Free Fortune by Erica Spindler

box.
    Claire looked over her shoulder, then unlocked it with the key she wore around her neck. Nestled inside was the pouch of gems. She’d had no reason to think it might be gone, but she breathed a sigh of relief anyway. They were her insurance policy, though against what she didn’t know.
    She opened the pouch, dipped her hands inside and moved her fingers through the cool, smooth stones. As she did, she was assailed with the strongest sense that the gems were important, that they would someday help her. That they would help Skye.
    She curled her fingers around the stones, absorbing their heat, their vibrations. Images assailed her, of the dark and of cold. Of ice and of a bird of prey stalking, stalking…
    Claire made a sound of fear and released the stones. They slipped away from her, the frightening images with them. She closed the pouch, tucked it back into the box, then locked the box.
    Someday, she thought again, someday, somehow, those stones would save Skye’s life.

8
    C hance tipped his face to the bright, cloudless sky, squinting against the sun. Sweat beaded his upper lip and rolled down the center of his already slick back. Not even 8:00 a.m. and already hellfire hot. Appropriate, as his first couple of days with Marvel’s had been hell.
    His first day, the troupe had traveled to Zachary, a town a hundred miles east of Lancaster County. As far as metropolitan pools went, the town of Zachary, Pennsylvania, was about the size of the average spit. Not quite the kind of opportunity Chance had been looking for, but just the type of town that appreciated a show like Marvel’s.
    No sooner had the drivers positioned the trucks and trailers on the lot than the skies had unleashed a flood. No matter, in anticipation of clear skies later and a heavy opening-night crowd, the troupe had gone to work. Rides needed to be positioned, tested and inspected, booths set up and tents raised.
    Chance hadn’t had much choice but to acclimate, and to acclimate fast. The rain had turned the low-lying patch of ground into a mud stew, thick, black and viscous. Some places the mud had been so deep, it had seeped over the top of Chance’s work boots. After that, with every step he’d taken, the goo squished between his toes.
    Once the worst of the downpour had let up, Chance had begun hauling and spreading bales of straw. He’d worked until his muscles quivered, and he bowed under the weight of the wet bales. But still, he’d kept on. He had promised Marvel that he would do the job of two, and he meant to keep his word.
    The sky had finally cleared; the customers had come, the night with them. Then Chance’s initiation into carnival life had really begun. As Marvel had warned, these boys were rough, coarse and brutal. Brutal in a way he had not been exposed to before. And they were loyal, blindingly loyal. To each other, to the show. And even to Marvel, though he ruled them with a baseball bat.
    The others blamed Chance for their friends’ expulsion, though Chance knew they didn’t suspect the real part he had played in the two getting fired. He was a towner to them, an outsider. The one who had taken the place of their trusted buddies.
    In the last two days, Chance had been harassed; he had been threatened. He brought a hand to his swollen and bruised right eye. He winced even as his lips twisted into a half smile. He supposed he should be grateful—the boy who had given him the shiner had also promised to slit his throat while he slept. Yet here he stood, throat intact.
    Chance untied the bandanna from around his neck and dipped it into a barrel of cool water, one of many Marvel kept constantly filled for his employees to refresh themselves. Chance drenched the bandanna. He was going to have to earn the other guys’ respect. Unfortunately, he knew of only one way to do it—beat the crap out of somebody tough. These boys weren’t unlike L.A. street kids—violence