Free The Twilight Circus by Di Toft Page A

hours ago. Sitting at the table surrounded by his familyand his best friend, with everyone trying to talk at once, his earlier feeling of unease had passed. In between feeding his face he tried not to stare too much at the more exotic circus people and animals. He spotted Maccabee Hammer minus the aye-ayes, sitting at a table for one. Maccabee was apparently on a diet, for all he had on his table was a glass of red wine—not even so much as a bread roll.
    He nudged Woody. “Look,” he said. “Maccabee’s still got his makeup on.”
    Woody looked over in surprise. “What makeup?” he asked.
    â€œYou mean, he really looks that way?” said Nat in astonishment.
    â€œWell,
duh
,” said Woody, his mouth full of custard, “that’s the way most vampires look, ain’t it?”
    Whooooo
! Nat didn’t really have anything to say to that. He looked over at Maccabee Hammer again and caught his eye. Maccabee raised his glass and winked.
    Flippin’ heck
, thought Nat, smiling hastily before he looked away. He didn’t know if Woody was pulling his leg or not. Maccabee did have an otherworldly look abouthim, but then again so did
most
of the people Nat had seen since he arrived. Over the past months, Nat had learned that humans shared the earth with all sorts of creatures including shape-shifters, so why
not
vampires? Still, Maccabee must be safe—
surely
his granddad wouldn’t have given him a job if he wasn’t? He was dying for John Carver to hurry up and tell him more about the strange and excellent Twilight Circus of Illusion.
    Suddenly, Nat felt himself being lifted high off the floor and onto the broad shoulders of an enormous, handsome Italian man wearing an apron. Beside him was another enormous Italian, also wearing an apron and a huge toothy smile.
    â€œ
Angelo! Vincent
!” cried Nat in delight.
    â€œNo more big adventures for you, eh, Nat Carver?” said Angelo Spaghetti when he had placed Nat safely on his seat again.
    Nat nodded happily. “Too right.” He beamed.
    Vincent Spaghetti gently inspected the scars on Nat’s throat. “You heal well, my friend.” He smiled. “And no more monsters, eh?”
    Monsters
. An unwelcome picture of Lucas Scale poppedinto Nat’s brain, and despite the fact that Vincent’s words were supposed to be comforting, Nat shivered. It was like something had stomped over his grave. He hoped for everyone’s sakes that NightShift was wrong and Scale was dead and stayed that way. If they were right, maybe his dreams would warn him. He seemed to be getting more tuned into them lately, even more sensitive than Woody, and he was full Wolven, unlike Nat, who was … well, he was a sort of mongrel now, neither full human nor full Wolven. And he seemed to have inherited his grandmother’s second sight, so maybe that was why he was getting “bad vibes,” as his other granddad, Mick, would call them. It seemed longer than just a few months ago that his world had been turned upside down by Wolven and werewolves. The world he had known for thirteen cozy years no longer existed. Stuff was never going to be the same again, that much was a fact, and he had to deal with it.
    Suddenly Nat didn’t feel so safe. Not safe at all.
    When the last plate had been cleared—licked clean, in a few cases—John Carver (or JC, as Nat noticed everyone called him) was ready to talk business. He asked Nat ifhe had guessed which performances were an illusion and which were not.
    â€œI don’t know,” admitted Nat. “I think I spotted all the real stuff, but some were so crazy, they
must
have been an illusion.”
    Nat watched as his grandpa leaned over and pulled out a wad of crisp new euros from Woody’s ear. “Was that real?” he asked.
    â€œâ€™Course not.” Nat grinned. “You used to do that when I was little.”
    â€œSleight of hand,”