I tossed and turned, the thin mattress of my bed barely supporting me as snippets of twisted memory flitted behind my closed eyelids.Mike’s wide, shocked eyes. The taste of panic and saltwater in my mouth. My parents’ disappointment, their fear. The swamp. The choking blackness. The memory of Estelle and Lavinia, bound in magic. Their blank faces after I’d wiped their memories. The secret joy of using my power, even for such a dark purpose.
I woke in a cold sweat, chest heaving. The moonlight slipped through the cracks of my trailer blinds like judgmental fingers. I knew there would be no more sleep for me tonight.
Slipping on a hoodie over my pajamas, I stood up and walked to the door, pushing it open. My boots were standing at attention just beside it and I quickly pulled them on. Then I stepped outside.
The impromptu trailer park that the Council had set up for all of us Misty Hollow residents was quiet. Most everyone was asleep, clustered in tents and trailers in the shadow of the haunted house. Some of the others were working late on the Dark Circus attraction, shuffling furniture, unpacking boxes, and making sure everyone was ready for their acts tomorrow. Their lamps glimmered faintly through windows and along walkways, giving me enough light to navigate my way through our little encampment.
I stepped onto the gravel path, boots crunching softly. The night was still, the air cold enough to sting my eyes. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear a raccoon or some such creature scuttling through underbrush. I walked past the trailers, past the temporary homes of those still adjusting to our strange, mundane-riddled sister Hollow.
Even with most of the new arrivals tucked into their temporary trailers, the circus portion of the attraction kept its doors open, a dark magnet for night creatures and the occasional late-night human with a taste for the macabre.
I slipped through a side door and then walked into the circus tent, the smell of sawdust and paint thick in the cool night air. The faint flicker of lanterns illuminated the performers in black and crimson. With their heavy makeup and their costumes, they were terrifying. So much so that I wondered if it was too over the top. I mean, we wanted to cause some screams, not heart attacks.
I drifted toward the back, finding a spot where the tent was dimmest but the view was still clear. JB was on stage.
He was part of the menagerie. Here, he was something else entirely—a huge, half-transformed alligator. The transformation looked seamless to the audience because that’s exactly what it was. Because Jean-Baptiste was a weregator.
I hung back, my heart racing as I watched him. He just had that sort of reaction on my nervous system. Soon he finished his performance and slipped behind a curtain to disappear from the stage. I followed, carefully, quietly, my boots silent against the floor.
His dressing room was dimly lit, cluttered with props, mirrors, and discarded costumes. And there he was in the middle of all of it, changing back to the naked man I’d met so many months ago.
Muscles stretched, bones rearranged, scales receded, and the beast dissolved back into the man I’d come to know pretty damn well. When I walked into the room, I expected him to cover himself, or maybe throw a robe over his shoulders. But he didn’t. He just stood there, completely at home with the fact that he was as naked as naked could be. But that was JB for you—he wasn’t self-conscious about anything. Lucky him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Why would anything be wrong?”
He smiled. A slow, knowing curl of his lips that made him intensely kissable. “Hmm. That’s a pretty convenient way of avoiding the question.”
“What is?”
“Answering the question with another question.”
I forced a laugh. “I am the epitome of transparent communication.”
He stepped closer, snorting out a laugh.
“You couldn’t arrange a transparent conversation with a pane of glass and a month to plan for it.” Then the smile dropped off his face. “I can tell something is bothering you. You can’t hide it from me.”
“I’m… just tired.”
He tilted his head, unconvinced, and reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “It’s more than that.”
I took a deep breath. “It’s a lot of things.”
“Let’s start with the first on the list.”
He had this way about him. No one else did. He could get me to talk about something I didn’t want to talk about. I didn’t know whether it was his super power or his villain ability.
“I think I’m feeling… guilty.”
“Guilty about what?”
“I just… wasn’t super friendly to one of the people in Haven Hollow and it was over something innocent.”
“Who weren’t you super friendly to?”
“Poppy—the gypsy.”
