man who loathed Shakespeare, the carnival owner knew the plays well enough. Boots thumped on the wooden step, and Mr. Grimstone opened the door. He was dressed unremarkably now, in tan trousers, a white shirt with a blue vest but no jacket. His dun leather boots were dusty, and he looked more like a farm laborer than a mystical phantom of the night. Yet the hint of performer hung about him— his shoulder-length black hair, perhaps, or the mustache and goatee that dramatically accentuated his mouth, and the erect, graceful way he carried himself. “Ah, Talbot, back from the dead.” He tossed Jonah a hunk of bread. “You missed breakfast. We‟re heading south as soon as possible.” “Yes, sir. I overheard.” Jonah wondered if the change in plan had anything to do with him, but no, of course not. One bedraggled stranger wouldn‟t cause a whole carnival to abandon a lucrative stand. He rose to his feet and tried to appear hale and hearty though the world spun a bit and every muscle screamed. “What can I do to help?” Mr. Grimstone looked him up and down, his mouth quirked in a sardonic leer. “You lie low. Rest for now. Once we‟re at our next stop, I‟ll show you around, or Mindy shall do that. Yes, that‟s best. Wouldn‟t want anyone to think you‟re my protégé.” “Why is that, sir?” Mr. Grimstone raised one dark slash of a brow. “‟Tis better. And pray, do not call me „sir.‟ It‟ll annoy me. I‟m Grimstone.” “I‟d really like to earn my keep, sir—Mr. Grimstone. Packing up everything must require a lot of hands. I can make myself useful.” Jonah took a tentative step, and his leg started to buckle. The carnival owner caught him before he could fall and lowered him into the single chair in the room. The sensation of those hard hands supporting his body left an impression even after Grimstone let go. “Don‟t cross me, boy,” he growled. “If I want you to work, I‟ll tell you so. Right now I‟m ordering you to keep out of the way.” “Yes, sir.” Jonah couldn‟t break himself from using the formal address that courtesy demanded. He sat on the seat, gripping the thick wedge of bread his host had given him. Before Grimstone stepped back, Jonah caught a whiff of sweat mingled with a sharp, spicy scent of pipe tobacco. He‟d never been around anyone who smoked a pipe—certainly his father had never indulged such a vice as smoking—so the smell seemed exotic to Jonah.

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“There‟s water in the pitcher to wash with and to drink, a flask in that cupboard if you decide you want to attempt another nip of something stronger. Now I‟ve things to attend to. I‟ll see you later in the day.” With that, Grimstone turned on his heel and stalked out of the trailer. He moved with such an air of confidence and fluid grace that he looked like a king disguised as a peasant. Jonah‟s stomach gave a little clench of appreciation as he stared at the man‟s backside before tearing his gaze away. When the door closed behind his host, he braced his hands on the threadbare arms of the chair, rose, and hobbled to the washstand. He examined his battered face in the small, smeared mirror over the stand and then washed his face and neck, wincing at the pain. A mug sat on a narrow shelf a few steps away—everything was a few steps away in this tiny dwelling. Jonah filled it with water from the pitcher and drank deeply. There was a faint bitter taste to the water, and he guessed the mug was the same one Grimstone used for drinking alcohol. And then, in defiance of his father‟s rules which no longer applied to him, Jonah got the metal flask from the place Grimstone had indicated and poured amber liquid into the chipped cup. He smelled the stuff, which could‟ve been whiskey, gin, or ale for all he knew about strong spirits, before taking a tentative sip. Fire flared in his torn lip, and he yelped. He tipped the cup and swallowed the molten fluid in one gulp, making his throat burn and his eyes weep. He exhaled a swear word—another old rule broken, but then, he‟d destroyed much more serious commandments over the past weeks. He sank into Rafe Grimstone‟s tatty yet comfortable chair and nibbled on the hunk of bread he‟d been given to break his fast. His stomach rumbled as he remembered the smell of his mother‟s ham and eggs, but at least the dry bread tasted like freedom and wasn‟t laced with the bile of guilt and shameful secrets. The liquor he‟d drunk roiled around in his stomach, looking for a place to settle. Heat pumped through his veins, and he felt even dizzier. Liquor, the devil‟s brew. He supposed his father had been right about its effects on the body, especially a body that had rarely ingested anything stronger than ginger beer. Yet the bread seemed to settle his stomach, and soon his light-headedness abated. As he ate, he listened to the whistle blasts outside. There was some chanting that reminded him of the work crews he‟d seen in the fields. The words they sang out sounded like nonsense. He recognized Grimstone‟s voice shouting commands. After he‟d finished the bread, he rose and examined the contents of the trailer. Each item in the seeming clutter inhabited a particular place, and he had no doubt each served a purpose or they‟d have been jettisoned. The traveling life didn‟t allow for extraneous possessions or people who didn‟t pull their weight. Perhaps Grimstone was testing him. Maybe he should go out and find something to do to prove his worth. Besides, he had to piss desperately, and there

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was no chamber pot that he could find. He decided to take a chance and go outdoors, locate the privy and someone who could put him to work. He opened the door. The nighttime carnival world, with all its mysterious glamour, was dusty chaos in the light of day. Sweating workers hurried to and fro, carrying poles, canvas, wooden planks, colorful pasteboard signs, swathes of fabric, and parts of booths. They were like ants scurrying from a hill some bad-tempered child had kicked in. Yet their flow was organized, their movements economical as each person went about his prescribed task. Jonah stepped onto the hard-packed earth and limped away from the shelter of Grimstone‟s trailer. He wasn‟t sure what direction to go and felt a bit like a leaf caught in a current as the workers swirled all around him. “Watch it!” A man wearing a sleeveless undershirt with suspenders stretched over his big belly carried a large wooden placard with an illustration of a pretty lady holding a hoop while a small dog leaped through. MISS JAMIE‟S AMAZING DOG & PONY SHOW. “Pardon me. Could you tell me where…” But the man had already marched past. Jonah‟s need to piss had reached the critical point. With no outhouse in sight, he headed toward the perimeter of the encampment. The House of Mirrors mural looked considerably less magical in the light of day, the paint faded and scarred. Jonah could see the words had been painted over some earlier incarnation but couldn‟t quite read what previous exhibition the wagon had contained. “You look lost.” A deep voice came from behind him. Jonah turned around to face a vest. He tipped his head back to look at the owner of the garment, a man who towered over him. The man‟s features were large and ill fitting, but a smile on his wide mouth crinkled the corners of his eyes. “So, you‟re the first-of-May?” “Excuse me?” “New hire,” the man clarified. “That‟s what we call the hayseeds that join up along the road, once the weather is fine.” „Hayseed‟ was a term Jonah knew, but he didn‟t take the mild slur to heart. He‟d been called much worse recently. “I see. Actually, I am kind of lost. I could use an outhouse.” The man jerked a thumb over a bony shoulder that stretched the fabric of his chambray work shirt. “There‟s a whole open field right over there if you‟re not too particular. Tell you what. Why don‟t you take care of that, and then I‟ll show you the ropes?” “It‟s a deal.” Jonah smiled at his self-appointed mentor, glad to have someone to steer him through the chaos. He went behind the House of Mirrors, unbuttoned, and splashed on the trampled weeds. He noticed with some dismay there was blood in his urine, but that might get better with time. When he was done, he returned to his giant friend, who

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stood chatting with the pretty ticket taker he‟d seen the night before. In the daylight Jonah could see she wasn‟t as young or as pretty as she‟d looked in the flickering lamplight. Without the exotic black liner around her eyes and no longer wearing a spangled costume, she looked like a farm wife in her work dress and apron. “This is Mindy,” the giant announced. “And I‟m Sam. „Kaspar the Great‟ when I‟m on the stage.” He adopted a thick foreign accent. “I come from the icy north of Rrrrussia, a nobleman nearly killed by my evil uncle, forced to flee and find sanctuary in far-off America.” His voice switched back to what sounded like a Kentucky twang. “It‟s not enough to be a giant. Grim says we have to add dramatic flare if we‟re going to attract customers.” “Too damn many shows on the circuit these days. That‟s the trouble.” Mindy‟s voice was sandpaper on cement. She stared at Jonah, assessing him from head to toe. “We sure as hell don‟t need another mouth to feed, times being as they are. Don‟t know what Rafe was thinking.” Jonah was taken aback by her cursing. The women he knew never said “damn” or “hell” or anything much worse than “what in tarnation?” “Aw, give the kid a break.” Sam pushed her shoulder and nearly knocked her off her feet. “We was all new once. ‟Cept for you.” He turned to Jonah. “Mindy was born here. Her daddy owned the show before Grimstone bought it. „Sylvester‟s Astounding Extravaganza‟ it was called then.” “We were one of a kind,” Mindy said proudly. “People came from miles around to see our acts, and we didn‟t have to rely on zoo animals or freaks to get them through the gates. No offense,” she said to the giant. “None taken.” “What kind of acts did you have?” Jonah asked, trying to soothe her ruffled feathers and hoping to learn more by getting her to reminisce. “I walked a tightrope, and I danced. Daddy‟s crew did acrobatic tricks. We had balancing acts, a torch juggler, a sword swallower, and a magician. Mama was such a spot-on fortune-teller, these hicks thought she had a real link with the other side.” Jonah wondered what was so different about the show now, because he‟d seen posters for some of those same acts on the midway last night. “What‟s your name?” Sam asked. Jonah opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He didn‟t have to be Jonah Talbot anymore if he didn‟t want to. But he didn‟t know if he‟d remember to answer if they called him anything else. Perhaps he wasn‟t adventurous enough to invent a completely new identity. “Jonah.” Sam stuck out a large hand to grasp his and pumped it. “Pleased to meet ya, Jonah.” Mindy grunted and started to walk away. “I got things to tend to. Not all of us have time to stand around and gab.” Sam stared after her. “She‟s a real firecracker, that girl.”

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Sour as a green apple, Jonah would‟ve said, but it was pretty clear Sam was smitten with Mindy. “How‟d you happen to join the carnival?” Jonah asked as they strolled between the bare spots where tents had stood. “I‟m from Duck Holler, Kentucky. Couldn‟t see no future there. Didn‟t fit in nohow.” His accent grew more pronounced as he spoke about his home state. “I took one look at the freaks in Grim‟s traveling show and knew this was where I belonged. Ain‟t regretted it once.” Jonah nodded. He wondered how old Sam was. It was hard to tell from his appearance. He could‟ve been anywhere from eighteen to twenty-eight. Surely no older than that. But Jonah wouldn‟t ask. He‟d finally learned the first rule of the code—don‟t ask questions that could be considered too personal. “So, how does this place work?” He changed the subject. “It looks as if everyone knows exactly what they need to do.” In fact, the place reminded him of a Chinese puzzle box, each segment fitting together precisely. “Sure.” The giant gave a deep laugh, followed by a loud cough. “We set up and set down a thousand times or more. Too bad you missed the best of the takedown.” Jonah recalled the whistle blasts and chanting. “All of us can do it in our sleep. I been ailing, so the boss told me to take it easy. And it‟s no big hurry today, ‟cause we‟re not so close to town here. It being the Lord‟s Day, no one wants to see us.” Sunday. The very first Sabbath in his life that he wasn‟t in church at worship. A sharp pang of guilt lanced through him. Would God forgive him for that, or for any of the things he‟d done? Another rope tying him to his old life was cut. He would float away into a void. The thought made him walk faster, his leg aching from a boot that had raised a knot on his shin. The pain was good because it anchored him to the earth. A man on horseback rode by, waving a hand in the air with a flourish before taking off at a gallop. He wore a bright red coat and looked like a magnificent soldier from an imaginary, extravagant army. His saddlebags were crimson and gold. He looked slightly ridiculous yet heartening. “Who‟s that?” “Our advanceman. He makes sure arrangements are settled and plasters the next town with posters. Usually he hangs about the place, drumming up business.” At the site where the main tent had stood, three men coiled ropes expertly, looped them in a knot, and flung them in a waiting wagon. One of them caught sight of Sam and shouted a good-natured insult about lazy tree stumps. The broadshouldered bald man noticed Jonah and scowled. “That our helpless baby?” He turned his back before Jonah could introduce himself. Sam chuckled and coughed again. After they resumed their slow walk, Sam jerked his thumb back at the bald man. “That sweet-talker is Dimitri, our strongman.”

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“I thought he was a, um, a roustabout.” Jonah was proud to recall the word. “In a small outfit like this, we all got more than one role. Even the artistes have more‟n one job.” He pointed at some men tossing knives back and forth. “They‟re supposed to be helping Pete get the animal carriages ready, but no one‟s going to start yelling ‟less the rain starts. Told you it was a lazy sort of a day. Grimstone ain‟t the sort to push when he don‟t need to. He‟s a good boss, best I‟ve ever worked under. Mysterious as the devil, but, like I said, all of us got our secrets to hide.” Those were the truest words Jonah had heard in a long time. And it was right then that he was sure he‟d found a place where he might belong.

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Chapter Four Despite Sam‟s assurance that the takedown was slow-paced, the carnival was packed into wagons faster than Jonah imagined possible. He looked around at the trampled grass and tried to recall how it had all looked set up, but could only conjure a nightmarish jumble of bright colors and noises in the dark. And that elegant face looming over him. The aches threatened to overcome him, and he gasped a little with each step. His swollen eye socket throbbed, and he suddenly longed desperately to be in his own bed, with his mother applying a cold compress to his face. She would flutter and cluck like a worried hen as she always had when he was ill. But no. Not anymore. Her horrified expression when she‟d last looked at him was actually more painful to remember than his father‟s verbal condemnation. Sam didn‟t seem to notice Jonah‟s limping or his withdrawal into silence. Or perhaps it was all a part of not prying into anyone else‟s business. The field dampened the sound of boot steps, so Jonah didn‟t hear Grimstone approach until a rich voice spoke just behind him. “If you‟re so determined to help, I could use a driver whilst I do some work.” God help him, why did his heart beat faster at the tenor of that deep voice? Unlike the enchantment of the carnival, the charisma of the man remained intact in the light of day. “Climb up on my rig. It will be behind the red wagon.” The pain in Jonah‟s side actually seemed to decrease. The dizziness faded, or rather, turned into something more interesting. How astonishing that a voice could be so soothing while the rising desire accompanying it was anything but. Jonah had half hoped that sin had been beaten out of him. “The wagon‟s not really red, although it‟s traditionally called that,” Grimstone added. “It‟s the main ticket wagon, the one with the canvases of acrobats on the side.” Jonah followed the boss‟s directions to Grimstone‟s simple yellow wagon— though the cheery canary color wouldn‟t be considered plain in any other assemblage of carts. It had been moved into place behind the lead in the caravan set to head out. Jonah removed the wooden chocks behind the wheels, loosed the brakes, then climbed up onto the high seat to wait. One by one the wagons slowly pulled into the line.

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The lion grumbled and paced in its cage as the rig rumbled across the field to the road. Then the cart Jonah was to follow, depicting the smiling beauty in tights, balancing on a horse‟s bare back, lurched into motion. He clucked to the horses and shook the reins. Each jolt made his back hurt. Jonah already knew there was some bad bruising. This rough ride wasn‟t going to help. He sucked in a long breath, held it, and willed the pain away. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on guiding the docile horses onto the road. Men shouted and wood creaked. He stopped behind the not-red wagon, slumped in the seat as he waited, and fell into a doze. “You‟re in bad shape, poor lad.” That voice again, sympathetic and ever so slightly amused. The wagon leaned and shuddered slightly as Grimstone climbed onto the bench next to him. Jonah‟s eyes flew open. “No, sir. Mr. Grimstone, I‟m fine.” Grimstone grunted his disbelief as he put a brass box on the seat. He vaulted to stand on the bench, balanced easily, and looked up and down the line of twelve vehicles. Then he pulled out a big brass whistle and gave a loud blast. Horses snorted and whinnied, the monkeys chattered, and two wagons ahead, the cat gave a coughing snarl. Grimstone gave two short blasts then, and the carnival rolled down the road. The carnival owner settled on the bench and leaned back to scan the sky. “I‟ve thought of getting a few train cars and conducting this business properly, and when I see gray skies like this, I wish I hadn‟t been so devilishly cautious about it.” “Sam says you‟re a good manager,” Jonah said. The craggy features looked even more predatory and sharp when Grimstone smiled. “‟Tis good to hear, but Sam is fond of every one of God‟s creatures. You might ask Parinsky what he thinks of me.” Jonah recalled one of the many faces Sam had pointed out to him during their tour of the carnival. Dr. Saul Parinsky was a magician, patent medicine salesman, and sometimes ticket seller at the front gate. “Oh? He dislikes you, sir?” “Perhaps not me in particular. He has a problem with authority and would hate anyone in my position. Or perhaps I‟m wrong and he loathes me.” He sounded entirely unconcerned. “As long as he does his job, I‟m not going to poke back at him.” “And he does his job?” “Very well indeed, when he hasn‟t been drinking that foul liquor he makes and sells as a cure-all.” Jonah shifted his gaze to the back of the wagon ahead of them. Cheaters and other sinners. He didn‟t want to learn that his father‟s reasons for forbidding his flock to attend the carnival were justified. “You don‟t approve of snake oil liniment?” “It‟s not my place to approve or disapprove.” He hoped he‟d managed to quash the condemnation he felt.

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“Ha, you‟re not a hard man to read, Talbot. Even with that shiner, your face is an open one. You should learn to hide your emotions.” Jonah risked looking at him. “I do mean it, sir. That it‟s not my place. I am grateful to be here and would never pass judgment on you.” He was the very last person to throw stones. The very last man on earth. “Kind of you, I‟m sure.” Jonah felt himself grow hot at the ironic tone. What could he say to reassure Mr. Grimstone? But apparently the man wasn‟t truly insulted. “I‟d wondered if that naive country-bred look of yours was honest, and now I know. Lordy, I‟ll have to put you on display in the show. Step right up, ladies and gents, and see the last innocent adult on earth.” Jonah held the reins in one hand and rubbed the side of his head, embarrassed. He didn‟t answer. Why bother? If this sharp-eyed man of the world could read his face, he‟d keep his mouth shut. His boss‟s teasing manner befuddled him. He wasn‟t certain how to respond to his strange manner without giving offense. Grimstone gave a soft laugh. “I can see why patent medicines might make a man starch up. But you keep in mind every carnival has a few thousand gaffes— extra tricks to fool the audience and make the whole thing better. Our public expects trickery.” Jonah remembered a word he‟d overheard. “They‟re rubes.” His companion smiled. “Or marks, yes.” “Hicks.” “Hayseeds.” Grimstone seemed to be fighting a smile. “Gawks, rustics.” Jonah grinned though it hurt his mouth. “You win, sir.” The smile won. “And what did I say about you calling me „sir‟?” “That you don‟t like it. S—ir.” Jonah drawled the title, making it something other than a term of respect. What on earth was he doing? It felt dangerous and enormously fun too. Suddenly Grimstone shook his head, his smile gone. Was he really upset? “Get the horses moving faster, Talbot. They‟re well trained once we get underway, but keep in mind we stay in a tight line.” And Jonah realized he‟d been staring at his traveling companion instead of the wagon ahead of them. He fell silent and concentrated on the road for a little while, but after a few miles tried to make some conversation. “I wonder if you could tell me a few things.” He swallowed the “sir” that almost made its automatic way to his mouth. “Like the word „staub.‟ What‟s that?” Grimstone didn‟t look up from an account ledger he‟d taken out of the brass box apparently. “Staubs are wooden stakes for the tents.” He sounded short. Not

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rude, but uninterested in conversation. He glared down at the book, a stub of a pencil poised in his hand. Another couple of miles passed, and Jonah glanced over at him. He didn‟t know the man, but he would swear that something about the rigid set of his new boss‟s shoulders showed he was uncomfortable. And with each passing moment, the discomfort apparently grew. Grimstone shoveled the papers away into the box and stared off ahead of them. When he met Jonah‟s eyes for a moment, his returning gaze was bleak. Condemning. Oh Lord, please, no, Jonah prayed. But the scowling man next to him made that now familiar sensation start, and shame filled Jonah again. Grimstone must know about him. He‟d figured out the truth somehow. Jonah hadn‟t understood the depths of his own depravity simply because he hadn‟t comprehended the full profoundness of his wrongdoing with Rev. Burns. He sighed and shifted on the seat. Thinking back, he recalled the perverted excitement at the very bottom of his belly as he‟d accepted the man‟s caresses, that twisting excitement mingled with—perhaps even born from—shame. He‟d known while he did them that his actions weren‟t decent, no denying that. But no one spoke of such matters outright, so the utter sinfulness of it hadn‟t really struck him until he‟d been confronted by his father. And all those words. Jonah drew a long breath and thought of Ezekiel Burns, his father‟s guest who‟d come for an extended visit. He‟d been Jonah‟s mentor, so comforting and warm and…so on. If he was honest, Jonah had known it was a sin. Delights of the body always were, since they distracted a man from the straight and narrow path to heaven. But he must not revisit those moments. The whole matter was over and done with, along with his old life. Except, if the silent and disapproving Grimstone guessed at his perversion, Jonah must say something. If he was going to be left on the side of the road, it would be better if they were close to an inhabited area. Grimstone was looking at him. “I hadn‟t known a man could toss and turn while he was awake. You‟re positively writhing. Are you in pain?” This wasn‟t the sort of thing a man who was about to throw him off the wagon would ask. He felt the return of faint hope. “No. No, si—Mr. Grimstone.” He cleared his throat. “Your account books. Do they contain bad news?” “No, not at all. We‟re not swimming in cream, but we‟re solvent.” Time to be direct. “Then are you regretting allowing me to join you?” His question was met by silence. Jonah couldn‟t bring himself to look, so he stared straight ahead, waiting for the answer. “That remains to be seen, doesn‟t it? What sort of skills do you possess?” “I, uh.” Jonah had a college education, though not from a prestigious institution. His family had wanted him to stay close to home, so he lived there while taking classes at a small Bible college. Because of his studies, he could read and

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even speak Latin, debate theology, and quote any scripture verbatim. Perfect accomplishments for a carnival worker. “I can help care for the animals. I used to work on my uncle‟s farm during the summer. And I‟m good with numbers if you need any sort of accounting help.” Jonah nodded at the brass box. The showman looked at him thoughtfully, and Jonah squirmed under his intent gaze. “I‟ll tend to the accounting myself, thank you, but we can always use more help cleaning up after the animals if you‟re not too proud to scoop shite.” “I live for it,” Jonah quipped, eager to show Grimstone that he wasn‟t always pathetic and miserable, that he had a sense of humor, too. A smile flashed like lightning across the man‟s face, dazzling Jonah with its brilliance. Jonah quickly concentrated on the horse‟s rear, its tail twitching as it swept away flies. Just then the wagon jolted over a rut in the road, making Jonah‟s teeth click together at the sudden impact. “How do you keep your House of Mirrors from shattering? Country roads are so rough, you must find yourself replacing glass all the time.” “Occasionally we do, but they‟re kept wrapped and padded, protected from jarring. The mirrors are hardly high quality, and they aren‟t all glass. We have reflective tin tacked up too. The reflections are wavy and dim, to say the least, but in the dark the effect isn‟t too bad, and very few demand their money back.” “Do you give it to them?” Grimstone laughed, a rich, rolling chuckle that warmed Jonah through like the liquor had done. “Absolutely not. But if the chawbacon caterwauls loud enough, we‟ll let him into one of the other attractions for free. If it‟s a fella without a date, he‟s generally happy enough to get a free pass to the hoochie-coochie tent.” “What‟s that?” Jonah slapped the reins on the horse‟s rump as the animal slowed to a lazy plod. “Aye, you are wet behind the ears, aren‟t you? A hoochie-coochie dancer shimmies and strips off scarves till there‟s little left to the viewer‟s imagination.” “Oh.” His cheeks burned, not only at the image of a nearly nude woman, but because he‟d once again shown his ignorance. He didn‟t like Grimstone thinking of him as a naive lad, even if it was true. Mostly. Memories of the things he‟d done with Rev. Burns again flooded his mind, and to his chagrin, his cock began to stiffen. Despite the betrayal and denial of their relationship when they‟d been exposed, Jonah still melted at the memory of the intense pleasure the older man had given him—pleasure Jonah had been happy to return as he‟d learned techniques under his mentor‟s instruction. Grimstone returned his attention to his accounting, and Jonah concentrated on keeping the horse moving. He gazed to the left and right, taking in the Ohio countryside. Fields of corn stretched away in either direction. Small white houses and large red barns scattered at regular intervals seemed fat and satisfied, prosperous and respectable. Jonah couldn‟t wait to leave the familiar view behind

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and see something brand new: hills, lakes, a river, mountains, or even the ocean. The world lay before him, and for the first time, he began to feel excitement at the prospect of eclipsing his shame at the manner in which he‟d left home. “Excuse me, sir,” he interrupted Grimstone‟s reading again. “Could you tell me the route the carnival takes, or do you make it up as you go?” “We have a circuit. Have to, or all the outfits would be stepping on each other‟s territory. Wouldn‟t do to try to drink from a well that‟s already dry. Our area includes most of Ohio, part of Indiana, and Kentucky.” Jonah was disappointed. He‟d hoped they would travel farther afield. “Did you get enough to eat this morning?” Grimstone changed the subject. “Yes, thank you,” he answered politely, even though his stomach was growling for more substantial food than a hunk of bread and a sip of liquor. “Hm.” Grimstone gauged him with a disbelieving eye. “We‟ll stop for lunch in another couple of hours. When we do, I‟ll introduce you to Parinsky, and he can assign you some chores and a place to sleep.” Jonah nodded. Of course he‟d known he couldn‟t stay with Grimstone, but another flare of disappointment shot through him. “You don‟t look too good.” The manager reached for the reins, and Jonah surrendered them. “Climb in back and get yourself some rest if you can. God knows these roads are so rutted, they‟re enough to jar your bones apart.” Grimstone pulled out the battered brass whistle from his vest pocket. He blew three long blasts, and the entire parade of vehicles came to a stop in order that Jonah could climb down from the seat and enter the wagon. Others took the halt as an opportunity to head for the bushes and relieve themselves. Many curious eyes watched Jonah, and he flushed to the roots of his hair at the scrutiny. The last thing he wanted was to be considered weak or to be set apart from them by special treatment. He wished Grimstone had let him stay on the box. As soon as the door closed behind him, the whistle blew again—one long blast. There was a moment of silence, then three short shrieks of the whistle. Almost at once the wagon rolled forward with a jolt that nearly knocked him off his feet. Jonah dropped down onto his makeshift pallet on the floor, certain he wouldn‟t catch a wink. But within minutes the clattering wheels and swaying wagon lulled him to sleep.

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Chapter Five Rafe had closed the account ledger, but numbers still danced in his mind. Payroll, food, supplies, bribes to local officials—all left little for any kind of renovation to the wagons or the attractions. Morale would go out the window if he divulged the truth, so out of habit, he hadn‟t told the whole truth to the newest member of the troupe. The show would go on as always, shabby and decrepit and barely turning a profit. Some days he wondered why he bothered. He had other options. Even if he never returned home, he had education and possible resources. But owning the carnival was no longer about earning money, if it ever had been. This odd collection of people was family to him now. He couldn‟t break down the show, abandon them, and leave many of them with no livelihood. He had an obligation. Which was amusingly ironic given how far he‟d run to escape his real family obligations. As mile after mile of boring countryside rolled past, Rafe‟s mind shifted from business concerns to thoughts of a more personal nature—namely the lad currently sleeping in his home. His instant, powerful attraction to the young man bewildered him. He‟d seen more handsome men, more beautiful youths during his travels. Jonah Talbot was nothing special. Medium height, wiry build, unremarkable blond hair. His physique was not spectacular nor his features particularly interesting. But his eyes… Ah, they‟d caught and held Rafe like a hook in a fish‟s mouth from the moment he‟d looked into them. Even with that impressive shiner someone had given him. Last night he‟d supposed his attraction to the lad was unreciprocated. But today as they‟d talked, little signs—inclinations of Talbot‟s body, facial expressions, vocal inflection—had pretty well assured Rafe the attraction was mutual. That, at least, was comforting. He was usually accurate in his assessment of other men‟s sexual bent; had to be, because one couldn‟t afford to make a mistake when setting an assignation with a stranger. So, here was Jonah, an attractive and available man lying in the back of this very wagon. What would be the harm in taking advantage of that? It wouldn‟t be taking advantage at all if they both wanted it. But once, some time ago, Rafe had learned a hard lesson about shitting in his own nest. It didn‟t do to become involved with someone you had to continue to work alongside after the moments of passion faded. Still…

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A vision of Jonah Talbot‟s face, bruised and vulnerable as he slept, turned into a vision of that same face transported in ecstasy. Images of naked limbs, a lean torso, a taut arse, a sucking mouth, a rigid penis, shifted like kaleidoscope pieces in Rafe‟s head. It was so distracting, he nearly drove into the wagon before him when it pulled to an abrupt stop. His horse, Chaucer, had to turn and pull the wagon off the edge of the road and into the weeds to avoid a collision. Rafe jumped down and walked to the front of the line to talk to Henry Fisher, who was squatting beside the red wagon, peering underneath it. “What‟s wrong?” “Heard a noise. I‟m afraid the axle may be about to give way.” “Perfect. At this rate we might make Bartonville about a week from now.” “Sarcasm doesn‟t help,” the knife thrower said. “Call Dimitri up here and see if he can fix it.” Rafe didn‟t have to summon the strongman. Dimitri trotted up from his spot near the back of the line, where he‟d no doubt been flirting with Miss Jamie, or trying to, since the mistress of the dog and pony show never gave him the time of day. He crawled beneath the wagon. “It‟s cracking, all right. I think you can make it to the next stop, though, if you take it easy and avoid the potholes. Just to be safe, I‟ll lash some binding around the axle to hold it firm.” Rafe trusted Dimitri‟s assessment. The strongman had labored at a carriage works before joining the show. “It‟ll take a bit of time, boss. You might as well tell everyone to take a break.” Rafe didn‟t have to do that either, although he sent Fisher to spread the word. Folks were always ready for a break from traveling, and some of them were already sprawling in the grass by the side of the road, having a leisurely smoke or a snack. There was nothing for him to do here. Dimitri had it under control. Rafe went to check on Talbot, hoping no one noticed his preoccupation with the new hire. But he had little doubt that eyes were on him. They always were. He climbed into the wagon and shut the door behind him. Jonah sat up, rubbing his hand over his eyes. His fine hair was sleep rumpled and sticking out in all directions. The sight caught at Rafe‟s heart and sewed little stitches through it. “We‟re stopped? Is it lunchtime already?” “Cracked axle. We‟ll be on our way again in about fifteen minutes.” God help him for immediately thinking what they could do in fifteen minutes. Jonah rose to his feet a bit stiffly, grasping onto the counter for support. “You didn‟t have to lie on that pallet. You could‟ve slept in my bed.” Did that offer sound as heavy with meaning to the other man as it did to him? Jonah looked toward the unmade bed and then at Rafe. Their gazes met and held, locked together. There was no use pretending desire didn‟t crackle between

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them. The windows were closed, blocking out noise and the heat but also any fresh breeze. Inside, they were sealed into a warm stillness. Hushed, breathless, intimate, the moment spun out in a fine filament between them. “Well,” Rafe said. Jonah licked his lips and shifted from foot to foot. Rafe walked forward, crossing the space between them. He stopped right in front of Jonah, standing too close and waiting for him to back away if he wished to stop this. He didn‟t. Instead Jonah swayed forward, closer. They stood chest to chest, as if they were two drunks in a bar, deciding whether or not they were going to brawl. Rafe lifted his hand and touched the side of the younger man‟s face, feeling the slight roughness of the unshaved cheek, the warmth of skin beneath his fingertips. His heart raced, the thrill of this simple act as powerful as the jolt of a hammer coming down on the “test your strength” machine. And they hadn‟t even done anything illicit yet. Simply the possibility of kissing, touching, fondling…probing, had his head awhirl. Jonah‟s eyes drifted partway closed. He tilted his head, pushing his cheek against Rafe‟s palm. His lips were parted, moist, begging for a kiss. Rafe didn‟t even need to ask, but he did anyway. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” came the breathless reply. That was all he needed. Rafe bent and took hold of that luscious mouth, then pressed his lips hard against yielding softness. He was surprised at the fervor with which Jonah returned his kiss. Either the young man had been starved for this, waiting for such an experience his entire life, or he‟d had more experience than Rafe would‟ve expected. Either way, Jonah was ravenous, ignoring any pain in his damaged lip and kissing Rafe with hungry passion. Their tongues swept out and met in the middle, circling, plunging, fighting for supremacy—again taking Rafe by surprise. This diffident, polite lad was quite confident when it came to demanding what he wanted. Without hesitation, Jonah slid his arms around Rafe and pressed his hands against his back, pulling him closer. Through the flannel of his trousers, he felt Jonah‟s erection against his, sending waves of aching need rolling through him. Rafe groaned and wrapped his arms around Jonah, holding him tight. Their mouths continued to feed off each other, licking, tasting, gently stroking, and then crashing together fervently once more. And their bodies struggled together too, as if trying to find a way to become one, despite all the pesky clothes that kept them apart. Rafe ran a hand up Jonah‟s back, feeling the ridge of his spine through his cotton shirt. He pushed his hand into soft, fine hair and cradled the hard skull beneath. In a flash, he pictured a man, or more likely several, pounding on this ingenuous young man. He wished he could‟ve been there to rip the bastards‟ arms off and beat them with their own limbs.

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Rafe pulled away from Jonah‟s mouth, sucked in a breath of air, and attacked him again. He rocked his hips, rubbing his cock against the other man‟s but receiving no relief from it. He slipped his hand down, unbuckled Jonah‟s belt, and unfastened the buttons holding his fly closed. He sought the turgid thickness of the man‟s erection, found it, and wrapped his fist around it. Now it was Jonah‟s turn to groan. Rafe felt the vibration in his mouth, which was still mashed against the other man‟s. Satisfaction shot through him as he stroked the solid length, and Jonah thrust. Knowing the pleasure Jonah was feeling was almost as good as feeling it himself. Almost. But now Jonah snaked his hand between them and fumbled with Rafe‟s trouser buttons. There was no belt to impede him since Rafe wore braces and in a few seconds Jonah‟s hand plunged beneath his drawers and freed his cock. Jonah wasn‟t tentative in handling it. He pulled with long, even strokes, rubbed his thumb over the head in a gentle caress, and then tugged some more. Heat built between his hand and Rafe‟s shaft. Rafe forgot to give attention to Jonah‟s erection, pausing with his hand wrapped loosely around it while he took pleasure from the other man‟s pumping fist. Tension gathered in his groin and swelled through his cock. It‟d been too long, more than a year since he‟d know such pleasure from any hand other than his own. The traveling life afforded some opportunities to indulge in sex with nameless strangers, but Rafe had stopped looking for the secret signals men such as he gave one another. He‟d been content with his monkish existence. Not any longer. The energies he‟d been storing burst through him now, caressed to life by the hypnotic stroking of that snake charmer, Jonah. Life pulsed through him, and before he was aware it was going to happen, erupted from the tip of his penis. “Oh,” he gasped, taken by surprise by the abrupt orgasm. “Oh God.” He glanced down at his cock, at Jonah‟s hand so tight and warm around it, at the white spunk spattered over the other man‟s fist. Then he looked up at Jonah and grinned sheepishly, embarrassed at the speed with which he‟d come. “A short ride,” he quipped. “Let‟s hope I can give you a longer one.” With that, he redoubled his efforts on Jonah‟s behalf. He stared at the lovely cock in his hand, the head disappearing with each pull upward, reappearing on the down stroke. Then he looked at Jonah‟s face. It was just as he‟d pictured in his fantasy: slack, relaxed, eyes nearly closed and lips parted, the violet bruises enhancing the vulnerable appearance of his face. His soft moans thrilled Rafe. He wanted to elicit more of them and had the power to do so in his hand. And in his mouth. He considered dropping to his knees to take Jonah‟s cock between his lips, swirl his tongue over the smooth head and taste the salty flavor. Just as he‟d decided to suit action to thought, Jonah thrust into his fist once more and shuddered. Warm spunk shot onto Rafe‟s waistcoat as the other man reached his conclusion.

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Rafe pulled until Jonah‟s cock was depleted, and even then, continued to cradle it in his hand. They stood in silence, both breathing hard, the distant sounds of voices talking and laughing coming through the closed window. Low, grumbling moans floated to them from Sir Lancelot. Rafe knew the old lion would be pacing his cage. The animal didn‟t like it when the caravan stopped and was lulled to sleep by the rocking motion whenever they were on the road. How long could they stand here holding each other‟s dicks? Rafe glanced down at the white fluid decorating his green waistcoat and let go of Jonah at last to wipe it clean with a bandanna from his pocket. Jonah did the same, cleaning up his hand with a white handkerchief spattered with dark stains of dried blood. Rafe nodded at the handkerchief. “They got you pretty good. Was it because of something like this?” With a wave of his hand he indicated what had just transpired between them. “Never mind. You don‟t have to answer. As I said, you can leave the past behind here.” Rafe stepped away, tucking his cock in his trousers and buttoning them. He avoided looking at Jonah. With that sudden frenzy of lust over, there was nothing to do but carry on as if nothing had happened. Now that the edge was off his fervent need, regrets crept in. He shouldn‟t get involved with an employee. What they‟d done mustn‟t happen again, let alone anything more involving mouths or bungholes. A one-off with a stranger along the road was one thing, but he couldn‟t fuck a man who was working for him, someone he‟d see every day, someone the rest of the group would soon figure out he was fucking. He picked up a blank sheet that had fallen from the sheaf he used for posters, jostled loose from its place as they went along the road—rather like his brain. He tucked the poster paper away and busied himself with securing the stacks of paper rather than look over at Jonah. “I‟d better check how Dimitri is doing with the axle. We‟ll be moving again soon. I suggest you gather your things and go find Crooked Pete. He‟s the head of the roustabouts. I‟m sure Sam pointed him out to you, but if he didn‟t, the old man looks like his name. He‟ll tell you where you should bunk and what your chores will be.” “All right.” Jonah still sounded breathless, but Rafe didn‟t look back to see how he reacted to the brusque order. He didn‟t want to see disappointment or hurt on the young man‟s open face. It might make him change his mind.

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Chapter Six Rafe hovered over Dimitri, but his attention was on his own wagon. He watched Talbot emerge, carrying his little bundle, and go look for Crooked Pete. Good. No more temptation lying on the floor beside him tonight. His thoughts turned to the few minutes they‟d groped each other in his wagon, and he shivered at the memory. Jonah‟s obvious experience had taken him by surprise. The way he touched and kissed demonstrated a fluency in a language Rafe barely knew. Such a contrast to the man‟s innocent face and demeanor—a mirror shifted, and a different aspect was revealed. Hell, maybe country boys got up to all sorts of grappling with one another in haymows. But Rafe didn‟t want to think of sex anymore. He shut down that part of his mind and focused on getting the crew moving, since Dimitri had announced the axle was “patched for now.” The caravan got back on the road not fifteen minutes later as Dimitri had promised, but almost a full forty-five. They didn‟t reach Bartonville until after dusk. Rafe made sure their advanceman, Jack Treanor, had paid the men in charge the proper bribes before the carnival began setup. Men trailed after him as he raced through the site, finding the perfect location for the gumshoe—a sturdy, round block of wood that would be the main support for the big top. He strode on, waving at the spots for the smaller tents and pointing to where the wagons should be placed. Once the poles and lacing were laid out, everyone took his position by the canvas, ready to haul. The horses snorted and shook their manes as they waited. He couldn‟t resist the dramatic pause—he was a showman, after all—before he blew the whistle and the steady, slow pull on the ropes, the shouts, and the chantey began. All right; this was the part he loved best. It was grueling work, and the carnival wasn‟t fully erected until late at night, everyone working in the light of kerosene lanterns to finish up. Rafe caught glimpses of Jonah now and then, once with a bucket of sloshing water suspended from each straining arm, another time helping Dimitri lay the iron boundaries of the ring Rafe had just carefully measured out in the main top. When Rafe finally retired, exhausted from overseeing every aspect of the setup, his trailer had never seemed so quiet. Usually he found the silence a blessing after the constant noise and confusion of the carnival, but tonight it just seemed empty, not peaceful at all. And his body ached, not from the physical labor he‟d

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engaged in—for he always worked right alongside his rousties—but in deeper places than mere muscles. He wanted. He needed. Knowing the object of his want and need was so close yet inaccessible drove him crazy. Crazy he didn‟t need. Rafe shoved sexual desire away from him like a man rejecting an ill-fitting suit of clothes and forced himself to sleep.

*** The week went smoothly, though every day had its challenges. Four days after picking up Talbot, the show‟s morning dawned, stretched, yawned, and started out with a fight that Rafe had to break up. The “Signortoris” again. Although Henry and Ellen Fisher were actually from Bangor, Maine, they‟d somehow taken on the personas of the fiery-tempered Italians they‟d played in their act for so long. When they yelled at each other, Ellen even used her adopted accent. She was screaming now, accusing Henry of cheating on her, of being a no-good drunk, and of trying to kill her during their knife-throwing act. Rafe knew two out of three of those things were true. Their three kids seemed inured to their parents‟ quarrels—perhaps the drama of the carnival made them think this too was make-believe. Rafe only hoped they were as indifferent to the yelling as they seemed. He liked the occasionally insolent but always hardworking Fisher kids. When it came to learning routines for their acts, they were serious and as professional as any artiste he‟d seen.The oldest, who was sixteen, rolled his eyes, grabbed his twelve-year-old sister‟s hand, and walked away. By the time Rafe had soothed the Fishers, listened to Miss Jamie‟s petition for new costumes for the dogs and ponies in her act, and dealt with Sam‟s complaint that he didn‟t feel well enough to be “Kaspar the Giant” today—Rafe reminded him that all he had to do was sit in a tent and be gawked at, which didn‟t take much effort—it was late morning and time to open the gates to customers. Jack Treanor had done a good job of announcing their arrival. Posters were plastered on shop windows in town and on signposts and trees beside rural roads. Word of mouth spread quickly in this countryside, where a carnival coming to the area was akin to a Shakespearean festival. The hayseeds were thrilled to have any entertainment in their humdrum lives. Rafe stayed busy putting out fires, since luck was apparently against him today and nothing would run smoothly. One of the miniature ponies got feisty and nipped at a little girl who was taking a ride. Miss Jamie usually handled such situations with aplomb, but the young woman was not herself lately, and Rafe ended up having to mollify the girl‟s family. His presentation of a candy apple to the little girl stopped her bawling, and the full force of his charm was enough to calm the upset mama. Then Sam proved to be as sick as he claimed to be, vomiting right in front of the customers who‟d come into the freak tent to see the tallest man on earth. Guilt-

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stricken, Rafe sent Sam to his quarters and Mindy to look after him, which left him more shorthanded than he already had been. The carnival was small enough that everyone had many roles to play, and he allowed no complaining from the “talent” when they had to do other labor. Rafe ended up calling for the freaks himself, enticing people to come inside and see the marvelous vagaries of nature for a nickel. Other than Claudia, the fat lady, and Sam, there was a two-headed chicken and other anomalies pickled in brine. It wasn‟t much of a freak show. The midget, Alan Henderson, had walked off the job last month to join a much larger outfit, the Orcully Brothers. That was a huge loss. Perhaps it was time to invent a gill-man or a he-she—half man, half woman by costume only, not a true hermaphrodite. Both required only the application of a little stage craft. Meanwhile, Rafe talked up the mysteries to be seen inside the tent until he was hoarse, and the customers who came out of the tent seemed satisfied despite the lack of a giant. It was late afternoon when Rafe caught sight of Jonah hurrying past on some errand. Rafe beckoned him over. “I need a break. You take over here.” “What? I‟m no barker. I wouldn‟t know what to say.” “The term we use is „talker.‟ You know how to talk, right? Just open your mouth and say anything—loudly. Entice people inside. Promise marvels such as they‟ve never seen before. You‟ve heard the patter.” He didn‟t give Jonah time to argue or to look at him. Those soulful green eyes tied his stomach in knots. They‟d make him do something else stupid if he allowed them to, and he couldn‟t afford for his dick to take over his brains right now. Rafe jumped off the platform and walked away as if he had no doubt Jonah would obey him, but hid by the nearest booth and watched. Instinct told him that Jonah, despite his diffident manner, had the heart of a showman. The man loved Shakespeare. He probably harbored a desire to be an actor; Rafe had been around the show long enough to spot the ones who loved performance. Talbot‟s speaking voice was a pleasure to listen to, soothing and warm—enticing, which was just what the job called for. He‟d have to make sure the volume was there, of course. Rafe listened. Yes, there it was, a few tentative words about the jaw-dropping beauty and terror to be found within this fascinating little world of wonder. Fairly good stuff. More alliteration would fit the ticket. And certainly Jonah could use more assurance, conviction that he believed every word he shouted. But that would come—if he stayed on. Rafe knew better than to count on that happening. The road life wasn‟t for everyone. Likely once he‟d gotten far enough away from whatever devils chased him, Jonah would leave. Rafe only hoped he‟d spare the time for an honest good-bye instead of slipping off in the middle of some night—rather as he‟d done himself when he‟d left England.

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Chapter Seven Jonah stood on the box, overlooking the crowd, and issued familiar instructions to himself. Speak from the diaphragm. Look your audience in the eye. Don’t forget to include gestures with your hands and arms, but do not allow them to be comical. You are not in a music hall. Keep your back straight and shoulders down. No one wants to see a hunched member of the clergy. Don’t be stiff, and allow your voice to proclaim the word of… Well, no, that part he‟d dismiss. This was not the word of God. It had been a long time since he‟d felt the touch of God‟s presence in his heart to believe he could speak of such things. His father would say that God could not enter a place like a carnival. The noise, the riffraff crowds, the ungodly performers, the essence of lies, would be more likely to attract the devil. Drive out the devil. Jonah sucked a long new breath, pushed out the old, and returned his mind to the secular. Breathe out the pain. Drive out the devil. He lost his place in the endless chatter he‟d invented after listening to Grimstone‟s spiel. He‟d decided he hadn‟t yet lost enough of his old self to lie, but he could bring himself to exaggerate. “Enter a world of wonders.” Yes, that is certainly true. This is an amazing world in which we live. “New! Marvels like nothing you‟ve ever seen before.” Naturally the sight is new. Every soul I’ve met has been new and marvelous. “Glory—”No, that doesn’t fit. Not here. “Glorious sights to amaze and touch the imagination.” Touch brought something else to mind, and he raised his voice to thunderous heights to drown out the image of dark eyes burning and a mouth slightly parted with need as he stroked and touched and… “Leave the workaday world behind to experience the amazing, the stupendous…” His voice faltered for a second. How long had they been together in that wagon? Less than ten minutes, from closing the door to backing away from each other, finished. He spread his hands wide and yelled the words, but his thoughts kept returning to that interlude in the wagon. He had to convince himself that the moments with Grimstone had been nothing more than a pleasant release of tension. A very pleasant release. Apparently such a short encounter wasn‟t supposed to shift one‟s entire life. Jonah should have learned this lesson already, for pity‟s sake.

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He would follow Grimstone‟s lead and pretend nothing of any significance had happened. Perhaps the point of acting as if it meant nothing meant the sin couldn‟t go soul-deep. He had to smile at himself. What a strange, childish view of sin, as if he could strike a compromise with God: let me dabble in murky waters, but as long as I don’t completely plunge in, I won’t be swimming against your will. Such negotiations with the Almighty didn‟t sound like something Grimstone would bother to indulge in. Trouble was, Jonah didn‟t know what the man truly thought about what they‟d done, except that it was clear Grimstone had decided nothing should happen between them again. There were no customers around, so Jonah paused his patter, took off his cap, and rubbed his hand through his hair. A man turned the corner by the House of Mirrors and stopped to stare at him. “You a freak?” the man shouted. “You look like „The Bruised Man.‟” “I dared to anger the strongest man on earth, and he knocked me over with a careless push of his pinky finger,” Jonah fired back. Not a lie, since, after all, he had angered God. Or his father. The two had been entwined in his mind all of Jonah‟s life. Of course he understood this was nonsense by the time he‟d reached age twelve, but even the slightly more tolerant version of God he‟d encountered in Bible college couldn‟t seem to entirely reduce the power of his father‟s word. The mocking man laughed and handed over a nickel to enter the freak tent. Jonah cleared his throat, glad he‟d paid attention to the classes taught by Professor Blevit—or Professor Blowhard, as the seminary students had called the lecturer who taught public speaking. Even so, Jonah suspected he‟d need one of Parinsky‟s tonics for his throat by the time he finished. “You won‟t believe your eyes. You will marvel at the astonishing variety of life we boast in our show. Don‟t miss this opportunity to view the strangest among us. Comical and poignant! Breathtaking and real! More real than reality itself.” Now that phrase didn‟t quite work, he decided. Jonah was beginning to enjoy himself, the phrases came faster and louder, the callouts to the crowd—“You, sir! Yes, you surely would enjoy sights to dazzle the eye!”—when he noticed a man who stood in front of him, unmoving. With a Stetson and a drooping white mustache, he looked more like an escapee from a Wild West show than a customer. The man didn‟t offer money or interrupt. He merely waited. Jonah broke off and looked down at him. “Sir?” “Are you the man they call Rafe Grimstone? I was told to find him here.” Jonah shook his head. The man had a British accent, an odd contrast with his Western-style clothing. His accent couldn‟t be a coincidence—perhaps he knew Mr. Grimstone or was related to him. But there was something too stern about the man, too much like an outraged citizen looking for trouble, the type he‟d heard about from

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Sam and Rafe. The older gentleman reeked of the righteousness Jonah had so often found in church and at school. “No, that‟s not me, sir,” he said. “Can you tell me where I might find him?” “Where you can find a Mr. Grimstone, sir?” He stalled and spoke louder. If Grimstone was listening, he might decide for himself whether he wanted to face the man. The man tugged on the end of his mustache. “Yes, Grimstone, fool.” When he shifted from one booted foot to the other, his jacket opened, and Jonah saw the glint of polished leather at his hip and a large bulge resting there. A revolver. “Nossir,” Jonah said. “I can‟t say I know the man.” Another of those nontruths that wasn‟t exactly a lie, for after all, he knew very little about Grimstone. Jonah was getting as slippery as an eel. Too bad he hadn‟t learned prevarication earlier in his life. Lying might have helped save him a great deal of trouble. The man left without speaking another word. Jonah watched him stalk away and considered finding Grimstone and informing him of the man looking for him. He had no notion what the man‟s business could be, but that grim air did not bode well. That was worth the risk, so he jumped down and hurried through the crowd in search of Grimstone, leaving the freak tent unattended. In the main tent the dog and pony act was about to start. Perhaps he‟d find Grimstone there, drawing in the crowd while Jack Treanor worked those already in their seats inside the tent. Treanor‟s act in the carnival was as a sad-faced clown with incredibly bad luck. He did some juggling and dancing as well. Jonah found the ringmaster helping Miss Jamie check the harnesses on the ponies. “Mr. Grimstone, a man is looking for you, an older gentleman with a big white mustache and an accent sort of like yours. He sounds British.” Grimstone straightened. “Where?” He sounded calm but scanned the area the way Jonah used to look for bullies lying in wait after school. Then he focused on Jonah. “Here now, Talbot. Did you abandon your post?” “This seemed more important. He didn‟t strike me as friendly, and he has a gun.” Grimstone seemed more annoyed than frightened. He handed his whistle to Jonah. “Give this to Parinsky. He‟s been longing for it, here‟s his chance. But it‟s a loan. Tell him two minutes to show time, and he‟s the ringmaster for the night. He‟s not selling his poison at the moment, so you‟ll likely find him drinking it in his wagon. I‟ll have Jack perform for a few minutes longer than usual. Go on now.” “What‟ll you do?” But Grimstone had already vanished. Jonah found Parinsky and delivered the message as he handed over the brass whistle. Parinsky turned it in his deft fingers. “He hurt or something?”

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“No.” “Why‟d he take off with so little notice?” “He didn‟t say.” He was becoming proficient with these half-truths. “Perhaps you should get going, sir?” “Damn. Two minutes! You‟re right.” He went into his wagon, slammed the door, then came out less than a minute later shoving his arms into a bright blue jacket with a military cut and huge gold epaulets. Jonah watched him hurry off, then made his way back to the freak tent. He climbed up on the platform and began his shouting, but with less vigor. He didn‟t think Grimstone had recognized the man he‟d described, yet he seemed to know someone would be coming after him. Did it have to do with the show, or his past life? Perhaps the reason he‟d left the British Isles had to do with a crime. Jonah could believe Grimstone had broken the law. Not something truly heinous like murder, but Rafe Grimstone had a mysterious, slightly dangerous air that was a large part of his attractiveness. Jonah wouldn‟t be surprised to learn he‟d stolen, cheated, or assaulted someone, or perhaps simply angered some official who‟d forced him to flee the country. “Mister, those ain‟t no natural wonders, but a waste of a hard-earned nickel,” a man coming out of the freak tent blared loud enough to be heard by everyone nearby. Jonah remembered Rafe‟s advice about soothing disgruntled customers and beckoned the man over. “I wouldn‟t want anyone to leave our show dissatisfied. Unfortunately I don‟t have the authority to refund your money. But let me give you a free pass to another sideshow. There‟s a caged lion or some amazing acrobats”—he paused—“also a dancing girl.” “Dancing girl?” The man‟s interest was piqued. Jonah had no ticket to give the man, so he jumped down from the platform. “I‟ll take you there.” As he led the man through the crowd, Jonah thought of procurers and prostitutes. He wasn‟t certain he was entirely comfortable taking this man to gawk at a nearly nude lady while she shook her assets. Besides which, he hoped the customer wasn‟t equally disappointed in the dancer, who must be well over fifty. Finished with his knife wielding, “Signor Signortori” had changed out of his costume and was selling some of Parinsky‟s tonics as well as directing customers inside the girlie tent to see the “shimmering loveliness of a spring day.” The coupling of patent medicine sales with a nearly topless dancer wasn‟t as odd as it might sound, since Henry Fisher assured his strictly male audience that the “restorative, invigorating, and strength-building tonic” would give “increased stamina.” Likely many of these men, aroused by viewing a belly dance, would turn to their wives tonight with renewed and ardent vigor.

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Jonah explained the situation to Fisher, who scowled but let the customer in, then Jonah started back toward the freak show yet again, walking slowly, as he was exhausted and in no hurry to get there. “You. Johnny Hayseed.” A hand grabbed his elbow, and Jonah realized the words were addressed to him. He instinctively flinched away from the hand and turned to face a slender woman with long golden ringlets framing her face. Miss Jamie, he guessed, although he‟d not been introduced to her yet. “Where‟s Grimstone? I need to speak to him.” “I have no idea.” “You‟re staying with him aren‟t you? In his trailer.” “Not anymore. I‟m with the rest of the rousties now.” And the ground was much harder and colder than Grimstone‟s floor had been. He‟d thought of the warmth of that snug little trailer as he tried to sleep last night while listening to Crooked Pete‟s whistling snore. “If you see him, tell him Miss Jamie would like a few moments of his precious time if he can be bothered.” “Yes, miss.” She started to turn away, then stopped and looked him in the eye. “You should know that Rafe Grimstone has a short attention span. He likes new things but doesn‟t stay interested in them for long.” She walked away, her bottom swaying. From her tone of voice, it sounded as if she was speaking from personal experience—and as if she still had a strong dose of Rafe Grimstone in her system. She was evidently infatuated with him. In a flash, Jonah‟s perceptions shifted. What did this mean? Did the carnival owner play games with all his employees—or at least the young and fairly attractive ones? If he‟d been with Miss Jamie, it meant he liked both women and men. Giving and taking physical pleasure was only sport to him and meant nothing. Which he‟d made perfectly clear when he‟d fastened his fly and left Jonah standing with his trousers around his ankles. Jonah really was a hayseed, a wet-behind-the-ears child, to imagine there‟d been anything more than a bout of pleasure between them. Just as with Rev. Burns, he was allowing his feelings to take over and tell him lust was something deeper and more profound. Sex was sex. That was all. Fool. Naive idiot. Well, people could change, and he‟d grow out of these romantic illusions if it killed him. He‟d run to the carnival to escape his past and reinvent himself. So he would do it, become self-sufficient and lose the false stars in his eyes created by the flash of spangles. Charged by this decision to turn over a new leaf, Jonah finished his evening of calling for the freak show with renewed loquacity. He spun sugar candy tales of exotic delights to be seen inside the tent, and kept the till ringing with the plink of coins.

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At last the lights dimmed, signaling the carnival was closing for the night. The crowds had thinned to a few stragglers: lovers bumping hips as they strolled along, groups of pimple-faced youths jostling around the hoochie-coochie tent, daring each other to try to buy a ticket. Meanwhile, grown men, having seen their womenfolk safely home, returned to take furtive advantage of the opportunity to see a halfnaked dancing girl. It had soothed Jonah‟s conscience to learn that the females in the carnival weren‟t even close to naked—they wore fleshings. The flap of the freak tent opened, and Claudia poked out her head, her moonwide face shining in the dim light. “Time to close up. You can turn in your box to Grim and take a breather. You done good. Although God knows there wasn‟t much of a show for the folks tonight with that son of a bitch midget gone and Sam down sick.” She chuckled. “Hell, „The Great Claudia‟ probably ain‟t no fatter than some ladies around these parts, and the two-headed chicken‟s fallin‟ apart. Looks more like a jar of chicken stew than an attraction.” Jonah grinned. “Good night, Miss Claudia.” He jumped off the makeshift stage for the last time and went to give his money box to Grimstone, steeling himself to remain detached and not think of what they‟d done together—what he‟d like to do with the charismatic man tonight. But when he finally found Grimstone, Parinsky was with him. The ringmaster barely glanced at Jonah as he accepted the money box. Jonah decided not to mention Miss Jamie had been looking for him. She‟d probably talked to Grimstone by now, and Jonah really didn‟t care to be her message boy. He left the two men, who were arguing about something, and headed toward the wagon under which he‟d slept the previous night. On the way, he passed Sam‟s wagon and decided to stop by and see if he was feeling any better. He knocked on the door and waited for Sam‟s, “Come in.” This wagon was even more crowded than Grimstone‟s and had no sitting area. There was a small bed built into one wall and an extralong bed across from it. Clothing and possessions filled the remaining space, hanging on hooks, trailing out of dresser drawers, lying in heaps on the floor. A single kerosene lamp turned low illuminated the room. Jonah stepped around the mess to approach Sam, who lay with his feet sticking out from beneath a rumpled blanket and his head and shoulders supported by a pillow. His bangs stuck to his sweating forehead, and his face was wan with tight lines cutting the corners of his mouth. He was shirtless, and for a moment Jonah was struck by the enormous bones and long ligaments that held them together under his pale skin. “How are you feeling? You don‟t look too good.” “Head aches. And my stomach.” One large hand patted the blanket over his abdomen. “I get these meegraines. Nothing to do but wait ‟em out.” “I‟m sorry. I‟ll go and let you get some more rest.”

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“No. It‟s lonely here now that Alan‟s gone. The little man was full of himself, but he was company. Sit a spell.” Jonah wondered where exactly he was supposed to sit. He finally squatted on his haunches near the bed. “Good crowd tonight?” Sam asked. “I guess so. I don‟t know what „good‟ is. I haven‟t been here long enough.” Sam smiled, and Jonah returned it. There was no way anyone could refuse to smile along with Sam. “Anyway, I got to do more than shovel shit tonight. I talked for your show. Did a fair job of it too, I think.” “Well, that‟s great. Only here a few days, and you‟re already moving up in the world. I had a pretty good night myself—I mean, besides the headache and throwing up.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “Mindy came to check on me. Gave me some broth and put a cloth on my forehead.” Jonah wasn‟t sure what to say. “Congratulations” seemed a little extreme, but clearly Sam was very happy about her attention. “That‟s nice. You really like her, don‟t you?” “Can you tell?” His broad brow puckered. “Do you think she can tell? Do I act calf-eyed and dopey around her?” “No,” Jonah lied. “I don‟t think she knows.” And then because he couldn‟t restrain his curiosity, “What is it about her that you like so much?” He couldn‟t think what would attract anyone to the blunt, sour-faced woman. “Aw, I don‟t know. She‟s just so… She‟s Mindy. She don‟t take no guff from anybody, and she‟d never lie to you, not even to spare your feelings. She might be snappish, but she‟s loyal, and I‟d trust her with my life.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “She‟s a real great girl.” “Someone you can trust is a hard thing to find in this world,” Jonah agreed. “Of course, I wish she could be my girl, but that‟s not likely to happen. I know she‟s just bein‟ nice to me in a friendly way, but still a man has to have hope, right?” “That‟s right. You never know.” “When a person‟s the right one for you, when you know it right here in your gut”—he pressed a hand to his gaunt belly—“there‟s nothing‟s gonna change that feeling, whether they think of you the same way or not.” Jonah remembered how he‟d thought he felt something for Ezekiel Burns not so long ago, and now he imagined he felt something for Rafe Grimstone. But he was too polite to tell Sam that sometimes your emotions were as false as the attractions in a carnival sideshow, and it was best to let go of them. Jonah‟s calves were cramping, so he rose. “Can I get you anything? Maybe something to drink?” Sam pointed to the water pitcher, and Jonah poured him a glass. After Sam had drunk it, Jonah bid his new friend good night and headed back outdoors.

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He glanced at the light in the windows of Rafe‟s wagon as he trudged toward a thin bedroll on the hard ground and thought of warmth and the sweet smell of pipe smoke. For one moment he allowed himself to relive the excitement of standing chest to chest, grasping each other‟s cocks, their tongues curling around each other like talented acrobats, then he pushed the thoughts out of his mind and went on his way. He was a new man, a stronger, less emotional one. He must remember that and not allow those yearning feelings to creep insidiously through him. Otherwise, he‟d be as pathetically, hopelessly a romantic as poor Sam.

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Chapter Eight Rafe headed toward his trailer, dead on his feet after another day of travel and setting up in a new location. Three days since you touched Talbot and he touched you, his mind helpfully reminded him. You could have him in your bed tonight if you wanted to. Don’t you want to? Rafe grunted and shut down the insidious voice. Everything was secured for the night, all the crew in their beds—or someone else‟s. He‟d done his last walk of the perimeter. They always had a night guard keeping watch to make certain no unexpected trouble came from the locals. It seemed unnecessary, but Rafe had been in the business long enough to know that a situation could blow up fast and hard. And when trouble came, it often seemed to be under the cover of night. Which brought his mind to the stranger who‟d been looking for him a few nights ago. That couldn‟t be good. Jonah had said the man had a British accent, which suggested someone from back home was looking for him. If the family had bothered to send someone in search of him, it must mean something had happened. Perhaps a death. But he didn‟t want to know about it, didn‟t want to turn his mind to look back at the world he‟d left behind. He‟d cut himself off from his family for a reason, and even death wouldn‟t change the fact that he wanted nothing to do with them. Rafe stopped walking. A light shone from inside his wagon. His heart sped up along with his feet as he hurried to it. A part of him was positive he‟d find Jonah waiting inside. But when he threw open the door and bounded up the step, he was disappointed to find Henry Fisher sitting with a glass in one hand and a bottle in his other, singing along with the ballad that crackled from the Edison phonograph cylinder. “She and I will never be one. Alas, for the stormy sea,” he sang. Rafe sighed. It seemed the Fishers were more on the outs than the ins these days, and he was getting a bit tired of listening to Henry‟s litany of woe. “Ellen threw you out again?” Without answering, Henry clinked the bottle against the rim of the glass, then pushed the fresh drink across the table toward Rafe. Rafe picked up the whiskey and downed it in a gulp. He licked his lips and blew a breath. “I needed that. Long day.”

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He straddled the other chair and waited for Henry to talk. He didn‟t say “tell me about it.” He‟d be getting an earful soon enough, more details than he ever wanted to know about the “Amazing Signortoris” life of wedded bliss. Rafe poured another glass full of the cheap whiskey and wished it was Craggenmore. He studied Henry‟s sharp features—the hatchet nose and long chin; beneath a thin mustache, a wide mouth that was quick to smile; heavy brows that were quick to frown. Henry used black hair dye to add to the illusion of being a knife-wielding Italian and always had a dark stain at the edge of his hairline, but Rafe could see mingled white and brown hair creeping in at the roots. After listening for as long as he could stand to the man‟s laundry list of complaints about his wife, Rafe finally interrupted. “Why do you do it? Why do the pair of you continue to claw at each other year after year?” “What do you mean?” Henry stared at him through bleary eyes. “Why don‟t you give each other some peace and go your separate ways?” “Are you crazy? We‟re married,” the other man replied, as if that explained everything. “People get divorced.” Rafe heard his own voice slurring a little and realized he was pleasantly squiffed. “Or at least live apart. If they don‟t, a lot of them should.” He thought of his own parents, who‟d battled each other in a much icier fashion than the fiery Fishers. “Phah,” Henry scoffed. “I couldn‟t live without Ellie. What would be the point of anything without her?” His vision shifted, and perhaps for the first time, Rafe understood the Fishers‟ relationship. They were happy causing misery to each other. Henry threw knives at his wife on a daily basis. In return, she threw verbal knives at him. It was their own private juggling act, and they loved it. “Anyway, making up makes the arguing worthwhile, don‟t you think?” “Mm,” Rafe replied. He‟d not had any such experience, because he‟d never had that deep of an involvement with anyone. “I suppose.” Henry chuckled. “I promise you, it does. With Ellen, it‟s never sweeter or stronger than after a storm‟s blown itself out. That woman can…” And he was off again, sharing intimate sexual details that made Rafe take a pull direct from the bottle. “Hey,” Rafe finally interrupted the drunken rambling. “Did you see a man around here a few nights ago? A gent with a big white mustache and a cowboy hat? I heard someone like that was looking for me? The rumor is he was hanging about the show a couple of nights ago.” And ducking the stranger had been difficult though not impossible to do. The trouble was, someone had mentioned spotting a man matching his description lurking here too. He‟d followed them. “The one who looks and sounds like he‟s been punching cows all over London? Yeah. Looking for you. I said I hadn‟t heard of you in my life. He don‟t believe me. What did the fake cowboy want?”

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Rafe shrugged. “No idea, but it‟s best to avoid strangers asking questions.” “Amen to that.” Henry got up and staggered to his bedroll. “Is your injured Lamb of God coming back here tonight?” “Who?” Rafe scratched his cheek. He needed a shave. “The preacher‟s son, Ahab. No… Jonah. Knew it had to do with whales.” “Who told you he was a preacher‟s son?” Rafe got up and put their mugs in the dishpan. “Come on, Grim, you know Treanor knows everything about every town we roll through. He told me his guesses about our little lost lamb.” Rafe wanted to learn more but didn‟t want to express too much interest. “Oh?” he said with an air of supreme indifference as he sat on the bed to pull off his boots. Luckily Henry was in a chatty mood. And even better, he‟d dropped the Italian accent. Now he was nasal New England. “Reverend Talbot‟s a big noise in that little berg back where we picked up the boy. Couple of years ago showed up at some council meeting, Treanor said, to tell ‟em to drive us outta town. And ‟parently he‟s a minister who likes his hell. Not as showy as some of those Southern preachers, but as grim and God-fearing as you could ask for.” “What else did Treanor say?” Henry yawned and muttered something about needing another drink. He sat up then must have spotted the cups resting in the enamel dishpan, because he lay back on the blankets and sighed. The subject might be over as far as Henry was concerned, but Rafe was still curious. Far too curious. “Maybe Talbot has had a falling out with his family for some reason,” Rafe wondered aloud. Not difficult to guess why, of course. “Even Treanor‟s not that good at picking up local gossip. Just that he swears Talbot senior resembles our Jonah. And there‟s the name, of course.” He rolled over and squinted at the bottle still sitting on the table. “Maybe we ought to have a drop more.” “I think not, lad. We‟ll have work in the morning. And you‟ll have to do some begging and groveling with your missus.” Henry gave a crooked grin. “I do enjoy that begging and groveling.” Rafe groaned. “Spare me any further details, I beg of you.” “Fair enough, since you spare me yours.” Henry gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched his thin arms overhead. “Speaking of which, that why you had to leave home?” The hair on the back of Rafe‟s neck rose. He forced a laugh. “You‟ve had a fair snoot-full if you think I‟m going to talk over my private affairs with you, signor.” “First I figured it was something like thievery,” Henry said. “But I see how you don‟t take any women to bed, so I supposed your inclinations might have led to your putting a sea‟s worth of distance between you and your family.”

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“Christ Almighty, Henry. Since when did you turn into a gossip?” Henry went on as if he hadn‟t interrupted. “And I saw the way you looked at that preacher‟s kid.” Rafe reminded himself he didn‟t want to beat the snot out of Henry, no matter how tempting it might be. Instead he opted for the truth. “My family couldn‟t care less if I bedded a man, a woman, or a ruddy pig.” He could do whatever he liked as long as he was discreet. After all, his brother had done much worse. He finished with, “So no, the reason I left home had nothing to do with who I slept with.” “I was closer with the guess about thieving, then?” “Shut up or get out,” Rafe said without heat. “And next time your wife kicks you out, go sleep with Lance. The cat‟s the only one who‟ll put up with you when you‟re like this.” Henry mumbled something about Sir Lancelot and farting, then fell silent. Rafe had thought he was exhausted, but now he lay wide awake. Perhaps his brother had hired the man who was looking for him. If that was true, he‟d have to be careful. Edward would be the last man to want him to return to England, but Rafe had never truly understood what drove his brother. He‟d thought he‟d known the boy and then the man behind the smile, but he hadn‟t known Edward at all. He rolled onto his side and counted Henry‟s snores. God, and now Henry knew about his vice. Another problem he must face. Rafe had been too obvious about his attraction to Talbot. He‟d have to do an even better job of ignoring the preacher‟s son, but the blasted man bore that ineffable appeal that made Rafe hungry for every brief encounter, from the simple exchange of conversation to what they‟d done in this wagon. Even with all the bruises, Talbot was appealing—his voice, the way he held perfectly still when another spoke, listening as if that person were the most fascinating being on earth. Rafe didn‟t trust charm. God knew he could wield it himself. He‟d had lessons from the best. He recalled his mother, one dainty hand on the sleeve of a boring politician, leaning forward, her eyes wide as she listened to the man‟s dull conversation, and then her contagious laughter as she ruthlessly and accurately imitated the man later. She didn‟t have the shadow of a conscience under her layers of charm, even as she‟d fought to keep Edward, her older son, from facing the consequences of his actions. Could Talbot be another like Edward, who appeared guileless and transparent but harbored murky depths? It was dangerous to be taken in by appearances. Rafe had learned that the hard way from his brother. The carnival wasn‟t the only home of dangerous illusion. He sat up, tired of his useless thoughts. The tiny room had grown stuffy. He threw aside his blanket and rose from the bunk. If he wasn‟t going to sleep, Rafe might as well take over guard duty. Outside he strolled through the cool night air, jumping over the stakes and ropes in the dark. No matter where they set up, the pattern of wagons and tents

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was the same. He found Crooked Pete dozing by the tethered horses and nudged the man awake. “Go find your bedroll,” he said. “I‟ll take over.” Pete yawned and stumbled to his feet. “I was awake.” “Awake enough,” Rafe agreed. “We‟re not at war here. It‟s a good little town.” Pete pulled out paper and tobacco and rolled a cigarette with his stubby fingers. “So what‟s the preacher‟s boy going to be useful for?” What a small world they inhabited. For all the talk of never mentioning the past, poor Talbot apparently had dragged his along with him. “Claudia says he did a fair job of shouting her charms the other night. And he‟ll regain his strength soon enough,” Rafe said. “Too old to learn useful skills like tumbling,” Pete muttered. That was a good sign. If he was trying to think of where to put Talbot, then he had come to some form of acceptance. “He might be good with the animals, but all that slow moving might be his injuries,” Pete went on. “He‟s wholesome and good-looking, so he shouldn‟t hide behind the scenes shoveling shit. He could be the shill. A natural for that. He‟s got that trustworthy kind of face.” Rafe watched the red end of Pete‟s cigarette glow bright. It was rather astonishing that Pete, a man who hated to do any more thinking than necessary, would expend this mental energy for Talbot. Perhaps the earnest young man had engaged him as well. “Can‟t have a useless body eating a share of rations and not providing his share of work,” Pete said. So much for the theory that Talbot had won him over. “True enough. Go to sleep,” Rafe said. “I‟ll wake you in a few hours.” Pete raised his foot and carefully extinguished the cigarette against the sole of his boot. He put the butt in his pocket to separate the paper from the unsmoked tobacco later. Rafe wanted to tell him to stop worrying about every strand of tobacco, that the lean times were over for the show, but he didn‟t want to lie. Stretching his arms high, Pete ambled off in the direction of the wagons. Rafe leaned against a post they‟d pounded into the ground to stretch the rope for the corral. The horses stood mostly silent, sleeping. The rain still hadn‟t come down, but clouds blocked the stars and scuttled over the face of the moon. He smiled up at the moon and breathed in the scent of horses, meadow, and wood smoke spiced with an occasional hint of distant honeysuckle. He was alive and at peace with the world again, so he almost resented the voice that interrupted his solitude. “Sir? I mean, Mr. Grimstone.” His heart beat faster. Now there was godforsaken desire added to the mix. He‟d been so content. “Talbot. You should be asleep.” “I suppose so.” The dark figure stopped by the next stake, moonlight gilding his pale hair. “I‟d hoped I might find you here.”

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“You were looking for me?” Rafe became aware of his hands, as if the need to pull the other man close came from his fingers instead of his damnable brain. “Is anything wrong?” “No.” Talbot drew a breath. “Yes. I think I should apologize.” “Oh?” This would be interesting. Was the preacher‟s son a thief after all and that was the reason he‟d fled town? That would put the finishing touches on Rafe‟s current disgruntled state. It‟d be hard to learn he‟d lost his ability to read anyone. “What I did in your wagon the other day… I was pushing you. I shouldn‟t have gone after you like that.” The stumbling speech made it seem as if Talbot imagined he‟d besmirched a virgin. Rafe gave a bark of surprised laughter. “You, after me? Think back. Who touched whom first? We‟ll share blame if there‟s blame to assign in the matter.” “You‟re not upset?” “No. I‟m not,” he snapped. “You‟ve seemed angry these past few days.” He wanted to hit something. “No. But I promise I will grow angry if you keep asking me about my mood.” Rafe was astonished to hear Talbot snort in derision. “That is exactly the sort of thing people in a bad mood say.” The young man no longer sounded careful and hesitant, which suited Rafe. He didn‟t want to kick at an injured lost lamb. And he felt like kicking something. “If someone is in an ill temper, do you honestly think it best to keep pestering him?” Rafe shoved his hands in his trouser pockets but took a step toward Talbot. Hot with restlessness, he felt dangerously close to starting a brawl—or grabbing at the man for entirely different reasons. “If I believe something I‟ve done might have contributed to his bad mood, yes, I do think I should try to amend the situation. It‟s the Christian thing to do.” The last was said without a trace of irony, and Rafe nearly smiled at the contradiction between Jonah‟s wholesome beliefs and the unholy act he‟d engaged in with such eagerness. The boy was full of unexpected contrasts, which somehow didn‟t come across as hypocrisy. Jonah took a breath. “I like you, Mr. Grimstone. I‟ve watched you. You‟re fair and strong. I‟ve heard all about you from the carnival folk, and they admire and respect you, for the most part.” Rafe waited, but that seemed to be the end of Talbot‟s speech. The man backed away now, seemed ready to take off, but Rafe stopped him with a growl. “What the hell do you want from me?”

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Chapter Nine That should be obvious. Jonah smiled up at the moon and breathed deeply, the air ripe with the scent of horses. Ever since the interlude in the wagon, he‟d watched Grimstone and seen the way the man laughed, smiled, and talked animatedly with everyone around him— except when Jonah drew near. Then he grew brisk and businesslike. Despite Jonah‟s vow to act just as casually about their encounter, he couldn‟t stand the snubbing. He‟d already ruined his past with sinful lust, and now it seemed he‟d ruined his future. He had to confront Grimstone and find out if he could settle the tension between them. But not if Grimstone would deny its existence. “Nothing. I want nothing from you except to get along with me. But perhaps it‟s too late for that. Maybe I should leave,” Jonah finally replied. “Find another place for myself.” After all, he didn‟t look quite so battered now. Maybe he could find work in this area, but God have mercy, even as he‟d said the words, he knew he wanted to stay with the other sinners. He‟d discovered he liked so many things about this life. There was the pleasure of luring people in with only words. The unabashed shabby glitter of the carnival might have struck him as lurid once upon a time, but now it seemed more honest than real life. No one expected pious perfection from carnival folk. The opposite, in fact, if even half the stories he‟d heard were true. A wholesome facade contained so much more potential for sin. He thought of the smiling Rev. Burns, whom he‟d thought was a friend, advisor, and so much more, and how the man had denied and betrayed him when he needed him most. Conversely, Grimstone hadn‟t allowed him to take the blame for that episode in the wagon even though Jonah had been willing to shoulder it. And even though he knew exactly what he was doing there. He‟d do it again too, given a chance. He flashed on the image of Grimstone‟s face at the moment of his sexual fulfillment— his lips parted, his eyes mostly closed. That memory brought sudden arousal. Jonah shifted impatiently. He needed to get away as temptation reared its head again. Abruptly Grimstone lunged toward him. “I give up.” Before Jonah could ask what he meant, hard hands grabbed his arms and pulled him close, and a husky voice muttered, “Stay. Keep me company, again.”

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Now Jonah understood the source of the other man‟s tension. He‟d been fighting hunger too. Jonah‟s answering craving for touch sent a shiver through him. Rafe‟s warm breath touched his cheek. “You‟re cold?” Ridiculous question, because the early June evening was plenty warm. “No.” He had to clear his throat; desire clogged it. “I didn‟t understand. I thought…” “What?” “I knew I wanted you. But you wanted me to leave. You were uninterested.” “Hell, yes. I don‟t want this. I want to be done with it.” He smiled, taking the edge from his harsh words. “I guess I still don‟t understand, then, because, um, your hands…” Those long fingers still clutched his upper arms. “Then you‟re a fool.” Grimstone‟s tone was one of fondness rather than anger. “Perhaps I was one, but at least now I understand why you‟re angry. You don‟t want this, yet you think you can‟t help yourself.” Jonah forced himself to take a step back and hated it when Grimstone‟s hands released him. He cleared his throat again. “You can help yourself, though. It‟s possible to rise above desire.” A variation of words he‟d heard his father preach to the congregation often enough. Except now when he envisioned rising above desire, he pictured himself rising over Grimstone, pressing him flat, holding those strong wrists in his hands, demanding that he take Jonah in his mouth and pleasure him. He‟d never been the aggressor when he‟d been with Rev. Burns, but he knew exactly how to play that role. He wanted it all now. Aggression, tenderness, play, and fighting. He gave a silent prayer to be purged of this overwhelming hunger. His prayer was not answered. Grimstone drew closer again and put his palm on Jonah‟s unshaved cheek. He had to try again to make himself clear. “Listen, Mr. Grimstone, if you touch me again, if I touch you, and if it‟s just once, that‟s fine.” It wasn‟t perfect, of course, but he‟d tolerate it. “But if afterward you look at me as if I‟m a diseased creature, then I‟d just as soon not indulge, if it‟s all the same to you.” His voice cracked as if he was a lad of thirteen. Grimstone hummed gently, a soothing croon. “Naw, I won‟t do that.” Jonah believed that might be true. It hadn‟t been Jonah he‟d pushed away, just his own hungers. “And you needn‟t call me Grimstone. It‟s Rafe.” Luminous eyes pierced his and held him harder than the hands on his arms. “I want to stay with the carnival,” Jonah said, his voice firm again. “But if what we do together makes a difference—either way,” he added hastily, because he most definitely didn‟t want to make his living as a whore. “Then I‟d rather not.”

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Rafe moved his hand over Jonah‟s front, down his belly. The carnival man twisted and grabbed Jonah‟s semihard dick through his trousers. “Oh? You‟d rather not?” Jonah gasped. “Yes. That‟s just…just desire.” “Desire is good.” Rafe leaned forward and brushed his lips over Jonah‟s. “Except when ‟tis very, very bad. We might give in to the devil again.” Jonah was lost when the kiss deepened, grew heated enough to melt his resolve to do anything but taste and lick. Unlike his light words, Rafe‟s kiss seemed full of desperation and need but no clever play. Jonah pulled back a little, teased and nibbled, using the wiles he‟d been taught by his first and only lover, a skilled man. A skilled rat, but now was not the time to think of anything but the sensation of Rafe and his forceful touch. Rafe reached to cup Jonah‟s scalp and hold him still. They‟d fight for control, then—a pleasant game. He stepped forward and pulled Rafe into his arms, then ground his erection into his leg. Rafe‟s answering guttural groan told Jonah he wasn‟t the only one to be dragged under by the drug of lust. There was something about Rafe‟s touch—desperate, almost blundering with need—that made Jonah feel confident even as his body grew sizzling hot. Jonah pulled back and dropped to his knees in the cropped grass by the horses‟ enclosure. He unbuttoned Rafe‟s trousers. “What the devil?” Rafe whispered. Jonah looked up at his face but didn‟t see anything except his silhouette. “No one else is awake. And if they are, the horses will hide us from view.” “But…” Rafe‟s protest gave way to a low moan as Jonah freed his swollen cock from his clothing. Jonah started with some gentle swirling licks around the head, grasping the shaft lightly—so very lightly—with his hand and moving the foreskin. He sucked once and pulled back almost immediately just so the cool air would touch the damp he left behind. Then the warmth of his mouth would be that much more overwhelming. He licked delicately, ran his teeth over the shivering man‟s cock, then lunged, engulfing as much of it as he could, licking even as he sucked. “Christ, Talbot. Oh, Jonah.” Rafe muttered curses. He put a hand on Jonah‟s head, light and caressing. Then when Jonah went to work, sucking and licking, Rafe‟s hold on his hair grew rough, entirely needy. Jonah pulled and twisted. He reached for Rafe‟s balls, cradled them even as he moved his finger to the hot crevice behind them. He used his hands, his mouth—all the knowledge he‟d gained—to bring Rafe close to the edge. The man pumped, fucking his mouth, frantic for relief. Jonah could tell he was near his crisis and wrapped his hand tight around the base of his cock to stop him. “Hey, what…? What are you doing?” Rafe tightened his fingers on Jonah‟s hair. Jonah returned to long, slow licks from the base to the head of Rafe‟s cock. He chuckled to himself. It was very satisfying to reduce the quick-witted man to a

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babbling wreck. Jonah ached to pull at his own cock, but he wanted this to be only about Rafe‟s pleasure, and he needed both his hands for that. When Rafe gave another cry of frustration, Jonah pulled off and looked up. He could see very little of the man‟s features in the dark but felt the rapid pulse in his cock, and the silvered light on his chest showed Jonah the man panted with arousal. “You‟re killing me,” Rafe said in a hoarse whisper. “If it is to be just this once, I want it to last as long as possible.” “Please.” Rafe gasped. “Please, please.” Jonah licked him, mouthed him, then pulled off and pretended to consider the matter, though truthfully he felt Rafe‟s pleading in his gut. His eagerness was utterly arousing. Jonah almost shot into his own trousers. The self-assured Rafe, with his elegant, confident manner, reduced to begging and thrusting his swollen cock in the empty air—that sight aroused Jonah as much as if he‟d been stroking himself. “Dammit. Please.” Rafe sounded desperate. Jonah took pity on the man and himself. With shaking hands, he went back to his delicious job, allowing the long cock to penetrate his throat, letting his fingers explore the other man‟s tight buttocks. When Rafe‟s paroxysms at last shook him, Jonah sucked and licked until the shuddering stopped. The fingers that had gripped his hair almost painfully stroked him now, explored his face as if Rafe was a blind man. “Jesus, boy, where‟d you learn that?” Jonah rose from his knees. His painful erection didn‟t flag, though Rafe‟s question had brought him back from sheer pleasure. He had no interest in sharing how he‟d gained his knowledge. “You enjoyed it,” he stated flatly. Rafe‟s laugh was a gusty sigh. “I‟ve never felt the like.” He gave another sigh. “Thank you.” He moved close now and touched Jonah‟s shoulders, his chest, and his arms, almost tentatively. And nearly tenderly. “Thank you,” he said again. He tucked himself into his trousers and buttoned up. Jonah was sure he‟d walk away. Instead he pulled Jonah into a hug. His amused voice was in Jonah‟s ear. “Perhaps I wasn‟t the only one who enjoyed that.” He ran his big palm down Jonah‟s wool trousers and over his erection. Jonah caught his lower lip in his teeth and closed his eyes. Rafe kissed him, then pulled back. “I taste myself in that kiss.” “You‟re delicious.” “Am I, now?” The smooth, unruffled Rafe was back, but that man was as utterly exciting as the one who‟d trembled and begged. Jonah angled his head for more kisses and worked his way along Rafe‟s jaw, lightly scraping his teeth over the day‟s beard, licking his jaw.

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As he sampled the warmth and texture of the man‟s skin, Rafe slid his hand along the length of Jonah‟s erection. He managed to unfasten Jonah‟s trousers and wrap his hand around his cock without fumbling. Then he too sank to his knees. “My turn. I haven‟t done this often, but rather think I‟ll enjoy it.” Jonah wanted that hot mouth on his penis. No, “want” was too mild a word. He needed that release. “If you don‟t, then you must stop,” he muttered. Please don’t stop. Rafe didn‟t answer. He‟d already started his work. He licked and whispered, “This is right?” “Yes,” Jonah said. The wet heat would kill him. He sucked. “And you like this?” “Yes.” Jonah flexed his hips. Rafe gripped the base of Jonah‟s cock and sucked its head into his mouth. Jonah whimpered. Rafe pulled off. “You‟re all right?” “Yes, yes.” Jonah teetered on desperation when he understood the other man was only teasing him. He growled and thrust forward. Taking another lesson from Burns, he commanded, “Stop talking and suck my cock.” Rafe sucked in a breath, and Jonah wondered if he‟d gone too far but then realized that the sound was arousal. Rafe went to work eagerly then. No more gentle licks or conversation. He wrapped his hand around Jonah‟s cock and sucked only the head, but that was so good. Too good. Jonah wanted to make it last, so he recalled his father‟s disgust and the beating he‟d received from his cousins—two things guaranteed to apply the brakes to his arousal. But the man at his feet, his head bobbing with his stroking hand, was far too exciting. Too soon, he felt the tingling, and his balls tightened. “Now,” he warned. Rafe pulled his mouth away but kept his hand working up and down on the swollen shaft. Even in the near dark Jonah could see the jets of semen shoot from his cock. One hit Rafe‟s chin. He slowed his hand. He released Jonah‟s cock, and Jonah closed his eyes, breathing hard. Relief stormed through him, followed by the warm glow of contentment. But chasing on their heels was inevitable guilt. He did his best, though, shrugging away the whispers of sin and hellfire. Something soft and cool touched him, and he opened his eyes again. Rafe had pulled out a handkerchief and was wiping his mouth and then the bottom of Jonah‟s shirt. He slowly rose to his feet and offered him the cloth. “Now that was pleasurable, don‟t you think?” “Yes.” Jonah took the handkerchief and dabbed carelessly at his shirt. His knees were weak, and he felt hollow to his toes—a disturbing though pleasant sensation.

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He started to hand back the cloth but then decided he didn‟t want to give it back. “Thank you. That was…” Wonderful? Exciting? Fantastic? Any word he added would be too little. “Thank you,” he finished as he fastened himself up. Neither man spoke or moved for a few moments, and Jonah took it as a good sign that Rafe didn‟t turn immediately and walk away this time. Jonah closed the distance between them and rested his forehead on the other man‟s shoulder, then put his arms around his waist in a light embrace. He rejoiced as he felt Rafe‟s hands on his back, his arms wrapping around Jonah in return. This might be what he craved most of all, a simple hug that suggested an intimacy greater than lust. In reality, Rafe Grimstone was a complete cipher, and Jonah had barely scratched the surface of his mysteries, but in this moment, Jonah felt as if he actually knew the man on some elemental level. And on that level— rash, impulsive, and foolish though it might be—he felt a deep affection growing.

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Chapter Ten A strange new chapter of Jonah‟s life began the night Rafe Grimstone dropped some of his barriers and pulled Jonah into his arms. In the weeks that followed, Jonah began to find his place in the traveling company. Newcomers like him were on probation until everyone saw whether they stuck or not. The carnival often picked up hired help that blew away in the night like fluff on the wind when they realized transporting a traveling show was a lot of hard labor. When even Alan Henderson, who‟d been part of the show for several years, could take off and leave the others scrambling to fill his tiny shoes, why would they trust a stray like Jonah to stay? The comradeship of the road was not immediately welcoming to newcomers. Comradeship of the road aside, there were cliques among these people as there‟d been back in his schooldays. Jonah supposed it was the nature of man to carve out small groups within larger ones. Saul Parinksy, who everyone knew thought he could run the show better than Grimstone, was king of a court that included self-absorbed Miss Jamie acting as queen, Jack Treanor as jester, several of the acrobats, and Dimitri, that muscular moth who fluttered near Miss Jamie‟s flame. He could‟ve flexed his muscles until they cramped for all the notice the queen of the dog and pony show took of him. At meal times, sitting at a plank table in the dining tent, Jonah stuck close to Sam, Claudia, the quarreling Fishers, and Mindy, whose duties ran the gamut from ticket collection to overseeing the animals‟ care. Jonah was glad he‟d been taken under Sam‟s generous wing, since he didn‟t think he‟d fit in too well with the roustabouts who spent their off time playing cards, throwing dice, and drinking. Both Sam and big Claudia were relaxed, easy-going people who seemed to accept that their lot in life was to be put on display. “There are worse ways to make a living, even if this is a mud show,” Claudia said. “A high-grass one at that.” Jonah knew a mud show meant any not on the railroad circuit. They were performers who‟d have to drive their wagons into fields. “High grass?” he asked. He loved collecting the language of the carnival, and Rafe and Claudia were the ones who had the most patience with his constant questions. “Yeah, you know, held in lots that no one bothered with. „Short grass‟ means in places that are maintained. Get it?” He nodded. “Would you go for a larger show if you could?”

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“Naw. I reckon I‟m not unique enough for them. I‟m doing just fine. I come from a family of twelve. It‟s amazing I‟m as fat as I am, because there was never enough to eat. A couple of my sisters married young just to get a roof over their heads that wouldn‟t leak. The rest work in the mill like our parents before us. Except Joanna. She earns her living on her back, if you get my drift. I count myself lucky to get paid almost as well for sittin‟ on a chair.” When Claudia laughed, it was almost impossible not to laugh with her. Jonah smiled despite the melancholy edge to her story. Scowling Mindy was in her usual affable mood. “We should‟ve headed east instead of south into Kentucky. There‟s no money to be had in these backwoods. Even less now that the Orcully Brothers are dipping into our well, the bastards.” Jonah flinched. He should be getting used to foul language, since everyone in the carnival used it, but it still surprised him to hear such words. He couldn‟t help the flare of disapproval that flashed through him. A lifetime‟s training about what was proper and what was sinful didn‟t simply disappear because he no longer attended church or had his father there to pronounce judgment. Sam stretched out his long legs, and they bumped against Jonah‟s on the other side of the table. “We head east, and we get into the Albertinis‟ territory. You know that. Those guys aren‟t anybody to mess with. They once burned out an outfit that crossed them.” Mindy snorted. “Rumors. Back when my dad owned this outfit, we worked from Mississippi to Maine and never had a bit of trouble. Sylvester‟s Extravaganza was respected, the top of the heap.” “And you sat on a diamond throne and smoked Cuban cigars,” Ellen Fisher interrupted. “We‟ve heard the song and dance before, girl. If you were such great shakes, why‟d your daddy go bankrupt and have to sell out?” “He didn‟t! He retired for his health and moved to Florida.” “You keep telling yourself that, honey.” Ellen laughed. “Play nice, children.” The voice from behind Jonah set the hair on his nape prickling and sent a shiver through him, as if Rafe had traced a fingertip down his spine. Merely the sound of that deep, resonant voice twisted his insides and made his cock stiffen—and that was before turning around to see Rafe‟s handsome, devilish face. Rafe rested a hand on both his and Claudia‟s shoulder. There was no hint of sexuality in his touch, nothing to tip off anyone that there was any connection between him and Jonah. Nothing except Jonah‟s flaming cheeks. He dipped his face and stared at his half-eaten plate of pork and beans. “How long are we going to try to eke out a living playing the backwoods?” Mindy demanded. “This circuit is beneath us.” “Maybe.” Rafe was unruffled. He‟d accept blunt talk from Mindy, while the same words coming from Parinsky would have him jumping down the man‟s throat.

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“But even Kentucky yokels need entertainment. Perhaps we should give them a little Shakespeare tonight, Jonah. What do you think?” Jonah glanced at him. Half the time he didn‟t know when Rafe was serious or when he was teasing. His family hadn‟t gone in for ironic humor. Facts were facts, and lightness was frowned upon. Rafe smiled, and Jonah‟s throat tightened. Since that night they‟d held each other in the grass by the horses‟ picket line, they‟d seized other opportunities to kiss or touch, but it was never enough. Jonah was always left wanting more. “I‟m from around here,” Sam reminded them. “I can tell you Kentucky hillfolk won‟t be too interested in high-falutin‟ talk.” “Ah, but Shakespeare was written for the masses. We must choose the right scene to capture their attention. Horror or laughter, a good murder or a bit of slapstick, maybe some men dressed as girls from As You Like It.” “Murder. Yeah, now that‟s somethin‟ people around here are interested in,” Sam interrupted. “Ghosts and hauntings. They‟d pay to see a show about that. Add in a pretty woman like Mindy here, and you got a winner.” “I don‟t act,” Mindy sniffed, but Jonah thought she looked pleased by the compliment. “What about Jonah?” Rafe squeezed his shoulder, setting Jonah‟s heart thumping even harder. “People love to laugh at a man in a gown, and he‟d make a pretty lass with a wig of blonde curls.” “Cut it out, Grim. You‟re making him blush,” Claudia spoke in Jonah‟s defense. “What you should do is a skit about The Tell-Tale Heart or maybe The Black Cat. That‟d have ‟em on the edge of their seats.” “You’ve read Poe?” Jonah winced at Rafe‟s condescending tone. Sometimes the man could be so arrogant, while at other times he was completely a man of the people. He had so many faces, Jonah was kept guessing which one he‟d see at any given time. “Yes, Mr. Smarty. I can read, and I been to school too.” Claudia put him in his place with a rare glare. “Got a used book of Mr. Poe‟s stories from a peddler once. Spent all I‟d set aside, but it was worth it.” “It could be very dramatic.” Jonah was glad to support Claudia, since she‟d stuck up for him. “Indeed. I can see it now—a series of tableaux illustrating various macabre highlights from Poe‟s works.” Rafe removed his hand at last, and Jonah relaxed his shoulder. The showman moved to the head of the makeshift table and gestured with his hands as he painted a picture for them. “Dramatic lights. Eerie music. A damsel in danger. Fake blood dripping from a knife clutched in a murderer‟s hand. It would be very effective.” “Neither the Orcullys nor the Albertinis have anything like it,” Mindy said. “And it would be cheap enough to put together. The freak tent‟s too big for the few attractions we have left. Split the space and charge twice as much per head.”

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Jonah glanced at Sam. He felt bad every time Sam or Claudia was referred to as a freak. Although Dimitri, the “Signortoris,” Miss Jamie, and Fatima, the exotic dancer, were all called attractions too, they offered performances that required some level of skill. But to be stared at simply for being different seemed so wrong and struck Jonah too near the heart. Sam nodded in agreement with Mindy. “A show will bring more people inside.” “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.

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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

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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?”

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“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 illconsidered 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.

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“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.”

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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.” “Ah.” Rafe gave another wordless exclamation and squeezed Jonah‟s hand. He covered Jonah‟s other arm, which was wrapped around his waist. Telling his story to Rafe‟s back was like what Jonah imagined a Catholic confessional must be like. It was easier than facing him and that piercing stare. Perhaps the Catholics had something with their notion of private unburdening of sin to an unseen priest. “When Randall brought the story to my father, Reverend Burns continued to deny any involvement. He said he‟d been aware of my proclivities and tried to counsel me back to a godly pathway, but I wouldn‟t listen and continually threw myself at him.” Jonah closed his eyes, shutting out the reflection of himself in the nearest mirror. “The funny thing is, I don‟t think my father truly believed Burns was innocent, but wanted him to be the man he believed him to be, so Father accepted his story at face value. He laid no blame on his old friend, but cast me out of the house that very day.” “And your cousins were waiting to teach you a lesson.” “Yes. They beat me unconscious before sending me on my way.” He remembered the abject humiliation with which he‟d left his home. His mother sobbing in her bedroom and not coming down to see him one last time; his father, arms folded, watching him pack and then escorting him to the door as if he were an intruder. Rev. Burns had stayed out of sight, distancing himself further from the disgraced black sheep. Jonah had no idea what excuse his parents later gave townspeople or the congregation for his sudden absence, but in the tick of a pendulum, he‟d found himself walking down the road away from town. It had been too late in the day to go to the bank and collect his savings, nor did he stop to say good-bye to his few friends. What could he tell them? None knew his secret, and he had no lie to offer them. So he ran away like a thief in the night. When he‟d reached the wooded area near Gruber‟s farm, his cousins Randall and Brian had been waiting for him, ready to make sure he never returned. They‟d taunted and circled him like hungry jackals. Then they attacked—first Randall, then Brian—punching and hitting. Jonah had gotten in a few blows, but with two against one, he was soon driven to his knees. When he lay curled on the ground, they began kicking, and all he could do was shield his face from the assault.

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At last they‟d stopped, and Randall bent over him and spattered his face with spittle as he spoke. “Don‟t come back, you filthy pervert. It‟s a damn good thing I uncovered you before someone else did and you ruined our family name.” His cousins had left him by the side of the road in the early evening. He must have passed out for a little while, for when he woke it was to strains of music floating through the air. He‟d dragged himself to his feet, shouldered his bag, and trudged on until he crested the top of a rise and saw the carnival lights. Rafe let go of Jonah‟s hand and turned around to face him, then pulled him snug against him once more, wrapping him in a warm embrace. “Family can be the vilest betrayers of all.” “You speak from experience?” But Rafe didn‟t take the bait. He pulled away. “Come now. We‟re safe here. No one will disturb us. Lie down on my cape and let me tend to you.” For a moment Jonah‟s feelings were hurt. He‟d told Rafe everything and gotten no confidences in return. But it was impossible to stay disappointed when Rafe was preparing a pallet for him to lie on, removing his vest to act as a pillow for Jonah, and then taking his hand and pulling him down to the floor.

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Chapter Eleven Rafe wanted to kiss the pain from Jonah‟s eyes. What an image, kissing away pain. It was the sort of poetic drivel his brother read—had read, he corrected himself—and there was some more pain to push away. Kissing away pain. Rafe had never thought such idiocy might exist in his world. But the words had come to him as Jonah had matter-of-factly described the way his whole family had turned its back on him and then his cousins had beaten the hell out of him. When he remembered the wreck Jonah had been the night he‟d turned up at the carnival, Rafe wanted to howl. Oh God. He was lost to good sense, his emotions roused and boiling on behalf of his young lover. He rolled Jonah onto his back and leaned over him, then gently brushed his lips over Jonah‟s closed eyelids, wishing he could erase the memories of fists that had plowed into that beautiful face. He pressed kisses all over Jonah‟s face, gentle at first, and despite the rough, unshaved cheeks and chin, he didn‟t miss an inch. There was a small scar below Jonah‟s lips and another by his ear, souvenirs of his cousins. Even as the kisses grew more urgent, Rafe dipped past Jonah‟s tempting mouth to make sure he gave attention to every inch of his jaw. There; maybe he‟d gotten his sentiments under control and could indulge in the pure joy of lust. No emotions. That was the way it should be. Indeed when he allowed himself to meet Jonah‟s mouth at last, the groan that broke deep in Jonah‟s throat brought Rafe‟s mind right back into the gutter where it belonged. Just the sight of this man was enough to make him hard. Seeing his chest heave quickly with arousal, touching him, brought that hardness to a throbbing ache. It wasn‟t long before the desperation would kick in. Now. Give over, now. His balls ached from unfulfilled hunger, and he wasn‟t interested in gentle play anymore. He wanted the whole of Jonah, naked under his hands and mouth. “Let me,” he ordered as he unbuttoned Jonah‟s braces and then his shirt and pushed the cloth aside to kiss and lick at the skin underneath. The salt of perspiration, the sweet taste of Jonah‟s flesh—he wanted to memorize that flavor, keep the essence of Jonah with him forever. But he had more to do. He stripped Jonah naked, then buried his face in his belly. Jonah panted, then growled in frustration as Rafe kissed and stroked everywhere except his cock. At last he took pity on the man and slowly licked his quivering shaft. Jonah arched up and grabbed his hair, twisting his fingers in it almost painfully. Rafe pulled back to gaze at the cock in his hand, which was hard as diamond and glistened like one. His mouth watered. He let the rounded tip then the

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solid shaft slide into his mouth and deep into his throat until he nearly choked from the solid, heavy weight. He moved slowly, deliberately on Jonah‟s cock, sometimes sucking, sometimes licking. He thought Jonah was lost in pleasure, but when Rafe reached for his own cock to relieve the pressure, a surprisingly strong hand gripped his shoulder. “In me,” Jonah said. “You get inside me.” It took Rafe a moment to understand. Sodomy. He‟d only brought men off with his hands and mouth and vice versa. No doing more than that with the men he met on his travels or even during the brief affair he‟d had with a roustabout before the man left the carnival. The thought of coupling that way, so deeply, so very intimately, and in such a taboo portal should have disgusted him, but he felt a rush of sudden eagerness and a desperate need to be surrounded by hot flesh. “Me, inside you.” His voice broke on the last word, turning it into what sounded like a question. “Yes.” Jonah sat up. “You‟ve done that?” “Yes, both ways. It‟s good.” He seized the sides of Rafe‟s head and pulled him into a fierce kiss. “I promise.” Jonah turned onto his hands and knees. Rafe watched the pale curve of his rear and the dark cleft between his cheeks as Jonah reached for his trousers and took a small tin from one pocket. “We‟ll need this.” Rafe gave an unsteady laugh. “You came prepared?” “I came hopeful.” He sat cross-legged now on the pile of clothes, a slight frown on his face as he studied Rafe. The raging erection that rose from his lap was the only evidence of their kisses. Very obvious evidence. “I want you inside me. Badly. But if you‟d rather not… I, uh, don‟t mean to pressure…” Rafe laughed again. He still wore his trousers and underlinens, and now he roughly shoved them down and off. “Get on your hands and knees again,” he ordered in a low voice. “That looked…promising.” Jonah scrambled into position and handed the tin to Rafe over his shoulder. “Just your finger at first. And then—” He gasped as Rafe palmed his rear end. Rafe loved the way a simple touch could interrupt Jonah‟s thoughts. And the lines of that body. They’ll be mine. He felt the savage fierceness of a Viking warrior conquering new lands as he moved behind Jonah. He wanted to invade and pillage Jonah‟s body and take his soul prisoner, binding it to him. Thrusting away the preposterous thought, he leaned over, pressing his chest to Jonah‟s back. He pushed his cock between the other man‟s legs, where it bumped against his sac. He straightened, still on his knees, and opened the tin. The lubricant was thick and smooth. Rafe scooped up a fingerful and slid his thumb over it. “Mm.” He touched Jonah‟s backside and pushed his thumb into the crack. “It‟s very slick. And you‟re very warm,” he added as he found the puckered hole. Both men groaned as

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Rafe‟s finger slipped past the restraining ring. A tight fit. His cock jerked in anticipation. He slowly pushed his finger farther. Jonah‟s body felt hot as a smithy‟s forge around it. Rafe felt hot and fevered too, beside himself with impatience to bury himself deep—hammer the steel of his shaft into an even harder blade. He grew bolder and pushed in two fingers. Jonah tilted his head back and wiggled impatiently against his hand. All right, then, he‟d hurry up. He‟d best do so soon. The feel of that hot arse and muscular body curling under his might make him spend before he‟d had a chance to be surrounded by Jonah. He lined up his cock and pushed, gently at first, then harder. The lubricant had grown even more slippery as it heated on their bodies. He pushed harder to seek out the relief his cock demanded and gasped as he pushed all the way into Jonah‟s body, balls-deep. Jonah moved, squirming so that exquisite sensation ran through him. Not so fast. Not so… “Ah,” he groaned and seized back control. He needed to feel every thrust and withdrawal, but there must be a few seconds at least before he exploded. He rested his body on the sleek back now slick with perspiration in this hot, close room, but the urge to move was too strong, particularly when Jonah did another of those wicked little shimmies and squeezed around his cock. He was inside Jonah, surrounded by him—all that flesh and beauty. Writhing flesh. With a grunt, he gave up control. Rafe had been rocking slowly, but now he pushed harder. Jesus, the sensation was perfect. Thrusting deep, he grabbed Jonah‟s body by the narrow hips and held him in just the right spot, claiming him. Digging in his fingers for a good grip, he thrust a few times. He loved the satisfying slap as their bodies came together, but reined himself in. Jonah arched his back and moaned as Rafe leaned on him again, skin rubbing skin, so he could reach around to grasp Jonah‟s erection. Rafe pumped into him again and pulled too, each motion a mirror of the other. He held his breath and tried to silence his groans so he could hear Jonah‟s panting words. “Now, Rafe. Yes. God. Yes.” Together. We’ll reach it together. He pushed harder as the cock in his hand swelled, and deeper, faster until his own balls drew up tight and his cock erupted. Sealed together by sweat and fluids, their bodies entwined, the two men remained locked together for several panting moments afterward. One. We are as one. This is what they mean by that expression. Love sonnets squawked about some mystical union of souls, but Rafe had never understood what the reality might feel like until now. This was about more than thrusting bodies and a few moments of ecstasy. He felt something for this particular man. Jonah, an idealistic, sometimes moralistic country boy—the unlikeliest partner in the world for him. The emotions running rampant through him scared the hell out of him, and fear snapped him out of the lust-induced trance. As he slowly came back to himself, Rafe reluctantly let go of Jonah‟s body and withdrew from him, the physical

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separation reflecting his inner division from the other man. For a shining moment, it had felt as if they‟d experienced a sublime connection, but that was an illusion. What they‟d done was only sexual, after all, its very nature temporary. He‟d be a fool to imagine some bond had been forged during those moments of joining. If his heart was pounding and his stomach spinning cartwheels, it was purely a physical reaction to orgasm, nothing more. Lack of oxygen from breathing too hard and an overly strenuous workout, no doubt. Solitary once more, as he always must be, Rafe groaned and flopped onto his back on the hard, dirty floor. The floorboards were sticky with remnants of spun sugar that could never be scrubbed completely clean. He nearly snorted aloud at the obvious symbolism to a man who could never be washed clean of his dirty past. Some time passed in silence, and Rafe realized Jonah had fallen sleep. He listened to the other man‟s slow breathing, felt the tickle of it on his arm. Soon enough he‟d return to his wagon and Jonah to a bedroll on the ground like the rest of the roustabouts. Rafe couldn‟t show favoritism in the tiny kingdom of the show. Jonah‟s family members weren‟t the only ones who felt it their duty to pummel sodomites. There were those in the carnival who might do the same if they knew what Rafe and Jonah were up to. It was imperative they keep their distance from each other and that Rafe hide his desire and excitement whenever he encountered Jonah in public. He stared at the dim light reflected in the mirrors and the tin metal plates hammered to the wall to supplement the flash and glitter of the House of Mirrors. Rafe felt an ache of nostalgia for this spot though he hadn‟t left the wagon behind— yet. He wanted to sleep with Jonah beside him for the entire night. And he wanted to stay with the carnival, but his reign as its ruler must draw to a close, probably before the end of the season. Remnick, the Englishman garbed in Western getup, had been sent by the family‟s solicitors to find Rafe and deliver a summons. A couple of weeks earlier, Remnick had finally caught up with Rafe, days after he‟d first appeared and a town or two farther down the road. The man had come knocking at Rafe‟s trailer, and there was no more sidestepping him. Without being asked, Remnick had taken a seat at Rafe‟s table and gotten down to business at once. “I was sent to find you and tell you it’s time to go home and take up your duties.” “That’s all? You weren’t given an explanation for the sudden desire for my return?” Remnick had drawn on his smelly cigar and studied Rafe. In his clipped, educated tone he said, “I wasn’t told the reason, but I suppose it’s because your brother died.” He peered at Rafe. “Here now, you’ve gone pale. Didn’t you know?” “No.” Although he‟d suspected such news—for why else would the family want him unless it was time for him to assume the family title?—Rafe had been rocked by the offhand manner with which Remnick delivered the news. “God no. Where the hell would I learn that? That sort of news wouldn‟t show up in the papers here.”

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Time had shifted even as he‟d babbled at Remnick. He hadn‟t been able to hold back the words, “How? When?” “I heard he drowned after a long night of drinking.” The British cowboy had stood then, bowed, and said, “My condolences, Lord Darkwell.” Even now, lying in the dark next to Jonah, feeling the warmth of his sleeping body pressed against his arm, Rafe could recall the peculiar way everything had slowed during the moments after he‟d learned of his brother‟s death and how it had taken a moment to realize Remnick was referring to him by his new title. After telling him about Edward, Remnick hadn‟t met his eyes but stared over Rafe‟s shoulder to the door of the wagon. “No answer for me to carry back to my employer, my lord?” Rafe had struggled to think and breathe for a few heartbeats. Once he‟d calmed, he‟d understood there was no hurry. His brother wasn‟t going to come back to life no matter how quickly he traveled, and his mother wouldn‟t be anxious to see him even though the title was now his. The estate would survive lackluster management a few months longer until he was ready to return. “We break down for the season in early October. I’ll be back then,” he‟d replied. “Nothing else?” Remnick‟s shaggy white eyebrows rose. “Mr. North would want a specific date. And I’ll wager that he’d tell me the sooner you return home, the better.” Of course it had been Mr. North who‟d initiated the search for Rafe. The family solicitor took his duties seriously. “Tell him I’ll telegraph his office in London when I know my travel plans.” Come autumn, he‟d return to the scene of the crime. It was some consolation to recollect it wasn‟t his crime. He‟d fled like a coward—or a loyal brother who wouldn‟t speak against his sibling; his memory of it depended on his mood. At the moment, as Rafe lay on the floor of the wagon remembering the meeting with Remnick, he felt less human than trapped animal. The coziness of the wagon now felt stifling, and as much as he wanted to keep lying and listening to the soft breathing of his lover, he knew he must push him away. Already he‟d allowed Jonah to get too close to him—and himself to care too much for Jonah. No point in it. This had to end eventually. Rafe sighed and rose to his feet. The sexual interlude had drained his energy but not his overactive brain. He put on his clothes except for the bits that lay under Jonah. There would be some compensation to returning home, luxuries he‟d almost forgotten. He tried to recall the pleasure of a comfortable armchair by a fire, but such things weren‟t important to him, although he supposed it would be easier to indulge his appetite for other men. The sophisticated elite knew how to ignore the things they did not care to acknowledge. He wondered what Jonah would think of the genteel hypocrisy.

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The rest of this season of freedom in the United States, and then he would take up the responsibilities he‟d never expected would be his. Which brought his mind right back to the source of his pain—Edward, trouble in life and more trouble in death. But whatever his brother had been, Rafe was incapable of despising the self-centered wastrel. He couldn‟t forget times in their boyhood, running through the woods playing at Robin Hood. Edward had always been Robin, but Rafe got to be Will Scarlet and sing ballads. And it was those childhood memories that had made it impossible for him to turn against Edward even after what he‟d done to that girl. Jonah sighed, awoke, and rolled off the disheveled pile of clothing. He sat and held up Rafe‟s waistcoat. “I hope we didn‟t wreck your clothes.” It would be worth it. “No matter,” Rafe said carelessly as he pulled on the waistcoat. “I have several of these vests, as you‟d call ‟em.” “Yes, I like the gold-and-ivory one best.” Jonah yawned. “It makes your complexion even darker.” Rafe snorted. “God Almighty, you sound like a woman.” Jonah gave a small laugh. “I never much cared about clothing before. But that first night, the sight of you changed that.” Rafe instinctively took a step away from him. He wanted to tell Jonah to stop with that kind of talk. Jonah didn‟t seem to notice his discomfort. “I think it‟s from when I was a kid. You know, that whole magical world. You looked as powerful as any wizard in a fairy tale.” His smile lit the dim interior of the caravan, with his white teeth reflected over and over. Rafe smiled back, and his panic eased. That was all right, then. Jonah had been seduced by the show. He already knew that about the man. “Aha, and Jamie in her spangled tights and feathered headdress finished your transformation into a man who loved fashion.” Jonah stood to pull on his trousers. “Funny thing is, even though I know all the secrets—most of them, anyway—I still love the illusion of the stage.” He buttoned his fly and pulled on his braces. He studied Rafe for a long moment. “And I even love what I found under the illusion.” Rafe‟s heart lurched again. What did Jonah want from him? Declarations of undying affection as they grappled over by the horses? Whispers of romantic poetry as they met in some copse of trees for a fast suck? Not bloody likely. But even as he tried to think of what to say, Jonah saved him by moving to another subject. “I read a couple of stories in Claudia‟s book. Too bad there isn‟t a phonograph cylinder of a heartbeat. That would be wonderful background to a dramatic reading of „The Tell-Tale Heart.‟ Though I suppose two minutes wouldn‟t be long enough.” Rafe should have been relieved by the shift in mood. He reached for a boot. “Tableaux are all the rage at seaside resorts,” he said.

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“We didn‟t move or talk in the biblical scenes we depicted at the church festivals because my father didn‟t want to emulate the theater. But I saw some plays when I went to college. There was an acting troupe in the town. It was wonderful.” Jonah sounded so enthusiastic about some amateur production, Rafe wanted to take him to New York and show him a real play. Or in London, they could go to the Strand. He‟d watch Jonah see some real actors on a legitimate stage. I’m a crazy man. One minute trying to throw this lad away, another planning an impossible future with him. He laughed. “What‟s funny?” Rafe lied. “I was picturing the staging of „The Pit and the Pendulum.‟ Now that would be quite a feat.” Jonah laughed too. “Oh, I‟d pay good money to see that production. Maybe Pete could carve a giant pendulum while he works on making new stakes.” “Staubs,” Rafe reminded him, and Jonah‟s smile was reflected a thousand times in the real and tin mirrors, as delighted as Rafe had known he‟d be. Sometimes Rafe was tempted to make up words just to see that smile. Jonah obviously treasured the odd vocabulary of the carnival. He collected language like some men gloated over fine wines. “The way you are. It amazes me,” Rafe burst out. Jonah tilted his head, frowning. “Pardon?” He seemed to stiffen slightly, as if readying himself for criticism. Rafe had been about to call him a rube, but changed his mind. “You‟re as happy as a child. No, that‟s not at all accurate. I‟ve seen the kiddies at the end of the night, and they‟re as crotchety as Mindy on a bad day. A man has to wonder when your gloss of excitement is going to wear off,” Rafe said. “We work from sunup to long past sundown. It‟ll wear you down eventually, lad.” “It hasn‟t worn you down.” He laughed sourly. “The show takes nearly every drop of energy and time from March through October.” “You have a few drops left over.” That rough, suggestive voice coming from that angelic countenance made Rafe want to rip off their clothes and start again. Before Rafe could make a move toward him, Jonah opened the door and looked out. “No one‟s there. Do you want to go first?” Rafe suddenly had had enough of sneaking about like thieves. “We‟ll walk together.” He pushed open the door, and Jonah followed. The soft night air was filled with the scent of flowers he didn‟t know the name of. He didn‟t have time to learn about the land he traveled over with the show. As he walked through the familiar dark maze of the wagons, a silent Jonah by his side, he thought about how he‟d tell him and the others there would be no more

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seasons for Rafe Grimstone. A heavy sensation settled in his gut. There was no reason on God‟s green earth why he should feel the need to stay with the carnival. It would muddle along without him. Parinsky would probably be glad to buy him out and take over his managerial duties, or he could sell to the Orcully Brothers, let them engulf his little traveling show, as they clearly wanted to. Even more mysterious was his powerful draw to the sad, small thing compared to the grand shows he‟d seen in Europe or New York. So much work compared to the easy existence he‟d had in England—the life he‟d return to soon. But his five years on the road, three as manager, were precious, and its endless work signified freedom to him. And then there was the inevitable parting from Jonah, who‟d vaulted unexpectedly into his life and threatened to break through the barrier around his heart, but that didn‟t bear thinking about, so he shoved away the thought. “What is that sound?” Jonah whispered. It was a long, low, stuttering moan. Rafe listened. “It‟s from somewhere near Lance‟s wagon. Bloody hell, it might be Lance.” The lion made a surprising variety of coughs, roars, snarls, moans, and purrs, but this was something new. Rafe ran, but by the time he got to the cage, it was too late.

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Chapter Twelve The next morning, the men took turns digging. “Good thing this isn‟t farther up in the hills. Lots of rocks up there, I tell you,” Pete said as he tossed away a shovel of dirt. Parinsky, who was watching and not digging, declared, “We‟re missing hours of daylight, and this is worse than unnecessary work. It‟s purely a waste.” He wasn‟t the only one who thought that. Even Rafe had briefly considered turning Lance‟s death to the show‟s advantage. They might skin the animal and use the pelt for an exhibit or maybe a costume for Dimitri—turn him into Samson. Or find a taxidermist and let Lance carry on as an exhibit. Or perhaps sell his claws to curiosity seekers and parts of his organs as cures. That would be perfectly normal, of course, and the lion had no use for those parts. But the cat had spent its life a captive and worse. Before it came to their hands, it had been badly abused. The poor thing deserved a little dignity, even if it came after death. “You‟re a fool, Grimstone. There‟s some good product on that animal.” Rafe paused, one boot resting on top of the shovel, to watch the huddled shape sitting next to the dead lion. Surely sharp-tongued Mindy would have some response to Parinsky‟s stream of comments about lost profit. But she only sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. This was so far out of character, he worried. She had to give some sign of anger soon, or he‟d drag her to the nearest local doctor. Sam stood just behind her, towering over the scene. Because of his precarious health—the asthma that made him wheeze and the joint issues that plagued him— he couldn‟t help with the digging. The giant would have to stoop low to touch Mindy‟s shoulder. Presumably he didn‟t lean down to comfort her because he feared her temper, not because of the awkwardness. Parinsky clicked his tongue in disgust, pulled a knife from a sheath, and stalked over to Lance‟s corpse, which lay beside the hole they were digging. Dropping to a squat, he looked over the massive form. Rafe put down his shovel and started to climb out to stop the idiot. Parinsky began, “At least allow me to remove an ear or something to—” A moment later he was on his rear, and his knife dangled from Sam‟s huge hand. Rafe was impressed at how fast the big man moved and sorry that Sam‟s moment was ruined when he had to drop the knife and put his hands on his knees for a coughing fit. But Mindy was next to Sam now. She‟d scooped up the knife and pointed it at Parinsky.

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“You touch so much as a hair on his mane, and I‟ll cut off your favorite bit— and I don‟t mean no ear, neither.” Her voice was low and deadly serious. “Christ! What a load of hogwash. Next you‟ll be holding a prayer meeting over the damn cat‟s grave.” Parinsky rose, dusted off the seat of his trousers, and left them to their burial. Rafe was used to such scenes. His people were nothing if not volatile. They grated against one another, clawed and fought and threatened each other‟s lives sometimes, but they stuck together against outsiders. It was all part of the unwritten code. By the time Dimitri and some of the other men lowered the big animal into the ground, shoveled the dirt back into the hole, and sang a hymn or two to ease Mindy‟s sorrow, it was late afternoon—an entire day on the road lost. And they‟d worn out their welcome in this area. They could open the gates again tonight but would likely get few customers, especially since it had begun to rain. Rafe directed the men to begin takedown before the meadow where they were camped became a morass of mud and they couldn‟t move the wagons. They would travel at night, light the lanterns on the wagons, and push forward to their next engagement.

*** Over the next week, bad luck seemed to haunt the carnival like a black cloud— not storming yet, but spitting rain. Lancelot‟s death was a brief shower followed by numerous annoying mishaps: meat that went bad and had to be thrown out, acrobatic props that mysteriously disappeared, another vehicle breakdown, and a canceled permit at their next stop. It was as if Treanor had run up against a brick wall—or so he‟d reported. Rafe‟s wheedling charm coupled with a bribe wasn‟t enough to convince the local constabulary to let them set up. They were forced back on the road with barely two pennies to scrape together, a depleted larder, and wagons that seemed to be falling apart. A general pall of gloom hung over the company. Even a relative newcomer like Jonah could tell things were off. Bellies were empty, moods foul, tempers short, and Mindy in particular had turned from green apple sour to chili pepper fiery. The slightest wrong word set her off, so no words seemed safest. Everyone except Sam left her alone. Perversely, Jonah had never felt sunnier. He knew he should be worried about their financial straits and run of bad luck, since the carnival existed on a shoestring, but he couldn‟t fake unhappiness. Inside he whistled and sang his way through every day, knowing he‟d have time alone with Rafe at the end of it. Stolen moments had evolved into nightly meetings since that night in the House of Mirrors. No matter how hectic or distressing the day had been, they managed to find their way to each other after the sun went down. And when they were together, it was good. Very, very good. One night, Jonah went to retrieve his bedroll, took one look at the mud puddle beneath the wagon where he usually slept, and decided enough was enough. The

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other rousties had all managed to find places in the wagons to bunk for the night, but Jonah was not going to wedge himself in between props or supplies on a hard wooden floor—not when the warmth of Rafe‟s bed beckoned him. He trudged through the rain, so soaked there was no point in avoiding more raindrops, and knocked on Rafe‟s door. When it swung open, he looked up at the dark figure silhouetted against the light. Jonah felt like a bedraggled refugee. But why shouldn‟t he demand what he wanted from his lover instead of begging for scraps? “I want to spend the night,” he said. “No one will question it. Fisher stays here sometimes, and nobody thinks anything of it.” Rafe hesitated a moment then stepped aside, ushering Jonah inside. He closed the door behind him and turned. “You must be freezing. I‟ll pour you a—” Jonah flung himself at the man and stopped his words with a deep kiss—lips mashed together, teeth clicking from the urgency of it. Heedless of his soaked clothing or the wet hair plastered to his head, he pulled Rafe hard against him, ran his hands down the long back, and gripped taut buttocks through tight breeches. He felt Rafe‟s excitement in his tense muscles and the erection rubbing against his own. Rafe groaned deep in his chest, reminding Jonah of the rumbles Lancelot used to make. The sound was longing and needy. Jonah pulled away to draw breath, and Rafe began to speak again. “This is a bad idea. Someone might need something and come knocking. I—” Jonah seized the back of his neck and pulled him into another kiss. He didn‟t stop ravaging Rafe‟s mouth until the other man groaned again. Then he drew back. “Why do you make excuses? No one will come in until you unlock the door. We‟d have plenty of time to put on clothes. This is less dangerous than meeting behind one of the wagons, with less chance of being seen.” He paused. “If that‟s really what worries you.” “Of course it is,” Rafe answered. “What else would it be?” “Or is the idea of taking me into your bed too personal, too intimate for you?” Maybe it was the wild rain and distant thunder that drove Jonah‟s reckless feeling, this need to push. He stared deep into Rafe‟s eyes, challenging him. “Will you send me back out into the rain?” Rafe‟s throat flexed as he swallowed, and his luminous eyes gazed back at Jonah with hungry intensity. “No,” he mumbled, then grabbed Jonah and dragged him back into his arms. A flurry of moving hands and shedding clothes followed, and seconds later they were both naked—completely naked together for the first time. A thrill of excitement and a sense of winning some important point swept through Jonah. Something had shifted here tonight. He‟d changed the unspoken rules of the game.

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Limbs wrapped together, naked torsos pressed close, and the two men staggered across the floor to Rafe‟s bed, a cot too narrow for two, but it would do. Rafe pushed Jonah down upon it and crawled over him. With his weight supported on arms corded with ropy muscle, he hovered over Jonah and gazed down into his face. “You‟re getting alarmingly good at patter. You‟ve talked yourself right into my bed.” “Right where you want me to be, and you know it.” Jonah smiled and reached to touch Rafe‟s face, the gaunt cheek and the softness of the goatee and mustache that framed his mouth. Then he traced the full lips until they opened, and pressed the tip of his thumb inside. Rafe sucked it in, and Jonah‟s cock throbbed in response. Rafe released Jonah‟s thumb with a wet pop. “It‟s clear who‟s in charge here tonight, so tell me what we should do next.” “Kiss me,” Jonah whispered. “Just kiss me.” And for some time that was what Rafe did. He lowered his body until his full weight lay on top of Jonah, heavy and warm, and he kissed him softly, then harder, until Jonah‟s lips felt tender and bruised. Rafe moved to his jaw, skating his mouth along the hard bone and down Jonah‟s neck. Rafe‟s goatee and mustache tickled, and Jonah chuckled and squirmed away. Then he gasped as Rafe reached his chest and focused on one of his nipples. He licked around it, sucked the areola into his mouth, and then nibbled on the hard bud. Jonah moaned and shifted. He thrust his hips, driving his erection into Rafe‟s softly furred groin. The glide of skin against skin was as sensuous as the gauze scarves in Fatima‟s exotic dance, and the steady patter of raindrops on the roof was as soothing as a lover‟s whispers. Jonah closed his eyes and stretched beneath Rafe‟s caressing hands and gliding mouth, now moving to his other nipple, now down his stomach. His balls drew tight, and his cock felt as if it was reaching out for the mouth that would cover it any second now. Any second. And then Rafe‟s lips were kissing the length of Jonah‟s shaft, wrapping around the tip, drawing him into warmth and wetness while Rafe‟s hard grip encircled him. Jonah moaned in quiet appreciation. During their grapples together in meadow grass or haystacks, Rafe had improved his sucking technique. Now he astonished Jonah with his abilities, as delicate yet strong as any tightrope walker, as he licked, sucked, stroked, and drove him to the edge. Jonah curled his fingers in that silken, black hair and gripped hard when his orgasm shuddered through him. His body arched off the bed. He bit back a groan that would‟ve swelled as loud as a lion‟s roar from his chest, and longed for a time and place in which he dared shout at the moment of orgasm.

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As waves of pleasure washed through him, Jonah collapsed back onto the bed and opened his eyes. He gazed down at Rafe‟s profile, the ridge of his dark eyebrows, his charcoal eyelashes against his cheeks, his mouth still stretched around Jonah‟s cock but releasing its glistening length now. Rafe looked up at him and smiled, and for a second Jonah thought he was having a heart attack, his chest ached so badly. “Now my turn?” Rafe asked as if requiring permission. Jonah nodded, loving that submissive tone. He might not be in charge, but the power was all his—at least for tonight. “This way,” he said and drew his legs up toward his chest, exposing his rear for Rafe. “From the front? Really?” It was Jonah‟s turn to smile. “It works. Trust me. And this way I can see your face as you come. I love to watch you spend.” He swore Rafe blushed as he turned and reached for a jar of ointment on a shelf near his bed. Jonah lifted a brow. “Now who‟s prepared? Did you believe I‟d come here some night?” “I hoped.” Rafe parroted Jonah‟s words from that night in the mirrored wagon, the last opportunity they‟d had to enjoy full penetration. He gently bent and pushed Jonah‟s legs up, which lifted his ass higher. Rafe caressed the quivering backs of his thighs, the depleted length of his cock, and his heavy sac, and then he traced a finger over Jonah‟s hole. Jonah shivered at the sensation of Rafe‟s fingers smoothing ointment around and into his entrance. The stretch in his legs felt good, and the way the position opened him up to Rafe‟s inspection aroused him deeply. His hole clenched tight then opened loose, aching to be entered. In fact, the need to be filled spread through him from groin through belly and to every part of him. More than physical desire, he felt a soul-deep need to be taken and possessed and used. “Now. Do it,” he begged. Rafe chuckled, and the power shifted again. He was absolutely the one in charge, the one with the power to fuck or not fuck Jonah, who lay exposed and quivering beneath him. “Where are your manners, lad? Do I not even get a „please‟?” “Please do it. Fuck me. Fill me now. Hard and deep. Please.” Jonah‟s voice was so hoarse, he could hardly recognize it as his own. Rafe growled. His eyelids dropped nearly closed, and he guided the tip of his cock to Jonah‟s backside. Then—push—he was inside in one smooth glide, driving hard past the outer ring and deeply entering Jonah‟s channel. “Like that?” Rafe said. “Yesss. More.”

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The other man stopped teasing then, lost in his own growing desire. He plunged in, pulled out, and plunged again. Filling Jonah so hard and deep, it felt as if Rafe‟s cock had become his whole world, and he couldn‟t survive without it. Their bodies thrust together, slap-slapping and building sweat between them. Jonah grabbed his ankles, keeping his legs high and tipping his hips to offer the most of himself to Rafe that he could. Lost in pleasure, his eyes were closed, but then he remembered he wanted to see Rafe‟s face when he came, so he opened them. Rafe appeared more like a dark angel than a devil tonight, his face transported in ecstasy, eyes closed and mouth gasping. He was so beautiful like this, Jonah knew the image would be burned in his mind forever. Whatever happened after this in the unknown future that awaited him, he would have this moment locked in his heart: Rafe Grimstone—unguarded, open, and vulnerable at last. Several thrusts and deep grunts later, Rafe‟s release swept through him, and he froze. Jonah felt his lover‟s cock swell, and he clenched hard around him. When it was finished, Rafe opened his eyes and looked at Jonah. For a long moment their gazes met, no words spoken, and Jonah imagined he heard all kinds of things that Rafe wouldn‟t or couldn‟t say aloud. There was more than sex here. There was emotion. Call it love, affection, or deep friendship, the feeling could not be denied. But Rafe did his best to do just that. He shifted his gaze and rolled off Jonah to lie beside him, then stared up at the ceiling. Jonah dropped his legs back down to the bed and felt the trickle of Rafe‟s spendings slide from his backside. They lay side by side for a short while, arms barely touching, and then Rafe sat up. “You should probably sleep on your bedroll on the floor. Just in case.” In case of what? Jonah wanted to ask. In case you wake up holding me as if you loved me? He didn‟t believe it was fear of discovery that spurred Rafe to cast him from his bed, but a fear of caring too deeply. It was too late for Jonah, who already cared too deeply despite the promise he‟d made himself. But he wasn‟t going to argue the point. Not now, at any rate. He obediently climbed from the warm bed, donned his underwear, and rolled out his bedding. As though feeling guilty about shutting him out, Rafe struck up a casual conversation. “How‟s your show coming? Everyone seems pretty excited about it.” “Good,” Jonah answered just as lightly. “Sam‟s fixed some spotlights, and I think people will enjoy the tableaux. Poe‟s lurid tales should pack ‟em in.” “Now you sound like a true showman,” Rafe said. “An actor,” Jonah corrected. “I‟ve found I have a talent for drama.” And for deception, pretending I’m fine when you’ve hurt me. “You might stop by our practice tomorrow and see what you think.” “That I will. I‟m looking forward to it. I‟m glad you‟re enjoying putting the show together. I want you to be happy.”

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Then let me stay in your bed. No, this was useless. He decided to interpret that last comment as loving words, and it was a balm to Jonah‟s injured feelings. They both fell silent then. Rafe extinguished the light, and the two men lay in separate beds, waiting for sleep to come.

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Chapter Thirteen Jonah was going to be the death of him. The man had his head in such a whirl, it rivaled a carousel. Every day Rafe promised himself to stiffen his spine and push Jonah away from him. The relationship was dangerous. Exposure would ruin both of them and possibly destroy the show, which already teetered on its last financial legs. But it was his growing feelings that were even more dangerous. Rafe constantly reminded himself he was leaving, that he had a past to return to and no future with Jonah. Yet he couldn‟t stop the emotions that crashed over him every time he glimpsed Jonah across the carnival grounds. He desired him physically, his body tensing and his cock swelling from one of those glimpses, but he also wanted him on a level he didn‟t want to think about. Hearing Jonah‟s laughter or his enthusiasm as he talked about his beloved Shakespeare was the highlight of Rafe‟s day. During daylight hours, when he was busy, it was quite easy to keep his vow not to drag Jonah off to some secluded spot and steal a kiss or touch, but at night…the show put to bed, the midway gone dark…all Rafe could think of was making his way to Jonah, wherever he found him. Jonah showing up soaking wet on his doorstep, hair slicked to his head, raindrops beading on his eyelashes, had sent such a powerful jolt of desire though Rafe that he‟d honestly felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. And, as if rain-wet wasn‟t gorgeous enough, Jonah had looked even more beautiful completely nude in the lantern light. The curve of his arse, the sight of his legs spread and held high while he offered Rafe his backside… Jesus, Rafe couldn‟t see straight when he remembered it. “Pay attention!” Parinsky‟s voice snapped Rafe from his reverie. How long had he been dwelling in fantasy? “I‟m trying to tell you I think there‟s sabotage afoot. Those Orcully Brothers may be behind some of the so-called accidents that have been happening.” “I‟ll consider that possibility,” Rafe said, striding away from the man, “but right now we‟ve got to get on the road.” Another day of travel lay ahead of them. Treanor hadn‟t been able to get them into one of the usual villages because the town commission had decided the show brought riffraff into the area. Rafe had been annoyed and worried when the advanceman told him that they‟d have to bypass the hamlet, but now the loss of

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those performances was a blessing since they‟d lost time due to Lancelot‟s burial. They could spend two days on the road and make the next setup with time to spare. Usually Rafe would sit on his perch, drive the horses, and think about nothing in particular. Road time was rest time. But today Rafe‟s thoughts weren‟t particularly restful. Parinsky was right. Too many coincidences had been happening of late. Lost tools, props, and costumes; the rip in the main top‟s canvas; the canceled bookings; the death of the lion—although really, poor old Lancelot had been living on borrowed time since the day of his rescue. Rafe had grown up in the company of ruthless men. Men in his family pursued wealth and power using a dizzying array of methods, so he tended to see the hand of man when misfortune came to call. But could ruthlessness be in play here? It made sense the Orcullys would want to hurt their revenue, forcing Rafe to sell out to them, but they would need someone on the inside to accomplish their goal. Could one of Rafe‟s own people be working on their behalf? He found that impossible to believe. Thoughts of vague menace made him wish he could hunt for answers. He shifted on the wagon seat and wished Jonah was there to distract him with arguments about Shakespeare or maybe quote some biblical passages and try to puzzle out their meaning. The lad might have left behind the family that had turned its back on him, but its culture still clung to him, giving him that appealing smalltown innocence and fascination with the world. Rafe almost laughed out loud at himself. He currently sounded as corny as any gee-shucks American. A deep peal of laughter came from two wagons back, followed by a fit of coughing. Jonah was riding with Sam, and Rafe wondered what he‟d said to make the big man laugh. Avoiding Jonah‟s companionship would be good in the long run, Rafe reminded himself. In the short run, the sensation plaguing him was reminiscent of the lonely first days in school when he‟d been ignored by his older brother. Eventually he‟d understood that this was the way school worked and had found his own friends. A showy figure on horseback drew alongside his wagon and slowed to keep up with the pace of the plodding team. “Pasted the bills in New Buckle,” Treanor said cheerily. “All signs are good for a two-day run.” Rafe nodded. “Good.” Treanor touched the edge of the plumed hat he always wore in his role as advanceman and cantered away. Rafe watched him go and wondered if he was off to glower at Dimitri and pretend to flirt with a stony-faced Jamie, or perhaps Treanor would catch some sleep in the back of a jolting swinging wagon. He‟d been riding hard for hours. Rafe yawned and revisited the possibility that someone inside the carnival was trying to damage the show. He couldn‟t imagine such a thing. Everyone worked hard—even Parinsky. If Rafe told them he must leave—when he told them, rather— perhaps the strange tensions would vanish. But he should wait until closer to the

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end of the season. If he said something too soon, he‟d lose his edge of authority and become a lame duck instead of a good leader. Rafe shifted on the bench, leaned back, and went into a light doze. He fell into a half dream in which Jonah sat next to him and sang. When he snapped awake, the voice didn‟t stop. Jonah was singing, his voice drifting from the other wagon, and what a sweet, clear voice he had. Rafe held the reins with one hand and palmed his eyes with the other. Perhaps the man was trying to torture him from a few dozen yards away. He could almost hear the taunt: This is what you’re walking away from. He stayed wide awake for the rest of the ride.

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Chapter Fourteen “Jamie, could you try to appear a little more terrified?” Jonah suggested to his leading lady in the scene from their adaptation of “The Black Cat.” “Your husband is about to drive an ax into your skull, and you look mildly annoyed.” All right, so it wasn‟t great theater, and he‟d condensed Poe‟s stories to the point that all symbolism, commentary on human nature, or greater meaning was pretty much lost, but as Rafe had pointed out, it was the Gothic horror people wanted to see. “They‟ll think about murder as they walk away and be grateful for their humdrum lives.” “I don‟t have time for this,” Jamie complained, dropping the arm she‟d held up to shield herself from her rampaging husband, played with devoted intensity by Dimitri. “I have to rehearse my own act, you know. I‟m a star.” “And this show will take place later in the evening, as we discussed.” Jonah‟s patience slipped as they rehashed a familiar argument. “Your dancing dogs are family oriented. This is for adults, a different audience. There will be plenty of time between shows.” “I‟m not paid enough for this extra work, and it‟s beneath me. I‟m a skilled performer,” the artiste complained. “Good God,” Mindy exploded. “All you have to do is stand there for a few minutes and keep your big yap shut. How hard is that?” Jonah held up his hands, preventing an escalation of his players‟ animosity. The two women were oil and water. “All right. I think we‟ve rehearsed enough. You all know what you need to do.” He turned to Sam. “And the lights are ready?” Sam was stretched to his full height, adjusting a kerosene lantern with a hood to direct the beam. “It‟ll look good at night. One light will be on you while you tell the story, then it‟ll go dark while the curtain opens, and then another light will shine on the scene.” Sam drew the curtains closed. “You have a real eye for staging,” Jonah complimented him. For the most part, it had been Sam who‟d posed the performers after Jonah explained each scene. “It‟s been fun, and I‟m glad to have something to do besides stand around and be tall.” “Good job, Talbot. I think this show‟ll bring in some real money,” Mindy said before leaving. The simple statement coming from a woman who didn‟t give compliments lightly meant a lot to Jonah.

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The rest of the performers left the freak tent, most of which was now given over to the “Poe Exposition,” and headed for the dining tent. After lunch it would be time to open the doors and let in their first customers of the afternoon. When Jonah glimpsed Rafe from a distance, his heart jogged with an erratic cadence. He wished he had better control over his emotions, but he seemed to be the very definition of “wearing his heart on his sleeve.” He felt for Rafe much more deeply than he ever had for Ezekiel Burns. Having someone to compare Burns with made all the difference. Jonah could see now how shallow the man had been, how he‟d taken much and given little back—pleasure, yes, but nothing of substance. Whereas with Rafe… There was more than a physical bond between them—if only Rafe would admit it. Even their arguments and discussions were passionate. They talked about books and plays, and Rafe shared stories of his experiences on the road. Jonah could confide his thoughts to Rafe, knowing they would be heard without judgment. All these things added up to friendship, in Jonah‟s estimation. Sex aside, he‟d be happy to simply continue spending time with Rafe, but the man always kept a thin wall between them. Sometimes this separation was more like a curtain through which Jonah could see moving shadows on the other side, but he could never break through. Rafe still refused to talk about what had driven him to America. He shared inconsequential stories about himself, but never anything serious. And if Jonah probed for more or showed too much affection, Rafe got prickly and disappeared like a cat that hated being petted. Still, Jonah felt certain all of his lover‟s secrets would be revealed with time, and he was determined to devote as much time as it took to unravel the mystery of Rafe Grimstone. Sam bumped Jonah‟s shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. “If you‟re trying to keep your secret, you‟d best not stare at the man.” “What?” Jonah‟s gaze swept up to his new friend‟s face, his heart thundering. “What do you mean?” Sam nodded toward the ringmaster. “Grimstone. It‟s all right that I know…and Mindy…and the Fishers. Probably Parinsky too, ‟cause you can‟t get anything by him. I say it takes all sorts in this world, and who‟m I to judge if a man takes a shine to another man. But there are some around here who ain‟t so largeminded. All I‟m sayin‟ is, don‟t lay your eyes on him and melt like butter on a hot griddle.” Jonah‟s tongue felt literally tied as he realized how impossible it was to keep a private life in this close community and expect it wouldn‟t be uncovered. Rafe had been right to be so worried. Jonah didn‟t reply to Sam or look at Rafe again while he and Sam got their plates of grits with sad little islands of ham floating in the gravy. “Your family lives somewhere around here, don‟t they, Sam?” Mindy asked after they‟d sat at the table. “A couple of mountains away.”

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“You planning on going to see them?” Jonah asked. He pushed at the grits, his stomach still tight with tension from Sam‟s revelation that he‟d seen Jonah‟s infatuation. “Would you see yours if we happened to set up nearby?” Sam lifted an eyebrow. Jonah got the message. He wasn‟t the only one for whom this carnival was a refuge. “Must be strange growing up in one place.” Mindy speared a bit of ham and swirled it through the gravy. “I‟ve spent my whole life on the road. I couldn‟t imagine putting down roots so deep they couldn‟t be pulled up again.” “You got roots of your own here in this show,” Sam said. “Couldn‟t chop ‟em loose with an ax. The carnival is your one place.” “But things change, don‟t they? This can‟t go on forever.” Her melancholy was thicker than the gravy on their plates. Jonah looked away, giving her privacy. Mindy with tears glistening in her eyes was a sight as unnatural as his father drinking liquor would have been. Sam reached a large hand across the table to cover Mindy‟s. “We‟ll be okay. Carnival‟s weathered tough times before back in your daddy‟s day, hasn‟t it?” “Sure. A windstorm in ‟97 nearly did us in.” Mindy removed her hand from beneath his and picked up her fork. Jonah so deeply felt Sam‟s desire to have Mindy take his hand that his own chest ached. That‟s what life was about. Moments of grasping for companionship or love, and hoping against hope someone would be there to take your hand. Finding your “one place” in the world you could call home. The “Signortoris” walked past, Henry‟s arm around Ellen‟s shoulders. He called out, “Man your stations, me hearties. Ship‟s about to set sail.” “Nautical terms, Signor Signortori?” Jonah called back. “Are you feeling a sea change? Thinking of switching your identity?” “Nonsense,” Ellen replied. “„The Signortoris‟ have served us well for ten years. We‟re not about to throw away a good thing. Henry‟s just playacting.” “I don‟t know, my dove. Pirate lord and captive maiden tied to the mast. Knives flying. Perhaps a duel with scimitars flashing between the acrobats, or spinning plates on the point of a blade. It could be very exciting. Maybe something new is exactly what we need.” Ellen pulled away from her husband‟s arm and faced him with flashing eyes. “Are you saying you‟re bored? Am I not enough for you anymore? Go, find your exciting new thing if I‟m such a chain around your neck…” Their bickering voices faded as they walked away. “Now that would be exhausting.” Claudia nodded toward the Fishers as she moved past the table like a ship with a very generous prow. “Reason one hundred and one why I‟m glad to be a single gal. Coming, Sam?” “Guess so.” The giant rose and followed her.

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Jonah glanced at Mindy. They didn‟t have much to talk about when it was just the pair of them. He wanted to tell her she was a fool to pass up a great guy like Sam just because he was ungainly. But Mindy couldn‟t pretend to have emotions she didn‟t feel. It occurred to him that maybe he‟d imagined Rafe had emotions for him that simply weren‟t there. Rafe had been honest and told him their interactions were simple release and shared pleasure, but Jonah had refused to believe him and spun fantasies. Perhaps he should start taking Rafe‟s words as gospel. Jonah sighed, gave up on the ham and grits, and went to scrape his plate and plunk it in the bin. He was glad he wasn‟t the one washing stacks of greasy plates and chipped cups in lukewarm water. One thing he missed about home was running water pumped straight from the ground. He hadn‟t scrubbed clean in a full, hot bath since leaving home. But a little soil on the skin and slightly greasy hair was better than feeling soul-deep filthy as his parents had made him feel. “Talbot.” The bark of Rafe‟s voice calling him was like a hand reaching down his gullet and pulling his heart into his throat. “Yes, sir.” He trotted over to the manager like any other employee obediently receiving orders. “Ready for tonight?” Dark eyes pierced his, and full lips smiled. The black mustache and goatee framed that sensuous mouth, drawing all of Jonah‟s attention to it. He swallowed to combat his rising hunger and concentrated on Rafe‟s words. The show. Yes, he cared about that too. “If everyone turns up on time.” “I‟m looking forward to seeing what you‟ve done.” Rafe had not stopped by the rehearsals, giving Jonah the liberty of running his show any way he saw fit. Jonah was more nervous about Rafe‟s opinion than he was about facing a crowd of strangers. He had no fear of public speaking after calling the freak show night after night. He knew his truncated versions of Poe‟s stories as well as he knew Bible verses. It was only the idea of potentially disappointing Rafe that made him nervous. What if people didn‟t come? What if the effect of the tableaux was laughable instead of eerie? What if he let down Rafe, who‟d put faith in him and given him free rein to create something for the first time in his life? “I hope you like it,” Jonah said sincerely. “Mindy seems to think it‟ll be a good draw.” “I do too.” Rafe clapped him on the shoulder, a manly thump of approval. “Good luck tonight.” He gave a small squeeze before letting go, and that brief pressure was enough to make Jonah‟s heart sing. Jonah schooled his face to show no expression, remembering Sam‟s advice about being more guarded. But as he walked away from Rafe, he had no doubt that even if he wasn‟t smiling, his face radiated beams of happiness. His emotions were careening out of his control, and he didn‟t even care.

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“Self-control and prudence are prime virtues,” his father‟s dry voice reminded him. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Carpe diem. Seize the day. His inner voice responded blithely. He decided to heed it. His time spent with Rafe Grimstone might be short. There was no guarantee of any kind of future for them, and he couldn‟t force Rafe to return his feelings in equal measure. But he would enjoy each precious second they had together for as long as it lasted. What was the alternative? Walking away from Rafe before their time was done? As far as Jonah was concerned, that wasn‟t an option. The show must go on and the actors play their parts till the curtain fell.

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Chapter Fifteen “I don‟t know how I can say this any more plainly.” Dimitri slid his suspenders up his arms and donned the bloodstained vest he would wear in the role of the crazed husband seconds away from murdering his wife. “Miss Jamie has a headache. She‟s blinded by it and can only lie in the darkness with a cold compress over her eyes. She won‟t be able to perform tonight.” Jonah was frantic. Five minutes before the show was set to begin, with Rafe already out front of the tent, whipping the crowd into a frenzy of excitement, Dimitri had come breezing in with the announcement that their star performer was incapacitated. Jamie played the wife in The Black Cat and also the ghost of Lenore in The Raven. Mindy could take on the roles, but the costume changes would be problematic. She had her own tableaux to take part in. “This will take less than a half hour of her time,” Jonah argued. “Surely she can drag herself from her bed for that long.” He knew Jamie‟s game. She was messing up his show because she could. She hadn‟t liked him since he‟d arrived, probably because of his involvement with Rafe, whom she‟d set her sights on and been disappointed by. Whatever the reason, she was sabotaging his opening performance with her sham headache. “Let me.” Claudia, whose job it was to help with the quick costume changes between scenes, spoke up. “I ain‟t pretty like her, but I know what needs to be done.” Claudia looked so hopeful that Jonah realized she‟d wanted to be a part of the show all along. It hadn‟t occurred to him to ask her to take on a role, and even now his heart sank; her size made her inappropriate, and there were no costumes big enough to fit her. As if reading his mind, she said, “I‟ll wear my best dress. It‟ll be good enough.” Jonah glanced at Mindy, who could probably fit into Jamie‟s costume, although she was hardly willowy. Then he looked at Claudia‟s earnest face and knew he couldn‟t disappoint her. “That‟d be very helpful, Claudia. Thank you.” Her beaming smile was brighter than the lights Sam had fixed to the tent poles. Jonah returned her smile and let go of his desire to have every aspect of this show turn out perfectly. It was a cobbled-together carnival sideshow, for God‟s sake.

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Claudia hurried off to change, and then there was no more time for panic or final fixes as Rafe ushered people into the tent. Jonah drew a deep breath, tied the black cape that Rafe had lent him around his shoulders, and stepped into the light. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight you will be treated to a depiction of the depravity lurking deep in the soul of any unrepentant murderer. Some of you may have read the masterful inventions of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. To others, his works might be unfamiliar. Tonight we will share a taste of the macabre horror to be found in the pages of his stories. We will explore the shadowy, cobwebbed corners of the human mind we all prefer to keep hidden, that distorted face in the mirror we keep turned to the wall.” Sweating profusely beneath the hot light, Jonah launched into the performance of The Tell-Tale Heart. Behind the curtain, Sam beat a small drum throughout the recitation, building in loudness as the story reached its climax. At the moment the murderer‟s guilt was revealed, the curtain swept open to reveal the police inspector, played by Mindy wearing a false mustache, and the murderer, Jack Treanor, pulling back a floorboard to reveal a bloody heart fashioned from a gristly hunk of raw beef. Under the single light, surrounded by deep shadows, the effect was quite horrific. Gasps came from the audience, and one woman shrieked in surprise. Jonah nearly smiled at the reaction—much better than titters of disdain, which this tableau might earn from a more sophisticated audience. The curtain closed, and he began the second story of the evening. He was nervous as a cat himself as he related the beginning of The Black Cat. Would Claudia‟s largeness spoil the effect of the lovely wife facing her demented husband‟s ax? He hated himself for dreading that her size would turn something meant to curdle the blood into a laughable farce. But when Sam drew back the curtain to reveal the murder scene, more appreciative gasps came from the audience. Jonah glanced at the performers— Dimitri with his ax raised and Claudia cringing away from him with wide, horrified eyes. Her reaction was perfect, much better than Jamie‟s annoyed grimace. After the audience had looked their fill, the curtain closed again. Several more illustrated tales completed the evening, and when the audience greeted the final curtain with enthusiastic applause, Jonah glowed with pleasure. Standing at the back of the crowd, Rafe grinned and gave him a wink. No wonder ministers always belabored the fact that pride was a sin, for Jonah felt smugness threaten to swell his head to bursting. So much self-satisfaction could only lead to damnation. A man might forget to humble himself before God without a preacher to remind him of his worthlessness. As the customers left the tent, chattering excitedly about what they‟d seen, Rafe joined Jonah on the makeshift stage. “We‟ll do two shows a night from now on, with some time in between to give the folks a chance to tell their neighbors about it. No doubt there‟ll be complaints from some religious types about the lurid nature of the show, but that will only make people more interested.”

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Rafe watched him as he spoke about “religious types.” Did he expect Jonah to suddenly turn into one of his father‟s disciples again? Those days of adherence to a grim God‟s rules were long gone—he‟d been like Adam, driven from the garden. Except the sight of Rafe‟s slightly sardonic smile made him realize this was more like paradise than anything in his old life. Even if he had been welcomed back to his town a hero, even if his mother and father were to treat him like the prodigal son, he wouldn‟t be able to return. Or at least he wouldn‟t stay. They‟d flayed him, but now he understood, to the bottom of his soul, that he‟d shed that old skin as well. This was where he belonged. And he was grinning as Claudia gave a shout of glee and came toward him. “They loved it!” Claudia grabbed Jonah into a crushing hug that drove the breath from him. “I was acting.” “And doing a marvelous job of it,” Rafe said. “Well done, everyone. Now, back to work. The evening‟s not over yet.” Before he walked away, he gave Jonah a look that promised him they‟d meet later. After the tents were battened down for the night and the animals fed and watered, Jonah lingered near the House of Mirrors. He didn‟t have long to wait. From over by the chuck wagon where he was giving Cook money for supplies, Rafe gave Jonah an intense look. And when Rafe walked off into the night beyond the perimeter of the encampment, Jonah followed. They met in the nearby woods, coming together hard and greedy as if they‟d missed each other for years. Rafe pushed Jonah up against the thick trunk of a tree and ravaged his mouth with plunging, searing kisses. Jonah grasped hanks of the other man‟s long hair and twisted his fingers in it. His cock was a tent pole capable of holding up the Orcully Brothers‟ big top. He wanted to drive it inside Rafe and use him hard. Rafe pulled away, took Jonah‟s hand, and led him through the trees. “Come on.” They hurried through the dark woods like children playing at being explorers. The night was mysterious, and Jonah was dying to know where Rafe was leading him. But he followed without question. They broke out of the trees into a clearing where a pool reflected the white face of the half-moon in distorted ripples. “The night‟s warm enough. I thought we‟d take a swim.” “How‟d you know this was here?” “A local. He figured we‟d need a place to wash up and water the stock.” Rafe started to shed his clothes. Jonah glanced around the clearing, silent but for the night songs of crickets and tree frogs. “Aren‟t you afraid we might get caught?” “Not this time of night. And if we do, we‟re only taking a swim.”

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What had happened to the cautious Rafe? Suddenly Jonah was acting as the voice of reason. Rafe was so unpredictable and changeable that Jonah had stopped trying to guess which face he‟d show on any given night. Jonah unbuttoned his shirt. He‟d grown up in the country, where boys swam nude or in underclothes in a local pond in the summer. Rafe was right. There was nothing scandalous about swimming—except for Jonah‟s lustful thoughts at the sight of Rafe‟s naked body frosted by moonlight. He purged himself of lust by quickly stripping off his clothes and diving into the cold water. Surely they could spend one evening together without groping and grabbing, simply swimming and playing in pure manly friendship. The plunge into the murky depths refreshed him, cleansing the stickiness of sweat from his skin. The water might have been a little muddy, but it felt better than the paltry washups available at camp. Jonah rose to the surface and swam across the pond. He stopped when he reached the congestion of cattails, turned, and went back the other way. He met Rafe bobbing in the middle, moving his arms and legs gently to keep afloat. They circled each other, paddling slowly, not touching except for the accidental graze of a leg below the surface. “You like to swim?” “Yes. It was one activity my father approved of. He claimed it was healthy for mind and body. Of course, he didn‟t know what kinds of thoughts played in my mind when I saw the other boys‟ bodies.” Jonah shook his head at his own perverse nature. “I always knew I was different, but couldn‟t stop my fantasies—or give life to them. Reverend Burns may have been a hypocrite who betrayed me, but at least he finally got me to admit the truth to myself.” Jonah paddled sideways, gazing at Rafe‟s inscrutable expression. “What about you? When did you first know there was something…wrong with you?” “In my opinion, there‟s nothing „wrong‟ with our proclivities. I‟ve seen much more of the world than you have, Jonah, and I‟ve learned there are many people who are attracted to their own sex—both men and women. My sexual bent is the least of what‟s „wrong‟ with me.” “What is then?” Jonah‟s foot bumped against Rafe‟s leg as he circled him. “What do you think is wrong with you?” For several moments, the splash of water as he swam was the only sound that came from Rafe. Then at last he replied. “You‟re not the only one who left home under dire circumstances. The difference is you were driven away, while I chose to leave. To put it more bluntly, I ran away—from my responsibilities, from a truth I didn‟t want to face. I reinvented myself.” “You became Rafe Grimstone,” Jonah said. “So, who are you really?” Rafe‟s eyes glittered in the moonlight. His sleek black hair made him look like an otter swimming in slow circles. His teeth flashed as he smiled. “Ah, that‟s a story for another time.”

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And then he ducked beneath the water and swam away. Elusive as always. Jonah felt a pang of irritation. He‟d shared everything about himself, but Rafe still wasn‟t willing to trust him with his secrets. What would it take to convince the man to show his true face? He took his irritation, dived under the water with it, and chased after Rafe to grab his heel and pull him backward. They both rose, sputtering, and wrestled together, skin sliding over skin, muscle straining against muscle as they fought to dunk each other. Although Jonah laughed as he slid from Rafe‟s grip and swam away, their fighting was more than play. Rafe‟s tension and Jonah‟s frustration were all tied up in the water battle. When Rafe nearly caught him, Jonah dived underwater again, grasped the other man‟s waist, and dragged him down before resurfacing for air. Rafe popped up in front of him and trod water as he planned his next move. Suddenly he lunged, grabbed Jonah, and pulled him under. They continued to push each other underwater, but as they grappled together, limbs wrapped around each other, chests, stomachs, and groins pressed close, and the game turned from a childish match to something more adult. Bobbing in the water, breathing hard, Jonah leaned in and seized Rafe‟s mouth in a punishing kiss. They fought to keep afloat while kissing deeply and trying to touch each other all over. Despite his disappointment in Rafe‟s refusal to confide in him, Jonah believed he‟d found true heaven, an exalted state of being that didn‟t require his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ to achieve. How wrong his father had been. It was possible to find pure heavenly joy on earth. After several minutes they broke apart and swam to shore, sloshing through the shallows then collapsing onto the grassy bank side by side. “Look at the stars,” Jonah murmured. Pulsing bits of light were cast across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. They‟d never appeared so beautiful, nor, he was sure, had anyone ever experienced a night to compare with this one. “Do you know the constellations?” Rafe asked. “Some. My father was disappointed in me because I had some interest in astronomy, and he thought it a pointless science.” Jonah sighed, recalling the ridiculous fights about God and the universe. “I‟m fairly certain I can‟t change who I am, but looking back, I wish I‟d done a better job of hiding the parts of myself that annoyed my family.” “I think a parent‟s love should be constant—no matter what. „Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the star to every wand‟ring bark, whose worth‟s unknown, although his height be taken.‟” “And you claim to dislike Shakespeare.” Jonah looked at the other man‟s bold profile. “I don‟t believe you. No one who can quote the bard so beautifully can be indifferent to his work.” “I didn‟t say I was indifferent. I said I didn‟t care for much of it. Particularly those dramas that drag on endlessly. Really, who can stomach an unstable lad like

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Hamlet, who can‟t make up his mind to move forward on a course but mopes around act after act? How dreary.” Jonah pushed up on one elbow and supported his head on his hand. “But he had to be certain. He couldn‟t just strike at his uncle without being absolutely sure he was guilty. And even once he was positive, he had to choose the right way to exact his revenge.” “Perhaps he should‟ve just accepted defeat and left the castle. It would‟ve been far healthier for everyone involved,” Rafe said drily. “Fewer corpses piling up.” “But running away would have been dishonorable,” Jonah protested. “Mm,” Rafe grunted. “Only cowards run away, I suppose.” Jonah studied his face and tried to decipher the message behind his caustic tone. The unstudied remark about Hamlet had been a mistake. He knew Rafe had fled some situation at home and felt some shame about it. “Tell me about your family, please. I‟ve told you about mine.” Rafe exhaled loudly. “Suffice to say my father died when I was young. My mother and brother still lived when I left England. I‟ve told you there was a reason behind my leaving, and that‟s all I will say about it.” Rafe would permit him only so close and no closer, and Jonah couldn‟t continue to prod without driving Rafe away. Yet how could they be truly intimate when the other man withheld so much from him? Jonah stared at the stars and wondered what true intimacy someone like him had the right to expect. He should be grateful for companionship and the ease of bodily urges. In his old life he‟d been profoundly lonely. Even companionship was more than he‟d ever expected to achieve. “Your show tonight was very entertaining. The people loved it.” Rafe broke the silence. “We‟ll give it a run, and if it proves successful, perhaps you can expand on it. Maybe direct the others in acting a few scenes from your beloved Shakespeare, eh? Would you like that?” Jonah understood Rafe was trying to distract him, like an adult shaking a rattle in front of a baby. But he was no child to be bought off with a few pieces of penny candy. He was sick of pushing—and uninterested in sulking. He waited until he was calm before answering. “Only if you think people would be interested. They come for a carnival, not highbrow entertainment, as you pointed out.” “The truth is, you‟ve too much talent to waste yourself here,” Rafe said. “Next time we‟re near a city, you should take a train to New York. Find yourself a real job working in one of the theaters, forge a real career for yourself.” Jonah sat up and gazed at the other man‟s dark, inscrutable features. The starry sky no longer seemed magical, and a mosquito whined by his ear. “You want me to leave?” “I‟m telling you there‟s a grand future for you beyond this cheap traveling show. Don‟t limit yourself. And if you‟re lingering here because of me…don‟t.”

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Silence reigned except for the mosquito‟s high-pitched tune. That one word “don‟t” was like a slap in the face. “You knew this was temporary,” Rafe continued. “This thing between you and me can‟t last. Doesn‟t mean it isn‟t good or doesn‟t matter, but it‟s transitory. We have this summer, not forever. Soon the season will be over, and everything will change.” The boy inside Jonah wanted to jump up and stomp off crying. But he was a grown man, so he nodded coolly, taking Rafe‟s words in stride. “Of course, I know that. I don‟t imagine I‟m in love. I‟m not such a romantic fool. We‟re worldly men having a brief affair, and when it‟s over, we‟ll part as friends.” He swatted at his neck. “Now, I think we‟d better go back, because I‟m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.” A part of Jonah watched himself perform. He was impressed with his aplomb as he dressed and kept up inconsequential chatter all the way back to camp. He really was quite an amazing actor. Rafe was right. With skills like these, maybe there could be stage work for him in New York. He waited until he was alone on his bedroll to snarl bitter curses under his breath.

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Chapter Sixteen If he‟d done the right thing, why did he have a heavy feeling in his gut as if he‟d swallowed a cannonball? Rafe spent the entire day with memories of the previous night‟s frolicking in the moonlight with Jonah playing in his head. He didn‟t want to push them away. In fact, he never wanted to forget how, for a little while, the fake glitter of the sideshow had become real. Last night he‟d felt like a boy again, open to possibility, believing in magic and the chance of a happily-everafter. But when Jonah had started asking questions, Rafe had remembered his life in England, the reason he‟d left, and that there could be no future with Jonah. He‟d quickly sobered from the intoxicating spell of moonlight. No glitter. No happy endings. Just as there was no real magic when Parinsky discharged a shot of gunpowder and pulled a live bird from his sleeve. He‟d known from the beginning it was a mistake to get wrapped up in Jonah Talbot. The young man was too sincere, too emotional, too deep to indulge in a merely physical affair. All of his chatter last night hadn‟t hidden the fact that he was hurt by Rafe‟s rejection. When he wasn‟t on guard, Jonah‟s face reflected his inner self like a shining mirror, whereas Rafe‟s face was the distorted reflection of the cheaper mirrors in the wagon—blurry and unclear. “Good Christ, what a bungle,” he growled. “No more sex. That‟s it. Fucking him will only encourage his romantic fancies.” And mine. He gave a sharp bark of laughter as he paced out the measurements for the ring in their new setup. He couldn‟t fool himself with bold words. Come nightfall, he‟d find his way to Jonah again, drawn like a farmer‟s hungry child drawn to the candy butcher. As long as Jonah was around, he wouldn‟t be able to keep away. He liked him too much. That was the problem. Not merely the sex, although that was amazing, but the lad himself, his warmth and open heart, his imagination and cleverness, his enthusiasm and eagerness to experience all life had to offer. Rafe felt he regained some of his own lost innocence when he saw the world through Jonah‟s eyes. Rafe shoved a marker into the ground, and Pete hurried over to him. “That‟s not seventy, boss. Sixty-eight.” “God damn,” he muttered. They couldn‟t afford mistakes like that. The performers and their animals counted on every measurement being exact, especially in the ring. He went back to the other marker and began to count off again.

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“Hey, Mr. Grimstone.” Jonah‟s voice sent a bouncing ball careening through him, unpredictable, beyond his control, goddamn feelings he didn‟t want to acknowledge. Rafe lost count. “God damn,” he growled. A day of frustration got to him, and he whirled around. “What the hell do you want, Talbot?” Jonah took a step back. “Nothing, sir.” His gaze cut to the side, and Rafe understood why he‟d called out to him. Perhaps he‟d also spent the day thinking of last night and whether they would come together tonight. Desperation churned in Rafe‟s gut. This was stupid, hopeless. He raised his chin rather than bellow the angry need he felt. Jonah took another step backward. “Never mind,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I‟m sorry to interrupt.” He turned and walked away quickly. Rafe watched him go. Suddenly he didn‟t give a damn about where the red wagon stood or— “Boss?” Pete said. “We‟re waiting.” He had to get back to work. By the time he‟d finished pacing out the setup, he was even more on edge. He tossed the measuring rope for the ring to Pete. That had to be even more exact, and he didn‟t trust his own patience at the moment. After watching the men at work for a few seconds, he strode past the wagons as they moved into place. He slapped the flank of a horse that tried to sidestep into him and didn‟t slow for Treanor‟s jocular greeting. Rafe found Jonah squatting by a cook fire, adding wood. “Come with me,” he ordered. Jonah rose and followed without a word, as if he knew that anything he said would break Rafe‟s uneasy hold on his temper. They stopped far from the encampment in a field of grass so tall, it was nearly over their heads. When they were face-to-face, Rafe was the one to drop his gaze. “What‟s wrong?” Jonah asked softly. “I-I…” He rubbed his face briskly. He didn't know. He didn‟t fucking want to know. He just needed to lose some of the heat and anger, and this was the only way he knew how. He lunged for Jonah, who caught him in his arms, stronger than expected. “Damn it.” Rafe didn‟t hide the desperation he wouldn‟t speak of, but let his mouth and hands show the gnawing hunger he felt. He needed to touch and taste Jonah, get as much as he could while he still could before an ocean separated them. His belly lurched with desire as he yanked at Jonah‟s shirt, determined to feel the smooth skin against his fingertips. But Jonah put his hands on Rafe‟s shoulders and pushed him backward. “No. There‟s no shelter, no trees. We‟re too out in the open.” Gasping, Rafe drew the back of his wrist over his mouth, feeling the damp of their last deep kiss, the rough tingle of it. “Right,” he said when he could speak.

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“Rafe, I want you, but—” “Talbot… Jonah, I said you were bloody right.” Two deep breaths later, and he‟d regained most of his calm. Rafe had no patience for men who allowed strong emotion to control their actions. Edward had used that as an excuse for the crime he‟d committed. He stared at the distant wagons and figures. They would be looking for him soon. And when they didn‟t see Jonah, too many of them would make an assumption. What the hell was he thinking? Rafe rubbed his palms against the sides of his trousers, trying to banish the plaguing desire that still held him. “We should return.” He began to walk fast, without looking to see if Jonah followed. “Wait.” Jonah‟s voice lashed like the crack of a whip, stopping Rafe in his tracks. The tall grass swished as he approached. Though he wouldn‟t turn to look at him, Rafe felt electrically charged by Jonah‟s presence beside him, the hand gripping his shoulder. “This can‟t be all about what you want and when you want it,” Jonah said. “You can‟t control everything—the entire world around you and everyone in it—Mr. Ringmaster. Tonight I‟ll come to your wagon again, and you‟ll let me inside. To talk, if nothing else.” Rafe cut a sideways glance at him. Jonah‟s jaw was set, his mouth rigid, and his eyes harder than Rafe had ever seen them. He appeared angry and in as much turmoil as Rafe. “I missed talking to you today,” Jonah whispered. “Didn‟t you miss that too?” God, yes. All day. Rafe dipped his head. “All right. Come to my wagon.” “Grimstone!” Parinsky‟s loud call came from only a few yards away, and he was suddenly there; his scowling face and balding head glimpsed through waving glades of meadow grass. Jonah dropped his hand from Rafe‟s shoulder and backed away, but it was too late for him to disappear deeper into the grass. Parinsky had spotted them and pushed through the grass like a big fat carp swimming through pondweed. “There you are. Someone said you‟d gone this way. What the hell are you doing out here in the weeds? The local law‟s shown up, some trouble about our permit again.” He stared long and hard at Jonah and then at Rafe before flicking another quick glance at Jonah. Parinsky‟s eyes narrowed. “If you‟re too busy…” “No. I‟ll deal with it.” Damned if he‟d make up some flimsy excuse. Nevertheless Rafe‟s heart pounded as he strode past Saul. A few seconds earlier, and Parinsky would‟ve caught them in each other‟s arms. Maybe that had been the man‟s intention, because he hadn‟t called out while he was searching. Had he actually been stalking them, hoping to see something he could use against Rafe? Or was that thought preposterous? Back at camp, Rafe put his personal worries aside to deal with the police chief who threatened to put them back on the road. With a promise that their show was

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on the level and a little bribe to seal the deal, Rafe sent the officer on his way. Then his mind swung inexorably back to Jonah like a compass needle pointing north. After Parinsky‟s near discovery, the man would be watching them. Now more than ever it was extremely foolish to meet, especially right in camp. Rafe should intercept Jonah and tell him not to come to his wagon. Yet the idea of not spending time with him was untenable. Maybe if he invited Henry Fisher along as a chaperone, their friendship would be acceptable. Good God, he was dithering like an emotional young girl. He blew out an impatient sigh at himself. “Feeling peaky?” Parinsky appeared beside him again, startling Rafe and convincing him more than ever that he was spying. “I got just the answer for that.” “Thanks. I don‟t want your medicaments.” “I was thinking whiskey. Gratis. No charge.” Rafe eyed him. “No, but thank you.” Parinsky rarely shared his liquor without demanding a fee. The magician pulled a silver flask from inside his jacket and drank deeply. He smacked his lips. About a hundred yards away, Jonah stood watching between two wagons. Rafe gave a single shake of the head. Jonah turned and walked off. Parinsky had been too busy messing about with his flask to notice Jonah. Rafe wondered what was behind this sudden chumminess and waited for Parinsky to reveal his motives, perhaps hint at blackmail. Parinsky took another pull from the flask. “That fellow looking for you a few weeks back. The British one with the white hair.” He fell silent, watching Rafe too closely. “Interesting chap, as you‟d say. I had a chance to talk to him awhile.” Parinsky took another long swallow, drew his sleeve over his mouth, then corked his flask. He continued to openly study Rafe, who was determined to stay silent. “He didn‟t come right out and say what was going on, but I got the idea you might be needed across the pond in Merrie Old England. From all his hints, I got the impression you‟re more than you seem to be.” “How much did you pay him?” Parinsky laughed. “Nearly twenty bucks by the time we were done talking. An expensive conversation without much meat to show for it. Couldn‟t even pry your real name from him. Surely it‟s not really Grimstone.” Rafe slapped away a mosquito. “I‟m sorry you wasted your money. At least now you‟re only wasting your time.” “Hey, listen, if you‟re going to jump ship, we got the right to know.” “I‟m not going anywhere.” Relief flooded him that Parinsky‟s interest was in his abandoning the show, not his involvement with Jonah. “Yeah? This week you‟re not. What about next?” “I won‟t walk out midseason.”

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“And after that?” “If anything changes, I‟ll let you know.” He looked pointedly over the magician‟s shoulder. Parinsky didn‟t move, so Rafe had to go around him or push him out of the way. He settled for a combination, but the slight shove sent the other man stumbling. The moment Rafe did that, he regretted riling the ill-tempered man who might use what he guessed about Rafe and Jonah to cause trouble. He grabbed Parinsky‟s arm and steadied him. “Hey now, sorry, boyo.” The arm under his hand was hard. Parinsky‟s face and body had grown stiff with rage. To ease more tension, Rafe added, “See why I turned down your offer of a drink? I‟ve had plenty o‟ my own.” He grinned and tipped his hat, acting the clown to keep the peace against the other man‟s righteous fury. He walked away, weaving slightly to convince Parinsky, but he hadn‟t gone more than a dozen yards before someone else fell into step next to him. Rafe held back a sigh and pasted on a smile. “Hello, Miss Jamie. Fine evening, isn‟t it?” She didn‟t respond to the pleasantry as she launched straight into her harangue. “I‟ve said it before, and I‟ll say it again. That tableau nonsense doesn‟t fit in a carnival. We‟re skilled performers. Posing while Johnny Hayseed tells a story is not what we do.” Rafe suppressed his irritation at having to deal with one of Jamie‟s artistic fits. At least she didn‟t beat around the bush. “The world is changing. Music halls are all the rage. We‟re adding the component of a traveling music hall, what you Americans call vaudeville. And Jonah‟s show is proving popular.” “You think you‟re the sophisticated Europeeean.” Miss Jamie dragged out the last word as if it was some kind of obscenity. Her voice went shrill, and the soft drawl of a Southern belle that she affected had disappeared. “You think you‟re too good for the likes of us.” Rafe suddenly wondered if this had to do with Jamie. She‟d shown so many signs of availability that he‟d politely ignored. There was no denying her attraction to him or her obvious dislike for Jonah. He stopped strolling. “Jamie, lass, I think no such thing. I hold you in the greatest respect. I admire your strength, your determination, your skill with the animals. You are a wonder, Miss Jamie, and I‟m proud to know you.” He would have said proud to call you friend, but no one did that. He suddenly felt sorry for the high-strung Jamie, who seemed only to truly like the animals she worked with. “No. If you respected me, you‟d respect the carnival tradition, and you couldn't care less about that. You wouldn‟t try to change the show. People expect to see something they saw as a kid.” She shook her head. “You don‟t mess with a show that was good enough for our ancestors.” They‟d had this conversation more than once, and he was growing tired of it. “We‟re selling tickets, Jamie.”

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“There‟s more to life than selling tickets,” she said, almost as quiet as he was. It was a bad sign with her when she got too calm. And when she moved closer to him, he knew it was a very bad sign indeed. “There‟s loyalty and the people you‟ve always counted on.” She rested her hand on his arm and looked up into Rafe‟s face with eyes so intense, they were scary. He fought the urge to pull away. “Your true friends are the ones who you can trust to be there. You should never forsake them for some fly-by-night Johnny who‟s here today and gone tomorrow.” Rafe was walking on shifting sand. He‟d always known Jamie harbored feelings for him, but hadn‟t understood how deeply they ran. He didn‟t want to hurt or anger her but couldn‟t discourage her without speaking bluntly. And if she‟d guessed that Jonah was more than a new friend to him, why would she possibly think he‟d be interested in her at all? He decided to ignore the romantic overtone in her voice and merely reply to her words. “As I said, I appreciate your work, your skill with the animals, and the gracious way you win over an audience. Introducing a new act does not threaten what you do. But Jonah is good at what he does too, and people seem interested. We need every penny we can scrape in if we‟re going to be able to open the show again next spring. As a veteran, you should know that better than anyone.” Miss Jamie, queen of the show, looked up at him with a gaze that nearly broke his heart. For once her soul was unguarded, and he saw the bleakness within her. He wished he could give her what she wanted, but he was not the man for her. Meanwhile, Dimitri languished at her feet and Jack Treanor seemed to have thrown his cap in the ring, though Rafe had doubts about his sincerity. Why couldn‟t this young woman see that the love she craved was within her grasp if she simply altered her expectations? “Very well, Mr. Grimstone. You‟re the manager. You clearly know what‟s best for all of us.” She turned to walk away, but couldn‟t resist tossing one last dart over her shoulder. “But don‟t be surprised if your house of cards collapses. The hayseed will leave you in the lurch when you least expect it, like most of these transients do, and maybe when you turn to your old friends, you‟ll find them gone too.” Rafe watched her walk away and wished he could‟ve handled her better, but with Miss Jamie, there was no way to keep her happy. If it wasn‟t Jonah‟s show, she‟d be complaining about something else. Well, she was right about one thing— someone was going to leave the show. He‟d contact the Orcully Brothers soon and see if they wanted to buy him out, and when the weather turned and the season ended, he‟d be on a steamship back to his old life.

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Chapter Seventeen “Jinxed. That‟s what we are.” Henry Fisher gloomily regarded his bandaged hand. “When luck has abandoned a show, there‟s little you can do to save it.” Jonah waited for Ellen to contradict her husband, but for once “the Signortoris” were a united force after suffering through another foul week of setbacks. “We were once with an outfit called Sanderson‟s when their luck turned,” Ellen mournfully chimed in. “Within a month the show was disbanded, and everyone scrambled to find work.” She took a long sip from her cup of coffee, which Jonah was pretty certain was liberally laced with whiskey. The way the pair drank, it was a wonder Henry hadn‟t embedded a knife in his wife‟s body during their throwing act rather than accidentally catching the blade end of a knife he was juggling. “Mr. Grimstone is doing the best he can. We won‟t fail,” Jonah said, determined to ease the couple‟s anxious mood. It was true that the cancellation of two engagements in one month had been a blow, but Henry was to blame for his accident with the knife. Luck had nothing to do with it. And wagons could be expected to break down due to wear and tear on the horribly rutted mountain tracks. A few days of heavy rain causing mudslides was also not unusual in fall in the mountains. And it was natural that Sam‟s precarious respiratory health acted up due to the damp, clammy weather, laying the poor fellow low. This unfortunate string of events was actually logical rather than merely unlucky, but Jonah had learned that show people were a superstitious lot. Not so different from the people he‟d grown up with, who liked to blame everything on either God‟s will or the devil‟s hand. Jonah rose from the table and bid the overcast “Signortoris” good-bye. He pulled his collar around his ears and bent his head as he left the shelter of canvas and tried to dart between the raindrops. He decided to check on Sam before returning to his duties, which today included repairing torn canvases and cobbling together broken bits of the ponies‟ harnesses. After pounding on the door of Sam‟s trailer, he pulled it open without waiting for an answer in order to escape the heavy drizzle. The trailer was hot, humid, and stuffy. The single window was open, but no fresh air infiltrated the space, only more dampness.

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Sam lay on his bed with Mindy sitting beside him, trying to get him to swallow a spoonful of soup. Jonah wiped off his muddy shoes and crossed the room to stand behind her chair. Sam‟s heavy-lidded eyes appeared glazed. His face was bathed in sweat, and his brown hair was as wet as if he was the one who‟d just come in from the rain. “Fever hasn‟t broken?” Mindy shook her head and brought another spoonful of broth to Sam‟s lips. “Try to swallow just a little. You haven‟t eaten in nearly two days.” “Sorry. Not. Hungry,” he gasped between rasping breaths. Fear uncoiled inside Jonah. For the first time, he realized what bad shape Sam was in. The man had been ill with one thing or another ever since Jonah had met him, and he‟d become used to his complaints, had begun to think maybe some of it was Sam‟s imagination. But he wasn‟t faking his rough breathing now or the fever that boiled through his lanky body. This was serious. “Should I get Parinsky?” Jonah asked Mindy. “He was a doctor once, right?” “Yeah. In New York City. Don‟t know what happened there, but I‟m pretty sure something went bad with one of his patients. You can hardly get him to bandage a cut these days.” “But surely he‟ll have some ideas, something we can do to make this fever break. If not, maybe I can ride to the nearest town and get a doctor.” “We‟re in the middle of nowhere. Folks ‟round here probably use old-time remedies, and the nearest doctor could be miles away. By the time you find and bring him back, Sam‟ll be well again.” She sounded confident, but when she glanced up at Jonah, her eyes told a different story. “Should‟ve headed east,” she muttered as she set the bowl on the nightstand. “Traveling through these mountains is breaking us down.” “Hey,” Sam croaked, his eyelids fluttering open. “Don‟t knock Kentucky. Prettiest state in the union.” “Your family home‟s near here.” Jonah knelt beside the bed and grasped Sam‟s hand. “Duck Hollow, isn‟t it?” “Holler. We don‟t say hollow hereabouts.” Sam managed a smile before another cough shook his body. Mindy rose. “Hell. I‟ll go see if Parinsky has something different he can give him. This cough remedy ain‟t helping at all. You bathe him a little while I‟m gone. There‟s the water basin.” She indicated a stand. “Water in the pitcher‟s pretty fresh.” Mindy bent over Sam and rested her hand on his forehead. “You try and hold back that cough, damn it, before you shake your insides loose.” “Yes, ma‟am.” She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then hurried toward the door. Sam watched her go with adoring eyes that wrenched Jonah‟s heart.

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Jonah filled the basin with water from the pitcher, found a cloth and towel, then helped Sam to sit and pulled the sweat-soaked shirt off him. Sam‟s elongated bones jutted sharply against his skin, his ribs a ladder down to his flat stomach and jutting hip bones. He‟d always been skinny, but he‟d lost even more weight over these past few days. Jonah washed his face, neck, and torso. Another coughing spell seized Sam, and Jonah waited it out with a hand pressed against his back. Before Sam folded his handkerchief, Jonah saw blood. A chill rippled through him despite the heat. “Are you gonna be all right?” Jonah patted Sam‟s shoulder. “Sorry. I don‟t think I‟ll be running the lights for your show.” “Forget that. It doesn‟t matter.” He resumed washing Sam‟s shoulders and arms before getting a clean undershirt from the hook on the wall. He slipped it over the man‟s shaggy head and helped him thread his arms through the armholes. “Do you want to sit in the chair while I put clean sheets on your bed?” Jonah regarded the rumpled, damp bedding. “I ain‟t got no other sheets. Don‟t care, anyway.” Sam dropped back onto the pillow, exhausted. Jonah drew the top sheet over him, although there was no need for extra warmth in the hot room. But covering a patient seemed like the right thing to do. “Will you do something for me?” Sam muttered. “Sure. Anything.” “Look after Mindy. She acts all tough, but she ain‟t really. Claudia‟s a friend to her, but she needs more than one friend, and she likes you.” “Mindy‟ll be fine. She‟s got you.” Sam stared up at him with eyes as deep and dark as a well. “Don‟t. We both know I probably ain‟t gonna get better. Don‟t try to pretend everything‟s all right. I need to talk plain with you.” Jonah wanted to say something about God and the healing power of prayer, but that wasn‟t what Sam needed from him right now. He nodded. “Yes, of course. I‟ll look after Mindy. Anything else?” “Like you said, Duck Holler ain‟t so far from here. If you‟d kindly go find my kin and tell them about me after…” Jonah bobbed his head, ready to agree to anything Sam wanted. He‟d never felt so horrified or helpless in his life, not even when his cousins had been beating the tar out of him. Sam was his best friend and the kindest soul he‟d ever met. Jonah had had a few friends back home, but none who really knew him yet still accepted him. With Rafe there was too much turbulent emotion and need for them to have a simple, uncomplicated friendship. If Sam died, the loss would rip a huge hole in his heart. Jonah filled a glass with water while he got his emotions under control and held the glass to Sam‟s lips. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

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“Mindy ain‟t the only one around here who acts tough to protect her insides. You keep doing whatever you‟re doing with Grimstone. I never seen him so happy nor so flustered. He don‟t know if he‟s coming or going, and it‟s up to you to tell him what‟s what.” Jonah nodded as if he understood this bit of homespun wisdom, but didn‟t think flustered and Rafe Grimstone belonged in the same sentence. The man was always in control, except maybe when in the throes of passion. He‟d never allow himself to become attached to Jonah and would never listen if Jonah did try to tell him “what‟s what,” whatever that meant. Sam‟s eyes closed, and he drew a harsh breath. Jonah held his own breath, waiting for Sam to exhale again. At last the sick man released another rattling breath. The door of the wagon opened, and Mindy returned with a different bottle of Parinsky‟s patent medicine, which contained nothing more than a strong draught of alcohol, honey, and a few herbs. Jonah was glad there was no actual snake oil in this latest batch. “The old quack‟s gonna stop by and check you out in a little while.” She fussed around Sam, straightening the sheet and plumping the pillow. “For now, you take some of this and see if it don‟t ease the pain in your chest.” Sam dutifully swallowed the spoonful she poured for him, grimaced at the taste, then collapsed against the pillow and closed his eyes. Jonah rested a hand on Mindy‟s shoulder as she sat staring at Sam. “Will you be all right?” She glared at him. “Of course I‟ll be all right. Sam‟s the one who‟s sick.” “Okay.” He accepted her thorns with a smile. “I have some chores I need to do, but I‟ll come back later and spell you.” He leaned over Sam again, wanting to say good-bye once more—just in case… “I have to go now, but I‟ll be back soon. Get some rest if you can.” Sam dragged his eyes open as if by an effort of will and focused blearily on his face. “Pleased to know ya, Jonah. You‟re a good fella. Don‟t let anybody tell you different.” That sounded far too much like a good-bye. Jonah swallowed the lump in his throat and swiftly pressed a kiss to Sam‟s burning forehead. Then he left the room before he lost control. Outside, if his tears mingled with the falling rain, there was no one who would know the difference.

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Chapter Eighteen Rafe yelled at the team of rousties to pull as they fought the wind in an effort to secure a portion of loose canvas. A free rope lashed like a bullwhip before Crooked Pete caught hold of it and fastened it to a peg. The entire tent was on the verge of collapsing into the mire of mud if the men didn‟t batten it down. They carried poles and, from under the tent, shoved up to drain off the water. Thank God there were no patrons inside. Although the foul weather would‟ve ensured a poor turnout anyway, Rafe would just as soon have opened today. Idleness was giving his people too much time to dwell on the recent spate of disasters. Keeping busy would take their minds off their woes as well as bring in some ready coin. Christ knew they could use some income. At this rate, he‟d have to send some of the men to hunt animals in the nearby woods in order to fill the stewpot. Rafe had taken off his hat to avoid losing it to the wind. His hair whipped around his face and stung his eyes, and rain soaked him from head to toe. But at last the men had the tent secured again. Their boots churned the mud into deep ruts as they circled the structure, checking the moorings on every stake. “Grim.” A voice from behind him made him turn away from the activity. Mindy approached, her brown hair plastered to her head and raindrops rolling down her face. “It‟s Sam.” She said no more, but the desolate look on her face told Rafe everything he needed to know. Oh God, no. For some reason he wished Jonah was near—as if his presence could delay or soften her inevitable words: “Sam‟s gone.” “I didn‟t know he was that bad off.” “He was always sick. How could anybody know this time it was different? What could we have done?” Her voice broke, and her face crumpled in misery. Rafe pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight, and Mindy clung to him and sobbed like a child. There were several things he could‟ve told her, such as that Sam had been living on borrowed time and likely no physician could‟ve helped him. His form of gigantism came with attendant physical problems. He‟d fought against his weak respiratory system and enlarged heart all his life, and the one time he‟d seen a doctor at Rafe‟s behest, the doctor had informed Rafe outside of Sam‟s hearing, “That young man won’t live to see thirty.” But none of these were comforting words, and Mindy didn‟t need to hear them. Rafe simply held her close, crooning soothing nonsense until her sobbing ceased.

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The rain began to ease by the time she pulled away at last, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “We should take his body home. We can‟t just bury him alongside the road or in a cemetery in some strange town. He should be near his folks even if they did treat him like shit.” Rafe thought of the logistics of transporting Sam‟s large body some distance away. Considering the fact that Sam had fled his family, it didn‟t make much sense. “I think it‟d be nicer to bury Sam near here so all of us can attend the funeral. We‟re the ones who really cared for him, not some relatives who never gave a damn. We‟ll do him up proud and leave him resting easy.” He closed his aching eyes and listened to the dripping trees and Pete‟s voice urging workers to push the poles up to dump out the last of the rainwater lest the tents collapsed. Sam was dead, but the carnival couldn‟t stop and mourn for long. Rafe hadn‟t heard Jonah walk up, but now he couldn‟t miss his quiet voice. “We have to find his people.” Jonah‟s eyes were red-rimmed, his hair tousled and damp. “Before he died, he asked me to tell his family.” Rafe felt a surge of sickening guilt. He should have visited Sam, made sure he was comfortable. Never mind that Sam had been sick so long; Rafe was a failure as boss if he hadn‟t even known one of his stars had been so close to death. Jonah, who‟d been with them less than two months, had been a better friend to Sam. Rafe stared at a string of flapping flags that had broken loose during the storm. He wanted to fall to his knees and howl. “You hunt his family down, then,” he said to Jonah. “Take Jester, the bay with the stocking on the left rear leg.” That was the toughest baggage animal with the best wind. “Yes, sir.” “Thank you,” Rafe added, but Jonah was already making his way toward the horses. “Don‟t forget to take provisions,” he called after him and wondered how far he‟d have to travel through the rugged, unmarked countryside. Maybe he should send Treanor, who knew this part of the world, along with him. Mindy watched Jonah jog away, splashing through puddles. “Sam liked Talbot. He told me to stop giving him so much hell. Said the same thing to me about you too, Grimstone.” She gave him a fast, sour smile. “Don‟t count on that one.” “No, no, I won‟t,” Rafe said softly. “Pray, don‟t stop your abuse, Mindy. I‟d hate it if everything changed.” Her mouth twisted, and she began to cry again. He held her again and tried to make out her muffled words. She cried about how she hadn‟t been kind enough to Sam and now it was too late. “Hush, hush. He knew. He loved you and knew you cared,” Rafe said and furtively wiped his own eyes. “He was happier in your company than anywhere else, Mindy.” She calmed at last. As she pulled away, Rafe remembered he‟d wanted to send Treanor along with Jonah. He squeezed Mindy‟s shoulder. “I must go.”

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“Hold up. We‟d best decide what‟ll happen with Sam.” She pulled out a handkerchief, blew her nose, and tilted her chin up. “We can‟t wait too long, boss. It‟s summer.” He didn‟t get her meaning at first, then nodded. The inevitable heat. Trust Mindy to be sensible even in the midst of her grief. “We‟ll lay him to rest as soon as we can, love.” He started toward the spot where the horses were tied up, but he‟d waited too long. Pete was the only one standing by the horses, and the bay gelding was not tethered in its usual spot. “Where‟s Jester?” “Talbot took him. Says you gave him permission.” Under bushy brows, Pete‟s eyes narrowed. “He had a bedroll and a sack. Don‟t tell me he‟s decamped with the best horse. I swear, I hate notifying the towners, but if we gotta call in the law—” “No, he didn‟t scarper. I did indeed give him permission. I just didn‟t think he‟d leave so quickly.” “Quick about describes it too. He took off like he was the Pony Express.” Rafe considered grabbing another horse and heading after him, but he had no idea where to go. He wasn‟t even sure he knew which direction he‟d find Chicken Hollow or whatever the place was called. Rafe would give Jonah a day and then contact the locals about a burial site. No doubt for the likes of showfolk, the towners would inflate the price of a plot in the cemetery, but he‟d pay it. Sam would get all the honors due him. As he strode back to his wagon, Rafe reflected how much he‟d miss the big man, but he couldn‟t allow himself to indulge in grief just yet. He had a show to put on. Everyone was already getting ready for tomorrow‟s performances, and no one questioned the fact that they would be open for business. An artiste could die in the middle of an act, and the rest of the show would continue—the surviving players would even try to make whatever accident that killed him look like it was part of the act. But it was a testament to Sam that there was a sense of subdued mourning in everyone from the lowliest canvasman to the artistes practicing their acts. Even Miss Jamie took a break from making her dogs dance on their hind legs to express her sadness to Rafe. “In proper shows, the human oddities kept their own society and certainly didn‟t mingle with the artistes. But it was somehow fine with Sam.” Rafe was surprised that she would be so forthcoming. It was true that Sam was so pleasant, the most entitled performers hadn‟t been able to force the giant to stay where he belonged in that strict social order. After a time in his company, most liked him too much to admonish him to keep his distance. Jonah had that quality too. He cared about people and didn‟t give a damn about their pedigree. Despite the fact that he was a university graduate, he would listen respectfully to Claudia, who hadn‟t finished fourth grade. That was what made Jonah so special.

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*** By the next morning, Jonah still hadn‟t returned from his errand. Rafe stared over the misty hills and wondered what he‟d do if Jonah never returned. Sam was gone. So much loss; what could he do? Carry on, of course. Rafe couldn‟t allow grief or fear to engulf him—there was too much to do. They must bury Sam, put on afternoon and evening shows, and then get back on the road by the next day or risk losing too much income. As soon as local businesses in Craggy Peak were open, Rafe and Parinsky rode into town, dressed in civilian clothes. Parinsky was in a sour, silent mood. Rafe told the undertaker the dimensions they‟d need for Sam‟s coffin, and he promised to have a plain model finished within an hour and send it in a wagon along with his assistants. The pastor of the local Methodist church came to collect the money for the cost of the gravesite and service, and then Rafe and Parinsky headed out of the funeral parlor. “We‟d better hurry so everyone has time to get ready for this nonsense,” Parinsky muttered. Rafe had been ignoring his glowering face but thought it best to clear the air. “What‟s wrong?” “The show can‟t afford the time or the cost. We should put him in the potter‟s field. And that extralong coffin is too much.” Rafe was surprised the man wasn‟t trying to capitalize on Sam‟s death as he‟d wanted to do with Lancelot. A funeral procession through the town was as good as a parade for drumming up customers. “Sam knew this day was coming, so he saved his pennies. It‟s his money,” Rafe lied. He was paying from his own pocket, but he had no interest in arguing with Parinsky. “Morale is bad enough. If we don‟t show Sam proper respect, it‟ll get worse. We don‟t need to give the message to everyone that they‟re of no value and easily replaced.” Parinsky scowled. “There ain‟t no such thing as an irreplaceable being.” His stare held a clear threat: I’m talking about you, boss. Rafe could match the hard gaze. Parinsky was the first to look away. “Yeah, fine. You‟re right. But we gotta get on the road tomorrow. We‟ll get him buried today as soon as possible. And we take off tomorrow even if your pretty Talbot isn‟t back.” His pretty Talbot. God Almighty, that threat couldn‟t be ignored. It was Rafe‟s fault—he‟d been too obvious, too wrapped up with Jonah and not careful enough. He grabbed Parinsky‟s upper arm but didn‟t raise his voice. “You watch your mouth. You‟re the one who said there‟s no such thing as an irreplaceable being.” Parinsky raised his hands, palms up. “He‟s your protégé, as you fine folk say. No need to get all huffy. And there‟s no denying the boy is good-looking.”

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Rafe had had enough. “I‟ll let you get away with this crap for now because we‟re all on edge. But watch your step.” He let go of Parinsky‟s arm. Keeping a close watch on Rafe, Parinsky unlooped his horse‟s reins from the ornate black cast-iron hitching post. Rafe knew he‟d won—for the moment, anyway. It wouldn‟t do to gloat in victory, so Rafe immediately grew businesslike. He swung up on the saddle. “We‟ll follow the undertaker‟s wagon to the site and have a graveside service. We‟ll bring along the band and see Sam off in style.”

*** The showfolk dressed in their Sunday best, except for Charlie the trumpeter, who wanted to play the military lights-extinguished music, “Taps.” He wore his old Spanish-American army uniform. They made a long, slow procession through the mid-July heat. It felt strange to have such a march through a town without a show to present at the end of it. People on the main street stopped to watch, so obviously the word had gone out that one of the carnival folk had died. There was some pointing and gawking, but most of the townsfolk of Craggy Peak bowed their heads or removed their hats as if Sam was an ordinary man instead of a freak. That eased Rafe‟s sorrow, but the worry for Jonah still ran through him, a constant whisper of fear. Where was he? Some of the people joined the funeral cortege on the slow walk to the cemetery. They gathered at the gravesite, and the local pastor made a fairly good speech about the innocent joys of pleasure and how the carnival was a lasting legacy for Mr. Nolan. He only forgot Sam‟s name once. Rafe couldn‟t help scanning the crowds of strangers and showfolk, looking over their heads to the single muddy road leading into the cemetery. Pete, wearing a rusty black suit that smelled of exotic animal dung and camphor, sidled close. “I don‟t reckon Talbot took off with Jester,” Pete muttered. “He‟ll be back.” “It would be a pity if Sam‟s family missed the whole service,” Rafe responded. That was a real concern, though he‟d thrown out that remark to keep himself safe from the rumors that had started up. A spasm of self-disgust joined the fear digging into the pit of his stomach. Just as the pastor led them in what he‟d called the final prayer, a farm wagon came creaking along the trail—old, battered, and crowded with gray figures. One of the two horses drawing the wagon was Jester, a fine figure of a horse harnessed alongside a skeletal creature. Rafe could breathe again. His heart thumped easily once more. For the first time since he‟d heard of Sam‟s death, he felt his gut ease. “Pastor,” he said as the reverend paused to watch the approaching wagon. “This is Mr. Nolan‟s family. Would you consider repeating your words for them after this prayer?” The pastor agreed, but his broad face was wrinkled with concern as he watched the bony figures of a man and a woman climb down and approach the

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grave. Several ragged kids trailed after them. Jonah was the last to jump from the wagon, and he strode up behind the figures. The man—Sam‟s father, Rafe guessed—stopped far from the crowd gathered on one side of the grave. Jonah joined him and stood with the family rather than walking around to meet Rafe and the others, but when he saw Rafe watching, he gave a small nod, and the hint of a smile crossed his face. A discreet greeting, because Jonah was learning to stay hidden at last. Rafe wondered if he wore his sheer relief on his face; perhaps now he was the one who had to train his response. The pastor recovered himself and gestured to the family to move closer. They didn‟t seem to notice him. Instead they looked around at the crowd as if they‟d never seen anything like it. “You say all these folks come for Sam?” the man said to Jonah in a gravelly voice. He had a more fine-boned copy of Sam‟s face, though he was almost as cadaverously thin and had no teeth. “Yes, sir.” “They knew him?” “Many did, yes.” “I never,” the man said. He took off his battered felt hat and for a moment looked like the other men, bareheaded in mourning. But after turning the hat in his hand a few times, he jammed it back on his head. “I never. So many people.” When two of the Nolan kids darted out in front to peer down into the grave, Jonah‟s voice rang out, sharp and clear. “Ratchet, Feeny, behave. Recall what I told you. This is a funeral, and we have come to pay our respects.” The kids retreated to behind their parents again. “Yessir, Mr. Talbot, sir.” Rafe felt a sudden urge to laugh. Rev. Talbot would have been proud of his son at this moment. The pastor cleared his throat and began the prayer again. After the service ended, the pastor went to talk to Sam‟s family. Jonah at last joined Rafe and the others. The rest of the Craggy Peak crowd melted away. Pete and others shook hands with Jonah, who looked tired and more than a little disheveled. His three-days‟ growth of beard gave his innocent face a dangerous look. Rafe realized he was staring and quickly looked away to shift his attention to the two men who were shoveling dirt into Sam‟s grave. “How far‟d you have to go?” Parinsky asked Jonah. “Only about twenty miles, but another world away.” He shook his head. “I thought I‟d seen some funny sights on the road with this show, but that farm…” He scratched his head as his voice trailed off. Jonah‟s hands were none too clean, but even as he noticed Jonah‟s dirty fingers, Rafe felt a surge of lust and wanted to feel those hands touching him again.

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Jonah met Rafe‟s eyes. “I‟m afraid I offered them a horse in exchange for coming here. Not Jester,” he added hastily. “But they‟ll need one anyway, or they‟ll never make it back to their farmstead.” “We have to bribe ‟em?” Mindy sounded disgusted. She tapped the end of her black parasol on the ground and glared over at the Nolans, who were gathered around the pastor. “No,” Jonah said. “It wasn‟t really a bribe. They wanted to say good-bye to Sam. Turns out they‟re proud of him; he is the big success in their family. Sent them back his money, every spare dime, his father said.” Parinsky gave a triumphant little grunt, and Rafe knew he‟d been caught in the lie that Sam had paid for his own funeral. “I‟ll pay you back for the horse, eventually,” Jonah said quickly, probably misinterpreting Parinksy‟s disgust. “I‟m sure there‟s one available here in town.” “We better get back to the lot,” Parinsky said in a loud voice. “We got a show in two hours.” The carnival crowd walked slowly away from the gravesite. Only Mindy stayed, staring at the sweating diggers as they filled the hole. Rafe didn‟t want to leave her alone but didn‟t dare move too close to her. He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and waited. Jonah walked over to him. Rafe said, “I‟ll wait for her. You go get cleaned up.” “Yes, I know I smell dreadful.” Jonah wrinkled his nose and looked down on his stained, rumpled clothes. “But I‟d best go to the stable right away so we can send the Nolans home.” Rafe put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, wishing he could haul him close, kiss him, yell at him for disappearing for too long. “Good.” Rafe pulled his thick wallet from a pocket inside his jacket and peeled off several bills. “Buy the animal with this.” “I‟ll pay you back,” Jonah said. Rafe narrowed his eyes. “Just go buy the bloody thing. God only knows how much the show owes you.” “Behind on your books, Mr. Grimstone?” “I shall figure the sums once we‟re on the road again, if you‟ll drive for me.” A flash of a grin passed over Jonah‟s face, and Rafe couldn‟t help smiling back or stop himself from watching Jonah as he went to Mindy, who didn‟t look up. He squeezed her shoulder, just as Rafe had touched him, then trotted to the Nolans. The family piled into the cart, and Jonah joined them. He‟d changed so much since that night he‟d appeared in front of Rafe, beaten and defeated, another lost soul stumbling toward the lights of the carnival. Rafe had known Jonah was a fine actor, but realized he could probably pursue any

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profession and succeed in any path he cared to tread. Jonah would do better than survive outside the carnival. He‟d flourish. The Nolans‟ wagon groaned and lurched toward the cemetery gates, and Rafe turned back to stand vigil near Mindy. They would have to walk swiftly—run even—to get back to the lot for the show, but he didn‟t feel impatience, only sorrow. And when at last the diggers shouldered their shovels and moved away, he still didn‟t rush Mindy. She shouldered her parasol, perhaps an unconscious imitation of the gravediggers. Mindy nodded to Rafe, and they slowly made their way back to the carnival in silence broken only by Mindy‟s occasional muffled sob.

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Chapter Nineteen Someone—probably Pete, who had a genius for that sort of thing—had found a stream. Frigid water trickled from a hose he‟d immersed in the flow. Jonah could lift the hose nearly three feet off the ground before the water stopped. He washed himself, thinking of how he‟d once considered this primitive. The clean water was sweet, and he was grateful to scrub away the grime and to drink as he washed. He had only a few minutes before he took his place in front of the freak tent, which now meant only Claudia and a few anomalies in glass jars. For a moment Jonah forgot to breathe, then drew in a long shuddering sigh. No more Sam. There were friends Jonah had had his whole life who didn‟t know him a fraction as much as Sam had. The man had met him, taken his measure, and liked him all the same, with no judgment in his big, kind heart. But as Henry Fisher had said earlier, “The show must go on.” It was the credo they lived by, and right now, Jonah must concentrate on finding a replacement for Sam on the lights and curtain for the show that evening. He would mourn later. And eventually he would write a note to his mother. The time he‟d spent with the peculiar Nolans had reminded him of his bonds to his family, and he had to try to reach out to her. He knew his father well enough and expected the pastor would never forgive him. But he supposed he had to try to write to them both. “Poe‟s Horrifying Tales” proved as big a draw as usual. Jonah was glad to be busy, first seducing gawkers to come in and see the freak show and later narrating the tableaux. It distracted him from his sadness about Sam and from his exhaustion. The ride along precarious switchback roads over the mountain to the Nolans‟ shack and back again had worn him out. By the time he‟d doused the lights in the freak tent and turned the cashbox in to Mindy, Jonah was nearly asleep on his feet. “Might as well sleep in Sam‟s wagon,” Mindy said as she took the box from him. “Sleeping on the ground is for the rousties. You‟re a performer now. You‟ve earned a proper bed. He‟d want you to have his place.” Jonah smiled at her, but when he took her hand to squeeze it, Mindy pulled away. She was wearing her armor of prickliness again to protect her poor, battered heart. Although the idea of sleeping in the bed Sam had just expired in was not at all to Jonah‟s liking, he wouldn‟t mind bedding down on a pallet on the floor. He walked out of the freak tent and plodded past the darkened tents and wagons toward Sam‟s trailer.

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He spared one long look for the lighted windows of Rafe‟s wagon and considered knocking on the door. He fantasized a warm reunion, an embrace and kisses and more. But since Jonah‟s return, Rafe hadn‟t hinted they should meet; in fact, he‟d seemed more remote than usual. Tonight, as exhausted as Jonah was, he didn‟t think he could take knocking on that door and possibly being rejected. He didn‟t want to have to argue his way in as he had the last time. He hadn‟t the energy for his hot-cold entanglement with Rafe. Not tonight. If the man truly wanted him, let him come find Jonah in his new lodgings. Jonah entered Sam‟s trailer, which someone had aired although the smell of sickness lingered. He unrolled his own bedding onto the floor and curled up to sleep. In the darkness, he gazed at the shape of Sam‟s bed and remembered how his friend had looked the last time he‟d seen him. He lay, waiting for Rafe. If he cared enough for Jonah, he would find his way to him. Jonah was tired of being the one to push for more of a relationship. But Rafe never came that night.

*** It took Jonah almost a week to get used to sleeping in Sam‟s room. He took to talking to the man as if he were there, and that banished the feeling that he was an interloper. And it helped ease his longing for Sam‟s company. An even sharper longing hit him when he thought of Rafe, and he wished he could turn to Rafe for comfort, but something had changed in the man. Not just Sam‟s death had created an impenetrable sorrow in Rafe; it was as if he was drifting away, staring at something the rest of them couldn‟t see. That news from home, Jonah supposed. Rafe still had a home, after all. But once the lights were all extinguished and only the sound of nightbirds would fill the air, Jonah would wander the tiny village of tents and wagons, hoping to meet up with Rafe. Their silent, passionate trysts kept him from howling from loneliness. As he passed the House of Mirrors, the shatter of breaking glass startled him from his stupor. He raced toward the wagon to throw open the unlocked door. Inside the darkened chamber someone was thrashing around like a literal bull in a china shop. Jonah glimpsed the figure of a person bashing away at the glass with a baseball bat or perhaps a club. “Hey!” he yelled and leaped into the wagon, forgetting his own safety in his eagerness to save whatever was left of the fragile display. Jonah grabbed at the shadowy figure, which was very solid. The vandal shoved and knocked him to the floor, where Jonah sprawled on broken glass. The person raced past him and jumped from the doorway to the ground, bypassing the steps entirely.

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By the time Jonah rose to chase after him, the destroyer had disappeared into the night. Drawn by the noise, people were running toward the House of Mirrors. The person who‟d broken the mirrors might even be among them—not an outsider at all, but a member of their company. Who would want to wreck the display? All the instances of accidents and lost items took on a sinister quality. Was it possible someone was undermining the show on purpose, and if so, for what reason? “What happened? What‟d you do, Talbot?” Jack Treanor demanded as he reached the wagon. Traces of clown-face greasepaint still lingered on his jaw and neck. He carried a lantern in his hand, which lit all the approaching carnival folk: Mindy, the Fishers, Jamie, Claudia, and Dimitri. “Someone destroyed the mirrors. I tried to stop him, but he ran away. See for yourself.” Jonah gestured toward the wagon. Henry Fisher grabbed the lantern from Jack and went to take a look. Jonah noted the absence of Parinsky in the group. It was easy to believe that the hard-eyed man who‟d shown him nothing but scorn had something to do with the destruction. But seconds later, Parinsky arrived along with Rafe, dispelling Jonah‟s notions about his guilt. “You all right?” Rafe asked gruffly before marching past Jonah to examine the damage. Curses flowed like water from the wagon along with the sound of glass crunching beneath Rafe‟s boots. Rafe emerged from the House of Mirrors looking like the devil himself with his blazing eyes and black-bearded face. “That‟s it,” he snapped, leaping from the wagon and landing on the ground with both feet. “Nothing to salvage. Might as well strip the wagon and use it for storage. What I want to know”—he glared around at the assembly that had grown to include almost everyone in the carnival—“is who the hell is sabotaging our show and why?” “It could‟ve been some locals,” Jamie suggested. “Kids daring each other.” Jonah shook his head. “That was no kid. The guy knocked me over before he ran away.” “Face it, Talbot,” Parinsky said, “you‟re not exactly a muscleman, not too hard to tip over. A husky farm boy of sixteen would seem like Dimitri to you.” “Orcullys would be my first guest.” Henry weighed a handful of glass shards he‟d scooped up inside the wagon. “All these weird accidents that‟ve been happening…maybe they‟re no accident. Orcullys want us out of this territory. They want to claim it for their own.” “The idea‟s not so crazy.” Claudia stood at the fringe of the group wearing a flower-bedecked wrapper that made her look like an entire garden. Even in the dim lantern light the colors glowed. “They‟re trying to put us out of business.” Jonah listened as other voices joined in and murmurs of enemies in the night gathered strength and volume. They might very well be right, but how quickly a group became a mob when there was a common enemy to fear.

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“But where‟d the guy go?” Mindy‟s voice cut across the voices. “Did he just disappear into the night, walk through the woods, or ride a horse down the road? The lost props, the torn canvas, the broken axle, maybe even Lancelot dying—all that has happened while we been on the road. If a stranger was doing it, we‟d have seen him.” “You sayin‟ it might be one of us?” Dimitri stared around the group as if he could detect the conspirator, drag him off, and pummel him. “Hold it, now.” Rafe held up his hands, and his deep voice commanded silence. “We don‟t know what‟s happened or who‟s done it. Let‟s not leap to conclusions.” Parinsky snorted and spit a wad of phlegm on the ground. “At least everyone else here is using their heads for figuring out what‟s happening instead of thinking with their dick.” Claudia, Jamie, and Ellen Fisher gasped in surprise at the coarse statement coming from Parinsky, and Henry spoke up. “Hey, now. Watch your tongue.” “My pardon to the ladies, but it‟s the truth, isn‟t it? The carnival‟s going to rack and ruin, and our great leader here‟s too cock-eyed to see it.” Jonah‟s heart thundered as Parinsky skated on the fragile ice that covered Jonah and Rafe‟s dark river of passion. If the man spoke any more bluntly, it wouldn‟t take much figuring what he was alluding to. Clearly Sam hadn‟t been the only one who‟d seen the truth about them. When he‟d told Jonah to quit watching Rafe all the time, Jonah should‟ve listened. “Enough,” Rafe barked. “Trust me, I‟m well aware the show‟s hit some hard times. And I promise to get to the bottom of these attacks—if indeed they‟re all related. But for right now, I won‟t abide any dissension among us. If we‟re to survive, we cannot start mistrusting one another. We must pull together.” It was a rousing speech, confidently delivered, but Jonah thought he saw uncertainty in Rafe‟s eyes. And if he sensed it, likely some of the others did too. Rafe was in an unenviable position, trying to keep order after a flock of chickens recognized there was a fox in their coop. “It‟s late,” Rafe continued. “We‟ve all had a long, hard day. We‟re tired and grieving for Sam and in no condition to think rationally. I suggest everyone go to sleep, and in the morning we‟ll try to make sense of this.” There was some grumbling, and Jonah overheard more whispered questions and accusations flying back and forth, but the people began to disperse when Rafe turned to lock up the House of Mirrors. “You heard the man,” Mindy called, ever the staunch supporter of their leader even though she didn‟t always agree with him. “Get on, now.” “Talbot.” Rafe beckoned him over. “Tell me exactly what you saw.” “Not much, I‟m afraid. A dark figure, not too big, bashing at the mirrors with some kind of club. I grabbed his arm, but he whirled around and pushed me. I lost my balance, slipped on some glass, and fell. By the time I got up, he was gone.”

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“Close your eyes,” Rafe commanded. “Think about any details. A scent or the texture of the cloth when you grabbed his sleeve. Anything at all.” Jonah obeyed, but the encounter had been so fleeting, it was like a halfforgotten dream. “Smooth fabric when I grabbed the arm, but he shook me off before I got a good grip.” He opened his eyes. “Funny thing, though. He could‟ve hit me with the club, but he didn‟t.” “Which adds weight to the theory that it‟s someone from the carnival causing mischief—maybe on behalf of the Orcullys—but not wanting to really hurt anyone,” Rafe mused. Parinksy was still standing nearby, and he shoved into their conversation. “All the more reason you should question everyone tonight. Have it out now before whoever it is takes off.” “That wouldn‟t be a bad thing. If someone‟s missing in the morning, the question‟s answered and the problem‟s solved. Do we really want to tar and feather one of our own?” Rafe cast a look at Parinsky. “Never mind. I forgot who I‟m talking to.” Rafe walked off without another word. He didn‟t add so much as an “I‟m glad you‟re all right” to Jonah. Jonah tried to stifle his hurt feelings. Rafe couldn‟t show any special concern for him, especially not with the annoying Parinsky on the verge of exposing them. The magician turned to Jonah. “Funny how you happened to be on hand right when this happened, yet you didn‟t get hurt at all. A fellow might think you had something to do with it. Not Grim, of course—he‟d never question his pet. He‟s lost his shrewdness, but not all of us are so taken in by that choirboy face. Trouble started soon after you got here, and I don‟t believe in coincidence.” Jonah wanted to point out that there wasn‟t a club on him and he hadn‟t had time to stash it, but he sealed his mouth shut. Parinsky wouldn‟t hear anything he said. He‟d taken a dislike to him, and that‟s all there was to it. The big man stalked away, leaving Jonah alone by the shattered House of Mirrors. He closed his eyes and breathed in a draft of air that smelled faintly of stale popcorn and burned sugar. Then he trudged toward Sam‟s wagon. It was all he could do to put one foot before the other. He climbed the steps and closed the door behind him. He cast a long look at Sam‟s bed, stripped of its sheets, the striped mattress a silent testimony to loss. Jonah went to the other bunk in the room, the one Little Alan the midget had used before he did a bunk, as Mindy would call it, and left the show. It was too short to accommodate him, but he took the blanket and pillow off the bed and lay down on the floor with them. He closed his eyes, sure he‟d fall instantly asleep, but images darted through his mind like kaleidoscope glass refusing to settle into one place. He saw Sam‟s pale face, the Nolan family‟s primitive home, the fresh red earth mounded over Sam‟s coffin, the faces of the people who‟d watched the show that night, the sparkling bits

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of mirror strewn over the floor like diamonds, and Rafe. His thoughts always came back to Rafe. Even now he couldn‟t help hoping there‟d be a knock on the door, that Rafe would come to him here to welcome him back with more than a polite nod. He longed for those arms to be wrapped around him, for that long, lean body to be stretched out beside him here on the floor. He opened his eyes and stared at the fuzzy bits in the blackness. As a child, he‟d imagined those moving particles were the air itself and that he was special because he could see what others couldn‟t. Later, he‟d decided the moving particles were simply dust. A soft knock at the door jolted him from his dreamy reverie. Jonah leaped to his feet and went to open it. Rafe stood outside. Jonah opened the door wider, inviting him in. “I-I‟m not busy. I‟m writing a note to my mother.” The other man smiled briefly. “Good for you.” He backed away as if regretting the smile. “Not tonight. It‟s probably best we don‟t see each other for a while. We-we haven‟t been as secretive as we‟d thought, and this is no time for me to be seen playing favorites. I‟m sorry.” He paused then added, his voice a little husky, “I‟m glad you‟re all right and that you made it back from the Nolans‟ place in time for them to see the funeral. It was a good thing you did.” Rafe‟s tone was reserved. His polite approval was not the warm and heartfelt homecoming Jonah had hoped for. Once again, he‟d expected too much from a man who obviously had nothing more to give him. “I‟ll see you tomorrow, and I‟ll have to question you as I do all the others,” Rafe warned him. “I understand. Of course,” Jonah replied. “Well, good night, then.” Rafe had already turned and was walking away. There was nothing to do but close the door. Jonah returned to his hard bed on the floor and buried his face in the flimsy pillow. God, how he hated himself for crying and for caring too much. He wore his heart on his sleeve, then wondered why it kept getting plucked off, cast down, and stomped on. What a fool he was. Given the situation, Rafe was being completely logical to suggest they cool their affair for a while. He hadn‟t said he wanted to permanently end it. Jonah was simply exhausted and feeling too emotional to see clearly. Things would be better in the morning, when the sun rose on a fresh, new day.

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Chapter Twenty The destruction of the House of Mirrors looked even worse by the light of day. Rafe walked through a maze of mostly empty frames, his boots crunching shards of glass, and felt sick, not only for the loss of the attraction that he‟d designed, but for the loss of trust in those he‟d considered practically family. He should‟ve known better. The carnival was made up of a group of people thrown together by unusual circumstances. The constant traveling forced them into proximity and fostered a sense of camaraderie, but in the end they were only people who happened to work together. They were not a family. Unfortunately Rafe‟s real family lay across an ocean and required his presence now. It was time to give up this false world he‟d created for himself, go home, and take up his responsibilities. Why had he thought he could wait until the end of the season? With the show in shambles, he might as well announce his plans sooner rather than later. If Parinsky was so certain he could fix things, let him take over the reins. Hell, Rafe wouldn‟t sell the show to him—he‟d simply give it to him. If the carnival ultimately folded, the refugees could find their way to the Orcullys or other outfits where their acts would be in demand. Rafe thought of the disappointment in Jonah‟s face last night when he‟d refused his offer to come in. His chest tightened, and a sense of loss washed over him. The season might not be quite finished, but summer was done for Rafe. No more holiday from his real life. No more postponing the inevitable. He would say good-bye to the preacher‟s son and never see his bright eyes again. Nor feel his caresses, his kisses, his hot body pressed close as if the two of them would melt together. And Jesus God, he‟d given himself a hard-on by allowing such thoughts. No more! There would be no attempt at one last fuck. It might assuage Rafe‟s lust, but it would do Jonah no favors. He was going to be hurt by the end of this summer, and Rafe should never have led him along this far. “So, what do you think, boss?” Crooked Pete‟s voice startled him, and Rafe turned from the wreckage to face the bow-backed man. “Worth starting over?” “No. Sweep it clean. Stack the frames somewhere. We might be able to use them in some way. And then go ahead and store whatever you need to in here.” “Could sell one of the wagons,” Pete said. “With the lion gone and now this, we‟ve got more than we need. Best bet is to convert this into our lead wagon and get rid of the old one.”

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“Do whatever you think‟s best. It doesn‟t matter.” It’ll all be over soon, anyway. “Breaks your heart, doesn‟t it?” Pete squinted at him. “I know you put some work into this. It held together even driving over bumpy roads, and the people seemed to like the illusion.” Rafe shrugged. “Everything comes to an end. You know that better than anyone, Pete.” “That I do.” He smiled. “These old bones aren‟t going to be able to take many more seasons on the road, I can tell you that. Maybe I‟ll just stay down in Florida after this winter.” “And what would you do with yourself?” Rafe asked. “The show‟s in your blood. I don‟t think you could live without it.” Pete started pushing the broom he‟d brought along through the rubble. “Then I guess I‟ll die. Nobody lives forever, son. That‟s why you got to make the most of the time you got.” He glanced at Rafe with a sharp look in his rheumy eyes. “And don‟t let people you care about slip away, or you‟ll end up like me—all alone.” Wonderful. Even Crooked Pete knew his business and was offering unwanted advice. “That Jamie girl‟s wild about you, you know,” Pete continued. “You should do somethin‟ about that.” Or maybe his vision was clouded after all. Rafe nodded. “I‟ll keep that in mind.” He left the wagon and started making his rounds, interviewing one person after another about where they‟d been last night after the carnival closed and who‟d they‟d been with. Most of the stories matched up, and he learned some interesting facts. For one thing, it appeared Dimitri had given up on mooning after Miss Jamie, at least temporarily, because he‟d been spending time in Claudia‟s wagon. “Sharing a late night meal,” they‟d both said. But it didn‟t escape Rafe‟s notice that Claudia had been wearing slippers and a robe last night. An interesting couple. Henry Fisher, Pete, and some of the other roustabouts had been playing poker. All could vouch for one another‟s presence. Ellen Fisher said she‟d been in bed. Mindy had been in Rafe‟s trailer counting the day‟s box office, and Parinsky was with Rafe when the commotion had started. Jamie had been tending her ponies, and Jack Treanor, removing his makeup. It seemed every damn person in the carnival had an alibi of sorts for last night. Except Jonah, the only man who‟d seen the mysterious vandal. If Rafe wasn‟t involved with him—if he wasn‟t certain he knew him—the lad would probably be the first person he‟d suspect. As it was, he couldn‟t even consider him as a possibility. So, if not anyone in the carnival, then who? Some youths causing mischief, as Jamie had suggested? An outside agent sent by the Orcullys to disrupt the show and force them into selling? Maybe some local who simply hated carnivals and

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wanted to drive them off? Or someone with a personal vendetta against Rafe, who might wish to cause him trouble? For that matter, this could be related to his other life. Maybe an agent the family had sent to try to get him home faster? Whatever the reason for the destruction, Rafe‟s lingering had to end. The troupe would muddle through without him. It was quite possible for a carnival to change owners without falling apart. Rafe had convinced himself they relied on him, but maybe they‟d be better off without him—Jonah in particular. Maybe Rafe‟s leaving was the catalyst the young man needed to break free of this cocoon and find his real place in the world. Rafe stood in the center of the carnival takedown and directed the smooth ballet. To an outsider the scene would be utter chaos, but he knew it was a welloiled machine. Watching them work, he understood his new plan was better—he wouldn‟t go to an outsider first. Each person knew his job, and the entire thing would be torn down and loaded by the end of another half hour. Just enough time for him to have a private talk with Parinsky and then Jonah before making a general announcement about his leaving. The brevity would keep that talk with Jonah from turning into one last tryst. He caught his breath and held it for a moment before slowly letting go. This was going to be much harder than he‟d thought. Rafe caught sight of Parinsky carrying a crate full of his patent medicines to a storage wagon and called out his name. Parinsky jerked his head in acknowledgment, dropped off the crate, and came over to him. “What‟s up?” “We need to talk.” “So talk.” Why did the man have to be so everlastingly abrupt and annoying? Every word from his mouth made Rafe feel less like leaving these people in his care, and then the obvious answer came to him. “Nothing. Never mind. No, wait. I‟d like you to go around and tell everyone that as soon as we‟re packed up I want them to meet in the space where the big canvas was. I have an announcement to make.” “Okay.” Parinsky headed off. Rafe considered the man‟s failings. Saul Parinsky was the last person he wanted to look after his show. Mindy would be best—if the men would only defer to her authority. She knew the business like the back of her hand. She wasn‟t the best at dealing with people, being about as short-tempered as Parinsky and even less diplomatic, but she would manage with people like the Fishers to back her up, and she‟d grow into her new role. Rafe spotted Jonah leading a line of ponies from their pickets to their trailer. Too busy to stop and talk. In fact, it was probably better if they didn‟t have a private conversation. The break would be cleaner if Jonah learned about Rafe leaving along with everyone else. Yes, that was the way to handle it. Might leave

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the man hating him, but at least Jonah wouldn‟t give him those soulful eyes and make Rafe start waffling on his decision to go. Mindy happened by just then, and that decided the matter for him. “I‟d like to talk to you,” Rafe said. “In my trailer.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Sounds serious. You know who ruined the mirror maze?” “No. It‟s something else. A proposition.” They spent the next half hour in his room, and by the time Mindy walked out, she‟d traveled from shock at his leaving, to pride at him asking her to take over the show, to trepidation, and then cautious optimism in her ability to do the job. As they parted outside the trailer, they shook hands. “I can‟t believe you thought of me first,” she said. “Most men don‟t cotton to the idea of women running things, even though we do it all the time.” “Who else was I going to ask? Parinsky?” Rafe smiled. “You know all the details. You‟ll do fine once everyone gets used to the idea of you being in charge.” Mindy cocked her head. “What about your pal, Jonah? Where does he fit in all this? You takin‟ him along with you when you leave?” “No. I‟m afraid that wouldn‟t be possible.” “Why the hell not?” she asked. Why not, indeed? Could he keep him like a servant or pet dog? Hardly. He‟d ignore the question, though he knew it would gnaw at him later. Why the hell not? Because selfishness was the hallmark of his bloodline. Keeping a man dangling when one had nothing to give him was the ultimate selfish act. He wouldn‟t indulge. “Let‟s go,” he said. “Time for me to tell the others.” Most of the company was already assembled on the bare ground where the big tent had stood only a few hours before. Rafe‟s heart was pounding a mile a minute as he strode alongside Mindy toward the gathering. He straightened his spine and walked to the center of the ring, then turned slowly, meeting all their gazes—all but Jonah‟s. He skimmed past him, unable to look into his eyes. “Many of you have known me since I first purchased this show from Mindy‟s father on his retirement from the life. Those who were here then remember it as a time of adjustment, but eventually we grew used to one another, and I think you‟ll agree our little show has been fairly successful. Until recently. Yes, we‟ve had a bad turn with our luck. Maybe the Orcullys had a hand in some things that happened and maybe they didn‟t. I know I promised you all last night I‟d get to the bottom of it. But I realized there‟s a much more important matter I need to tell you about, something I‟ve been putting off for too long.” He regarded the puzzled and concerned faces. Nothing good was usually contained in news withheld. Rafe cleared his throat.

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“The truth is, I recently I learned of my brother‟s death back in England, and duty calls me to go home and tend to my estate.” “Estate?” Fisher muttered. “I knew it. A damn duke or something.” “Not quite.” Rafe managed a smile. “But there is a title and property and responsibilities I‟ve shirked for too long. My family needs me, and I must go. I‟d hoped to see you through to the end of the season before bidding you all good-bye, but I‟ve realized I‟m only putting off the inevitable.” And here he did allow his gaze to flick to Jonah‟s just for a moment. The shock in the other man‟s eyes was like a punch to his stomach. Rafe rested his hand on Mindy‟s shoulder. “Mindy has lived her entire life beneath these canvases and knows how a carnival is run more than any man here. I‟ve sold my interest in the show to her.” The others needn‟t know it was for a token amount. “I hope you‟ll trust her judgment as she leads the show into a new phase in its long life. I‟d considered selling out to the Orcullys, but realized Mindy was born to run this operation.” “But the show needs you,” someone said. “We are none of us irreplaceable,” Rafe parroted Parinsky‟s words. There was a moan from the group, and he had to look up to see if the sound came from Jonah. No, Parinsky stood there, fists at his sides, his face dark with anger. “I want to talk to you. Alone,” he added. Rafe nodded. This might be his chance to get the aggressive fool to spill his secrets, and perhaps with a little pressure and a fair dose of alcohol, he‟d confess to undermining the show. Rafe was about to agree to a meeting when another voice piped up. “There goes the Poe show. Your boyfriend is going to die of a broken heart.” The scorn in those words was clear. “Or are you taking your sweet little Talbot with you?” It was Jack Treanor. Someone gasped. Another person tittered. Rafe‟s thoughts raced. How odd. For one thing, Rafe strongly suspected Treanor also preferred men and that his pursuit of Miss Jamie was all for show. Why was he doing this? Treanor had directed a few hot glances at Jonah, so perhaps it was twisted jealousy. Rafe realized he had to respond. “You really are an ignorant fool, Treanor,” he drawled. “That kind of scurrilous talk can get you in serious trouble.” “So it‟s a lie that you and Talbot are a hell of a lot more than good friends?” Rafe knew how to take the measure of a crowd, and this one was too avidly interested. He understood that he had to say more—play this right, or risk real danger. The bruises on Jonah‟s face… He saw the scene again, vicious men attacking a body on the ground. It would be Treanor who‟d kick the hardest, he had no doubt. Rafe‟s actions now had to be enough to protect Jonah from that ever happening again. “You are an ass.” He held Treanor‟s glare with one of his own and didn‟t so much as glance at Jonah. “Every ugly word is false, and you know it.” His slight

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emphasis on “you” was a threat. Dig too deeply into my private life, and yours isn’t safe either. Treanor scowled back and didn‟t say anything more. Still watching Treanor, Rafe said, “Now, if you have some concerns about the show, let‟s hear them. The rest of this garbage—I‟m not interested in addressing that again. The rumors are all false.” The faces turned toward him seemed less contorted with confusion or anger. After a moment of silence, a roustabout spoke up, wanting to know about the pay that week. Someone else wanted to know who would get Rafe‟s wagon after he left. He reassured them there‟d be no interruption in pay and that all processes would be fair and clear. His wagon would go to Mindy if she wanted it. Rafe knew he was a good actor and was sure he‟d convinced at least some of his listeners that his relationship with Jonah was innocent. He only hoped he was good enough to keep the despair from his face. He had to say those words, deny his affection for Jonah. He knew enough about this part of the world to understand that men like them were killed for acting on their impulses. Those bruises… As he spoke, he at last risked a quick look in Jonah‟s direction and saw how he stood, arms folded, staring down at nothing. Jonah‟s mouth was pressed tight, and he looked miserable and as if he longed to flee but didn‟t have that option, like a defendant listening to a sentence handed out by a hanging judge. Rafe pulled out his watch and made a show of looking down at it in dismay. He wondered what Jonah thought of his imitation of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. “My friends, it‟s nearly time to move out. I will say a formal good-bye now, for I plan to board a train at the next town. It has been an honor to know and to work with each and every one of you.” There was some talk of putting together a farewell “wake,” as one of the rousties said. Rafe laughed and said to hold the parties without him. He forced himself to walk away briskly without another look at Jonah. Someone touched his arm. He turned, ready to apologize, explain, scold Jonah, but it was Parinsky who had stopped him. “I beg your pardon. I forgot,” Rafe said icily. “What did you want to speak to me about?” He‟d already given Parinsky a chance to talk, and he‟d had nothing to say for himself. Rafe‟s throat ached with searing anger. Anger at Treanor, at the world, and at himself. Mostly at himself. “Goddamn it, you have no right to traipse off to your dukedom.” Parinsky‟s words were so unexpected, Rafe gaped at him for a moment before he managed an answer. “I‟d have thought you‟d be glad to see the back of me.” “Hell, no. You have a contract with the company.” Parinsky cleared his throat. “No disrespect to Mindy, who‟s smart as a whip, but it takes a friendly sort to run a show like this, and she‟s sour as a lemon.” Rafe nearly burst out laughing. The man who‟d been complaining and sniping about him during his entire tenure as boss was now complaining that he would take off. “You‟ll have to help her, then.”

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“So you‟re leaving before we catch the hoodlum who smashed up the mirrors? And what about the broken staubs, ripped canvas? And that axle. Huh? Just going to walk away? As if none of us matter?” Rafe felt another sudden surge of rage. Losing Jonah and this carnival that he‟d grown to love was going to hurt like the devil. He‟d had enough pain. He‟d repudiated Jonah because he‟d had to keep them both safe. And before he left, he was going to have to figure out what Treanor was up to. And God knew he‟d had enough of fighting with Parinsky to last a lifetime. Rafe clasped his hands behind his back rather than act on the desire to smash his fist into the man‟s face. He even forced his voice to stay calm. “I have to return. People are dependent on me back in England.” “They are here too.” “No. They are dependent on the show, not on me.” He jammed his heel into a dark patch of dust. “Someone in the show is the culprit behind at least some of the incidents. I‟ve wondered if it was you, to tell the honest truth, trying to drive me off. I‟m less sure now that you‟re carping at me about leaving. But I am not completely convinced you‟re innocent.” “Shit. That‟s honest, all right.” Parinsky gave a sharp laugh. He gave Rafe an almost friendly smile. Rafe sighed. He‟d never understand Parinsky. “Have you considered the fact that if I leave the incidents will stop? Treanor‟s words just now. The things people think about me. And Talbot.” He swallowed. “Maybe that‟s why the attacks have occurred.” “You think the attacks are aimed at you and your love life? That‟s a bucket of spit, Grimstone. You‟re not so conceited to think driving you off is at the bottom of it, are you?” “Now who‟s being utterly honest?” Rafe asked. But Parinsky was right, though. Once he‟d said the words out loud, Rafe‟d understood how ridiculous that fear was. This strange new accord with Parinsky might not last, and he‟d push it as far as he could. “Why do you suppose Treanor said those things? You‟re friends with him. Do you know what he hopes to accomplish?” “Beats me what he‟s up to.” Parinsky shrugged. “For all his jabbering, Jack doesn‟t say much. I expect with all the cancellations and troubles lately, he‟s just tense.” “We all are.” Rafe nodded to Charlie, the trumpeter and candy butcher, who walked past with a sack of sugar slung over his shoulder. He waited until the man passed before continuing. “Never mind Treanor, then. I want to know what is behind the destruction. Perhaps it isn‟t directed at me, but I believe it has roots in hatred. Strong emotion lies at its core.” “Naw. Seems to happen too regularly, like the attacks are on a schedule. Know what I mean? Plus, there‟s the fact that it‟s not getting worse.”

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Rafe frowned. “I‟d say you‟re wrong. The smashing of the mirrors is the most destructive act yet.” The other man sniffed and rubbed his nose. “Maybe so.” Parinsky admitting he could be wrong and Rafe might be right? Hell must have frozen over. Parinsky narrowed his eyes and pushed out his lips into a pouty attitude of concentration. “Still. My guess is there‟s money behind all this.” “You‟re single-minded about wealth,” Rafe said. “You‟d always guess there‟d be money as a goal.” Rather than getting offended and shouting or sneering, Parinsky shook his head as if Rafe‟s comment was an annoying fly buzzing around him. He fished his flask from a pocket and took a pull, wiped his lips, and said, “Here‟s what I‟d bet. Someone‟s getting paid or will eventually gain something from all this.” They‟d reached the back of Rafe‟s wagon. “Care for a bite to eat?” Rafe offered. It felt odd to offer Parinsky refreshments, but it was even odder to see the man nod. When they walked around the other side of the wagon, they stopped dead. Jonah sat on the top step. Parinsky gave another derisive snort. “Maybe I ought to come back later.” Jonah rose and smiled at Parinsky as if he didn‟t have a care in the world. Rafe wondered if he‟d only imagined that look of defeated anger on his face earlier. Which was real? He wasn‟t sure. Jonah was nearly as fine an actor as himself. “Don‟t leave, Mr. Parinsky. I‟m the intruder.” Jonah pushed past Rafe without looking at him. Rafe should have welcomed the dignified way Jonah was moving away from him. Perhaps this moment was the clean end to their intimacy—Rafe‟s goal. Instead he blurted, “No. Please don‟t go.” He cleared his throat. “We‟re just discussing the sabotage of the show.” “Oh.” Jonah lost the air of studied nonchalance. He might be angry with Rafe, or hurt, but apparently he cared about the show too. “Got any theories?” Parinsky took another pull on his flask. Jonah folded his arms and stared at the trees in the distance for a long moment before shaking his head. “No.” Rafe wondered if the hesitation meant something. “None? You‟re our one witness.” Jonah looked in his general direction but didn‟t meet his eyes. “I wish I knew who was doing it or why, but I can‟t help you, boss.” The sour, tight way he‟d tucked the corners of his mouth told Rafe that Jonah was upset. He wouldn‟t have noticed that sign in another man, or perhaps he wouldn‟t have given a damn. Now Rafe wanted to grab those stiff shoulders and shake them. Surely Jonah understood why he‟d said those things, why he‟d had to deny their intimacy in response to Treanor.

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“How about trying something new? I got my watch,” Parinsky said. “Maybe you‟re a suggestible sort, Talbot.” He waved a finger back and forth slowly to indicate the motion of a swinging watch. Jonah stared. “Do you mean hypnotism?” “Certainly. Why not?” Rafe was mildly surprised that the charlatan Parinsky believed there might be something worthwhile about hypnotism. Jonah clearly did. He shook his head and looked pale. “No. Maybe later, sir. Not now.” He turned and walked away. Rafe watched him go, wondering if they‟d ever meet again. Of course they would. Why had Jonah come to his wagon? He wished he could run after him to find out—and knew he‟d be a fool to do anything of the sort. “Well, well. That‟s certainly interesting. He seemed almost afraid of hypnotism,” Parinsky said. “He certainly acted like he‟s got some big secret when I asked him about what he saw. The only witness too. Are we sure he‟s not the one who‟s done it all?” Rafe suspected the secrets Jonah clung to had nothing to do with the show. “I‟m sure.” He fed Parinsky a sandwich and some of the liquor the man had sold him a month earlier. Neither of them had any new ideas, but at least Parinsky was making a begrudging effort to act as an ally. He smoked one of his foul cigars and left. Thank God. Rafe needed to take action, and he needed to be alone. He ignored the emptiness at the pit of his stomach that seemed to be shaped like Jonah. He had bowed to the inevitable, and thinking he could put it off until autumn was selfindulgent. It would take only a little time to pack his belongings. There was no reason to hang about now that the decision had been made. Not that it was a real decision on his part. He‟d been born into those other responsibilities even if he‟d never believed the day would come when he‟d have to shoulder them. Edward had always seemed invincible, filled with good fortune and pure luck, until it had all run out at once. And even if his mother would have only hard words for him, Rafe must return home at last as Lord Darkwell. He walked to the little cooking area and decided to leave all the dishes, pots, and pans for Mindy, but there was the cup he‟d given to Jonah that first night. Rafe smiled as he thought of how Jonah had sputtered and gasped with his first encounter of Parinsky‟s brew. Later Jonah had laughed too, willing to mock himself. Rafe could see that mouth curled into a smile, or those same lips damp and hot, slightly parted with need—or drawn tight with hurt. Rafe held the battered metal cup for a moment before tucking it into his leather satchel.

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Chapter Twenty-one Rafe owed him nothing, Jonah‟d reminded himself as he listened to Rafe stand before the group and tell them Jonah wasn‟t important to him. It wasn‟t as if Rafe had tossed him to an angry mob to save his own skin. This denial shouldn‟t hurt. Yet the words of indifference cut deeper than Rev. Burns‟s lies. Dear Lord, he hadn‟t known words could create such pain until Rafe spoke without so much as a glance in his direction. Jonah had held himself tight and waited for the announcement to be over, and afterward he walked to the boss‟s wagon, determined to do something, whether it was slam Rafe to the ground or beg him for a kiss. He didn‟t know what he wanted. Yes, he did—to hear the truth from Rafe, even if the truth was “You were entertaining, but I never cared. Now you are a nuisance.” As long as the man looked into his eyes as he said it, Jonah could walk away. And then… Could he stay with the carnival? Life might be easier once Rafe left. Or perhaps his absence would make life in the traveling show unbearable. But Parinsky‟s presence had stopped the confrontation. Jonah walked away from Rafe‟s wagon almost glad for having the kibosh put on his careening emotions. He felt like a fool for even thinking he could beg for love—and he‟d lost the desire to slam his fist into Rafe‟s face. He returned to Sam‟s trailer, sat in Sam‟s oversize chair, and wondered if it was anger or sorrow that sent his blood pumping so hard, he trembled. “We are none of us irreplaceable.” Jonah spoke Rafe‟s words into the silence. He thought of Sam then of Rafe, and how much he‟d miss them both. He shook his head. “Mr. Grimstone, you are either a liar or just terribly wrong about life.” Several distant blasts of the master‟s whistle announced that the carnival was about to move out. Jonah left the trailer to climb onto the wagon seat, take up the lead lines, and guide the horse into place in the queue. It was almost midday—a late start but, following the upheaval of the previous night and Rafe‟s big announcement, not surprising they were slow to move to the next town. Jonah waited for the next command and watched eagerly for the expected sight of Rafe riding past to check the procession of wagons. When he beheld Mindy instead, riding a piebald gelding and wearing the silver whistle on its cord around her neck, Jonah‟s heart plummeted. Rafe had promised to stay with them until the next town and the nearest train station, but perhaps he‟d decided to avoid any further drama and ride on ahead. What if he was already gone? What if it

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was too late to say good-bye? Not that Rafe had given any indication he wanted to see Jonah in private. The hand clenching Jonah‟s heart squeezed tighter. Done. Over. Finished. Like mournful gongs of a church bell announcing a death in the congregation, the words sounded in his head. He slapped the reins against the horse‟s back, and the wagon lurched forward. The gloom that shrouded Jonah was at odds with the brilliant sunny day and the vibrant blue sky overhead. He must not allow himself to wallow in grief over something that had never been his to begin with. Rafe had reminded him time and again that their relationship was temporary. The man had never lied. Once again it had been emotional Jonah who‟d imagined his sexual partner had feelings for him simply because he felt so strongly himself. “Time to grow up,” he advised himself aloud, hoping that hearing the words would snap him out of his melancholy. “Time to move on.” “Talking to yourself, Talbot?” Mindy rode alongside his wagon, raising an eyebrow as she regarded him. “You look like an elephant dumped a load on your parade.” Jonah didn‟t answer. There was really no response to a statement like that. “He hasn‟t left yet, you know. Just in case you were wondering. But I wouldn‟t wait too long if there‟s something that needs to be said. I learned the hard way about that.” Again she cut a sharp glance at him. Jonah nodded. Mindy started to knee her horse into a trot, but before she moved off she added, “If you think you might be plannin‟ on leavin‟ too, could you give me a little notice? I‟d like you to write down a script for the Poe show. No need to waste a good attraction just because you‟re not there to deliver it. Somebody else can learn the stories.” “No one‟s irreplaceable,” Jonah recited glumly to her retreating back. He recalled he‟d promised Sam he‟d take care of Mindy, and the thought made him smile. Sam would be proud of her now.

*** It was odd to watch the carnival set up and no longer be in charge of it. The sun was setting, the shadows crawling long and thin across the grass as the big top went up, canvas billowing in the breeze. But for the first time in three years, Rafe had not shouted directions or pointed the placement of the wagons. He hadn‟t paced the dimensions of the top nor pounded in the first staub, as was his custom. He‟d been interested to note that Mindy gave Saul Parinsky the task of measuring the ring, citing the fact that his man-size pace would be more accurate than hers. Rafe wouldn‟t have guessed she possessed such manipulative skill, for it was exactly the right way to help win over her rival. She‟d managed to make it clear she was in charge but would delegate tasks as needed for the benefit of the show.

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The sudden realization came over Rafe that Parinsky—for all his feigned desire to take charge—was actually more comfortable in his role of right-hand man. He‟d complain and fuss, but he‟d do as he was asked. The man was a drinker but never a slacker. Rafe lingered, watching the setup when he should be on his way. If he hurried, he might catch the last train of the day at the local station. But then the plaintive howl of a locomotive whistle told him it was too late. The train was either just pulling in or just leaving, and he was too far away to get there in time. Perhaps one last night in his wagon, and he‟d go to the station in the morning. Then he saw Mindy heading for the wagon with a heavy carpetbag in each hand and remembered the little home on wheels was no longer his. And there was nothing keeping him here even for another night. Rafe shouldered his pack and walked toward the makeshift corral Crooked Pete had set up. The horses were eating a measure of oats to go along with the grass they freely cropped. Chaucer would not be pleased at the interruption when Rafe saddled and loaded him with his belongings. Since it was far too late to catch the train, Rafe might as well let the horse enjoy his last meal with the herd. He set his pack on the ground and leaned against the post, watching the gray, chestnut, black, and white horses snuffle in their feed bin. Their breath huffed softly from large nostrils. An occasional whicker or nip disturbed the serenity of feeding time. Rafe stared at the animals and considered going to find Jonah for an official last good-bye. He‟d seen him a few times during setup, but always at a distance and always busy. Rafe‟s feet had been like lead, unable to walk over to the younger man, and he realized now he still couldn‟t. They‟d exchanged good-byes yesterday with Parinsky in attendance, keeping them from getting too personal. That was good. That was the way it must be. Nevertheless, when Rafe heard the sound of approaching footsteps, his pulse sped, and he turned eagerly toward the person—only to have his heart drop at the sight of Jamie, not Jonah. Again. Her blonde hair, which she usually wore piled high, was now hanging in loose curls around her face. Her eyes appeared even larger outlined in black and with long eyelashes that had to be be false framing them. She walked quickly toward the paddock and stopped in front of Rafe. “You were going to leave without saying good-bye?” Accusation made her voice shake. “After all these years?” “I said my farewells to everyone yesterday,” he reminded her. “There‟s really nothing more to add.” “Not even to me?” Her lips trembled, and those wide eyes shimmered with tears. Rafe felt sick. He‟d known about her feelings for him. She‟d hardly hidden them. But he‟d done everything in his power to make it clear those feelings weren‟t

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returned. He‟d never led her on, and there was nothing more he could have done to discourage her without being outright rude. “Jamie, I‟ve told you before, I think you‟re a fine person, but we work together—that‟s all. I‟m leaving a lot of good friends like you behind, and I can‟t say a private good-bye to each and every one of them.” He saw Jonah‟s face, troubled and disappointed. He should have said a better good-bye. God, he couldn‟t imagine saying the words—not again. But Jamie wasn‟t done with him. “Friends.” She spoke the word with such scorn, he might as well have called her a whore. “That‟s all I am to you.” “I believe I‟ve made that clear a number of times.” Rafe moved toward her. “If I‟d had an interest in you, don‟t you think I would have followed up on it by now?” She shook her head, sending her curls tumbling. “Sometimes love is that way. You don‟t see the person who is perfect for you is right in front of you. But I believed sometime, someday, you‟d come to your senses.” A chill that had nothing to do with the breeze went through him. With her hair wild around her face and her eyes so wide and glistening, Jamie looked a little mad. And she spoke the words with such conviction that Rafe realized she had, against all odds, somehow believed she had a chance with him. He reached out to touch her arm, determined to soothe her yet not leave her with any illusions. “Miss Jamie”—he added the title to put some distance between them—“I‟m sorry I couldn‟t care for you as you evidently do for me. You‟re a beautiful woman, but it‟s simply not in my nature to be attracted to you. I‟m sorry.” She gave a scoffing snort. “Talbot, that moon-eyed hayseed. The very idea of it is disgusting.” The pity Rafe felt for her quickly evaporated, and his temper flared. “Enough. I‟m going now. Good luck in your future endeavors,” he said coolly as he released her arm and turned away. “Oh, I have great plans,” she promised, her little-girl sadness instantly replaced by poisonous venom. “Jack and I both do. I guess I knew I couldn‟t count on you. So I made plans of my own. I‟m taking care of what should be mine.” Rafe had stooped to pick up his bag, but he dropped it again and faced her. And when he looked into her eyes, he feared that she truly was insane. They nearly sparkled with savage glee. “What plans?” he asked. “Did you think I‟d stay with a poky little show like this forever? The Orcully Brothers have promised me star billing—headliner on the poster, even above their elephant, Gracie.” Rafe took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Treat her like a trained bear gone rogue: slow and easy and calm. “Why did they promise you that, Jamie?” She laughed, a high-pitched tinkle that made the hair on his arms raise. “Why do you think? But what do you care? You‟re as good as gone.”

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“I‟m as good as gone,” he agreed slowly. “So you can tell me. What do you mean, Jamie?” “All these little accidents. It took you long enough to put two and two together and see it was more ‟n bad luck. I thought you‟d be smarter than that.” “You and Jack did this together?” “Well, yes. Isn‟t that what I just said?” She laughed again. “Not that it matters to you now. I‟m nothing to you. And the show is nothing to you. You‟re leaving, so what do you care about any of it? But just so you know—the House of Mirrors was all mine.” “Jesus Christ, Jamie. What have you done?” For a moment Rafe was too shocked to move as his thought came out of someone else‟s mouth. Then he whirled around to face Jack Treanor, still wearing his jaunty red coat from his trip to town to drum up business. The man had evidently just arrived back. He was holding his horse, prepared to tie it to the picket line for the night, when he‟d come across Jamie and Rafe. Rafe had hidden his dismay and hoped he could smile and walk away, but then he saw Treanor reaching into the belt beneath his jacket. “Treanor,” he began, but the other man was pulling something from his belt. He gave a long, low growl, still directed at Jamie. “Jamie. Why couldn‟t you leave the drama behind? You stupid fool. He might be on his way out, but he still gives a damn,” Treanor snapped. He dropped the horse‟s bridle and pulled a pistol. He pointed it at Rafe and jerked his head toward the far side of the paddock. “Over there. Come on.” When Rafe hesitated, Treanor added, “Don‟t think I won‟t use this.” With the surreal sense of walking in a nightmare, each step an effort, Rafe plodded in the direction the clown indicated. Treanor‟s pistol wasn‟t large—little more than a derringer—but it could put a bullet in him if he refused to obey. And if Treanor decided to keep Rafe‟s mouth shut by killing him and disposing of his body, no one would ever know. They‟d all think he‟d left for England. Meanwhile his family in England would give up on his return after a while, assuming their black sheep had disappeared once again. There was no one on this earth who‟d know about or mourn his passing.

*** Jonah was proud of himself. He‟d done a fairly good job all day of keeping busy and distracted and thinking of anything other than Rafe Grimstone. Of course, he‟d sneaked a look or two at the man while the carnival was setting up, noting the elegant way he lounged against a booth and simply watched for a change. God, how Jonah would miss that long, lean body, that black goateed, devilish countenance, and the deep chuckle that so often rumbled from the man‟s chest.

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No lingering on what they‟d had. That was what he‟d promised himself, but it would be a damn sight easier once Rafe was truly gone, Jonah thought as he hurried from one task to another. And then the sun was almost set, and the truth of what Rafe‟s absence would mean to him crashed down on Jonah all over again. The feelings he‟d kept tamped down erupted. He found his feet moving of their own accord toward Rafe‟s wagon— where he found Mindy moving her possessions into place. “I believe he‟s heading out right now. You‟d better hurry,” she advised. Jonah nearly raced to the corral, set some distance from the wagons and tents to keep the smell of horse manure away. He searched frantically for a glimpse of Rafe while saddling one of the horses, but didn‟t see him. When Jonah caught sight of Chaucer among the other horses, his hopes lifted. Not too late. I can tell him…or at least see him one last time. On the far side of the milling group of horses, Jonah saw a flash of red. Treanor‟s coat. So the man was back. Jonah walked around the enclosure to talk to him. If Rafe had already left on one of the other horses, maybe the advanceman had seen him on the road. As Jonah drew closer, he stopped and stared at the unexpected trio standing between the corral and the stand of trees beyond. Jack Treanor, Miss Jamie—if the woman even had a last name, Jonah had never heard it—and Rafe clustered close together discussing something in an intense manner. Jonah held back, his nerves tingling, telling him there was something wrong with the tableau. The jovial clown‟s face had once again slipped into an angry sneer such as the one Treanor had worn yesterday when he accused Rafe and Jonah of having an affair in front of the entire company. Jonah had always seen Jack Treanor as a pretty easygoing fellow, especially in comparison to his friends Parinsky and Jamie, but it seemed that demeanor was only a mask for a deeply disgruntled man. Then Treanor turned slightly, and Jonah saw that he held a gun on Rafe. Jonah ducked beneath the rope into the horses‟ enclosure and dodged behind the nearest horse‟s hindquarters. His heart thundered as he tried to make sense of what he‟d seen. The only logical conclusion he could draw was that Rafe had learned Treanor was the culprit who‟d been sabotaging the carnival and threatened to expose him. How Miss Jamie figured into it, Jonah had no idea, but that hardly mattered. He needed to take action immediately and somehow disarm Treanor. With what? He had no weapon, not so much as a heavy stick, and physically Jonah was no match for Treanor. If he leaped on the man and tried to wrestle the gun from him, it could prove disastrous. There was no time to get help or arm himself. All he could do was use what was at hand. And all that was at hand was horses.

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Jonah crouched and looked beneath the chestnut‟s belly at the trio. Treanor was talking and gesturing with the pistol while Jamie appeared to be entreating him to spare Rafe‟s life. Meanwhile Rafe cast a quick glance to the left and right as if gauging whether he dared make a dodge for freedom. Then his gaze swept to Jack Treanor, and Jonah saw from the glint in his eye that Rafe intended to throw caution to the wind and tackle the other man while he was distracted by arguing with Jamie. Jonah had to stop him before he got himself killed. He wasn‟t much of a rider. His father hadn‟t owned but one horse, and that was for drawing a carriage. But Jonah had learned during his time with the carnival. He grabbed the chestnut‟s long black mane and vaulted onto the horse‟s back, kneed it sharply, and charged toward the three. The portable corral was fashioned from a double line of rope strung between stakes. It was at chest height for the horses, and only a desperate animal would try to leap over it, especially given that there was no area in the enclosure in which to build up speed for the jump. Well, the horse might balk at the jump, but Jonah was desperate enough for both of them. He dug his heels into the horse‟s flanks, urging the horse forward. The animal lunged forward, scattering the rest of the herd, and then sailed over the rope to land in the midst of the people. Jonah was dimly aware of the sound of Jamie screaming and Treanor‟s shout. But the horse‟s hind leg caught on the rope, and the animal fell, throwing Jonah. He shot over the horse‟s head and landed on the ground with a thud that drove the wind from him. His lungs were crushed. He fought for air, wheezing and gasping. And the world around him spun and flashed light and dark. Rafe jumped backward as Sultan hurtled toward him after unexpectedly leaping over the corral fence. He had an impression of hooves coming toward his face, a big hulking body looming above him, before he scrambled out of the way. He dropped and rolled, and when he came up, he was inside the paddock. With a glance, he took stock of the situation—saw Jonah hit the ground and Treanor fall flat on his arse. Rafe didn‟t stop to consider. He rushed at Treanor and knocked him the rest of the way to the dirt. He grabbed the man‟s wrist and squeezed until he let go of the pistol. Then Rafe punched him in the face and seized the gun. After scrambling to his feet, he gave Treanor a kick in the ribs for good measure and growled, “Don‟t move,” then went to check on Jonah, who lay facedown in the grass. Rafe felt as if a steam locomotive was running through his veins. Everything was happening so fast and so unpredictably. His pounding heart leaped into his throat as he crouched beside the sprawled figure and rested a hand on Jonah‟s shoulder. In the background, the horse snorted and squealed; perhaps its leg was broken from the aborted jump, but all of his focus was on Jonah as he carefully turned him over.

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When Jonah groaned and blinked, relief flooded through Rafe. “Are you all right? Anything broken?” Jonah grunted. Rafe leaned over his body and hugged him carefully, but even that gentle embrace made Jonah groan again. Rafe straightened and brushed Jonah‟s hair from his forehead. His forehead was hot and sweaty, but his hair cool and smooth as always. Such fine hair, each strand like spun silk, Rafe marveled inanely. But then he jerked himself back from sticky sentiments. Now was not the time. He rose, and a quick glance around told him that Jamie had taken the opportunity to disappear, but Treanor still lay on the grass. Rafe stalked over to him. “Get up.” Treanor reluctantly climbed to his feet. In the meantime the horse‟s screaming had attracted the attention of many of the showpeople, and they ran toward the paddock. Crooked Pete was the first to reach them. He bent over Sultan‟s thrashing body and soothed the great beast with that magic only Pete possessed. “It‟s not serious,” he announced to Rafe as he examined the animal‟s leg. “What the hell happened here?” “Found our culprits,” Rafe answered succinctly, certain he‟d have to run through the tale many more times before the night was over. He would not be leaving for the train station tonight. And as he glanced over at Jonah, who was sitting up and rubbing his ribs, Rafe was suddenly glad he wasn‟t going to be leaving after all.

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Chapter Twenty-two Jonah was exhausted and fairly drunk by the time he‟d told the story a half dozen times to various groups of people and accepted more drinks than he‟d ever consumed in one sitting. He needed the alcohol to steady his nerves, he told himself. But the truth was, it felt good to have his fellow showmen stand him one drink after another and welcome him completely into their company for perhaps the first time. If anyone wondered why he‟d been out in the paddock at that time of evening or guessed he‟d been looking for Rafe, they gave no indication of it. “Jamie‟s run off, I guess,” Mindy announced as she joined the group sitting in the chow tent. “Looks like she ran straight to her wagon and grabbed a few of her things while the rest of us were at the paddock.” “How can you tell? Her place is always a mess,” Ellen Fisher said. “Her favorite dog, Toodles, is missing.” “Some of us should go after her, bring her back and make her pay for what she‟s done.” Henry rose from the table, ready to take action, but he swayed on his feet. He‟d started drinking long before Jonah had. Claudia waved him down. “Sit. Let the girl be. She‟s going to be miserable enough out there on her own. What do you want to do? Run her out of town once we catch her again? Our world‟s a small one, and I, for one, am going to tell everyone we meet what she‟s done to us. Orcully might hire her, but no one else ever will.” Jonah glanced at the large woman and at Dimitri, stuck to her side like a burr. Easy for her to be charitable about snotty Miss Jamie now, because Claudia had the prize Jamie had been too blind and arrogant to claim—Dimitri‟s considerable devotion had been transferred to her. “What about Treanor?” Fisher bellowed, determined to make someone pay for their woes. “Locked in Lance‟s cage till we decide what‟s to be done with him,” Parinsky answered. “What do you think, Grimstone?” Jonah moved his bleary gaze slowly over to the man who made his head spin more than the alcohol did. For a man who‟d had a gun held on him and had been in a fistfight with his captor, Rafe managed to look as cool and unruffled as a wellgroomed cat. “‟Tis not for me to say. Mindy?” Rafe turned his attention to the new owner of the carnival, thus reminding everyone else who was now in charge.

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“We handle our own, so I won‟t turn him in to the locals. Anyway, it‟d be his word against ours about everything that happened. Other than a few broken or stolen items, the troubles were too small to earn tar and feathers.” She leaned against the table and stared down at her hands. “But if he poisoned Lancelot…” She shrugged. “That we‟ll never know.” It was Dimitri‟s turn to rise from his seat. He rested the hairy knuckles of his ham-size fists on the table and leaned on them. “I‟ll take care of him. No one else need have a hand in it. I‟ll take him out and deal with him, then send him on his way with his lesson learned.” No one in the tent had any doubts about how the strongman would deal with Treanor. Dimitri‟s shoulder muscles seemed to ripple in anticipation beneath the stretched fabric of his shirt. Mindy nodded decisively. “Good. Go ahead.” Jonah swallowed, a bit awestruck by the brutal repayment, the eye-for-an-eye judgment of the carnival code. No fines or jail cells here. Merely a sound pummeling, then send the man on his way. He flashed back to the night he‟d received a similar judgment and punishment from his cousins. All of a sudden, he was too tired to keep his head up, so he let his chin drop to his chest and closed his eyes. “Aw, looky here. Talbot‟s done in just from a thimbleful of whiskey.” Jonah heard Fisher laugh and then felt strong arms lift him from his seat. “Come on. Time for a rest.” Parinsky of all people spoke near his ear. “Your ribs aren‟t broken, but you landed hard, and you‟re going to be pretty sore come morning.” No, not you, Jonah wanted to say. I want Rafe to put me to bed. He stumbled along with his arm slung over the older man‟s shoulders. And then somehow he was inside Sam‟s trailer and tumbling onto that blue-striped mattress. Parinsky pulled off his shoes and stood over him, hands on hips. “Pathetic. You really can‟t hold your liquor, but you proved more useful than I gave you credit for, boy.” “Thank you.” Jonah covered his eyes with an arm and willed the trailer to stop spinning. He wasn‟t so very drunk, he decided. Exhaustion was in there too—his mind and body, exhausted. He heard footsteps, the door closing, and then silence. His mind shifted, darting restlessly from one thought to another but unable to settle on any of them. He relived the moments of terror seeing Treanor‟s pistol pointed at Rafe and the feeling of helplessness before he‟d taken it into his head to ride a horse into the middle of the situation. Hardly heroic, since he‟d landed flat on his face, but at least it had provided Rafe with an opportunity to turn the tables on his attacker. He recalled Rafe‟s face hovering over him, his brief embrace, but after that Rafe hadn‟t given him another moment. He‟d told what had happened then stayed in the background while the others congratulated Jonah on saving the day. Jonah reflected that a simple thank-you would have been nice. All the cautious distance

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wasn‟t important now that Rafe was leaving. He‟d risk a heck of a lot to feel Rafe‟s touch one more time. Perhaps he could have taken advantage of the moment. Half-awake, mostly drunk, he wondered if he could have whispered a demand for a kiss of gratitude. The thought of asking Rafe for a kiss in the crowd of well-wishers made him smile— or grimace. The sound of the door opening made Jonah raise his heavy eyelids and blink away the blurriness to focus on the figure who had entered the room. His heart soared—or maybe it was his uneasy stomach heaving—as the beloved dark-garbed shape strode across the floor toward him. Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, his weight drawing Jonah toward him, and rested a hand against the side of Jonah‟s face. “Are you all right?” he asked as he had after turning Jonah over earlier. “Not in too much pain?” “Not too much. Though I‟d be better if everything would hold still.” Jonah belched loud and deep, and his stomach calmed a little. Rafe grinned and stroked his cheek. “Virgin stomach. I know a concoction that will help with that and ensure you don‟t have a big head tomorrow.” He started to rise, but Jonah grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. “Not now. Stay here with me for a little while.” Rafe sank back down, and his warm hip pressed against Jonah‟s as a comforting hand rested on Jonah‟s chest. His shining, dark eyes were two deep wells Jonah felt himself tumbling into. “You may have saved my life tonight. Thank you.” The low voice was a caress as surely as the palm that patted his chest. “Treanor was like a cornered rat. I don‟t think he ever meant to get in so deep. The Orcully Brothers promised him and Jamie prime slots in their show and a hefty paycheck if they‟d help undermine our show enough to make me sell out. But I don‟t think Jack ever meant to do physical harm to anybody until Jamie spilled everything to me. He knew I‟d reveal them to Mindy. Whether he really would‟ve brought himself to shoot me dead and hide the body…well, I find that hard to believe.” “People can do some extreme things to hide the truth if they‟re scared enough.” Jonah covered the long-fingered hand on his chest and felt the bumps of Rafe‟s knuckles and the twisted silver ring he wore on one finger. “True enough.” Rafe was silent for several moments, and Jonah was content to listen to him breathe. “Yes. Fear is a ridiculous thing, isn‟t it? I want to tell you something. Because… I suppose because I think I owe you the truth. It might make it easier for us to say good-bye if you know the truth.” “Us to say goodbye,” he‟d said. Good to know it wasn‟t easy for Rafe either. “Go ahead,” Jonah urged. His muzzy head cleared as he realized Rafe was finally going to reveal something important about himself. “The reason I left home… A woman died because of my brother. He claimed it was an accident, that he didn‟t mean to do it. But it happened, and he covered it

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up.” Another long silence filled the air between them. Rafe stretched out on the mattress next to him. “I couldn‟t bring myself to betray him nor support him, so I simply left.” Another pause. “I ran away.” Jonah wanted to touch him, but didn‟t dare interrupt the flow. “I‟ve been running for almost ten years.” Jonah forgot his uncertain stomach—even his need for a kiss. He dragged himself up to prop his head on an elbow. “Tell me,” he whispered. “All of it, Rafe. You and I both deserve trust.” He wasn‟t sure what he meant, but he could see Rafe‟s slow nod. “Yes. Yes we do. But it‟s ugly, my friend.” Jonah, still feeling drunk, had to laugh. “Come on. You‟re talking to the man who lived through the episode of Reverend Burns. I dare you to dredge up something as ugly as that.” Rafe ran his fingers up along Jonah‟s arm, up to his cheek, and pushed a lock of hair from his forehead, a gesture of fondness. Jonah closed his eyes tight. God, he‟d missed pure affection. The sex was wonderful, but this was more important. Perhaps it was just as well Rafe was heading off to Jolly Old England. He wasn‟t sure he could be near Rafe if he withheld the warmth of his good regard. He sank back down the mattress, wishing he could drape himself across Rafe‟s body instead, but if he did that, talk would end. “I‟ll tell you, and you decide,” Rafe said. He was silent for another long moment, then began haltingly. “I was confused back then. Unsure of who I was. You know.” Jonah supposed he meant he‟d struggled with his preference for men. He recalled his own confusion as he‟d waited in vain for the true adult sort of attraction to grow inside his heart—the one for women. He‟d stopped hoping for that change when he‟d met Burns. Rafe seemed to be waiting for a response. Maybe he thought Jonah had fallen asleep, so Jonah nodded. “We were holding a house party at our country estate that perhaps had gone on too long—a fortnight, I think. We held lively parties, events that demure debutantes wouldn‟t attend, but nothing entirely scandalous. My mother enjoyed that—dancing, flirting—hell, we all loved it. But she knew better than to forfeit our family‟s influence in society.” A family with power? He‟d known that, of course, but for the first time it occurred to Jonah that perhaps that background explained how Rafe could easily guide the carnival and his aura of brooking no nonsense. A man of vast influence was beyond Jonah‟s experience, which extended as far as his father‟s reach with the church‟s flock. He felt as if he came from a very small, sheltered world, but he tended to feel that way around Rafe, except when it came to sexual matters. Then Jonah was the master, at least occasionally. He smiled hazily, thinking of their sweet bouts of making love. That was what they did. Perhaps even stubborn

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Rafe knew the name for it, making love. But he could feel Rafe‟s tension as he waited to tell his tale, the very one he‟d been waiting to hear. “Go on,” he prompted. “Your family‟s party in the country.” His stomach tightened because he knew the story of a woman‟s death, and Rafe‟s banishment would not be a pretty one. Jonah suddenly felt less drunk. Rafe sighed. “After one long night, I‟d had too much to drink and was walking it off, just strolling through the gardens down to the lake. It was about five in the morning, more than an hour before dawn.” He rolled onto his back and pushed his palms into his eyes as if trying to banish an old vision. “I went down to the lake, and that‟s where I saw Edward, my brother, crouched by the shore. I knew him at once but couldn‟t see what he was doing because there was only one lantern, and it was turned low. But then I saw. He was tying bricks to a corpse, a lovely girl. She was one of our guests, a vivacious, marriage-minded girl who had her eye on Edward. He had rope and bricks and had weighed down her legs, her arms. He was working on her neck when I stumbled over him. Almost literally.” Jonah inhaled sharply but didn‟t speak. “He told me her death was accidental. She‟d suffocated during love play, he swore. She‟d gotten too loud in her passion, and he‟d covered her mouth to stop them from being discovered. But he was in midfuck and didn‟t notice he‟d covered her mouth and nose too long. That was what he‟d said, and I believed him.” He gave a low, unpleasant laugh. “I should have run back to the house and awakened the household. I should have told her parents what had happened. If I‟d known, if only I‟d been thinking. But I loved Edward, you see. He was the jolly big brother. Everyone loved him because he was a man of charm, intelligence. Edward was always good-humored. He accepted me as I was. I‟d thought of him as a sweet blessing in my life. Our mother was all of that without the warmth, you see. I understood I had to protect him.” He shook his head, and his hair sighed against the pillow. “I helped him with her body that morning. And then I pretended to help with the search for Miss Thornton that began hours later, after her maid and mother discovered her missing.” He fell silent. Jonah moved closer and rested his head on Rafe‟s chest. He wrapped an arm around Rafe protectively, but he wasn‟t going to let the story end there, because he could feel the stiff tension of the body under his arm and head. “That isn‟t the worst, is it,” Jonah said. “No, it isn‟t,” Rafe agreed. For a brief moment he laid a hand on the side of Jonah‟s head, a gentle weight. “Over the next several days the hunt went on, and I watched my brother. His good humor never abated. He was as easy and charming as ever. Even when we were alone, if I should try to speak, he would hold up a hand and tell me „It‟s over, Rafe. Nothing to be done, eh? Bad, sad affair, but over.‟ I grew to understand something I‟d probably known but had refused to admit to myself. The brother I loved—worshipped even—was a captivating, witty shell of a man. He

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had no soul. He hid his condition better than our mother did, but they were two of a kind.” His breath grew faster, as if he was forcing himself to keep talking. “Watching Miss Thornton‟s grieving, confused family, listening to the ugly rumors that she‟d fled her parents to meet a mysterious lover, I couldn‟t stand it any longer. I couldn‟t stay silent. I knew Edward had told my mother, and so I insisted on meeting with them both two days after that…that time at the lake. I told them we had to somehow let her family know where her body lay. Yes, there‟d be a scandal because she‟d obviously been hidden. I swore I wouldn‟t reveal what I‟d seen the early morning hours after the party; I‟d stay silent about what my brother had done. Hell, I‟d helped him, so I was guilty too.” He gave a tiny, wordless grunt. Jonah shifted, and by the dim light of the moon, he could see Rafe had squeezed his eyes shut. Trying to remember or block the memories? In a minute Rafe continued. “My mother cried as I tried to convince them, but it wasn‟t over the death of an innocent girl. She thought of Miss Thornton as nothing more than a nuisance. Her tears were anger because she thought I was the worst sort of turncoat, a betrayer of the family name. The three of us quarreled. I left the family estate. I said I‟d never return, and my brother and mother agreed that would be best.” He fell quiet, though his breathing was ragged. Jonah asked, “Did you ever tell the authorities?” “Yes, about where they might find her. I wrote a letter before I fled to America. At the same time I sent a letter to my brother warning him that I‟d written an anonymous note to the local magistrate about where Miss Thornton might be found.” “Did you tell the magistrate it was your brother who killed her? Wait, no.” Jonah touched Rafe‟s lips to stop him from answering and to feel the breath warm his fingertips. “I shouldn‟t have asked. You‟d promised your mother you wouldn‟t reveal your brother‟s role.” “Yes.” “I‟ll bet you don‟t make many promises, and the ones you make, you keep.” Usually. “I didn‟t tell anyone about Edward. You‟re the first.” Under his pain for Rafe, Jonah felt a glow of satisfaction. Rafe said, “In fact, I‟d supposed everyone would think I was the guilty party. The woman dies, the younger son flees. But no one was implicated. Somehow my family managed to cover up the fact of murder, and even more astonishingly, the way my brother hid the body.” Jonah frowned. “How could he manage that?” “I think he himself dived into the lake, dragged her out, and got rid of the evidence. He is—was a strong man, Edward. And perhaps he paid off anyone who might have noticed unusual marks on her wrists, legs, or neck. I don‟t know how he

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managed it. My family has never been afraid to use its considerable resources to protect itself.” The scorn in his voice was even stronger than his obvious pain. “At any rate, the cause of her death was deemed an accident. The story was that Miss Thornton had been imbibing champagne and wasn‟t used to the stuff. A late night walk, a stumble into the lake. That sort of rot.” “I‟m so sorry,” Jonah said and wished he could think of something else— something useful—to say. Rafe didn‟t appear to notice he‟d spoken. “Once that verdict of accidental death was delivered, my mother tracked me down and begged me to return home. The unpleasantness—she blamed me for that, told me it had started with that note to the police—was over and all was forgiven.” He laughed again. “I couldn‟t return. I never intended to go back. But now I must.” “Do you ever regret leaving?” “No. I do have some regrets, though. In New York a few years back, I happened across an article in a British paper about the dangers of horses. It mentioned a housemaid found dead, apparently from a horse‟s kick. She was killed in our stables. Was it a horse or my brother? I‟ll never be sure, but I knew I should have said more.” He drew in a shuddering sigh. “I should have told someone in England the whole story—our family lawyer, perhaps—so a watch could be kept on Edward. But here is the rest of it, the rest of the unpleasant truth. When that man in the Stetson appeared and told me my brother was dead, do you know what my strongest response was?” Jonah shook his head. “I was struck with grief. You‟d think that with all I knew about him, I‟d be relieved to know he was gone. But hell, no; I missed him. That sad excuse of a man, a murderer, and I missed him. It is pathetic, eh?” He shook. It took Jonah, stupefied by drink and the story, almost a minute to understand that Rafe was sobbing. He wrapped his arms even tighter around Rafe and murmured comforting words, nonsensical phrases about how love was never wrong, about how there could be no right answer in such a terrible situation, about how God understood. This couldn‟t be what had made Rafe determined to treat their affection as trivial, could it? It seemed absurd to Jonah to think that the burden of this fearful story kept Rafe from allowing anyone close, but perhaps that was the reason he had refused to love. Perhaps telling the tale would break the spell. For the first time, he murmured the words aloud. “I love you, Rafe.” But the other‟s response was to stiffen even more in his arms. “No. You don‟t understand,” Rafe said. “In my family, we-we don‟t truly love. We can‟t. There‟s only selfishness.” He tried to push him off, but Jonah held on like a limpet and continued the soothing words. Now he didn‟t speak of his own love, but told Rafe about what a good man he was, described his loyalty, his friendship. “You

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are a fine person, Rafe,” he said for the hundredth time, then stopped because Rafe spoke again. His voice was indistinct because of the sobs racking him and because his head was pressed to Jonah‟s shoulder. “We—my family… I love the glitter and show, but not real life. I can‟t face real life.” Jonah wanted to cry too and try to comfort him with another barrage of reassuring words. But Rafe‟s tears still flowed, and his despair didn‟t abate. Jonah thought of Mindy and realized she‟d be the best person to imitate. “Would you shut your yap?” Jonah said. “Grimstone—or whatever your name is—do you honestly think what happened here with us, with Sam, with even poor Lancelot, wasn‟t real? You might have only been part of a carnival, but would you ever be moron enough to call Claudia an unreal woman? Hell no. Everything here is as real as pain or love, you ass.” Rafe‟s sobs under his shoulder became half laughter. “Oh Jonah, do you know that was a pitch-perfect imitation of Mindy? God, I don‟t know what I will do without you.” “Huh,” Jonah said, but supposed this moment wasn‟t the time to point out that he didn‟t have to do without him. He rolled off Rafe‟s body when he understood the storm had ended. He tried to move away, but Rafe grunted and hauled him close. “No. Stay.” Jonah didn‟t remind him it was his bed. He no longer felt drunk, but the giddiness remained. He stroked Rafe‟s hair and listened to his breath grow slow and deep as he fell asleep. Once Rafe was snoring softly, he burrowed even closer. Never mind the heat of the late August night. He needed to feel and smell as much of Rafe as he could. He‟d been given a gift with that confession—evidence of Rafe‟s complete trust. Though he‟d stopped believing this newfound closeness meant they had a future together, he‟d accept the gift gratefully. Tomorrow he could press for more. Should Rafe disappear from his life, certainly he‟d curse him soundly. But he vowed he would never disparage tonight‟s closeness, no matter how temporary, by calling it an illusion. That was Rafe‟s flaw, not his. Jonah sighed and wished he could wake Rafe. He wanted to do more than hold him. He longed for a kiss, and there were so many more questions. What sort of nobility was he? What would he do with his days—and nights—once he returned to England? Would he ever be part of a show again? Rafe was a showman to his core. Could he simply banish that part of himself? Of course he could, but what a sad reflection on the world that he‟d have to give up passion and love to go into that family of…influence. Jonah felt sorry for himself at the moment, because chances were he‟d soon never see Rafe again. But he felt sorrier for Rafe, who‟d leave the life he loved and that suited him to return to the empty heart of his family. And worst of all, he

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seemed convinced that emptiness dwelled in his own heart. He hadn‟t said the word “love” back to Jonah, but Jonah didn‟t need it for now. He understood. He didn‟t remember falling asleep. When he woke, his mouth and stomach felt as if he‟d dug up and swallowed poor old Lancelot. His spirits dived lower because, even before he reached for Rafe, he knew he was gone. The wagon felt entirely abandoned, empty of life. Jonah hauled himself up and went to the door. The sun pounded down mercilessly, but he could squint into it and see the horses grazing. Chaucer was gone. A “Signortori” daughter was doing cartwheels across the clearing. Most children would throw themselves into it; she was slow, methodical, and beautiful. Jonah waited, not wanting to interrupt her practice session. Her older brother watched and corrected her mistakes. “Excuse me, but have you seen Mr. Grimstone?” Jonah asked when she stopped for a minute and wiped her hands on her front, leaving a smear of dirt. “He took off, my ma says.” Her voice was far too loud, and it slammed into Jonah‟s head and ricocheted around in there. He winced. “Thanks.” “You look like crap, Mr. Talbot,” her brother said. “Doesn‟t your mother tell you not to use words like crap?” The boy grinned. “Maybe. But at least I didn‟t say you look like shit, did I?” “There is that,” he said. He nodded, winced again, and gently closed the door. He made his way around Sam‟s wagon—he‟d always think of it as Sam‟s. No note, no sign that Rafe had even been there, holding him through the night. He looked down at his shoulder but saw no sign of Rafe‟s tears. It would have been nice if there‟d been something. He sat down on the oversize chair and stared off into space. A future without Rafe. He hated the thought but forced himself to push through the panic and then the sorrow. A future without Rafe. He wasn‟t going to come through the other side of the burden of sorrow this morning, but he still would make plans. New York, he decided—once the season ended. Jonah wasn‟t going to abandon the show. But come October, he‟d try his hand at real acting. He loved taking the speeches and making them his, letting his body and voice become someone or something else. He closed his eyes and gave in to the misery of loss and the pounding headache for a minute, but not too long. He had to drink water, find coffee. There had to be ways to drive off the effects of the night before. Parinsky would know. There was work to be done. In the carnival, there was always work waiting.

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He allowed himself a minute to think about his life and what he should do with it. New York. If he was good enough—if he could act in New York—well… They had theaters in England, didn‟t they. He pushed up from the chair and wobbled into the future. A future without Rafe. The words mocked him again.

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Chapter Twenty-three Parinsky sat on the steps of his patent medicine wagon. He was pale and in need of a shave. He grumbled a hello at Jonah, and without being asked, held up a silver flask. Jonah shuddered. “Never again.” “It‟s not just the hair of the dog,” Parinsky snarled. “Drink it.” Wordlessly Jonah took the flask. Whatever it contained burned his throat, but the world looked less dark around the edges after two swallows. He sat down next to Parinsky, still feeling infinitely weary. “What is our schedule?” “A show tonight. You ready?” Parinsky sounded dubious. He nodded. Of course. “Mindy will have to cobble something to replace Miss Jamie.” “An animal act,” Parinsky said. “Hate those damn animals. But she left two of her dogs and, of course, the ponies behind. Some sort of artiste is that, leaving behind the animals it takes forever to train. One of Signortori‟s kids—the oldest boy—is off practicing already.” He rubbed at his unshaved face and yawned. “Once Grimstone returns, we‟ll head to our next destination.” Jonah‟s heart did a slow flip, just as spectacular as any carnival artiste. “Grimstone?” “Sure. Last night our advanceman was beaten to a pulp and tossed out—we got to do something. Someone has to go to the next town. Grimstone is the best bet, and he can make sure Treanor didn‟t screw things up intentionally. With all the nonsense like too many canceled bookings this season, it wouldn‟t be a big surprise. Grimstone‟s gonna have to spend a day or two there. Maybe we‟ll meet him; maybe he‟ll come back. Mindy hasn‟t bothered to tell me that.” Rafe hadn‟t left forever. He‟d only gone to the next stop. “But he was on his way—he has to go back to England,” Jonah said. “He said he‟d send a telegram and give the show another two weeks to recover. Makes sense to me. If his fiefdom or earldom or whatever hasn‟t fallen apart in the months since his brother dropped off the twig, it can wait another couple of weeks. Or a fortnight as he‟d say.” Parinsky gave another click of disgust and got to his

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feet. “Got more batches to brew. Shame I never got to hypnotize you after all. I wonder what secrets you didn‟t want me to find out.” Jonah laughed, but he would have laughed at anything at that moment. The world had real color again. Rafe was coming back, if only for a short while.

*** The evening went beautifully. Mindy drafted Parinsky to be master of ceremonies, and he relished the role. Sitting on his perch, Jonah could occasionally hear his deep bellow across the crowds. Jonah had thought the treachery of Treanor and Jamie would cast a pall—it only brought the remaining artistes and other showmen together. After the show closed for the night, Mindy banged on Sam‟s wagon‟s door. “Talbot, you lazy slacker, you in bed?” “Of course not. I‟m hungry. Care to share some of my food?” She refused to go inside Sam‟s old wagon, so Jonah came outside to listen to her report. They ate the sandwiches he‟d made as she told him about the new animal act. “That „Signortori‟ brat is an artiste to his toenails. What a pro. One of the damn dogs lost interest and jumped down from its pony. Goddamn thing trotted off into the crowd. Did Junior panic or try to pretend nothing was going on? No sir. He made it a comic turn. Now if only I could find a guy who could do half of Treanor‟s tricks with a soft felt hat, and maybe rig a gaff or two—he was an evil son of a bitch at the games—we‟d be sitting pretty.” She rubbed her hands together and smiled at nothing in particular. “That‟ll show those bastards—and Orcully too.” “Sam would be proud.” She sniffed and spat. “Sure,” she said. “You bet he is.” She spotted a rube lurking at the edge of the site, trying to peer into a closed exhibit, and she strode off to do battle. Rafe appeared during setup in the next town. Jonah caught sight of him helping unroll a canvas. For a moment their eyes met. Rafe smiled and mouthed the word hello. Thank God Rafe is back. It didn‟t seem sacrilegious to utter that silent prayer, Jonah reflected. God was love, and this man was his embodiment of love. The simple discovery of that truth rolled through him, leaving him as flattened and breathless as that dive he‟d taken off the horse. Later he‟d examine the meaning of this revelation. Joy, he expected. Relief to have found his way back to an understanding of God. But for the moment he simply raised a hand in greeting and went back to help Claudia set up the freaks‟ exhibit. He sang as he pulled the curtains into place.

*** Rafe had two more weeks. A reprieve. A holiday. He‟d sent the telegram to England and then plunged back into work, trying to reassure the sheriff of Franklin that his shocking appearance was because he had

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fallen off a horse and not gotten into a bar fight. The manners and air of an upperclass Englishman seemed to impress some of the town‟s fathers, but the sheriff was a tough nut even with a reasonable bribe to grease the wheels. But he‟d gotten the show straightened out, posted the bills, and left discreet marks on various trees and telegraph poles for Mindy to follow. On less busy parts of the route, he marked the way with a pile of grass or leaves in the middle of the road. He smiled as he imagined telling Jonah the Gypsy word for that sort of trail—patrin. Jonah would silently mouth “patrin” a few times, then smile as if Rafe had given him a gift. By the time he‟d dragged himself back to the carnival, he was in sore need of a bath and several days‟ sleep, but first he had to find Jonah. He spotted him chatting while he worked with Claudia. Jonah looked around, saw him, and his expressive eyes lit with joy, but he simply waved. That had to be good enough for now. Certainly Rafe no longer felt tired. He‟d keep busy until he had time to find Jonah again. Alone. Once the work was done, he stretched out on the blanket outside Treanor‟s wagon, just to rest. He dozed off at once. A hand resting on his shoulder woke him. Jonah sat on the ground next to him. “I didn‟t think I would see you again,” Jonah whispered. He sounded delighted, not accusing. He leaned over Rafe. “I smell worse than a stable,” Rafe murmured a protest. Jonah laughed quietly. The last of his laughter brushed against Rafe‟s lips as he closed in for a kiss. The kiss started with affection and amusement, but soon twisted and slid into something far needier. The urgency brought a groan from him and Jonah at the same moment, and he would have smiled, but his mouth was too busy. Jonah pulled away with a gasp and scrambled to his feet. “Come,” he ordered, holding out his hand to Rafe. Obediently Rafe grasped his hand and allowed Jonah to pull him to his feet. Without a word they walked quickly toward Sam‟s trailer, together yet separated by several yards. If anyone saw them pass, they might recall Treanor‟s accusations, but Jonah was beginning to believe that nearly everyone in the carnival already knew and no one seemed to really care all that much, so long as he and Rafe kept it behind closed doors. The trailer was relatively cool for a change, a breeze blowing through the open window and erasing the last traces of Sam‟s scent. It wasn‟t body odor so much as an essence of the man that clung to his possessions, which Jonah still hadn‟t removed from the trailer. Jonah felt a bittersweet pang at the inexorability of life that continued to flow on after a man left this mortal coil. Sam existed only in their memories now, and new things continued to unfold as he receded slowly into the past.

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As Rafe closed the door behind them, Jonah filled the washbasin with water. He offered Rafe a cloth and a sliver of soap, then stood back to watch as he stripped and washed up. A swell of lust and excitement and relief filled him at the sight of Rafe‟s long, lean body naked before him. A view he‟d been quite sure he‟d never see again only a couple of days ago. Ah, the vagaries of fate. One never knew what would happen next. Water trickled in rivulets down Rafe‟s chest, and Jonah longed to lean in and lick the droplets. He gazed at the other man‟s face, flushed from the buffing of the towel—sharp, aquiline nose; hooded obsidian eyes; and that dramatic mustache and goatee, less well-defined than usual. Rafe lifted his chin and regarded his face in the tiny mirror over the basin. “Should I shave?” “Leave it,” Jonah said. “I like you a little rougher and unkempt.” He didn‟t wait for Rafe to finish drying his arms and torso, but seized him and dragged him close. Rafe gave a little grunt as their bodies collided, chest to chest. Jonah breathed in the warmth of his breath, catching the odor of tobacco. He realized it had been some time since he‟d seen Rafe with that pipe in his mouth. Jonah kissed the stubble on Rafe‟s jaw, felt it lightly abrade his lips, then moved on to the soft, warm lips and plucked at them gently. He flicked his tongue along the seam of Rafe‟s mouth, and his lips parted as if he‟d introduced a key to a lock. Jonah delved inside and tasted the dark recesses, curling his tongue around the sinuous wetness of Rafe‟s tongue. He slid his hands down the wet back and grasped hard buttocks. God, the feeling of flesh beneath his hands and pressed against his body was enough to nearly bring him to the edge. Having almost lost Rafe forever, every sensation was even more precious and amazing as they touched and stroked and kissed. His heart raced and his fingers trembled as he rushed to unbutton his shirt and trousers. Rafe knocked his hands out of the way and helped, shucking off Jonah‟s clothing faster than one would think possible. Soon there was nothing between them except skin. They‟d rarely had the opportunity to be completely naked together, and Jonah couldn‟t get enough of Rafe‟s hard body—both looking at it and touching. He glided his hands over sleek muscle; crisp, dark hair; sharp hip bones jutting against satin skin, and then…thick, solid cock. Jonah grasped the heavy length and stroked from base to tip, remembering the first time they‟d brought each other off that way, two strangers in the stuffy closeness of Rafe‟s wagon. Here they were now in a different wagon, many, many weeks away from that first encounter, and oh, how things had changed. The charge of lust Jonah had felt that first time was nothing compared to what he felt now— because it was more than lust. Budding emotions had grown deeper and deeper the longer he‟d known Rafe. If caring for another‟s well-being more than your own, wanting the best for him even if it thwarted your own desires was love, then he was in it.

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“Ah God, lad, the way you do that,” Rafe muttered, eyes closed as Jonah massaged his staff. “You‟ll have me spent with just the touch of your hand.” Jonah let go. “No. Not like this, fast and desperate. We have a bed at last; I plan to take full advantage of it.” And with that he pushed his palms against Rafe‟s chest and knocked him backward with rough authority. Rafe chuckled as he staggered back, and when his legs hit the edge of the cot, he dropped down. Sitting, he was at the perfect height to encounter Jonah‟s erection, which trembled and nearly bumped against his chin. A wild wave of desire crashed through Jonah—the desire to dominate and control. “Suck!” he commanded in a voice so thick and dark, he scarcely recognized it as his own. Rafe growled low and reached for Jonah‟s penis. He brought the tip to his mouth and licked the pearly drops collecting there. With his tongue still slipping over Jonah‟s knob, Rafe raised his gaze and fixed it on Jonah‟s face. So sparkling and dark were his eyes, they stole Jonah‟s breath away. Or maybe it was the strength of that hand wrapped around his shaft and that hot mouth sucking him in deeper. Seeing Rafe‟s lips stretched around his cock, his cheeks slightly hollowed from sucking sent another stab of bone-shaking lust through Jonah. He thrust his hips forward. Rafe angled his head so that Jonah slid to the back of his throat, then released him in agonizing inches, leaving gleaming wet cock behind. Jonah hissed between his teeth as Rafe took him in again, scraping teeth against his tender skin. He began to suck in earnest while briskly rubbing. “Yesss,” Jonah hissed, grasping Rafe‟s head and pumping into his mouth. He didn‟t mind releasing. It was Rafe‟s orgasm he wanted to postpone until the man was buried in him. That thought did it. Imagining the feeling of cock filling his ass put him over the edge. He grunted and thrust once more before releasing. As the waves rolled through him in steady pulses, the moment of release seemed to be about more than physical relief of sexual tension. Jonah felt as if he were giving a part of himself to Rafe, and his lover was accepting that gift. When Jonah was spent, Rafe let him go with a last small kiss on the head of his cock, then sat back smiling. “And now you,” Jonah told him. “I need you inside me.” He got the tin of lubricant and gave it to Rafe, then climbed onto the bed and laid back to draw his knees up high, offering himself. The act felt deeply meaningful to him, as if he were saying “Here I am. Take me. Take all of me, this body and the soul that goes with it.” Cool, contained Rafe would laugh if Jonah expressed such a sentiment aloud, and so he held these thoughts close to his heart even as Rafe pushed inside him. Rafe lubricated Jonah, preparing his opening before placing the tip of his cock at the entrance, and then he pushed inside. He felt a solemn significance to the

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moment, beyond the mere act of fucking. Hell, animals joined together all the time. They mated then parted, going on about their business. Why was it that humans imbued such meaning to the act simply because they were a higher functioning mammal? Soul, indeed. And yet he couldn‟t deny the weightiness, the emotion, the sense of coming home when he filled Jonah. No other man could provide that feeling. He truly believed Jonah was the one man for him and would admit it now—if only in the privacy of his thoughts. The slick slide of his cock into the other man‟s channel seemed to be the entire world to Rafe at this moment—all he needed or wanted. Their union. Their joining. But he wasn‟t so far gone into emotional sentiment that he didn‟t appreciate the pure visceral satisfaction of the constricting ring of muscle around the base of his cock, rubbing and rubbing. He grunted as he thrust deeper and a little harder, burying himself to the hilt inside Jonah. Such pleasure. Such ecstasy to pull out and push again, friction and the smooth lubricant heating his cock in a delightful way. “Does it hurt?” he muttered to Jonah. “What does it feel like?” Jonah‟s grimace disappeared as a quick smile flashed across his face. “We‟ll turn about next time and you can know for yourself, if you‟d like.” Rafe‟s own anus clenched at the thought. He‟d not had more than Jonah‟s finger inside him yet and couldn‟t quite imagine such a stretching as he was giving to Jonah now. He watched in avid lust the point of their union, the distended sphincter clasping around his thickness. “It hurts in a good way,” Jonah answered his question. “Stretched. Burning. But oh, inside…there‟s a place you‟re touching that‟s like magic.” The words inflamed Rafe. He withdrew and thrust again, determined to hit that spot, and was rewarded with a deep groan from his bed partner. “More. Oh God, more!” Jonah grasped his knees and pulled them higher, tilting his pelvis to an even better angle. Rafe gritted his teeth and forced himself to hold back at least a little as he began to pump. But he felt like a wild thing, out of control and desperate to take and possess every part of Jonah. He rammed into him and cursed. “Aw, Christ.” As the moment of crisis gathered deep in his groin and then began to swirl through every part of him, Rafe was shocked by the stinging in his eyes. Moved to tears? Really? He blinked away the proof of his emotional connection and thrust again. And the dam burst. He cried out as he came, a wordless, needy sound. Then he gulped it back, suppressing his desire to yell. They were in the midst of the encampment, and wagon walls weren‟t thick. “Look at me,” Jonah‟s strangled voice commanded.

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Rafe forced his eyes open and gazed down at the intense green eyes staring back at him. What he saw in Jonah‟s eyes was beyond beautiful—such depth of feeling that a man like him surely didn‟t deserve to receive. “Jonah,” he murmured as the last of his release washed through him and receded. “What am I to do with you?” Love me, I suspect. Rafe almost thought he could hear the words trembling on the air between them, but Jonah only smiled and wrapped his arms around him. He drew Rafe‟s shuddering body onto him and held him. “I‟m glad you‟re back. I missed you.” The words drifted into Rafe‟s half-dreaming mind and made him smile before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

*** The next morning he woke before dawn. Jonah, already awake, lay next to him and rubbed the top of his head. “I bet you‟ll be glad to sail back to the land of bathtubs and hot water,” he said, but smiled, showing no bitterness that Rafe would leave him behind. Rafe wasn‟t sure he entirely liked this change in Jonah. He was just as affectionate as always, but more cautious in public and less likely to demand answers in private. Did he still crave Rafe? He thought of the night before and realized that was an easy question to answer. Yes. And this less abject manner was ideal, of course. Jonah showed desire without the edge of desperation he‟d had before. That was good, Rafe reminded himself. Rafe looked around, making certain no one would spot him before he walked off barefoot and silent to his wagon. When he looked back, Jonah wasn‟t watching. Since he‟d first set eyes on Jonah, Rafe had always been aware of where he worked or to whom he talked. This instinctive awareness was hardly new, but somehow the need had grown stronger. With Mindy in charge, Rafe no longer needed to be attentive to every single detail of the show, which meant he let himself dream and think more. Freedom. He was about to walk back into his old life, but he felt freer than he had…ever. He‟d let go of his anger toward Edward sometime over the last few days. As he‟d ridden over the American landscape in a ridiculous red jacket as the show‟s advanceman, he didn‟t have much else to do beside sing and think. He‟d done plenty of both. And all the words Jonah had whispered to him that night he‟d confessed had come back. Sometimes he was annoyed as he thought of them—what did Jonah know of the matter of a murdering brother? Why was he so certain Rafe‟s heart contained anything other than blood? Lust made a man sentimental. And other times, Jonah‟s phrases felt like a benediction. That‟s when the word “love” had lodged in Rafe‟s mind—uncomfortable, exciting, and full of more promise than the first days of spring when the show set off on its circuit.

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Now Rafe leaned against Chaucer—he and the horse had become good friends during their days on the road as he‟d acted as advanceman—and watched Mindy and Jonah argue with Parinsky. They were discussing the need to repaint the patent medicine wagon. “It can wait until the end of the season, for chrisssake,” Mindy said. “It‟s not an official part of the goddamn show, Parinsky, and we‟re busier than a whorehouse in a gold rush town. But maybe you ought to do it later, Talbot. You got an artistic hand at slopping the stuff around. Bigger letters is what you need. Maybe some gold shadowing.” “Sure.” Jonah kicked at a clump of grass. He tilted his head and looked at the wagon. When he turned his head like that, a lock of hair slid over his forehead, into his eyes. So he was making plans for after the season? Rafe stroked his mustache. Soon Rafe would board a ship for England. About a month and a half after that, the carnival season would end. And then… He swore under his breath. Well, bloody damnation, why not? Why the devil not? Chaucer must have noticed the astonishing idea that gripped him, mind and body, because the gelding turned and mumbled at Rafe‟s shoulder with its lips. He pushed Chaucer‟s head away and patted the horse to show no hard feelings. “I‟m a fool,” he said in a low voice. “But we can all change, eh, Geoff?” After one more pat on the horse‟s neck, he strolled toward the group gathered by the weather-beaten patented medicine wagon. He cleared his throat. “I‟m afraid that after the season, Mr. Talbot will be busy.” “Oh, yeah?” Parinsky leered. The man was intolerable. Rafe spoke a little louder as he announced, “I‟ve heard there is a resurgence of interest in Poe‟s works in England. Talbot is just the man to take advantage of that.” He‟d heard no such thing, but he‟d do his damnedest to make sure there would be a new interest in fifty-plus-years-dead Poe. He had about two months to drum up that enthusiasm in the English public. He was just the showman to do it. And assuming his mother and brother hadn‟t managed to squander the family‟s good name and money, he might as well take his turn at taking advantage of their fame and fortune. He hadn‟t wanted to drag Jonah across the ocean to simply act as his pet, but this was dragging him toward real opportunity. The three of them gawked at him. Jonah‟s eyes softened. “Truly?” “Would I lie to you?” “Yeah, sure you would,” Mindy said. “And you‟d be smooth as a greased pig as you did it. But it‟s a damn fine idea. Knife-throwing would be just the act to go with it too. And some sharpshooting. Who do we have that‟s good with a rifle? Thrills. Chills. Straight from the Americas. We‟d have to get ourselves some Western gear.”

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Rafe laughed out loud for the pure joy of it. “Of course,” he said. “Just the thing.”

*** The thought of leaving no longer burdened Rafe. He wasn‟t eager to return home and face the ghosts and his mistakes, but he had the promise of his future to help him face the past. Jonah, he thought as he boarded the ship. “Jonah,” he said as he lay awake in the cabin, listening to the noisy engines. The bunk was as small as the one in his wagon had been, but the amenities were far superior. The facilities—called a head on the ship—were positively well-appointed. Amazing how quickly one could grow used to luxuries. He slept well and woke restless, wanting to get to work. The lazy life on shipboard didn‟t suit the man he‟d become. He took to running along the deck to burn the impatience that built inside. The evening wear he‟d purchased in New York felt more constricting than he‟d recalled. As he made his way to the dining room, fiddling with the wing collar and the white tie, he spotted a blond head. His heart sped until he remembered, again, the impossibility of it. It was absurd how often he saw Jonah in a crowd of his fellow passengers. He made polite conversation with the ladies and gentlemen at the captain‟s table. As he sipped wine, he considered how he had been a truly stupid man. Just imagine how awful the longing would have been if he‟d tried to leave Jonah behind forever. He‟d been a fool to think he could. At night, as he lay in the ship‟s bunk, far too awake, he wondered if Jonah thought of him. Jonah‟s feelings for him had come on so quickly—an infatuation. Didn‟t that type of affection burn out as quickly as it struck? What would happen if Jonah came to England and no longer cared for him? He wrote letters to Jonah to remind him of his existence. He made sure to put in a quotation from Shakespeare in each note and hoped Jonah would laugh or roll his eyes. He wrote about the people he met on board, about his hopes for the show— though he didn‟t mention the other hopes he had. But he couldn‟t resist remarking on the past, and some of the memories he had crept in. As the days passed, the letters became far too strong, too dangerous to be sent once they‟d reached port. He‟d write them then burn them to ashes. As he watched the smoke curl from those more lascivious letters, he reflected that this was a presage of what he‟d have to do if Jonah changed his mind and didn‟t come to England. Somehow he‟d have to burn out the need for the man. He supposed it was absurd to prepare himself for that danger, but the truth of the matter was he had never had so much at stake before. He lay awake and wondered if Jonah‟s mother had answered his letter and half hoped she wouldn‟t. What if she coaxed him back to that small town in Ohio?

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But that was a self-interested desire on his part. It was hard to break from the family tradition of selfishness, he supposed, but he could pretend. So in his next letter he wrote that he hoped Jonah had made his peace with the family he loved. That was at least half true, after all. Mr. North, the family solicitor, met Rafe outside the customs sheds on the London docks. The man hadn‟t aged a day, though perhaps his hair was more salt than pepper now and his figure slightly bulkier. After shaking Rafe‟s hand fervently, he apologized for sending such a peculiar agent after him. “But Mr. Remnick came with excellent recommendations, and we‟d lost track of you.” He eyed Rafe over his half glasses. “You neglected your duty too long, my lord.” Rafe nodded. If he addressed the subject, he‟d sound defensive, and Mr. North only spoke the truth. Mr. North directed him toward his carriage. Rafe climbed in, then said, “You might as well tell me the worst of it. Are the coffers empty and the tenants neglected?” “No to the first, but most definitely to the second. I have some suspicions about the man acting as your steward.” “Mr. Ledbetter? He‟s been there for years.” Mr. North blinked behind his spectacles. “Let me drive you to your club. After you clean up, will you join me for tea?”

*** That was the start of Rafe‟s dull new life. He spent the next fortnight with work piled up to his weary eyeballs, learning to read accounts and reviewing them. He plowed through piles of complaining letters from tenants. Thank goodness Mr. North‟s assistant had been keeping up with the bills. Nights, he wrote more notes to Jonah. He even posted some, though he doubted they‟d find their way to the traveling show. Days, he met with accountants and then with Mr. Ledbetter, hiring the first and firing the second. “Her ladyship hired me years ago, when your brother was still a young lad. She will have something to say about this.” The steward had turned plump, yet he was still a man with pleasant features and an easy smile. His mother only hired good-looking people. “I‟m sure you‟re right,” Rafe said. “I know you are a particular favorite of hers, but she will have little to say about the matter. I shall point out to her that you billed the family for materials to complete work that was never done. Even my mother would admit asking you to leave your post is actually a friendly gesture.” Mr. Ledbetter lost all traces of his smile. He stared, obviously befuddled. Rafe explained. “I shan‟t call the police and have you arrested. Unless you hang about here too long, by which I mean past another minute.” He pulled out his pocket watch with a flourish and clicked it open. “Fifty-five seconds,” he began, but

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the showy gesture was lost on the man, who was already scurrying from the office. He wished Jonah was there to see his fine show. He‟d appreciate the air of menace Rafe had demonstrated. The steward he hired to replace Ledbetter was considerably less attractive but, one hoped, more honest. During his lessons with Mr. North, Rafe had learned how to make certain that was true. He‟d keep careful watch over the estate matters from now on, as he promised Mr. North more than once. Rafe thought his sessions with Mr. North unpleasant, but the meeting with his mother was worse. He took the train to his family‟s estate and was ushered into the dining room. The huge table had been pulled to a corner, the chairs removed and replaced by drawing room furniture. His mother, Lady Esme Darkwell, was propped on a sofa by the table, where she wound a gramophone in its elaborately carved rosewood case. It was bigger than the Edison phonograph he‟d left in Mindy‟s care. As the music played, about a half dozen people in their twenties romped around the large room. He didn‟t know the people cavorting through the room, but judging by the gentlemen‟s tight trousers and the ladies‟ low-cut gowns and shrieks of laughter, these were hardly the cream of society. His mother must have abandoned all pretense of respectability. After his instinctive dismayed response—an echo of some ancient respectable ancestor, perhaps—he reflected that her vulgarity was something of a relief, considering his own plans. The music ended, and in the silence she looked up and noticed him in the doorway. He walked in, wondering if he should embrace her, but her frown made it clear she had no interest in any such affectionate gesture. “Mother,” he said and bowed. “My lord,” she replied. “How nice of you to join us.” She didn‟t bother to introduce him. Two young men near her gawked at Rafe but didn‟t say anything. They were apparently used to her manners. Or perhaps they were merely drunk. “I say, lovey,” one of them commanded her. “Play that tune about the Goo-Goo Man again.” Rafe sat down next to her without invitation, and she ignored him as she selected the next cylinder. The music blared from the horn, and he waited. Since she only had eight recordings, none longer than two minutes, eventually the young people lost interest. They collapsed on the floor, screaming with laughter. Rafe invited her to take a stroll. She stood and fussed with her skirts and some sort of overlayer ruffled trim thing. He didn‟t know much about ladies‟ fashion, but the gown she wore—which consisted of layers of lace over a pink rustling silk—seemed far more extravagant than the time of day or occasion warranted. Another sign of change.

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She waited until they left the room to speak. “So you‟ve come to take over, Rafe. I won‟t have you interfering with my life.” “I won‟t,” he reassured her. “North said you would. North said you‟d never allow me to entertain myself the way I‟m used to. I need to be happy.” His clever, charismatic mother was acting like a petulant six-year-old. He wondered if he ought to tell her that the group of strangers they‟d left behind in the dining room made no difference to him, though it occurred to him he‟d have to pay the estate‟s staff more for the extra work and to keep an eye on them. “No, Mother,” he said gently. “I won‟t interfere with your fun if you are safe and well.” Her mouth dropped open, and then she shut it with an audible snap. “And who decides what safe and well means?” “I expect we shall figure that out,” he said. “You? You‟re worse than your father. Such a stodgy oaf. A more blisteringly dull, moralizing man I‟ve never met.” Rafe felt as if she‟d slapped him. Though she was contemptuous of his late father, she‟d kept her disdain well hidden. She‟d never been so outspoken in the past. Rafe again wondered if his mother was suffering from some brain lesion or some other form of illness of the brain or perhaps she was simply testing him. What would Jonah say or do now, he wondered. That well-trained preacher‟s son wouldn‟t respond with the sharp anger or snide remarks that lingered in Rafe‟s mouth. Just thinking about how kind and easy Jonah had been with the Sam‟s peculiar, frightened family calmed Rafe‟s crabbed anger with his own mother. Jonah would coax her into being an ally. Rafe decided to tell her the truth. “I‟m hardly so dull, Mother. Do you know what I‟ve been doing for the past few years?” And he told her about the carnival. Her unpleasant manner dissolved at once. She clapped her hands at his cleverness, and all the past sins were forgotten. His mother‟s evident delight nauseated him somewhat, as if her approval made the show entirely tawdry. But he could hardly deny the truth. Her blood ran in his veins. They strolled in the garden, which had hardly changed in ten years. She led him to a wrought-iron seat and insisted he sit next to her and tell her more about the acts in the carnival. Though the vague queasiness he felt in her presence didn‟t go away, he made some form of peace with his mother. She didn‟t even raise a fuss when he insisted that he have final say on all expenditures. And when he explained his desire to open a music hall, she bounced in the seat with delight and agreed that she must cut her expenses to fund such a wonderful venture. The longer he spent in his mother‟s company, the more he realized she might indeed be addled.

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“Our old friends will be scandalized,” she said. “Pooh! Don‟t look so worried. That‟s all the more reason to do such a thing, my dear. They were just dreadful after that unpleasantness happened and you left. Dreadful.” The death of Miss Thornton was reduced to “that unpleasantness.” He began to understand that his family had managed to avoid prison for Edward, but their old life had come to an end following the discovery of the body on their property. As he bid his mother good-bye before returning to London—he had no interest in spending an extra second at the hall—he realized that neither of them had even mentioned Edward. He‟d avoided the subject because the thought of that stupid, wasted life made him want to tear out his hair and run howling from the house. She had the remarkable ability to ignore anything that might cause her pain. He refused a ride to the train station. It was a four-mile walk, but he felt he needed the exercise. As he strode along the narrow lane, he realized that he‟d finally learned the secret to managing his mother. If she grew mulish or annoyed, he merely had to imagine what Jonah would say: “You ought to pay attention to the particulars of the person you‟re talking to.” Rafe learned that he could offer his mother something titillating to discuss and then give her a watered-down version of her demands. Rafe wished he could talk to Sam about her. That man had been able to find the good in anyone. Mindy would have something pithy and sharp to say about Rafe‟s mother. And Jonah would simply pull him into an embrace. Rafe was engulfed by a desire to be back at the show. The longing for genuine warmth and love took him by surprise and made him stop in the middle of the narrow country lane. His true family. His true love. “Jonah,” he said and smiled up at the sky. So he could walk faster, he shouldered the pack he‟d brought from London. He‟d settled the past as best he could. Now he‟d set about arranging the rest of his life. He sent up a prayer to a god—perhaps even the one Jonah had worshipped for all those years—that he hadn‟t lost his chance.

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Chapter Twenty-four Jonah staggered down the gangplank from the steamer like a drunkard. It had taken him days to get his sea legs, and he‟d lost weight on the voyage to England from retching until there wasn‟t so much as bile left in his stomach. Now it seemed he‟d have to adjust to walking on land again, and heaven forbid he‟d suffer the horrible nausea again. Just the thought of vomiting made his stomach heave. He swallowed and steadied himself as he looked around the busy harbor front, scanning the shore for a glimpse of Grimstone—Lord Rafael Pettigrew Darkwell— his Rafe. The surge of warmth that filled him at the thought banished his nausea and nerves. Here he was, a stranger in a strange land, but he was coming home because Rafe waited at the end of the journey. Jonah mentally reviewed the few notes he‟d received together in a sheaf, since a traveling carnival was not the easiest thing for the postal service to locate. Rafe only occasionally declared his affection and never in an extravagant fashion, but he‟d made it clear he was looking forward to Jonah and the entire company joining him in England. Especially you, Jonah, my very good friend, he‟d written. There had been a few other unguarded lines in those letters. Jonah had memorized them. I think of you often and at the oddest times—during a business meeting—and also just before I fall asleep. That is when I most clearly see your face. Jonah had shared the rest of the letters‟ contents with the other excited members of the carnival. I’ve booked a music hall for several months of the winter, but in spring we will tour the southern countryside. We’ll see how the show is received and perhaps expand our territory. Maybe next winter, the Mediterranean. Let “the Signortoris” see how real Italians behave. The busy Port of London was beyond anything Jonah had ever seen—even more chaotic than New York harbor had been. He felt charged by the energy of the great city surrounding him and realized what a circumscribed life he‟d lived in his small corner of Ohio. He was truly a country mouse in the city, but he was ready to become a citizen of the world and leave the cornfields behind. At any rate, he‟d never return to America, because he refused to set foot on an ocean liner again for the rest of his life. “Jonah, you gonna stand woolgathering all morning or help?” Mindy‟s strident voice caught Jonah‟s attention. He looked at their new manager, dressed in a

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glorious costume of green and gold for her arrival in England. Jonah knew Mindy was more excited and anxious about the upcoming engagement than she‟d ever admit to, and as usual, she exhibited her nerves by running everyone ragged. “I don‟t think we can do anything just yet,” Jonah said gently. “The customs inspectors will have to make a more thorough inspection. Perhaps we should meet with Rafe first and see where we‟re to go next.” “Do you see him?” Mindy held up her green parasol to block the light drizzle that was starting and peered around the waterfront teeming with stevedores, vendors, sailors, prostitutes, pedestrians, pushcarts, wagons, carriages, and a few motorcars. “Not yet. He‟ll be here.” Jonah didn‟t doubt it but couldn‟t help catching some of Mindy‟s jittery apprehension. What if something did go wrong? They were an ocean away from all they knew, with their entire livelihood dependent on an engagement that Rafe had set up. Without him, they were lost. Without him, I am lost. Jonah felt he‟d been patient these past few months, waiting for a reunion with Rafe, but he didn‟t know if his patience would hold much longer. “There! There he is.” Claudia pushed past Jonah and sailed forward. She was even more extravagantly dressed than Mindy, swathed in the yards of rose fabric she‟d worn several weeks ago during her wedding ceremony. Dimitri was a big man, tall and muscular, but alongside her, even he was diminished by her generous bulk. Mindy was saying something else, probably giving more orders, but Jonah didn‟t stop to listen. He hurried down the last few steps of the gangplank, and his feet hit solid ground. He dodged around Dimitri and stopped stock still; the strongman nearly ran into him. Rafe stood on the pavement, dressed as Jonah had never seen him before. His old black cape and spangled shirt had given the impression of magic and mystery, but now he was every inch a gentleman, from his black top hat to his glossy black shoes. His broadcloth coat was also black, and he might have looked as sober as a judge but for the gleam of a white shirt and plum-color vest beneath. His hand rested on the silver knob of a walking stick, and he seemed posed rather like a model in an advertisement for gentlemen‟s fashions. Another act? He was playing the role of Lord Darkwell. Except Grimstone truly was Darkwell. This was the life he‟d left behind: nobility, wealth, social prominence. Jonah was taken aback for a moment. He felt inadequate beside all that splendor. But then Rafe saw him, and his eyes lit up, fiery embers glowing in the dark coals. He smiled and held out a hand. “Talbot!” Jonah rushed to shake it, and his palm slipped against Rafe‟s cool leather glove. Here in public they could only touch this way. It was a crime that their affection was limited to that, no embraces and certainly no kisses. But soon…oh, soon there would be much more. Rafe‟s eyes promised him that.

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“How was your voyage?” Rafe smiled as he talked. Jonah was glad he wasn‟t the only one who couldn‟t stop grinning with happiness. “Don‟t bring it up. I‟m putting it firmly behind me.” “That bad?” “Worse,” Claudia answered for him. “Jonah wasn‟t the only one sick as a dog. My poor Dimitri may have strong muscles, but his stomach is weak.” Rafe glanced back and forth between the pair and reached to shake Dimitri‟s hand. “Congratulations. Jonah mentioned your nuptials in his last telegram.” Dimitri wrapped an arm around his bride‟s waist—or as far as he could reach—and squeezed. “Bet you never thought I‟d settle down.” Jonah felt a momentary flash of irritation at the freedom this couple had to express public affection. It wasn‟t fair. But it also wasn‟t worth stewing over. Too much happiness flowed through him to hold on to any sort of sourness. Mindy commandeered the conversation. “Good to see you, Grimstone—er, Lord Darkwell, but we can chitchat later. We have a show to unload, and I need to know where we‟re to go.” Rafe laughed. “Practical as always. Very well. We‟ll catch up later.” The unloading of the wagons and their transportation to the theater took surprisingly little time. Everyone who‟d chosen to stay with the show treated this like any other setup or takedown, minus the canvases and the animals, which had been sold to another carnival. As much as the crew might argue and fight in their off-hours, when they were working, they became one unit. Saul Parinsky took Crooked Pete‟s place in organizing the workers. Pete had declared he was too old to travel across an ocean, and besides, a wet country like England was no place for his rheumatism. He‟d settle in Florida permanently. Jonah had been surprised at the lack of sentimentality when everyone bid good-bye to Pete and others who‟d chosen to stay behind. As close as the showpeople were, they accepted shifts and changes in their company with composure. Hours later, with the elements of the new stage show in place at the theater, Rafe directed the crew to their quarters at the Tolley Inn. It was an inexpensive but serviceable establishment, where he‟d secured a number of rooms for the duration of the show‟s run. “Mrs. Tolley has been boarding theater people for years, and I‟m told she serves a good meal,” he promised. Rafe invited some of the performers to dine with him. Mindy, Parinsky, the Fishers minus their children, and Jonah, all dressed in their best, were still hardly presentable enough for the high-class restaurant where they met Lord Darkwell. But if the maître d‟ was unimpressed by their appearance, not so much as a flicker of an eyelash betrayed his disdain as he escorted them to the private room where Rafe awaited them. Once more, Jonah was utterly impressed and viscerally moved by the sight of Rafe in evening wear: jet-black lapels against a gleaming white shirtfront, a white tie, and hair also as dark as night and slicked smoothly back. The shaggy length

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had been trimmed short, and his mustache and goatee were clipped with precision. He was elegant, sophisticated—in short, a beautiful figure of a man. He stole Jonah‟s breath away and made him feel dowdy in his cheap gray suit. “Sit,” their host commanded, holding out the chair on his left for Mindy. “You must tell me how everything went the rest of the season. I want to hear all your tales.” Rafe gestured Jonah to sit beside him, and once they‟d taken their seats, he bumped his foot against Jonah‟s beneath the table. “Has anyone heard what became of Jamie or Treanor? Are they with the Orcully Brothers now?” “Miss Jamie, yes. Her and her little dogs. That‟s what we heard through the grapevine.” Ellen Fisher was always happy to gossip. “But Jack Treanor”—she shook her head—“after Dimitri laid a beating on him, the man disappeared, and there‟s been no news of him through the regular channels.” Jonah suppressed a smile as Rafe‟s hand slipped from his own lap to Jonah‟s thigh and gave a light squeeze before letting go. “I wish them both luck despite the trouble they caused,” Rafe said. “Especially poor Jamie, who‟s quite a lost soul, really.” “Easy to say from a distance and with a country estate to retreat to,” Parinsky grumbled. “But for those of us who struggled through that summer because of the financial setbacks they caused, it‟s not so easy.” Jonah put up with Parinsky because the man was part of the landscape of his life, but sometimes his sour remarks were just too much to ignore. “You seem to forget that Lord Darkwell had a gun aimed at his head by Jack Treanor. If he can forgive, I should think you might make more of an effort.” “It‟s all in the past now, anyway.” Mindy glossed over their sniping. “Who cares what happened last summer? We made it through, and now we‟re beginning a whole new life. It‟s only the future that matters to me.” Jonah glanced at Rafe, and they both smiled. This was a far cry from the girl who‟d droned on about how much better the carnival had been when her father owned it. Mindy was a whole new woman. “This Poe show is only the beginning,” she continued. “Think of other stories that could be turned into scenes for people to enjoy. Like a living waxworks.” Despite himself, Jonah‟s imagination was lit by the idea. It wasn‟t the same as mounting a full-fledged play, but it was manageable for a small company like theirs. “Kipling‟s Just So Stories might be good. But no. This is England, and none of us has a British accent. Better our own stories. Some humorous Mark Twain pieces, or maybe stories about the Western frontier. Do you think people here would be interested?” Rafe nodded. “In ‟87, when Buffalo Bill‟s Wild West Show was in London for the Queen‟s Jubilee, it was a big success, and I believe British youth‟s infatuation with the American West still holds.”

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“And where does juggling and acrobatics fit in?” Fisher interrupted. “My family is too talented to act as mere props in some tableau.” “No, of course,” Mindy soothed. “Jonah‟s show would only be one of many acts. The stage wouldn‟t be complete without a „Signortori‟ performance.” The waiter arrived to take their orders and put an end to any more discussion of the show. When he left, the talk turned to more general conversation about their experiences on the road and the voyage. Rafe told them facts about life in London that they would need to know and passed out maps of the city he‟d purchased for them. “You‟ll enjoy exploring. But you should be aware of certain areas you should steer clear of.” Rafe continued to talk about London and English life, all the while avoiding telling much at all about his own. Jonah listened quietly to the questions and answers ebbing and flowing around him. He studied the stylishly appointed room, its crystal chandelier and giltframed paintings, thick velvet drapes over the windows, and elaborate molding between walls and ceiling. He felt he‟d fallen into a painting or an illustration in some book. He‟d never imagined himself dining in such a place or traveling to England. Not too many months before, he‟d pictured his life laid out before him, and even at the time it had seemed bleak. He would fill a pulpit like his father before him, marry some nice young woman, and beget children who in their turn would become clergymen or wives. Jonah had not been able to imagine choosing to walk away from that predestined life and strike out on his own. He hadn‟t been raised to forsake his duty. He realized now that his disastrous relationship with Rev. Burns had been the best thing that could ever have happened to him—beating and all. It had snapped him awake and sent him veering on a new course that led him to a life he‟d never dreamed of and straight into Rafe Darkwell‟s arms. Jonah turned to look at the man beside him, such a distinguished gentleman, but still with the rakish charm and devilish grin of Rafe Grimstone. Although the meal hadn‟t been set before them yet, he couldn‟t wait for it to be over so they could leave the dining table and finally seize a few minutes together alone. Still speaking to Parinsky, Rafe glanced sideways at him, and Jonah knew, with a sense of triumph and relief, that he felt the same. Perhaps they might each make an excuse and then meet up by chance in the men‟s room. Wasn‟t that how encounters happened in the big city? But with such a small party, it would be quite clear to the others what they were up to. Now wasn‟t the time. Jonah had been patient for months. He could wait a little longer to have Rafe to himself. Jonah settled his restless body back into his chair and devoured each course as it was brought out by waiters whose clothing was finer than his own. The food was delicious and seemed exotic to a palate used to meat and potatoes prepared in various ways.

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At last the dinner was finished, the final cheese course served, and the brandy consumed. The group left the restaurant to head back to the inn by way of the tram. At the stop, Rafe grasped Jonah‟s arm before he could board the tramcar with the others. “Why don‟t we take a walk?” Jonah nodded. When he glanced at the rest of the group, every one of them was smiling. Even Parinsky had a smirk on his face as he bid them good night. With a touch of his hand to Jonah‟s elbow, Rafe steered him away from the stop and down the street illuminated by gaslights, as the sun had long since set. Even the biggest towns Jonah had been in tended to go quiet as the grave after sundown, but London was a cosmopolitan city. Carriages and motorcars competed for space on the street, and pedestrians still crowded the sidewalks in this district of restaurants and theaters. “What do you think of the city?” Rafe asked as they strolled together amid the crowd. “Big. And busy.” Jonah was too aware of Rafe‟s touch on him to care about what sort of nonsense came from his mouth. But falling into the spell cast by this too-delicious sense of Rafe would not do when they were out together. He concentrated on the crowds around them and gazed at a woman covered in a fur coat with a jeweled tiara in her high-piled hair. A gentleman in a tuxedo helped her from the backseat of a shiny automobile and escorted her to the well-lit entrance of a theater. The marquee announced the title of a play which, unsurprisingly, Jonah didn‟t recognize. “I‟m sure my father would have something to say about Sodom and Gomorrah if he were here,” Jonah said. “This way.” Rafe‟s hand at his elbow nudged Jonah to the right at the next block. The street they turned onto was much quieter than the main thoroughfare and with fewer streetlights. As they walked through the pools of shadow between the circles of light, Jonah looked up at the elegant man striding beside him. “Tonight you talked about every topic under the sun except yourself. Now that we‟re alone, will you tell me how things went with your family?” “Mm. I‟d rather talk about how much I missed you. Much pleasanter topic.” Warmth and humor infused Rafe‟s low voice, and the hand on Jonah‟s elbow gripped a little harder. They were passing a churchyard, close-set gravestones jutting in uneven abandon on the other side of an iron fence. Rafe suddenly pushed Jonah through an open gate into the cemetery at the back of the imposing granite building. He dragged him into the deep shadows beside the cathedral and threw him up against the cold stone wall. Rafe pressed against him, pinning Jonah between hard heat and unyielding cold. He removed his gloves, shoved them in his pockets, and cupping Jonah‟s face between warm palms, Rafe kissed him.

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Jonah gave a soft moan of appreciation and latched on to the mouth covering his. He‟d been starved for this, desperate to feel Rafe‟s body, his breath, his very essence within his grasp. When Rafe had left America, there‟d been an expectation they would meet again soon, but sometimes in those intervening months Jonah had feared he‟d never see him again. An entire ocean parted them. Anything could happen. Things changed. People‟s feelings changed, sometimes so fast it made one‟s head spin. But now, here in the dark of the deserted churchyard, he was reassured that passion still burned between them. Rafe pulled away at last, gasping for breath, and rested his forehead against Jonah‟s. “God, I missed you.” Warmth flooded him at the raw truth in Rafe‟s voice, and perhaps a tiny bit of smugness—or maybe it was contentment. “I missed you too. Every day.” Jonah clasped his arms around Rafe‟s body, feeling the rough wool of his overcoat and wishing he could feel smooth skin. “Can we…go somewhere?” “Oh yes.” Rafe chuckled. “I don‟t intend to have you off here in the churchyard. I have a house here in town, but it‟s so far away, I needed one kiss immediately. A little afterdinner brandy, if you will.” Jonah smiled and leaned forward, reaching for another kiss. Their mouths came together for several long moments, tongues entwining, hands clutching wherever they could find purchase. But at last Rafe stepped back and released Jonah from the wall. “I‟ll hail a cab. We‟ll be there in minutes. I think I can wait that long.” Jonah grunted, too winded to reply. His cock was rigid against his fly. The idea of having it off with each other here in a public place like a pair of strangers, quick and desperate and needy, did not sound so bad after all. But a glance up at the austere heights of the cathedral spire reminded him of his father‟s country church and how he used to meet Ezekiel Burns there. He didn‟t want those memories to taint his reunion with Rafe. They could afford the few extra minutes it would take to reach a civilized place and the softness of a real bed beneath them. He broke from his trance of lust and shook it off like a dog shakes water from its fur. They left the churchyard and returned to the street, where Rafe searched for a hansom cab and lifted a hand to beckon a driver. A hack pulled up in front of them. Rafe gave the driver the directions, then they climbed inside. “Now sir, no more sidestepping,” Jonah said. “Tell me about what‟s happened to you.” “My mother is as I remember her, only more so. It seems an ongoing party has been taking place at our estate, and the tenants‟ needs have been neglected.” They passed beneath a streetlight, and Rafe‟s mouth was grim. “I‟ve set things to rights as best I could. Hired a man I believe I can trust to manage things, for I don‟t intend to be too deeply involved in running the estate myself. I could tell you more, but that‟s the gist of it.”

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“You feel guilty.” Jonah guessed from his tone of voice. “But why should you have to be a lord just because you‟re born into a certain bloodline? You didn‟t ask for it. I don‟t believe there‟s anything wrong with delegating your responsibilities to someone else so long as you make certain things are running smoothly for those who depend on you for their livelihood.” He reached for Rafe‟s hand and held it under cover of darkness. “You live up to your responsibilities, but you‟re a showman. That‟s what you love. You are not a shallow creature when you pursue the life that makes you happy.” They passed beneath another streetlamp, and Rafe‟s eyes glittered, making Jonah‟s stomach lurch in a much more pleasant way than it had done on the ship. “You make me happy,” he growled. “Shall I pursue you?” Jonah smiled. “I‟m afraid there‟s no need to. I won‟t run away.” He settled back against the hard seat of the hansom and watched the city pass by in light and darkness. This moment was everything he‟d longed for. Just this— holding Rafe‟s hand and sharing confidences with him. Only the horse‟s hooves clipclopping over cobblestones disturbed the hushed stillness. “That‟s good to know, for I wouldn‟t let you go.” Rafe circled a finger on Jonah‟s palm, sending shivers through him. “I don‟t believe I shall ever want to.” He raised Jonah‟s hand and swiftly kissed his palm. “I missed you far too much, my lad,” he said. “More than was comfortable.” Jonah caught his breath. That was as close to a declaration of commitment as he could expect to hear from Rafe. They would continue to see each other indefinitely, devise ways to be with each other as much as possible, and that was as much as two men like them could hope for. His mind swept over all the time they‟d spent together, back to the first moment when he‟d seen Rafe Grimstone on stage in his swirling cape and mirrored vest—he must call it waistcoat now that they were in England. Jonah blinked, realizing how little time had passed. It seemed a lifetime ago he‟d been mesmerized by that voice and magnetic presence as he introduced the wonders of the House of Mirrors. “Step inside to see real magic. Your face reflected a thousand times over, glass within glass. Which image is the real you?” Now he nearly knew the man behind the many faces Rafe showed the world, yet there were always more layers, more facets. Could any human being ever truly know all there was to know about another? Probably it was best they couldn‟t. Everyone had a right to some secrets. Jonah would have to be content with the level of intimacy Rafe allowed for the time being. More would come later as Jonah continued to wear down Rafe‟s defenses like the inexorable drip of water on stone. And what of himself? What was his true face—the preacher‟s son, the naive romantic, the rapacious lover, or the stage performer? Well, he was all of those, of course, and many more things yet to be uncovered. Jonah smiled, happy to be exactly what and who he was on this very fine night on the greatest stage of all.

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Fired by the thought, he began to quote, “„All the world‟s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.‟” “Oh please, my dear boy. Not Shakespeare again. I won‟t have it.” Rafe let go of Jonah‟s hand to cover his mouth. “If you must insist on waxing philosophical, let it at least be a philosophy worth quoting.” “And that would be?” Jonah mumbled against his palm. “„Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses, and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.‟ How about that?” Rafe dropped his hand to let him speak. “Very wise. Not a doctrine I studied at seminary. Who may I ask is the philosopher?” “A very great Oriental named Omar Khayyam. The man knew much about love and life.” Jonah nodded. “I‟ve heard that name. His poetry was mentioned as material to avoid for its flagrant sensuality and the pursuit of pleasure the poet recommends.” Rafe‟s chuckle sent quakes of happiness trembling through Jonah. “All the more reason to read the Rubaiyat, then. I shall be happy to share my copy of FitzGerald‟s translation with you. We can read aloud to each other in bed and then act on some of those earthy suggestions your professors frowned upon.” “That sounds wonderful to me.” Heedless of the cab driver perched high above and behind them or the people passing outside, Jonah leaned toward Rafe and gave him a quick, fierce kiss on the mouth. “And when we‟re finished, I‟ll lie beside you until morning.” He tried to make out Rafe‟s expression in the dark interior of the hansom and caught a glimpse of the light reflected in his eyes. And then, yes, he saw the gleam of his teeth in a wide smile. Jonah said, “Do you know I don‟t believe dawn has found us together. It will be the first time.” “For the first time, but certainly not the last,” Lord Darkwell replied.

Loose Id Titles by Bonnie Dee & Sumer Devon House of Mirrors Seducing Stephen The Gentleman and the Rogue The Nobleman and the Spy

About the Authors Bonnie Dee I began telling stories as a child. Whenever there was a sleepover, I was the designated ghost tale teller. I still have a story printed on yellow legal paper in second grade about a ghost, a witch and a talking cat. Writing childish stories for my own pleasure led to majoring in English at college. Like most English majors, I dreamed of writing a novel, but at that time in my life didn't have the necessary focus and follow through. Then life happened. A husband and children occupied the next twenty years. It was only in 2000 that I began writing again. Fanfiction helped me reawaken that creative facet of my life. Having an already created world and characters to play with, makes it easy for a writer to work at the other aspects of the craft. I was content with my fanfic writing for a couple of years before deciding it was time to create my own worlds. My friend, Lauren Baker and I wrote Finding Home, and then I worked on getting an agent or publisher. Meanwhile, I kept writing short stories, articles, and novellas. Since discovering the world of epublishing and getting my start at Liquid Silver Books, I never stopped writing. I now have the confidence to say, "I am a writer," and the published works to prove it.

Summer Devon Summer Devon is the alter ego of Kate Rothwell. Kate invented Summer‟s name in the middle of a nasty blizzard At the time she was talking to her sister, who longed to visit some friends in Devon, England—so the name Summer Devon is all about desire. Kate/Summer lives in Connecticut, USA, and also writes books, usually gaslight historicals, as Kate.