Fortune

Claire closed her eyes and pictured Adam as she had seen him that last day, flushed with fury, eyes bulging as he tried to squeeze the life from her. She pictured Griffen, remembering the way he had followed Grace around, the way he had stared possessively at his sister; she pictured him holding her baby down while he violated her.

The monstrous dark birds hovered over her.

Claire’s eyes popped open and she realized she was panting, her heart pounding. They were after her; Aunt Dorothy had told her so. Even if she hadn’t, Claire would have known by her dreams; her premonitions and visions.

She left the mess on the stove and began to pace. It had been Aunt Dorothy who had told her Adam was alive. Three months after she had run away with Grace, her premonitions had started. So, she had called Aunt Dot. Claire had told her nothing but that they were all right—not the names they had taken nor the direction they had gone. Dorothy had begged her to come back. She had told Claire of the depth of Pierce and Adam’s fury and of their quest to find Grace. But she hadn’t mentioned the missing gems. Not then or in any of their conversations since.

Claire had found that strange. She still did.

The gems. Many times she and Skye had been desperate for money, but she had been afraid to try to sell the stones. She had no idea how or where such a transaction would take place, but more, she had feared that Pierce would be able to trace her through their sale.

Claire crossed to the dinette, to the storage compartments located under the bench seats. She lifted out a carton of cookware, then dug carefully through it until she found what she had hidden there. A six-inch-square, antique cherry-wood box.

Claire looked over her shoulder, then unlocked it with the key she wore around her neck. Nestled inside was the pouch of gems. She’d 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 didn’t 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, stalking…

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 Skye’s life.

Chapter Eight

Chance 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 Marvel’s 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 Marvel’s.

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 hadn’t 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 Chance’s work boots. After that, with every step he’d 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. He’d worked until his muscles quivered, and he bowed under the weight of the wet bales. But still, he’d 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 Chance’s 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 friends’ expulsion, though Chance knew they didn’t 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 grateful—the 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 guys’ respect. Unfortunately, he knew of only one way to do it—beat the crap out of somebody tough. These boys weren’t unlike L.A. street kids—violence was the one thing they understood and respected.

Chance brought the drenched fabric to the back of his neck and squeezed, sighing as the water sluiced over his shoulders and down his back. He could handle it, and anything else that was dished him. For, despite it all—the heat and mud, the exhausting work and the other boys’ animosity—Marvel’s was his way out.

And nobody was going to screw it up for him. Nobody.

“I saw what you did.”

Chance swung around. A scruffy-looking girl stood a couple of feet behind him, arms folded across her chest, head cocked to one side as she studied him. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high, untidy ponytail; her eyes were an almost uncanny blue.

He arched his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I saw what you did,” she said again, obviously pleased with herself. “The other night, at the hot-dog stand. I heard what you said.”

“Yeah?” Pretending disinterest, he sent her a dismissive glance. “So what?”

“You were scamming Marta, weren’t you? To get this job.”

Damn kid was too smart for her own good. Too smart for him to even think about trying to deny it. He shrugged. “So? What if I was?”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll go to Mr. Marvel?”

“Why should I be? You’re just a snot-nosed kid. Besides, what’s the big deal about a bad dog?”

She huffed with annoyance, sounding very adult. “I am not a…snot-nosed kid. I’m twelve.”

“Twelve? Gee, that old?” Amused, he turned his back to her. He bent, splashed water over his face, then straightened and retied his bandanna.

“Okay, you’re right. Mr. Marvel wouldn’t care about that. It was a pretty cool scam. But the other one would really piss him off.”

The other one? Chance swung to face her, narrowing his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You know. Benny and Rick. The shooting gallery, your trick, their fight.” She lifted her chin as if daring him to tell her she was wrong. “Mr. Marvel would fire you if he knew about that.”

Chance swore under his breath, then met her eyes. “Interesting fairy tale, kid. But I don’t have time for kiddie stories right now.” He moved past her. “See you around.”

She followed him, skipping ahead, then swinging to face him once more. “It’s not a fairy tale, and you know it.”

“Is that right? And what makes you such a big authority on everything?”

“I make it my business to know everything that goes on at Marvel’s.”

“And I’m sure your mother’s real proud. Now, could you please get lost? I’ve got work to do.”

He started off again; again she stopped him. “When I saw you at the concession stand, I thought you were up to something, so I followed you. I saw the whole thing.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s my word against yours, kid. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She tilted her head back and laughed. “Don’t look so worried. I hated those two guys. They were total pigs. I’m glad they’re gone.” She leaned conspiratorially toward him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Just what he wanted, to be in cahoots with a snot-nosed, busybody twelve-year-old girl. Just great.

“Look, kid,” he said, “you want to buzz off? Like I said, I’ve got work to do.” He headed in the opposite direction; she followed him.

“My name’s Skye.”

“Whatever.”

“My mother’s Madame Claire.” At his blank look, she frowned. “You know, the fortune-teller.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Not if you don’t care about a curse being put on you.”

“I’m really worried.”

“She can do it. She made one kid’s hair fall out.”

He laughed. “And I bet she turned another one into a frog.”

“Laugh now. You’ll see.”

“You’re terrifying me, really. See you around.”

He turned and started for the supply tent. She hurried after him, and he muttered an oath. What was with this kid? What did he have to do to get rid of her?

“If I ask her to put a spell on you, she will.”

He made a sound of annoyance, stopped and swung to face her. “So, you’re saying your mom’s a witch?”

“No. She’s a fortune-teller.”

“A Gypsy fortune-teller?”

“No.” The girl propped her hands on her hips and sucked in a quick, frustrated-sounding breath. “She’s just a fortune-teller.”

Amused, he mimicked her, making an exaggerated sound of frustration and placing his hands on his hips. “Witches put curses on people. Fortune-tellers tell the future. Gypsies do both, at least in the movies. Of course, I don’t believe in that stuff. In fact, I think it’s all a bunch of crap, so why don’t you get lost?”

She ignored him. “Where’d you get the black eye?”

“None of your business.” He started off again.

“I bet it was one of the other guys.” She screwed up her face as if deep in thought. “My guess is Max or Len.” She cut him a glance. “But, probably Len. He’s a real badass.”

Chance supposed he would call Len that. He was the blade-happy bozo with dibs on his throat.

“They’re all pissed at you,” she continued, “because you took Rick and Benny’s place.”

“Yeah, well, that’s tough shit. They’ll get over it.”

She smiled. “Good thing they don’t know what I know.” He glared at her, and she smiled again. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I told you I wasn’t going to tell, and I’m not.”

This was just getting better and better. He stepped up his pace in an effort to shake her.

“I’ll tell you what to do about those creeps,” she said, hurrying to keep up. “Just give ‘em a good pop.” She nodded for emphasis. “They’ll respect that.”

He scowled, annoyed that she, a goofy kid, was saying the same thing he had thought only moments ago. “What do you know? You’re just a kid. And a girl, at that.”

“So what? Girls can know anything boys can.”

“Right,” he drawled.

“They can!” She lifted her chin, practically quivering with twelve-year-old indignation. “You know, I’ve been around. Besides, you don’t see any black eyes on me, do you?”

He stopped so suddenly she collided with his back. Exasperated, he turned to face her. “Is there some reason you’ve decided to single me out for torture?”

She laughed. “I like you, Chance. You’re funny.”

Funny to a twelve-year-old girl. Wow. Another great life accomplishment. “I’m out of here, kid.” He started walking away.

“I’ll go with you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She ignored him. “Really, Chance, you can’t let those guys push you around.” She tucked a hank of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “I meet a lot of smartasses in school. A lot of tough-guy types.”

“I’ll just bet.”

“I’m the new kid a lot, and you know what that means.”

He stopped and faced her again. “You seem intent on telling me this.”

“I am.”

“So do it, little-miss-know-it-all. Then leave me alone.”

“You don’t have to be so grouchy.” She cocked up her chin. “You have to be smarter and tougher. If they give you any crap, just give it back double. That’s what I do.”

“And I’m sure you’re very popular.”

“With the principal.” She shrugged.

“It’s cool.” “I’ll think about your advice. Okay?” Chance saw a couple of his bunk mates across the way, and he scowled, not wanting them to see him conversing with a kid. “Now, for the last time, will you please buzz off?”

This time, when he walked away, she didn’t follow or call out. Relieved, he took one last glance over his shoulder, just to make sure. She stood alone, looking out of place in the midst of all the activity around her; she looked lonely.

For a moment he almost felt sorry for her, then he shook his head. If the kid was lonely, it was because she was a know-it-all pest. Let her mother, the witch-Gypsy-fortune-teller worry about her, she wasn’t his problem. His lips curved up at the thought of actually being responsible for a kid like that. Forget sugar and spice, that girl was nothing but piss, vinegar and trouble with a capital T.

The farther away from her he stayed, the better.

Chapter Nine

The kid did not give Chance the opportunity to keep his distance. For the next week she dogged his steps. Morning, noon or night, it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he could turn around or look up and there the know-it-all little pest would be, grinning at him. Asking questions, giving advice. Offering to help him, no matter what he was doing at the time.

He didn’t know why she was so interested in him; he didn’t care. Besides annoying the crap out of him, the kid was making things even more difficult for him than they already were. He was barely holding his own with the other roustabouts, as it was; now, because of her kiddie crush or whatever it was, he was the butt of their jokes, as well. He had heard the jeers of the other guys as he passed, their snickers, the little ditty they chanted every time he was near enough to hear.

Skye and Chance, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes little Skye riding in the baby carriage.

They all thought it very funny. A laugh-riot. He was not amused—not with their ditty or her interest in him. He was going to have to put an end to this. And soon.

The pest in question plopped down onto the picnic-table bench beside him and smiled. “Hi, Chance.”

He didn’t look up. “Go away.”

“Whatcha doing?”

Chance scowled and tossed his fork back onto his plate. “I was eating my breakfast.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” She drew up her knees and propped her elbows on them. “I ate in our trailer early.”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “Good for you.”

She popped up. “I’ll go with you.”

From across the tent, he saw two of the sideshow performers watching them, their expressions openly amused. One of them winked at him and began mouthing some words. Chance had a pretty good idea what those words were.

Skye and Chance, sitting in a tree…

He gritted his teeth. “Look, kid, what do you want?”

“I came to help you set up your booth. I thought you—”

“Go help somebody else.” He picked up his tray and carried it to the bus-station.

She scurried after him. “Wait. You know, it’s Saturday, and I thought you might nee—”

“I don’t.” Turning his back to her, he scraped the last of the unappetizing bacon and eggs into the trash then set his plate and utensils in a dish tub, his tray beside it. Without even a glance back in her direction, he hurried from the tent and out into the bright day beyond.

She followed, catching up in moments and tugging on his sleeve. When he met her gaze, she indicated his bruised cheek. “I see those creeps nailed you again.”

“It’s no big deal.”

She shook her head, screwing up her face in disgust. “Those guys make me sick.”

“Yeah, well, life’s rough all over.”

She skipped along beside him. “I tried to tell you before, if you’d just give ‘em a good pop they’ll leave you alone. Or, you could go to Mr. Marvel and tell him.”

“Gimme a break.”

“No, really. You could.”

Chance stopped and glared down at her, exasperated. “Are you enjoying this, kid? Is this fun for you? Ruining my life? Making me the laughingstock of the show? How many times and ways do I have to ask you to leave me alone before you actually do?”

“I’m not trying to ruin your life.” She shook her head, her expression hurt. “We’re friends, and I only wanted to hel—”

“You’re not helping. And we’re not friends.”

“We could be.”

“No, we couldn’t!” Enough was enough. He had tried to be nice, but he’d had it. Hands on hips, Chance faced her, looking her straight in the eyes. “I’m an adult and you’re a kid. We have nothing in common. In fact, I don’t even like you. You’re a know-it-all and a pest. I tell you what, I’ll give you five bucks to go ruin somebody else’s life for a while.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she took a step backward. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it again without speaking. He muttered an oath, feeling like a total heel. She was just a kid, for Pete’s sake.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re a perfectly okay kid and all, it’s just that I’m—”

“Well, well…what do we have here, fellas? The farm boy and his little girlfriend.”

Shit, Len and his band of hick-thugs. Chance turned around slowly. The boy and his group stood just beyond the little top, their expressions twisted into amused sneers.

Len placed his hands on his hips. “And just look at the two of them, standin’ there all cozy. Isn’t that too sweet?”

The group of boys howled. Chance took a step toward them, fists clenched. “Go to hell, asshole.”

The group oohed in unison. Len laughed. “I think they make a real cute couple. You like ‘em young, farm boy?”

Skye took several steps forward. “That’s so gross! You guys make me sick. You ought to be ashamed of—”

“Shut up, Skye!” Chance caught her arm and dragged her back toward him. Her help was the last thing he needed; he would never live it down. He faced the group, eyes narrowed. “Get out of our way.”

The boys spread out, circling them, blocking their way in every direction. Len smiled slyly. “Make us.”

Chance felt a flush start at the base of his neck and move upward. Marvel’s rules be damned, he had taken all the crap he was going to from these losers. He wasn’t walking away until they backed down or he’d killed somebody.

“I said, move.”

The group hooted, and Len cocked his head to the side. “She the only piece of ass you can get, farm boy?”

Chance took a menacing step toward the other boy, adrenaline pumping through him. “You want to say that again?”

Len, too, took a step forward. “And if I do?” he mocked. “What’re you going to do about it? Ask your little girlfriend to beat the shit out of me?”

“No. I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” Chance clenched his jaw and waved the boy forward. “Come on. You first.”

Chance held Len’s gaze, unflinching. The other guy was older, bigger and meaner—plus he had three of his delinquent cronies to back him up. Chance didn’t care. He had reached the point of no return. He might go down, but not before he inflicted a little pain of his own.

Len hesitated; Chance waved him forward again. “Come on, asshole. Let’s rock ‘n roll. If Marvel catches us, we’re both out. But what the hell? I’m game.”

He saw the other boy waver, weighing his options. Len might be big and dumb as a stump, but he wasn’t ignorant of his options. If Marvel canned him, Len knew he was up shit creek without a paddle.

Chance smiled grimly and waved his opponent forward. He almost had him. One more minute and—

“Leave Chance alone!” Skye flounced forward, placing herself between him and Len. She propped her fists on her hips and lifted her chin. “He hasn’t done anything to you. I think you’re just jealous because he’s got—”

“You to protect him,” one of the guys jeered.

The group howled so loudly they nearly drowned out her sputters of indignation. Chance wanted to die. He was certain he would. He made a desperate grab for her. “Skye, don’t—”

She shook him off. “What you’re doing is just plain mean. You guys make me want to puke!”

That brought a fresh wave of amusement. A couple of the roustabouts laughed so hard, they doubled over.

“Tough guy has to have his little girlfriend protect him. We’re so scared!” They were all but hysterical with laughter. The boys began clucking their tongues, taunting Chance.

“Pussy,” Len said laughing. “Pussy needs a little girl to protect him.”

“That’s not nice,” Skye shouted. “You should be—”

“Shut up!” Shaking with rage and embarrassment, Chance grabbed a handful of Skye’s T-shirt and dragged her backward. “I can fight my own battles!”

“Come on, then,” shouted Len, and the circle of teenagers tightened around them. “Let’s party, farm boy.”

Just then, Abner Marvel came around the corner, bat in hand, expression murderous. The group froze. “What the hell’s going on?” he bellowed, slapping the bat against his palm. “We all on break here, or what? Did we forget it’s Saturday and the show opens in less than an hour?” He slapped the bat again. “Did we?”

The group scattered. Marvel caught Chance’s arm as he started past. “I’m watching you, McCord,” he said. “I’m watching you real close.”

Chance swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“You’d better learn to fit in, because you’re running out of time.”

“That’s not fair!” Skye cried. “It wasn’t Chance who—”

Marvel’s face mottled. “And you, little miss, you stay out of business that doesn’t concern you. You’re going to get somebody hurt. Understand? I don’t want to have to go to your mama, but I will.”

Without another word, he walked away. Chance watched him a moment, then turned to Skye. “Get the hell away from me.” He all but spit the words at her.

“You should be grateful I—”

“Grateful! Don’t you get it? You don’t help. You make things worse. For me and everybody else.”

“I do not! You’re just saying that because—”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to meet his eyes. “If you hadn’t stuck your big nose in, I would have won that fight. I almost had him.”

“He would have beat your ass. And you know it!”

“You don’t know anything. Get lost.”

He started off; she followed. “At least I’m not mean,” she said, running to keep up. “At least I don’t—”

“Look!” he shouted, stopping so suddenly she plowed into his back. “You’re ruining my life. I want you to buzz off, scram, get lost. I can’t be any plainer than that.”

“Make me.”

He glared at her. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. It’s a free country, and if I want to follow you I will.” She folded her arms across her chest and cocked up her chin. “And you can’t stop me.”

“Like hell,” he muttered, so mad he felt as if the top of his head was going to pop off. “Like hell.”

He closed the distance between them, picked her up and swung her scrawny little body over his shoulder.

She squealed in surprise. “What are you doing?”