Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

DRAKE

G et down!

Drake saw a car swing out from the curb and head for him. Training and instinct vied with psychic abilities to shout a warning in his mind. He dropped to the pavement as three gunshots fired through the space where he had just been standing.

Before the car could back up or turn around, Drake sprang to his feet and jumped the hedge that edged the sidewalk. Weaving at full speed through backyards at an angle to the road, he dodged a friendly golden retriever and a highly skeptical boxer before emerging from beneath damp wash hanging on a clothesline in a back alley.

The dogs in the neighborhood set up a racket, barking at each other even if only two knew the real cause for commotion. Pretty soon raised voices shouted for quiet, bringing neighbors out onto their back steps.

Drake plastered himself against the side of a garage. He didn’t think the shooter would continue pursuit with so many people outside for a late morning walk or try his luck chasing Drake down the long, narrow alley. The alley put the advantage with Drake and would give him a perfect shot to stop the driver, who couldn’t turn around.

After several minutes, the dogs settled, and Drake figured the gunman had decided against the alley, even if he tried to guess Drake’s route.

Still, Drake remained cautious, taking a circuitous route back to where he had parked his truck. He drove around in circles, going on and off exits until he felt sure no one was following him. He pulled into a car wash, scanned the truck for trackers, and used the high-pressure wand to remove one device that had been added just since he parked. He disabled it and bagged it as evidence.

Only then did he return to his hotel, more freaked out than he wanted to admit.

He went inside and scanned the room, relieved that nothing had been touched while he was gone. Drake dropped into a chair, put his now cold takeout meatball sub onto the desk, and let out a long breath.

“Holy shit.”

The adrenaline of a close call dampened his appetite, and the zero appeal of a stone-cold sandwich meant he only choked down three-quarters of the sub before he gave up, saving the bag of chips and pickle and tossing the rest.

He dialed Faye’s number, not surprised that she picked up on the first ring since she was the psychic who had tipped him off about the threat. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Thanks for the heads-up. Saved my ass—or my head,” Drake told the psychic. “No idea who the shooter was. They didn’t hit me—but I was too busy staying alive to get their plates.”

“That’s all right. We’ll figure it out. Glad you’re not hurt,” Faye told him.

Faye Miller had an impressive reputation as a psychic from a family of psychics—or as people in the mountains called it, conjure. Her great-great-great-grandparents had been part of the Mountain Cove spiritualist community back before the Civil War. When that experimental village failed, they moved north to Wheeling, where a small but supportive group of like-minded people quietly honed their paranormal talents and provided advice and healing to those who believed in clairvoyance and mediumship.

“Did you get any updates?” Drake asked.

“You, of all people, should know this doesn’t work like email,” Faye chided him fondly. “I don’t control what I hear or when I hear it. But when the message concerns you, I let you know right away.”

Drake sighed. “I know. And I appreciate it. I’m just a little weirded out.”

“Understandable. Make any progress?”

Drake recapped what he had discovered thus far. “I still don’t have a clear idea about who’s working with whom and who might be the next big bad now that Willis Osborn is out of the picture.”

“Patience. You’re in the right place to learn more.”

“Is that general encouragement or good vibes with a little something extra?” He wondered if her abilities had clued in.

“Hmm….there’s something beside the case in Moundsville,” Faye replied in the slightly sing-song tone her voice took on when she was relaying something revealed by her abilities. “You’ve met someone who interests you.”

“I’m a federal agent. Almost everyone interests me,” Drake evaded.

Faye clucked her tongue. “Not that way—I hope. A man. You like him. He likes you too.”

“Good to know it’s mutual. Do you get any vibes about whether he’s tangled up with the bad guys? I ran his plate and did a little database snooping. He seemed legit.”

Faye let out an exaggerated sigh. “Misuse of government resources?”

“Not really. I’d hate to go to a movie with him and find out he’s an assassin for the Mob.”

Faye chuckled. “I don’t pick up that sort of darkness around him. In fact, he gives off a lot of healing positive energy. Kindness. Loyalty. Use your head and keep your eyes open, but I’m not getting any warning signals.”

“That’s good,” Drake confessed. “We had fun at the arcade. I’m seeing him again tonight.” He usually kept his personal life out of the office, but he worked so closely with Clark and Faye that keeping a prospective partner a secret wasn’t feasible. Especially given Faye’s psychic abilities.

“That’s a good thing,” she encouraged. “You need more than work in your life.”

Drake hesitated, then plunged on. “Am I putting him at risk, seeing him when I’m working a case?”

“Hmm.” Faye was quiet for a moment. “Hard to see. By the time you’ve had a chance for anything serious to happen, you’re likely to be back in Wheeling. And you’re FBSI. There will always be another case, a different bad guy. A possible threat. It’s like with cops and soldiers—it takes a certain kind of person to be their partner.”

With a casual hook-up, Drake wouldn’t have been worried that anyone watching might see an opportunity to hurt him or his date. But he had the feeling that Garrett could turn into something much more than a temporary distraction. Whether that was his own psychic intuition or just wishful thinking remained to be seen.

“Let me know what you hear on the Psychic Hotline,” he joked.

“Hotline? Humph,” Faye tossed back. “Don’t worry—you will be the first to know.”

Drake ended the call and let the conversation sink in. Having Faye vouch for Garrett underscored his gut feeling that his crush was okay. He felt relieved, glad that Garrett hadn’t turned out to be either a bad risk or worse, a honey trap.

I’ll just be extra careful, Drake told himself. I don’t think the witches will risk a large-scale massacre, so we’re probably safe at the arcade. I’ve chosen a dangerous job. I can’t spend my life hiding from risk.

Speaking of which…I got distracted and didn’t go through my list.

Drake checked the room for listening devices and cameras, then ran a separate EMP scan for anything ghostly. Relieved to find nothing, he made sure the doors and windows were locked, toed off his shoes, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Much as he wanted to add whiskey, he held off—for now.

Drake propped himself up in bed with his laptop and reached for his phone. “Hey, Clark,” he said when his investigating partner picked up. “Turn up anything good from Charleston?”

“Maybe,” Clark allowed, gruff as always. “Why do you sound out of breath?”

“Someone tried to shoot me. Drive-by. Could be random, but I strongly doubt it.”

“You have that effect on people,” Clark noted in a dry tone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A little spooked, but that keeps me on my toes, I guess,” Drake allowed. “Wish I knew whose camp the shooter was in. The syndicate? The drug cabal? Or the witchlings who want to take over for the big bad we got rid of here a few months ago.”

“All of the above?” Clark suggested. “You need me to come over there?”

Drake thought for a moment. “No. That won’t change anything. I’m guessing I’ve gotten close. I just wish I knew to what.”

“Catch your breath, sit back, and I’ll tell you what I found in Charleston,” Clark said.

“I’m all ears.”

“Willis Osborn, the warlock who got taken out by hunters a little while back, had a hell of an organization going across several states, including West Virginia,” Clark said. “Not so hard to believe since he was based in Cleveland, and we’re not far away. Plenty of shell companies and financial sleight of hand. He had wellness and vitamin companies to cover the paranormal pharmaceuticals and recreational drugs for shifter and vampire metabolisms. He also specialized in zombie drugs—ones that made it easier for witches and vampires—or creeps—to weaken a person’s will and compel them.

“I’m sure there’s more behind the scenes than what shows up officially,” Clark continued, “but what I did find had links back to people with known paranormal abilities and the Supernatural Syndicate families.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Drake said in a dry tone.

“I know, right? He’s also got a staffing company that I’m pretty sure is a cover for trafficking shifters and psychics.”

“Real sleazeball.”

“Yep. And that’s in addition to the damage he was capable of doing directly as a pretty powerful witch,” Clark agreed. “But if you recall, it turned out he was leeching juice from his old mentor’s spirit, so not all of that magical power was his own. He was also pretty ruthless about squashing potential threats, so most witches with any real talent left the area. I suspect he strongly encouraged those relocations. There are still a few missing persons who might have been rival witches.”

“Any luck finding out about the people at the top? I’m sure the syndicate families have their own witches.”

Clark sighed. “You’re probably right on the witches. As for the bigwigs, there are the acknowledged ones, and then there are always ones who hold power but stay out of the limelight. I combed through tax forms and financial documents looking for fingerprints and paper trails. I did come up with some new names I’m going to look into.”

“Good stuff,” Drake said.

“The rivalry is real. Of the known and suspected syndicate members, there’s been a big uptick in murders and unexplained sudden deaths,” Clark said. “It’s a mob war, whether the normies want to acknowledge it or not.”

“Any collateral damage yet? Someone’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Drake felt a headache coming on.

“If they stick to targeted spells and curses, maybe not,” Clark pointed out. “Most witches don’t want to call attention to using magic, so they stay focused. Using an AK-47 approach to spellwork is going to get noticed. But a sudden heart attack here, an unexpected car accident there won’t be as easy to spot.”

“What next?” Drake rubbed his temples.

“Keep poking around, looking for weak links,” Clark replied. “It’s one of those ‘we’ll know it when we see it’ things. Sooner or later, there’s an opening.”

“Don’t forget to keep Faye in the loop,” Drake reminded him.

“Don’t worry—she’s got spells and wards on me out the wazoo,” Clark assured him.

“Didn’t know you were quite so worried about your wazoo,” Drake joked.

Clark gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes, I did. Just let me know if you get a break in the case. I’ll keep poking around here?—”

“Being a target?”

“That, too,” Drake said. “Be careful—we don’t know who’s shooting at us yet.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me. Just watch your back.”

Drake ended the call and got up to pour another cup of coffee. Clark and Faye were his closest contacts and had been since his move to Wheeling. A former cop, Clark knew the ins and outs of working with the police and who to avoid. He did excellent research, was good with a gun, and didn’t give a damn that Drake was gay.

Neither did Faye, whose abilities had saved their asses more than once and whose wardings, spells, and protections gave Drake a much higher likelihood of living long enough to see retirement.

Drake spent the next few hours doing email, including a recap for his boss, and following up on the alerts he had set to gather information on the players he was tracking in Moundsville. He knew that the big break in cases often came from small details that showed up unexpectedly.

It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack if you don’t even know what a needle looks like or which haystack it’s in.

Still, it was the excitement of the chase that had attracted Drake to law enforcement in the first place. Also the chance to use his psychic abilities appealed to him. He knew he could have gone into finance, investment, or other careers where flashes of foresight or intuition could be more lucrative, and on bad days, he questioned his choices.

But on better days, Drake liked knowing that he was helping people, stopping criminals, and making a corner of the world a little better.

The alarm on his phone went off, warning him that it was time to get ready for his date with Garrett.

Last time was a pick-up. This is a real date. Does the difference matter?

Drake had spent the years since joining the bureau avoiding personal entanglements. In hindsight, more time had slipped away than he intended. He had never wanted to be single forever, but between busy investigations and temporary assignments, the years passed quickly.

Too quickly. He knew plenty of senior agents who had never married or had a track record of multiple divorces. The life definitely required a certain kind of partner. Drake had always wondered if those agents who remained single never wanted a committed relationship, or if they just hadn’t found the right person—or couldn’t change themselves enough to accommodate someone else.

Drake swore he would never let that happen to him. Yet here he was, in his mid-thirties and still unattached. Other than one-night stands and some occasional hurried encounters at bars, his love life until now had been DOA.

That wasn’t what he wanted long-term. While Drake couldn’t see himself in the traditional roles his parents had followed, he could imagine that with the right partner, they could chart their own course, figure out what worked for them.

Most of the time, Drake had been able to squelch his desire for a forever partner in pursuit of the case. That he couldn’t now, that thinking about Garrett after just two days had become a constant, suggested that his intuition was trying hard to give him a message.

Garrett’s probably a little younger. What if he’s not ready to get serious?

Drake felt surprised at how sharp the disappointment felt at that thought.

So far, he seems to be enthusiastically on board.

I’m a big, bad FBSI agent. I hunt monsters. I kill vampires. Going on a date shouldn’t make me wobbly.

Drake tried to clear his mind as he showered. He took extra time to do more manscaping than he usually bothered with if there was no one to notice. Unsure how their date might end, but hopeful of going further than the last time, he cleaned thoroughly inside and out.

Despite the preconceptions about alpha male government agents, Drake liked to switch with the right partner under the right circumstances. For quickies and one-night stands that went beyond jerking off or blow jobs, he topped. In the very few relationships he’d had that lasted more than a couple of weeks, where he had built up a level of trust, he had been willing to bottom and enjoyed it with a partner who knew what to do to make sure both of them had a good fuck.

He got out of the shower and dried off, then stared in the mirror trying to decide whether to go clean-shaven or leave the stubble.

“Stubble,” he said to himself, surprised at how nervous he felt.

God, this is worse than senior prom. I need to get a grip.

He dried his hair, taking more time with it than usual. Drake stood in front of the mirror, debating the choice of shirt and which jeans made his ass look particularly good.

“Condoms.” He returned to the bathroom and rummaged in his travel kit. Drake tucked three into his wallet, feeling optimistic.

He questioned adding a spritz of cologne and wondered if it had been so long that the small vial in his kit had dried up. It hadn’t, and Drake threw caution to the wind and chanced a short spray.

“Aw, shit. The truck.”

Drake checked the time and assured himself he had enough leeway to do a quick clean-up of the inside of his Silverado, although tonight he hoped they found a better place to get acquainted than the backseat.

He wasn’t ready to bring Garrett back to his hotel room just yet. Drake wasn’t really concerned about Garrett trying to hack into his computer or riffle through his case files. His intuition and Faye’s agreement muted those fears.

But if someone was watching him because of the case, he didn’t want to attract undue attention or draw the stalker’s eye to Garrett. Much better to get another room—or go back to Garrett’s place if that was on offer.

A beep from his phone told him it was time to go. Drake stole another glance in the mirror, told himself not to be a teenager about things, and locked up.

Garrett was waiting for him in the lobby of the arcade, playing a machine with a grabber-hand and failing to snatch one of the small stuffed animals in the bin.

“No luck?” Drake came up behind Garrett.

“Not yet, but I might get lucky later.” Garrett grinned and winked.

“I was thinking that after we eat, bowl a little, and play a game or two of billiards, we could go check out that new carnival that just pitched its tents,” Drake said. “I checked the hours—we’re starting early enough here that it should still be open for us to go over later.”

“Carnival? Sounds good. Is it haunted? I just watched a series on streaming like that. Spooky—and really good,” Garrett said. Drake couldn’t help grinning at his date’s enthusiasm.

They ate a dinner of Buffalo wings and fried pickles at the bar, then started with billiards. Drake hadn’t played since college, and even then, he had been shaky on the rules. Garrett didn’t seem any better versed, so they just tried to have a good time.

“I’d be happy to sink your balls in my pocket,” Garrett teased in a quiet voice as he passed behind Drake on the way to make a shot.

In response, Drake caught his eye and ran his cue in and out of a circle made by the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

“Sounds like the kind of game where everyone goes home happy.” Garrett took the next shot.

They didn’t bother keeping score since neither of them was sure of the rules and played until all the balls had been sunk. They were both laughing and teasing by the time they returned the cues to the game desk.

“Let’s play with the big balls next,” Drake teased. “It’s easier to get a grip.”

“It’s just good technique to use all three fingers,” Garrett replied, meeting Drake’s gaze without flinching. Drake felt blood rise in his cheeks—and in his cock. “Just be careful—no one wants blue balls.”

At least in bowling, they were both somewhat familiar with the rules and how to keep score.

“I haven’t bowled since high school.” Drake sent his bright red ball careening down the alley, only to end up in the gutter.

“Same here.” Garrett’s green ball managed to stay on the alley but only knocked down one pin.

Since it was a weeknight, the arcade wasn’t nearly as busy as on a weekend, so they weren’t rushed to finish their game. Garrett came back from the bar with a beer for each of them as Drake filled out the scorecard.

“This is fun, but I draw the line at those matching league shirts,” Garrett warned.

“How about the trendy shoes?” Drake stuck out one bowling-shoe-clad foot and wiggled it.

“It might pass for self-aware kitsch, but I wouldn’t bet on it.” Garrett tilted his head back and took a long drink of his beer.

Drake couldn’t help watching his throat work and getting all kinds of ideas unsuitable for being in public.

If they relied on Drake’s highly dubious scoring of the billiards game and their bowling match, they each won one game. Neither of them cared enough to verify the numbers and left it at that as they headed back to their vehicles.

“We could drop off my Suburban at my place and go to the carnival in yours—if you’re okay with coming back to my apartment afterward,” Garrett offered.

Drake grinned. “I think that makes a lot of sense. I’ll follow you. Lead the way.”

As he drove, he thought of how much fun they had at the arcade and how effortless it felt just being together. They hit it off, and Drake felt accepted. That stopped the constant questioning he often felt on other dates over whether he was being too much of a nerd or somehow not being suave enough.

Garrett’s place was a modernized duplex with an inviting front porch. He parallel-parked in front on the first try, locked the SUV, and got into Drake’s truck.

“Nice parking,” Drake said. “I’d have taken half a dozen back-and-forths.”

“I get lots of practice,” Garrett replied, but he still grinned and blushed a little. “So…tell me about this carnival.”

“I saw an ad somewhere for the Carnival of Mysteries, and I thought it sounded spooky and fun,” Drake replied. “We got an early start on dinner and the arcade, so there should be plenty of time to explore.”

“I haven’t been to a fair or an amusement park in too long. When I was a kid, my family would do one or both things at least once each summer. Then once I was in high school, I went with friends. But there wasn’t anywhere close when I was in college, and I worked summers and…I just quit going.”

“Me, too. There was a county fair that was always a treat to explore when I was a kid,” Drake recalled. “Cotton candy, corn dogs, fudge—I ate my way around the midway and then wondered why I got queasy on the rides!”

He didn’t mention his teenage crush on one of the ride attendants who was the same age and how they would sneak behind the tents for hurried hand jobs before the fair finally moved on.

“Do you know anyone who’s gone to the Carnival of Mysteries?”

Now that Drake thought about it, he didn’t. But he had seen posters and ads, although at the moment, he couldn’t remember where. Not online, I don’t think. Must have been a billboard or one of those signs on the side of a bus. Maybe a poster in a restaurant.

“No, but it’s an excuse to walk outside on a nice night,” Drake reached over to take Garrett’s hand as he drove. “We’ll make it around the circle, and if it’s boring, we leave early.”

The carnival had set up its tents on a large, open field on the outskirts of town. Some of the tents were new and brightly colored, while others looked much older.

A white cloth banner suspended over the entrance proclaimed, “Welcome, Traveler.” They found a parking spot and headed toward the gate. Drake didn’t feel comfortable taking Garrett’s hand in so public a place, but he let his brush against the back of Garrett’s knuckles and briefly linked their pinky fingers before letting go. Garrett didn’t pull away.

“I’m surprised there’s no fence,” Drake remarked. He spotted a ticket booth and headed that way. Carousel music carried on the breeze, along with the smell of fresh popcorn.

“Wow—it’s old school,” Garrett said as they got their tickets and approached the gate, with a touch of awe in his tone.

Drake hesitated once they got about six feet from the gate as a strong wave of supernatural energy washed over him.

“You okay?” Garrett asked, likely noticing the pause.

“Yeah. Just thought of something I need to remember to do when I get home.” Drake sidestepped the question. He intended to check his sources about the carnival and talk to others who might know more because all of his psychic senses told him the event wasn’t mundane.

“It looks amazing. I hope the junk food is good—that’s half the fun.” Garrett’s enthusiasm was clear in his voice.

Drake swept his senses as broadly as he could over the fair. He picked up on active magic and illusion, as well as an undercurrent of paranormal energy, but nothing that struck him as dangerous or malicious.

He tried not to remember all the made-for-TV movies he had seen as a kid about haunted fairgrounds, killer clowns, and faerie festivals that whisked unwary visitors away to another realm.

Drake blinked, and the nearly overwhelming sensations dropped to be barely noticeable.

Did its magic sense mine and adjust? That’s…creepy.

Garrett tugged at his sleeve to hurry, and Drake couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to turn back now. He was glad he always had silver, salt, iron, and holy water in his pockets. Even in small quantities, they could make all the difference if he got in a bad situation with ghosts or malicious spirits.

Not the conversation I want to have with Garrett right now—or at least, just yet. There will be plenty of time to tell him if we stay an item.

Drake felt a frisson of magic when they walked beneath the banner as if they had crossed a warded threshold. A glance at Garrett told him his companion didn’t notice anything strange.

“Welcome to the Carnival of Mysteries!” the man in the ticket booth said, stepping out to greet them. He wore an old-fashioned red-and-white striped barker’s shirt with a bowtie and a straw hat. “Get your tickets here.”

Drake paid for the tickets, and Garrett insisted he would pick up the tab on their next date.

The man in the ticket booth made Drake’s intuition tingle, not with perceived threat but with the awareness of something outside the range of normal.

Is he a witch? A shifter? Hopefully not a vampire—I think I saw that movie.

“The rides, games, and food are in the middle, along with the big top. Tents for special exhibits are around the perimeter,” the man told them as he handed Drake the tickets. For an instant, their hands touched, and Drake nearly yelped with the odd glimmer of power that passed between them in a fraction of a second.

“I can tell you have very good sight,” the man said with a smile and a look in his eyes that suggested a second meaning to his comment. “There will be a lot for you to see here—and unlike so many pretenders, everything here is real. ”

Drake stifled a gasp. The ticket seller had some sort of magic, and he had recognized that Drake did too. Was that a welcome or a warning? Drake wondered.

“Don’t let our strange and wonderful exhibits make you nervous,” the man continued, as if he could guess—or read—Drake’s thoughts. “Within these gates, you and your companion are safe.” He held Drake’s gaze for an instant too long, and Drake wondered if he should take some sort of special meaning from the man’s words.

Garrett plucked at Drake’s sleeve. “Come on! This looks really cool.”

Inside the grounds, the energy fell to a dull hum in the back of Drake’s mind, nonthreatening but still present. He wondered if it was a protective warding or if it somehow enhanced the attractions in the carnival.

Garrett half-led, half-dragged Drake excitedly toward the midway. Classic carnival games lined the avenue on both sides, full of bright-colored signs and waving flags. Strings of overhead lights crisscrossed the thoroughfare, and the glow of neon from the rides lit the night. Music from a calliope carried on the air, along with the scent of fresh popcorn and the tang of hot dogs.

“Let’s play.” Garrett stopped in front of a balloon pop stall. He plopped down the money to pay for both of them. “My treat.”

“Pop a green balloon, get a ride ticket,” the barker told them. “Blue is a food credit or something from the prize tent. Pink is a free tarot or palm reading with Madame Persephone.” Drake noted that there were a lot of green balloons lower on the backboard, with fewer and higher blue targets and a single line of pink at the very top.

“Fortune favors the bold,” he told them with a mysterious smile. Drake felt seen and wondered if everyone here had some sort of psychic ability.

He and Garrett took their darts and eyed the targets. Garrett’s first throw missed, but then he hit a green and a blue. Drake hit blue, and then to his surprise, popped a pink balloon he hadn’t even aimed for.

“Congratulations.” The barker handed out their prizes but held onto the pink prize for an instant longer before passing it on.

“You’ll find Madame Persephone in her purple tent along the outer circle. A wise man can distinguish which things here are diversions and which are real.” The man’s words sounded more like a warning than mere instructions, and Drake tried not to shiver.

The next game, a shooting gallery, used air guns styled to look like rifles to fire at rows of moving targets. Instead of the usual bears, clowns, and bullseyes, these were vampires, werewolves, and ghosts.

“They definitely lean into the whole mysteries thing.” Garrett took aim at a row of slavering werewolves.

For the record, they don’t really look like that , Drake thought.

“Good shot!”

Drake had hit several targets. Garrett’s aim wasn’t true, but he didn’t seem to care, and Drake walked away with more tickets.

At the ring toss, they both scored, even though the posts to catch the rings were the prongs of antlers on nightmarish deer creatures. Their luck held at the bottle knock-down—where all the bottles were labeled with skulls and crossbones. In the next booth, vultures on nests floated past instead of yellow ducks with the prize marked on the bottom.

“We won things!” Garrett exulted. “This is the best fair ever. I never win anything. What do you want to use the tickets on?”

“You can cash them in at any stall or ride on the midway.” The barker bore an uncanny resemblance to several of the other attendants, making Drake wonder if the carnival was a family affair. “Or trade for a prize in the tent at the end of the row.”

“I want a souvenir to remember tonight.” Garrett’s eyes shone with excitement. His enthusiasm was contagious, and while Drake didn’t let down his guard completely, he still hadn’t picked up on any indication that they were in danger. If anything, inside the warded territory of the carnival, he felt safe and recharged.

Garrett led them into the rewards tent, where an attendant dressed in black oversaw bins with prizes of all shapes and sizes. He carefully counted out the tickets, giving half to each. “Pick something to remember me by,” he told Drake with such excitement that Drake couldn’t help getting carried along.

Although the prizes were the types normally found in arcades—stickers, rub-on tattoos, polished gemstones, inexpensive pendants—Drake noticed that the patterns were far from random. He recognized the sigils and runes as old, protective magic from a variety of traditions, and the shiny stones as being known to ward off evil and have healing properties. They both picked polished worry stones made of garnet and onyx, easy to keep in a pocket.

“Don’t miss the aerialist show,” the attendant told them. “It’s starting now in the big top. You can make it if you hurry.”

They thanked him and returned to the midway, walking close enough that their shoulders bumped.

“Good evening, and welcome to the Carnival of Mysteries.” The man made eye contact with them as if Drake and Garrett were the only guests on the midway. He was around Drake’s height, slender, with dark olive skin, black hair, and black eyes. His puffy-sleeved white laced-up shirt contrasted with black breeches, boots, and velvet vest.

“I am the carnival master, Errante Ame. Here among my people, you are under my protection as you take in wonders and oddities you will find nowhere else. Explore our illusions. Challenge your certainty. Seek your fortune. You can do all that—and more—within our festival.”

Drake felt a sudden warmth as if Errante had read his soul. He was surprised that he felt safe instead of exposed, as if here, nothing could harm them.

Before he could react, the man walked off, leaving Drake pondering the odd encounter.

“Come on,” Garrett urged. “If it’s boring, we can sneak out. I want to get the food and rides we’ve won before things close.”

The big top stood taller than everything else in the heart of the fairgrounds, making it easy to find. They slipped into the back of the big tent, getting seats at the end of a row in case they didn’t stay. For a weeknight, there was a pretty good crowd, in addition to the people Drake had seen milling about outside.

Strings of bulbs stretched between the support posts, casting the interior in a warm glow and highlighting the white and red stripes of the canvas. Red climbing scarves dangled from steel bars secured near the peak, going far higher than Drake would be comfortable free-climbing.

Music started, traditional circus tunes, and half a dozen aerialists clad in iridescent bodysuits emerged from a side entrance and paraded around the center area to give everyone a good look. Tall, dark-haired, and green-eyed, they were clearly related to one another.

“Welcome, travelers, to the Carnival of Mysteries!” the ringmaster said in a booming baritone voice. He was a handsome man in his thirties with tanned skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. He wore a classic ringmaster’s outfit, with a red jacket, white shirt, top hat, breeches, and boots.

“Prepare to be amazed and astounded! To be awed and to question the bounds of reality as you comprehend it.” He was an arresting figure with a consummate stage presence. Drake wondered if the man’s voice held a light compulsion, overlaying his natural ability to work a crowd.

“I am Rafe, the Ringmaster, your guide to the shows under the big top and along our midway.” Rafe turned slowly as he spoke. His gaze swept the bleachers, and Drake felt the man’s eyes rest on him, pausing a little longer as if trying to make sense of what he saw. Once again, Drake felt uncomfortably visible but not threatened, more like he presented a puzzle for the ringmaster to resolve.

“Travel the world or the galaxy, visit diverse realms and realities; you will not find a show to equal what you will see here at the Carnival of Mysteries!”

The trappings of the tent and the music raised spooky Halloween vibes. Even the costumes of the aerialists were designed to be different and a little unsettling. Then the performers walked out into the ring to thunderous applause.

Despite his reservations, Drake found himself entranced as he watched the gymnasts perform high above the ground on the climbing silks. They moved fearlessly and with grace, then did daring switches between silks and wrapped themselves up only to rapidly drop as they unrolled, making Drake and Garrett catch their breath.

The audience roared and clapped. Drake and Garrett showed their enthusiasm along with everyone else, although in between, when their hands were out of sight on the bench, Drake linked their pinky fingers and felt heartened when Garrett didn’t pull away.

When the show ended, Drake and Garrett headed to the food booths to cash in their tickets on cotton candy, fried cheese curd, and a soft pretzel with mustard.

They made a slow circuit of the midway, stopping to watch a show by Darius the Wonder Dog. After seeing the performance, in which Darius’s handler seemed more for show than controlling the act, Drake came away seriously wondering if Darius might be something more arcane than a normal dog.

The strong man show again made Drake question whether the entire carnival was made up of people with supernatural abilities. That feeling grew stronger when they watched the stage show performed by The Amazing Mephistopheles, which Drake felt certain utilized real magic rather than sleight of hand.

Despite the paranormal elements, Drake felt safe, and while he had seen plenty of movies about sinister traveling shows, the carnival felt more like a haven.

Drake and Garrett checked out the rides, opting for a turn on the massive, ornate carousel complete with unicorns, dragons, and other fantastic beasts, all of which looked hand-carved and were beautifully painted. They decided to skip the swings and slide. The fun house was old school, with mirrored rooms, moving floors, and jump scares. Drake didn’t mind at all when Garrett crowded closer, grabbing his arm.

They stopped outside the haunted house, and while it looked like a gaudy ride-through attraction, Drake felt uneasy, sensing both a touch of magic and a chill of spirits. By unspoken agreement, they skipped it and shared a funnel cake instead.

“Let’s go talk to the tarot reader.” Garrett nudged Drake toward the tents in the outer ring. “It’ll be fun.”

“Do you believe in that kind of thing?” Drake found himself holding his breath, knowing that Garrett’s answer would suggest his reaction if Drake shared about his abilities.

“Yes—and no,” Garrett replied as they meandered. “I think that it’s very possible that real psychic abilities exist—and mediumship, too. Is it as common as every street fair, and do they work for 1-900 phone hotlines? Probably not.”

Drake could live with a sensible answer that left room to be convinced. He was relieved that Garrett wasn’t too much of a believer because there were plenty of frauds. To Drake’s mind, the frauds weren’t as dangerous as the psychics who used their abilities to manipulate or steal.

He wondered what they would find when they reached Madame Persephone’s tent. Would she be a good actress, picking up on verbal and non-verbal cues to give answers that sounded good enough to believe? Did she have a bit of talent, enough to fish answers and insights from the ether?

More importantly—would she recognize Drake for what he was?

“Here we are.” Garrett stopped in front of the fortune-teller’s tent. Drake watched him for any sign that Garrett picked up on any strange vibes, but he barely hesitated before leading the way inside.

“Welcome,” a man greeted them as they stepped into a small area set off from the main tent with a curtain. “Please, have a seat. Madame will be with you shortly.”

“You never said whether or not you believed.” Garrett turned to Drake as they took their seats. “Do you?”

“I’ve had experiences that make me think it’s real.” Drake worded his response carefully. “And I have some friends who I absolutely believe have gifts.”

He wasn’t quite ready to admit his own dreams and visions but figured agreeing on qualified belief in the supernatural was a good start.

They hadn’t waited long before the man returned.

“Madame will see you now.” He held the curtain aside and ushered them into the inner chamber.

A woman sat at a table draped in a purple cloth with gold embroidered tarot symbols around the hem. He had difficulty figuring her age and guessed mid-thirties, although for a second in the soft, shifting candlelight, she looked much older. She wore colorful flowing robes that fit with the mystical opulence of the tent. Rings glittered on her fingers—silver, onyx, garnet, opal—all valued for protection and enhancing magic. The air smelled of vervain, mint, and rosemary, more protective plants.

The tent was fairly dark despite the candles. Around the sides, gauzy swags of fabric were tinted in colors that appeared to shift and swirl. Drake thought he could pick out symbols amid the colors associated with several traditions of old magic. The tent’s soothing atmosphere made him feel like he was in a light trance. He put more than the requested fee in the ornate box on a small table right inside the door.

Madame Persephone raised her head and looked right at Drake. “Welcome, I expected you sooner.”

Drake might have written off the comment as a script designed to increase trust, but Madame met his gaze, and he felt her power touch him. She’s the real deal—and she’s older and more powerful than she lets on. Way more than a carnival act.

“I’d like you to tell my fortune,” Garrett blurted. “Cards, palm, whatever you prefer.”

The table in front of the seer held a crystal ball and a deck of cards. On a smaller table to her right lay a collection of crystals, a drop spindle, and a pile of wool roving. Drake recognized the last two as an ancient form of divination and wondered again about the power and age of their host.

“Give me your hand.”

Garrett reached out, and Madame took his right hand. Drake fought the urge to grab Garrett and run, worried what she might learn.

Madame closed her eyes, and a look of concentration came over her face. “You have left your family, but you are not alone. You’re a healer, and your intuition is stronger than you realize. You advocate for those who cannot speak. But you have also known darkness. A shadow lingers, persistent. It is not done with you. And yet…”

She opened her eyes and took Drake’s hand before he could pull away. “There is new light that shines very brightly,” she added with a knowing look directed at Drake. “A protector. And a bond, untested but unusually strong. Uncommon. Nothing that brought you together happened by chance.”

Drake felt poleaxed, and a glance at Garrett confirmed that his date had gotten more than he expected.

“There are dangers ahead you cannot avoid. Do not give up hope. A path exists to lead you to what you desire, but finding the way and remaining on it will test you.”

Madame let go of their hands, and Drake felt the absence of her energy like a physical loss. She looked directly at Drake.

“Your quarry is strong and clever. Do not underestimate him.”

Drake found himself holding his breath. The air seemed to crackle around them with psychic energy and magic, enough to raise the hair on his arms. He didn’t fear Madame, but he respected her power and wondered how much she could be trusted.

“My Sight is not something to worry you. Stay close to one another,” she said as if she could read his mind.

Maybe she can.

“A storm is coming, and such things are best ridden out together,” she added. “Remain watchful.”

“Um, thank you,” Garrett stuttered, grabbed Drake by the wrist, and headed for the tent door.

“You are safe here,” Madame called after them. “Remember that when you need sanctuary.”

Garrett didn’t stop practically dragging Drake until they were several tents away. “Oh. My. God,” he said, breathless. “What was that?”

“I suspect that was an encounter with someone who is actually a fairly powerful clairvoyant.” Drake was a little rattled himself by the reading. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t sense any danger. In fact, I believe her about this being a safe place. I think there are more than a few people with the carnival who have different kinds of psychic abilities. But I don’t think they’re a threat.”

Garrett seemed to consider his words for a moment. “Then why am I freaked out?” He seemed more curious than concerned.

“If it’s your first time meeting someone with that sort of ability, it can be unnerving,” Drake answered. “I think we’ve got some sort of hindbrain wiring to sense that energy and be wary of it.”

The path around them wasn’t crowded, so they could talk without being overheard. “Why didn’t it freak you out?” Garrett looked at Drake more closely for a few seconds. “You have some ability too.”

Drake had no intention of lying. If what he could do was going to be a deal breaker, better to find it out now, before he became even more emotionally invested. “Yes. Different from Madame, but real and fairly strong.”

Garrett took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Is it? I can explain some things, not others, and I can try to help you understand, but is this going to be a problem…for us?” Drake’s heart sank. He really liked Garrett and had found himself daydreaming more and more that they could build a real relationship.

“No. Of course not,” Garrett answered quickly enough that Drake felt reassured. “It just surprised me. Although I think we should talk. I have questions.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t sound nearly like the sexy evening I was hoping for.”

“You never know. Depends.”

“On what?”

“How the conversation goes. Still want me to come back to your place?” Drake felt nervousness curdle in his stomach, hoping the answer hadn’t changed.

“Yes. Sure. I don’t think it’s really a car chat.” He glanced around the carnival. They hadn’t covered most of it. “Maybe we can come back.”

“That could be fun. I’m curious to see what else is here,” Drake agreed, as much out of a professional capacity as because it would be interesting to see with Garrett. He intended to check into official resources to see what anyone knew about the carnival. Drake suspected the faire had a knack for flying under the radar.

The ride back to Garrett’s place was quiet. Drake tried to squelch his nervousness and failed.

I knew the conversation would have to happen sooner or later. I just wasn’t prepared for it tonight.