Wicked as They Come (16 page)

She held out the dress to me, and I dove into it, just as I had the day before. She continued chattering as she laced all the laces and smoothed the dress down over me, but I was silently shrieking in a corner of my mind. Why had that presumptuous lecher installed a wedding dress in my closet? Was I going to wake up one day from my other life already dressed and standing at an altar? Just like in my glance at the book?

She found some little pots of makeup in a drawer and went to work on my face. It seemed Emerlie never stopped to breathe, her words just tumbling over one another like a box of puppies as she worked.

“I gots me own Bluddy hopeful, I do. And how he ever expects me to love him, I’ll never know, the odd bugger. Stands around mooning at me all day, waiting for a word, and what am I to say?
Go away, ye perverted bloodthirsty monster?
I’m not like you, miss, I was raised to be against that sort of thing, and the thought of kissing him, and him wanting to eat me the whole time, it’s just wretched, eh? I don’t know how you do it, miss, and I’m sure.”

“How I do what?”

“Love a Bludman,” she said, her nose wrinkled up. “With the strange eyes and the smell and the skin and the blood.”

“What’s wrong with the eyes and the smell and . . . whatever you said?” I asked.

“Well, don’t you smell him? The blood and death, all meaty and coppery?”

“Criminy doesn’t smell like that,” I said, confused. “He smells like . . . berries. Wine. Something herby and green. Maybe it’s cologne?”

“The Bludmen won’t wear a fake scent,” she said. “And it wouldn’t help, as strong as they smell. And the eyes, always looking like there’s a flame there, fire and shadows. They look like hell to me, miss, and no offense. Like the devil’s eyes.”

“I think it’s kind of pretty,” I admitted shyly.

She looked at me, doubtful, and said, “Well, at least you must agree it’s hard to watch them drink the blood. See it coloring their teeth, turning their lips red?”

I shrugged. She was holding a little pot of bright red rouge and a small brush, and apparently she hadn’t noticed the irony.

“Food is food,” I said. “It’s not like they’re killing anyone.”

She shivered. “They’re a heartbeat away from it every second. Like a bludrat gnawing at a carcass and watching you, and you know what it’s thinking about.”

“That boy, the one who cares for you. What’s his name?”

“Charlie Dregs,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “And he’s not half bad, for a Bludman. Best Punch and Judy show I’ve ever seen, the way he works them puppets and clockworks. But still. How could it ever work out? My parents would kill me. My grandfather would come after him with a torch. The children would be halfbluds, and
nobody
likes them. Why buy your trouble?”

“What about Casper?” I asked cautiously.

“The music man?” She shrugged. “Right handsome, if he weren’t a Stranger, and no offense.”

I didn’t know how to inquire further without seeming nosy, and I sensed that anything I said would soon be on the lips and ears of everyone else in the caravan. She lapsed into a very welcome silence as she finished painting my eyes. Her prejudice confused me. I supposed that if one were raised to hate and fear Bludmen, one couldn’t help feeling that way. But I just didn’t feel such revulsion around Criminy, and in Sang, I supposed that made me very odd.

“There, now, miss. You look lovely, if I do say so myself.”

I considered my reflection in the mirror, and I looked about the same as I had yesterday. Apparently, having thick black rings around your eyes was the height of fashion in Sang. She’d painted a little outside my lips to make a fat cupid’s bow, and she’d stuck the fascinator on the top of my head, and I felt ridiculous.

“Is this how makeup and hair are normally done here?” I asked as gently as possible.

“Oh, cor, yes. I forget Master said you was from far away,” she said. “All the young ladies wear their hairbobs in front now—Mrs. Cleavers is a little behind on Citydom. And the lips have to be painted this way, if you want any lad to look twice.”

Her face was next to mine in the mirror, and she did have her lips done the same way. She had a tiny maroon top hat surrounded by pheasant feathers nestled in her curls, and she smiled at me, showing yellow teeth.

“See now? Master will be pleased,” she said. “And if you can put in a spare word about my wagon, I’d be ever so obliged.”

“What’s wrong with your wagon?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She sniffed. “Except as I don’t like sharing
it with that Abyssinian. She’s a loverly girl, but there’re ever so many snakes about, and it always smells of smoke. I had hoped . . .” She trailed off, staring forlornly around my trailer, then glanced at me and smiled that same bright, utterly fake smile. “But that’s all well and good. Fortunetellers come before tightrope walkers, and that’s ever the way of things. Shall we get on to breakfast, then?”

Walking arm in arm with Emerlie was painful. She never stopped talking, and most of what came out of her mouth was complaining in a cheerful voice. She whispered about everyone we passed, just loudly enough to make it clear that she was gossiping. I was embarrassed and hoped that being seen with her wasn’t turning anyone against me.

Most of the time, I just tuned her out. I had enough to think about on my own.

She threw open the door to the dining car and squealed when she saw two other girls sitting in a corner.

“Later, love!” she called over her shoulder as she trotted to her friends, one of whom had a spectacularly long beard but was still kind of pretty. The other was rail-thin, with buck teeth, and she threw me an evil look as I scanned the room. Criminy raised an eyebrow from his booth, where he was waiting for me. There was no sign of Casper. I was more than a little disappointed.

After I’d collected my breakfast of hot porridge, some little citrus fruits, and a strange amber-colored liquid, he ushered me into the booth and closed the curtains.

“Why the curtains?” I said. “Doesn’t it seem weird—us eating in the same room as everyone else but hiding in a tent?”

“Most of what we say is secret, love,” he said, sipping his blood. “And it’s not healthy for me to get too close to the
others. I have to keep control. Once they see me warbling love songs at you, I’m done for.”

He flashed me a bloody grin, the sort that probably made Emerlie want to gag, but it didn’t bother me anymore.

“So about last night?” he said, making it into a question.

“I was back in my real world. My clock was ringing, my cat was purring. It was just like waking up from a normal dream on a regular morning.”

“But you were tired?”

“Yes, exhausted. Still am. No sleep. I’ll probably start going crazy soon.”

He waved that off. I blew on my porridge and nibbled a spoonful.

“We have to figure out a way for you to sleep without going back to your other world,” he said to himself. “Maybe a charmed sleep?”

“Worth a try,” I said. “As long as you know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said with a smoldering glance that unsettled me.

I fumbled as I picked up one of the little citrus fruits, which was smooth and golden. I dug in my thumbs, and red juice welled up and stained my gloves, dripping on the table.

“Ugh, what is this?” I cried, looking for a napkin.

“It’s a tangerine, love,” he said. “I thought you knew that.”

“But it’s all red inside,” I said, dabbing at my sleeve. “In my world, they’re not all dark and gooey.” I sighed. “More blood.”

“You’re half right,” he said, removing his gloves and taking the fruit from me.

I saw his hands for the first time, black and scaled like Mrs. Cleavers’s, with clipped white claws halfway between fingernails and talons. I should have been disgusted, but I wasn’t. They were really quite pretty, and effective, too, as he sliced open the peel and removed the sections of rich, red fruit with much less mess than I would have made.

He popped one section into his mouth and sucked it, saying, “Tangerine is the only thing besides blood that I like to eat. Tastes a little like blood but sweeter. Not as nutritive, mind you, but better than nothing.”

“Like candy,” I said with a smile.

He returned the smile, swallowing the fruit and holding out another piece to me. “A little like candy, yes. Try it.”

I could see the dare in his eyes, so I popped it into my mouth. Braced for the worst, I found that it was actually lovely, like a cross between a ripe cherry and a clementine.

“It’s delicious,” I said, “if a bit staining. My gloves are ruined.”

“You’re a bit of a tangerine yourself, Letitia,” he mused, toying with the curled peel. “Sweet, intriguing, ripe, and juicy. But not quite what you seem. Still wrapped up in a bit of a shell.”

“Are you saying I’m a-peeling?” I said, and then I started giggling, and he joined me.

“Yes, my sweet tangerine. Very appealing. But it’s time to drop the shell,” he said. “The show opens tonight, and we’ve got to get you ready to perform. You need to get your patter down, practice glancing on the carnivalleros. And my hope is that you’ll glance on the person who tried to poison Mrs. Cleavers. Be ready for it. Learn to keep your face closed, reveal only what you must. Get comfortable with lying, and do it fast. Do you think you can?”

“That’s a lot to learn in one day,” I said. “I’m not like you. I’m not a born performer.”

“I’m betting you are, pet,” he said. “I can see it in you, waiting to come out.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. I suddenly felt very small and hopeless. Not that I was so worried about the glancing, because it didn’t seem as if I could stop it if I tried. I just didn’t want to disappoint him.

“You’re going to be great,” he said. “And I’ll be with you to help.”

I sighed. “That’s what scares me.”

12

My first victim
was Torno, the strong man.

“My fortune, never has it been read,” he said with a galloping sort of accent. “I hope my future, you will see, is a good one.” A small clockwork dog sat on its haunches at his feet, still as a statue except for an odd, robotic panting.

I smiled. I had no idea what to say.

I was sitting behind a crystal ball in a colorful little tent outside my wagon. Bold, curling letters in bright gold proclaimed me a fortune-telling gypsy, so it was definitely too late to back out. I was wearing the highly offensive mauve turban, a black net shawl, and a coin-speckled scarf tied around my hips.

I felt like a big old phony.

Criminy stood behind me in the shadows. He was supposed to be feeding me lines. But he was waiting quietly, giving me a chance to try first, I guess. Before we’d sat down, he had told me, “Your accent is very foreign and exciting, so that’ll help. But you must learn to ham it up, make it seem more important than it is. Most folk have never seen a real glancer, and they’re expecting magic.”

That didn’t help me a bit. I was still smiling at Torno,
and he was smiling at me. His clockwork dog yipped, and I jumped. My mind was a total blank.

“
I see that you are very strong,
” Criminy whispered in my ear. “
And you are a fighter. You fought in the war?
”

Of course, he was strong, and he did have scars on his face, including a big slash under his left eye. But I repeated Criminy’s words, trying to inject authority and spookiness into my voice.

“Yes,” Torno said. “But these things, they are known. They are past. What else can you say to me? What of the future?”

Again, silence.

“Touch him,” Criminy whispered.

“If you will be so kind as to remove the glove of your right hand,” I said as I removed mine and held my bare hand out to him.

Torno was surprised and stared at my hand as if it were something fascinating and scary. Then he blushed. But he removed his glove and held out his hand.

I grasped it. The jolt wasn’t so bad when I was expecting it. Torno didn’t appear to feel it, though, and he just sat there, staring at me, his face beet red. I supposed that in Sang, he might not have touched another human’s skin in years.