Free Birth of a Killer by Darren Shan Page B

someone who showed off a fleshly display of art, but Laveesha’s tattoos were mystical and spellbinding. They changed shape whenever somebody sat close to her and stared at them. The inks would shimmer and run, break apart, then reform to reveal a new image, reflecting a hidden desire or secret of the person watching.
    Laveesha always warned her volunteers of the power of her tattoos and urged them not to come close if they had any deep, dark secrets they wished to hide from the world. Killers had revealed theirmurderous deeds in her presence. So had other criminals. Many more had brought forth the faces of people they lusted after, or images of loved ones who had died.
    Her show was unsettling and upsetting. Yet volunteers always came, even after the first few had reeled away from the tattoos in tears or screaming or protesting their innocence. They were drawn to her, compelled to approach, darkly fascinated by what their souls would reveal. It was like having a mirror that showed only the features you least wanted to behold. A person might hate such a mirror yet still feel driven to stare into it.
    Laveesha could have entertained a steady stream of customers all night, but she stopped after the sixth. She was a superstitious woman and didn’t like a straight string of seven clients. But as she took her bows, a number of people slipped away to meet her in her tent for a private audience. Individuals sought out Laveesha after every show, even though she never offered her services or told them where her tent was. Larten could have eavesdropped on those meetings, but he didn’t, partly because it would have been rude, mostly because he was scared of what he might learn.
    He circulated with his tray during the secondinterval. Dolls of Salabas Skin disappeared from it like magic—they always sold well, especially the versions that you could eat. But although there were beautifully crafted dolls of Laveesha, featuring a variety of tattoos, Larten only sold a couple of them. If he had been responsible for production of the merchandise, he wouldn’t have bothered with any doll of Laveesha. But Mr. Tall made most of the sweets, toys, and dolls, and for him the reward lay in the creation more than the sales.
    “Having no need for money, I would happily give my wares away,” he’d told Larten one day, “but humans don’t appreciate anything unless they pay for it.”
    Larten had noted the tall man’s use of the word
humans
but made no comment. There was a lot more to Mr. Tall than met the eye, but the owner of the Cirque Du Freak guarded his secrets carefully, and Larten figured he would learn more by watching than by asking questions.
    Acrobats spun around the stage while Larten and his team sold goods to the crowd. Most of the acrobats had doubled as dancing ladies at the start, but now they were dressed in different costumes. Once they’d departed, a couple of clowns caused chaos in the aisles, drenching people with water and tellingrude jokes. Mr. Tall was a master when it came to judging the mood of an audience. Laveesha was a true star, but she had a grim effect on the crowd. These simple entertainers were his way of shifting the show back on track for an uplifting finale guaranteed to send everyone away with a smile. (On other occasions he kept Laveesha back until the end and sent the audience away uneasily into the night. He liked to experiment with the lineup.)
    As the clowns rolled away, fighting and cursing, Verus the Ventriloquist took the stage. Like any other of his kind, he started with a dummy. But after a few minutes he put the wooden figure aside and pointed at a woman near the front.
    “I think you have been secretly admiring me, madame,” he said.
    The woman looked shocked and opened her mouth to protest. But what came out was, “Yes, Verus, you’re the most dashing man I’ve ever seen.”
    Her husband started to roar at her, but his angry cry changed halfway through, and instead he said, “I’ve