Free One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1) by J Gordon Smith

and fell before the hero’s triumph. A swirl of parasols causing confusion like a moving herd of zebras enabled the characters to reset their little play.
    The Parasol Ladies went out of sight and I said, “Every year they do a different skit.” I played with the straw in my drink.
    “Maybe you should get involved with them next year? It looks like fun.” Garin said.
    A flier appeared thrust in front of my face, bright green with splotches of camouflage and block lettering. “You should read this,” said the man. I took the paper carefully. His sharply creased dress pants made from camouflage material. He wore a long tailed tuxedo in the same brownish-black dark splotch markings as his pants. His head topped with a Revolutionary War type of trifold hat trailing long pheasant feathers. His shaggy beard and large mirrored sunglasses continued scanning my face. Like trying to frighten me or memorize my features. Creepy. He moved along to urge others in the crowd to take the slips of paper. The block of similarly dressed marchers stamped by, their eyes glanced hard at Garin and I as they passed. Military-like marching. A lot of camouflage carefully transformed into Victorian garb. I could have marveled at their costumes if less troubled.
    A pair of banner signs followed the group, “Get prepared. Join your local militia. The Enemy will be here.” While the second said, “Do you want to risk guessing when? Do you know how to protect your Family?”
    I said to Garin, “That looks like Brett from the coffee shop carrying a flag but I can’t tell without his flannel.”
    Garin said, “Probably not him.” Then he leaned in whispering, “Not all but some of the militia know.”
    I looked at the paper and then after the receding troop. The flier matched the message on the banners but also included phone numbers and a website to learn more. A list of projects like teaching your kids self-defense and gun safety, how to modify slingshots to shoot hunting arrows, free home security consulting and other topics filled a corner of the page followed by “Survival gear sources available”. I folded the paper into a small bent plug. I thought I’d find a place to discard it later. Maybe it would be good to hang onto it? I couldn’t exactly slip it quietly into my purse. I dithered.
    “Here, let me put that in my pocket,” Garin offered. “We can throw it away after the parade when we get in the Art Fair.”
    The clown parade approached next and took my mind from the flier. A happy face appeared and pulled a long series of handkerchiefs from my ear. The audience laughed hard. I laughed too but blushed. Garin scrambled for his phone and took several pictures of me. Everyone chortled as the clowns in their big feet tried catching their place in line. One danced about shaking his foot pretending to have stepped in horse manure. The audience laughed loudly.
    We knew the parade ended when the police cruisers floated by with their lights flashing closely followed by the fire department trucks winding out the air-raid siren. Everyone flooded into the Art and Food Fair.
     
    “I’m really hungry.”
    “Me too,” Garin winked and squeezed my hand.
    “Cut it out,” I bumped my hip into him in the crowd as we moved forward. I could smell thick greasy barbecue pork and roasted turkey ahead.
    “I don’t know how many times I had a turkey drumstick at the fair,” he said casually by my ear. “They always looked so good and seemed like fun walking around as a happy-go-lucky Henry the Eighth eating them. But they never tasted quite as good as the story they promised.”
    “Yeah, me too.” But I already spied the pulled pork wraps, “Not too Victorian?”
    “Barbecue goes way back.” The guy running the barbecue flailed two spatulas and a pair of forks in his hands while beads of sweat from the hot sun and scorching grill dotted his temples, “I’m the chef at Napoleon’s Cat and you won’t worry about what century they are