box.
Claire looked over her shoulder, then unlocked it with the key she wore around her neck. Nestled inside was the pouch of gems. Sheâd 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 didnât 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, stalkingâ¦
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 Skyeâs 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 Marvelâs 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 Marvelâs.
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 hadnât 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 Chanceâs work boots. After that, with every step heâd 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. Heâd worked until his muscles quivered, and he bowed under the weight of the wet bales. But still, heâd 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 Chanceâs 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 friendsâ expulsion, though Chance knew they didnât 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 gratefulâthe 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 guysâ respect. Unfortunately, he knew of only one way to do itâbeat the crap out of somebody tough. These boys werenât unlike L.A. street kidsâviolence