Free The Green Lama: Crimson Circle by Adam Lance Garcia Page A

considering what we’ve been through, but there was something wrong about him—beyond, you know, our normal kinda weird. It was like he wasn’t—” Jean cut herself short. They had dealt with so many terrifying and unbelievable things over the years, why did this bother her so much?
    Jethro reached over and placed an affectionate hand on her arm, his hand cool on her sleep-warm skin. “Like he wasn’t what?” he asked, his gaze piercing yet tender.
    “Okay, this gonna sound crazy,” she began, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “so just go with it.”
    Jethro couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jean, after everything we’ve been through, I really doubt there’s anything that would surprise me.”
    Jean sighed, and smiled despite herself. She met his gaze. “I don’t think he was alive .”
    Jethro considered this for a moment. “Okay,” he said with a quick nod. “I guess that does surprise me a little bit.” He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand. They sat in silence for several minutes, both fearful of the implication.
    “What do you think it means?” she eventually asked, nothing more than a whisper.
    Jethro shook his head. “Nothing good,” he said quietly, quickly glancing away. Jean thought she caught a glimmer of rage she had never seen before, but when he looked back at her it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. With a somber smile, he softly squeezed her hand. “I’ll look into it.”
    “Thank you… Oh, by the way,” she said, tapping his knee, suddenly remembering the gossip rags. “According to the trades,” she said, chewing her bottom lip, “you and I are engaged .”
    “Engaged?” Jethro’s eyebrows shot up pleasantly. “Hm. Interesting”
    “Don’t get too excited there, Mister,” Jean said, poking him again in the chest. “Why should I buy the cow when I get the milk for free?”
    Jethro laughed and kissed her firmly on the lips. “Love you too, sweetheart.”
    “I know you do, Smug,” Jean laughed, pulling him closer.
    • • •
    “I’VE TOLD YOU everything!” Harrin sputtered, his face horribly bruised and caked with drying blood. Everything, every inch of him was agony. His body was broken, sliced up, and shaking. He was missing several teeth; each wrenched out by his captor and scattered across the barroom floor. One eyelid was sealed shut in a mixture of yellow, purple, and black. His nose was bleeding profusely, pouring over his puffed lips and chin. His hands—his magician’s hands—were destroyed, every single finger broken; each joint had been smashed one-by-one with a hammer. “Please, I can’t talk anymore!”
    “Yes, I can see that,” the man said quietly, noting the long list of names Harrin had given him, deciding to visit the Browns first. He cleaned off his hands with a white towel, leaving it a bright scarlet. “Thank you, Mr. Harrin, you’ve been most helpful.”
    Harrin shivered and slumped down in his chair. Tears streamed down his cheeks, cutting through the dried blood. “What happens now? Are you going to lemme go?”
    A thin smile creased the man’s emotionless face. “I’m afraid there’s a problem.” Harrin closed his one good eye and let out a low, warbling sob; reminding the man of a bleating lamb. How pathetic . “You know my face, Mr. Harrin,” the man said calmly as he pulled on his gloves, “and that simply will not do.”
    “But… I—No! I told you everything. I did! I swear!” Harrin sputtered. He leaned forward and fell off the chair onto his knees. He held out his broken hands, pleading. “You can’t! I swear, I won’t say anything! Please!”
    “Come now, Mr. Harrin, don’t act surprised,” the man said as Harrin fell forward with a heavy flop . “Surely, you knew your involvement with someone like the Green Lama would make this sort of outcome inevitable.”
    “No! No! I don’t want to!” Harrin shrieked, pulling himself across the floor, leaving a trail of dark crimson