Challa (11 page)

“Oh, look! It’s a little green man!”

“Aww, dude. You’d think they’d come up with something more original.”

If Challa heard them, she paid no attention. Compton figured she had pretty much been the brunt of just about every nasty, rude, or vulgar remark there was. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as thick-skinned about it. Frowning, he kept his eyes on the woman in the cage.

“Careful, everyone! Try not to antagonize her! She has powers beyond what any of us can imagine!” Hall warned them theatrically.

She slowly unfurled herself and rose to her feet. Her eyes scoured the crowd. Almost immediately she spotted Compton, and she froze. Compton could swear a tiny smile creased her lips before she opened her mouth to snarl.

“Hey! A vampire alien! How cool is that?” someone yelled.

“Hey, baby! Slip out of that bathing suit and show us what alien tits look like!”

Now things were starting to get a bit raucous, and she hadn’t even gotten into her act yet. The smell of beer and alcohol permeated the air, and Compton knew the concessions didn’t serve those kinds of beverages. Doing so would invalidate their license, and possibly put Hall in jail if they were in a dry county. But with the carnival being as open as this one was, where anyone could literally walk onto the grounds without being checked, it was inevitable liquor would find its way in. He saw Hall frowning as he gave a little nod to the bodyguard standing at the edge of the stage. Apparently they were also aware of the intoxication level of the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Hall continued. “Don’t be alarmed by her looks, but don’t be fooled by them, either. She is a real alien, and she’s unlike anything we have ever encountered before! Believe it! A creature from another world, another galaxy! There isn’t an inch on her that isn’t deadly!”

A spotlight went on, illuminating a slab of beef suspended overhead on a rope. The slab began to lower into the cage. Challa whirled around, spotted it, and she gave an ear-splitting shriek of anger. Her arms lifted, revealing the thin membranes running from her wrists to her ankles. Compton noticed what looked like tiny blood vessels running through membranes, and he marveled at the detail in her costume. Someone in the crowd laughed. Several others gasped in shock or surprise.

Challa screamed again, as if the slab of meat was something that offended her or frightened her. Raising her taloned fingers, she lunged toward the meat and swiped it with her hands. The blades on her fingers went through the heavy beef as if it was made of paper.

Holy shit!
Compton started, realizing for the first time that the talons were real. Challa hadn’t been kidding when she told him tonight’s act would be different from last night’s. Last night she had pretended to be trying to reach for the audience as if to attack them. It was more of an introduction to get the crowd used to seeing her. Tonight, knowing there would be repeat visitors in the crowd, she planned to show them what she was capable of doing.

She lashed out at the beef again, sending slices flying out into the audience. Drops of blood also splattered across several members of the audience.

“Gimme more, mama!” someone yelled. “I’m hungry!”

“Hey! Who ’da thunk? An alien deli slicer!”

“I like mine a little thinner, please!”

The crowd hooted. Their fear was quickly fading, fueled by alcohol-soaked bravery. One man near the front got a bit too close to the bodyguard, who uncrossed his arms and gave the guy a menacing glare as he clenched his fists. The narrowed look he gave the audience member was undeniable. Undeterred, the challenger yelled, “Oooh, yeah! Do some more! I like it rough, baby!”

Challa lunged for the bars, reaching between the iron rods with both hands as she screeched in anger. Her sudden action stunned everyone. Several people screamed. The whole audience tried to move back and away from the cage, but they were packed so tightly inside, even a few inches were impossible.

Before anyone had time to recover, the heckler lunged for the side of the stage. He landed on his chest, close enough to the cage to reach out and grab Challa by the wrist. People screamed again. The bodyguard hurried to intercept the man, but the crowd restricted him.

Compton stared in shock as Challa and the heckler squared off, face to face. In the next instant, he saw her try to jerk out of his grasp, but the guy had a firm hold, and either he was too drunk or too stupid to let go.

What happened next shocked everyone. Compton distinctly heard Challa order the man to let her go. Instead, the guy murmured something in return and gave her a shit-eating grin, as if he’d discovered her secret. Challa gave one last tug then brought her other hand down, removing the man’s hand at the wrist.

The heckler stared at the blood pumping from his severed stump for all of three seconds before all hell broke out in the tent. People began screaming at the top of their lungs as they turned and stampeded for the exit. The place fell into complete pandemonium, with the crowd knocking down support poles as they tore their way through the walls of the tent.

Challa turned to look for him. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with disbelief and growing fear. Compton started to head for the front of the stage when the curtain suddenly fell, blocking the cage from sight. The audience surged backwards, shoving many people to the ground. Many were trampled on in the urgency to flee.

There was no way he could fight his way through the commotion. Not with only one good leg. But there was an alternative. Compton quickly found the slit between the tarps that he had discovered and used the night before. From the tiny alcove, he peered through at the shambles left by the panic-stricken crowd. At the very edge of his viewpoint, he could see the bodyguard and Hall bending over the injured man who lay writhing on the ground. Apparently they were trying to give him first aid.

There was a rustling behind him. Compton glanced over his shoulder at the narrow corridor running along the back wall. It was probably the way in and out of the tents from the rear. It was also possible that what he’d heard was Challa fleeing her cage.

Reacting purely on his training, Compton hurried between the tent walls until he came to the back passageway. There were no lights in this area, but enough light from the flood lamps from Challa’s tent spilled into the narrow hallway to give him an idea of which way to go. Quickly, he passed the rear areas of the other three tents until he reached what appeared to be another small alcove containing a stadium chair. An open bottle of root beer was propped in one arm’s cup holder. Hall’s hiding place before he went on stage.

Compton glanced down the way he’d come. It looked empty although he could still hear people running past the tent on the other side of the fabric wall. The place seemed a lot quieter. Keeping low, he ducked underneath the flap and exited the sideshow.

As he’d suspected, the carnival was looking rather deserted. Apparently news of the attack had spread like fire on oil. A flash of color in the distance warned Compton that the sheriff’s department had been called. An ambulance was on its way, as well as God knew how many emergency vehicles, the sheriff, deputies, ambulance, fire trucks—the works.

But he couldn’t leave without finding Challa first. He had to make sure she was okay. He had to be sure she understood that she wasn’t at fault for what had happened. The man had initiated the attack, and she had given him fair warning to let her go. Compton would testify to that fact if need be.

Trusting his sense of direction, he turned and headed for the cluster of trailers parked in the rear. If he was lucky, she would be there. If he was luckier, she would go along with what he planned to suggest.

He just hoped she hadn’t already tried to make a run for it.

Chapter 12

Hiding

Challa stared in horror at the blood clinging to her hand. The smell of its dark, metallic odor made her stomach clench. She gagged. Normally she never ate before a show, at Lawson’s request, and for once she was glad she didn’t. Her stomach lurched again, but nothing came up as she bent over the weeds and wet ground.

Just you wait, bitch.

Hecklers were always present at the sideshows. They were like cockroaches. One could never keep them out, no matter what preventive measures were used. So she had learned to ignore them…until they tried to take matters into their own hands and advanced upon her. That’s why Lawson always had a bodyguard around her now, to keep something like what had happened tonight from happening.

Only…it had happened anyway.

Just you wait, bitch.

The man had been rank with the stench of beer. An oily, sick smell also oozed from his pores. There was no telling how much the guy had imbibed prior to coming to the show, but he wasn’t the first man to try to get his hands on her. He just was the first man to succeed.

The air felt clean. Cleansing. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she ran her hand along the wet grass to also clean it. Here she could grasp the tang of gasoline and the heavy richness of the earth. She loved it whenever it rain, because it left everything pristine and fresh, giving it a new beginning.

Challa breathed deeply. No matter where she went, she knew the memory of the past few minutes would haunt her. Be it tomorrow, next month, or years from now, the guilt would continue to churn inside her.

Just you wait, bitch.

“Why? Why?” she whispered to the night sky. Why did that guy come on stage? Why wouldn’t he let her go?

More tears burned on her cheeks. She couldn’t help herself. She was what she was, a Ruinos female with the ability to protect herself, and that’s why she had reacted the way she did. She had warned him, but he wouldn’t listen. And he smelled horrible. Threatening.

“Compton.”

Compton had seen it all. The look in his eyes after she’d cut the man’s hand off had been that of disbelief…and terror. The same filmy glaze of terror that had closed over the eyes of everyone else in the crowd. And then he’d disappeared. He’d run, like the others. Run in horror. Run as far away from the carnival as he could. Away from her. Away from the sight of blood on her talons.

Frantically, Challa rubbed her hand over and over on the grass, trying to wipe away the congealing blood. A sob hitched in her chest and burned there.

Compton.

She didn’t know what was ripping her apart the worst—having sliced her attacker’s hand off or losing the man meant to be her lifelong partner.

Her sensitive ears picked up the sound of someone coming around to where the carnival folk parked their mobile homes. She instantly caught the faint
click click click
of metal rubbing against metal, and her heart started pounding again. She knew that clicking sound. She’d heard it earlier in the day when Compton had been with her. Challa knew there was something oddly mechanical about him, but she hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source. But hearing it now was like having every prayer answered.

The footsteps grew nearer. Challa remained tucked inside the tiny cavity beneath the front door of Lawson’s bus and waited. They stopped beyond the vehicle, out of her line of sight, paused, then a soft voice whispered, “Challa?”

She scrambled out from her hiding place in time to see Compton heading for the next row of trailers. He was looking for her, and knowing it gave her the courage to respond.

“Here, Compton!”

He pivoted around, searching in the darkness, unable to see her because of her dark coloring. However, being Ruinos, Challa was able to see him clearly.

“Challa?” he whispered back.

She ran up to him and cautiously stopped less than a foot away, so as not to alarm him. “Here.”

His hand reached out and found her shoulder. Immediately, he grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, Jesus, Challa. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Did that bastard hurt you?”

Warmth…hard muscles…the sense of protection that fell over her like a thick coat… Challa sighed as she drew her own arms around his neck and buried her face in his jacket.

Let me stay like this forever with you.
Keep me well. Keep me strong. Love me.

“Challa?”

She managed to nod. “I’m fine now…now that you’re here. Forgive me, Compton.”

“Forgive you?” His disbelief was evident. “For what? You thought that prick was going to hurt you. No telling what he could have done to you before that bodyguard got to him.”

“Duffy,” she murmured.

“Huh?”

“The man watching out for me. His name’s Duffy.”

“Whatever. He did a piss-poor job of taking care of things and now there’s going to be hell to pay,” Compton warned her. His hands slid down over her back to encounter the overlapping plates atop her spinal ridge. She felt him jerk a little as his body tensed slightly. “You’re still in costume?”

“Uh, y-yeah.”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Duh, me. What am I thinking? Of course you are. You haven’t had a chance to ditch it. Look, the sheriff and his men are starting to swarm all over the place. They’re looking for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes. But, Compton, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to cut off his hand! I swear I didn’t!”