Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

F or the next day and a half, Ruth pretended she was too busy to think about him. She was occupied enough to keep him tucked in the back of her mind. Even if he spent his time there caressing and teasing her, as if his wings were brushing her neurons.

Her roommates in Circus security were a level-headed, well-trained group. No egos would interfere with teaching her what she needed to know.

Their shared living space wasn't the army-styled barracks she'd imagined. The pavilion tent had comfortable cots positioned behind privacy screens, giving her a space to call her own. A communal area provided a kitchenette for basic food prep.

Quarters like these were transferred to new locations via magical means. Personal items were packed and transported the normal way. The Circus's Big Top and anything related to performances were taken through the portal in the wagons that became RVs, buses, flat beds and semi-trucks.

"Part of the fun for our audience is being able to see the Circus set up," Dollar told her. The head of security was a human with thirty years of special ops, Secret Service and private security experience. He looked the part, a tall black man with a shaved pate, trim goatee and perpetually narrowed eyes that his people believed could track a dandelion seed across snow-blanketed terrain. His clothes were crisp, dark and professional, showing a body in excellent fighting shape.

His team also joked that he slept standing up and fully dressed, so nothing was ever creased. He didn't deny it. His authoritative tone could bark, rumble or slice a person's legs out from under them, but she'd been told if she did her job a hundred and ten percent, he was a fair boss.

"We could do all of it magically, just appear where we're scheduled," he told Ruth. "But Lady Yvette has stuck with the tradition of hiring locals to help with the set-up, to involve the community, boost ticket sales and the town's economy. Though there are people who will drive from a bigger city to attend a show, we do smaller venues, since she limits audience capacity to one thousand."

She'd expected to be restless, not sleeping underground for the first time in her life. However, with how much she was learning and doing, plus the daily sparring Marcellus had promised with various skilled members of the staff, she face-planted in the mattress when it was time to go to bed.

Helo, one of the other security members, had to wake her up today. She first called Ruth's name from the other side of the screen. The alert pulled her slowly back toward consciousness, but to get her all the way there, the woman came in and shook the cot frame, staying well away from her.

When Ruth surfaced, Helo nodded. She had freckles, a lot of red hair, and the muscles of a Viking warrior. She was also an accomplished helicopter pilot who'd done medivac work in war zones. She and Ruth had talked about their respective flying experiences at one of the team's "jawing sessions," as Dollar called them, when they hung out in the main room, cleaning and checking weapons, or informally trading stories about threat scenarios.

"None of us react well to someone being right over us when we wake up," Helo said. "I figured a vampire might be similar. Or wake up hungry."

Ruth was flustered that she'd had to be woken, but Helo's follow-up comment helped. "When you first start having to flipflop between performance time zones and the weirdness of the portal in-between spots version of night and day, it takes time for your body to get acclimated. I've done it longer than most, so you're not the only one I roust."

"Yeah, she's our den mother," a voice called from the main area. Ruth smelled coffee brewing.

"Fuck off, Burt," Helo said, without missing a beat. "His crappy coffee will be ready in a minute," she added to Ruth. "If you drink it."

The Circus would be leaving the portal for a performance venue today, so after the standard start-of-day briefing, the security members were encouraged to help with that process wherever needed. Their security duties would take up more of their time once they were "back in the world."

On her way to check in with Clara, she saw Merc, albeit at a distance. As she approached the fortune teller's quarters, Marcellus and he were standing outside the yurt. Before she reached them, their discussion concluded. Merc gave the angel a short nod and went into the air. He was wearing jeans with the black and red security team shirt.

Thinking of what he'd said about cloaking his wings on the midway, she wondered if she'd still be able to feel them if she reached out to touch. She thought of how he'd closed his hand on her wrist, prohibiting her from doing that.

As Ruth reached Marcellus, Clara emerged. She slid her hand around Marcellus's biceps and laid her head on it. Ruth melted a little as his wing slid around her, offering her warmth from the chill. She was in a nightgown, a shawl wrapped around her.

"Wow. It usually takes me longer to repel people enough that they fly away when I approach," Ruth said, winning a smile from the hollow-eyed girl.

"He and Marcellus have a pre-move checklist, relating to the adjustment of magical properties as the Circus moves, how it changes our perimeter and its protections. Merc is an accomplished magic user. He can also move pretty fast, so if he'd been in a big hurry, he would have looked like he vanished. Vampires can do that, too, can't they?"

"Yeah, but our speed usually only fools humans. You homo sapiens got the short end of the evolutionary stick."

"There is good reason for that," Marcellus observed. "The talents they do possess are used for destructive purposes."

Clara nudged him. "No human bashing. My optimism charge to counter your grumpiness isn't 100% until I've had coffee."

He kissed her head, his large hand moving gently over her shoulder. "Go get dressed. I want to make sure you are where I expect before I get involved in the chaos this day will bring. And yes," he added before Ruth could volunteer to stay with her, "sometimes you will take over escort duties with her. But Dollar, Gundar and I want you to see the full move process. Today you will not carry the same responsibility as the others. Everyone goes through this training, so they can be as effective as needed."

He hadn't had to add that, but perhaps he saw her desire to be as useful as anyone else. "Yes, my lord."

A few hours later, after having helped lift, pack, move and direct, she passed through the portal with the rest of the troupe into a mild Tennessee night. They were in the hills, the air full of the scents of pine forest and oaks. The Circus had emerged onto a rural highway, their train of wagons now a convoy of motorized vehicles, following a curving road into the town.

Ruth expected some of those details Clara had mentioned included making sure that transition happened without a collision with traffic on the "real world" side, and at a spot where the convoy's appearance wouldn't seem like it had happened out of thin air.

Helo told her that was a less pressing concern these days, thanks to the likes of David Copperfield and Chris Angel. Humans could explain it as an extraordinary illusion act, especially once they saw the current Circus logo on the vehicles, a trumpeting elephant and roaring dragon flanking a blood red rose. "The Circus" was printed across the rose in gold, and a black ring of thorns formed an oblong border around the picture.

Their destination was an open flat field. In preparation for their arrival, it had been mowed by the county's maintenance crews. The handful of locals who'd been hired to help were ready and waiting. Despite the evening hour, many had brought their kids, at Yvette's invitation.

It quickly became apparent how much the Circus people enjoyed the kids and their parents, meeting them with true affection and good spirits, no matter the many set-up tasks awaiting them.

She really liked being part of the Circus world.

On opening night, Ruth was assigned to the midway. When Adan had described the Circus to her, she had inhaled the stories like candy. The reality was even better. The prep of vending wagons, sideshow tents and the Big Top, the creative arrangement of props, the players getting into their jaw-dropping costumes, the last-minute practices. All while the teasing scents of popcorn, cotton candy and peanut brittle started to permeate the midway.

When she patrolled the perimeter, she kept potential vulnerabilities specific to the fortune teller in mind, and marked Clara's tent. It was draped in gold and blue parachute fabric that created silken waves whenever the wind picked up. The open flaps were hemmed with sparkling beads and tassels. A wooden painted banner, Fortune and Joy Foretold, was mounted over the opening.

Prior to the gate opening, part of Ruth's job was checking the interior of the tents on her assigned route, to see that all was well and ensure the occupants had no issues or new security concerns. With that in mind, she entered one of the tents where smaller scale pre-show acrobatics and skits would be performed.

Sarita, Karl and Nikolai were going over a new routine and Sarita was nervous about it. She was the least experienced acrobat, an apprentice to the two veterans. Ruth had picked up that backstory from Clara, but also learned more from what she witnessed now.

Sarita was balanced on one foot on a large ball. Karl stood in front of her, Nikolai behind. As Nikolai watched, Karl's touch slid up the inside of one braced thigh, his fingertips moving against the thin crotch of the sparkling leotard she wore.

"Hold," he said. "You will hold that pose for your Masters forever if we require it. Won't you?"

"Yes," she managed, offering a slight smile at the tease but also showing the strain as her arousal grew. A tiny moan, a little whimper, escaped as he put his fingers inside her, under the crotch panel, and began to do a slow in and out thrust. His fingers were slick with her response.

Sarita shuddered and the leg buckled. Even Ruth's vampire speed couldn't have matched the response of the two Masters, who caught her in ready arms.

"You will perform beautifully for us." Karl brushed her hair from her face. "You always do. If there are any mistakes, we will be there to catch you."

"And correct you later," Nikolai noted with the right touch of sternness. "In ways that will make you long to do much better."

The care made Ruth's chest hurt. As she glanced around, she saw Charlie on the top row of the fixed tiered benches, the audience seating. She was sewing flowers on a hat. However, her unique way of seeing had noted Ruth. She lifted a hand at her regard. When she bit the thread to finish up the repair and rose, Ruth moved to her aid, but Charlie came down the graduated steps easily.

"You're kind," the healer said quietly. "I admit, I do have more trouble in unfamiliar environments, but I know the Circus like I know my own bedroom."

Slipping outside with her, Charlie showed Ruth the hat. "It's Buella's, one of our clowns. She adopted a stray cat a few months ago. The little terror shredded the flower, so I put on some new ones. I like this trio of forsythia, nodding over the brim. I've added a couple beads and some wire so they'll bounce around like bug antenna."

"She better hide it from the cat. But I love it. The kids are going to want one."

Charlie chuckled. "Yvette will order me to send the pattern to our vendor supplier for small batch production, I'm sure." They fell into step together, since Ruth's perimeter check was taking her near the entrance, where the clowns were gathering. They would spread out when the gate opened, to mingle and entertain the ticket holders as they made their way toward the Big Top.

"So why did you choose that tent to repair the hat?"

"It was closest when Buella gave the hat to me. I carry scraps and a sewing kit for the things I have to do on the go." Charlie patted the bag on her hip. "Karl, Sarita and Niko have wonderful sexual energy, even when they're in work mode. You should see them on Play Night."

"Play Night?"

"Many of our members are in power exchange relationships." Charlie nudged her. "I'm sure you've noticed."

With the Circus being owned and run by a vampire, it was practically expected. The Circus offered two types of performances, one for families, and one for erotic, more sensual venues, such as Club Atlantis. The Atlanta BDSM club was owned and run by Anwyn, a made vampire whose servant was Jacob's brother, Gideon.

When Adan had apprenticed with Derek, he'd helped set up the portal at Club Atlantis that facilitated the Circus's first performance for an exclusive audience that included the Fae court and Vampire Council. The Circus had returned there at least once a year ever since. Ruth hoped she'd be with them long enough to see that.

"So, once a month, there's a staff Play Night in the Big Top," Charlie continued. "Since we use the same props, Yvette says she gets new ideas for the erotic shows."

They were reaching the clowns, and Charlie pressed her arm in a brief, affectionate grip. "You should plan on coming to the next one. You don't have to play. Voyeurism is entirely encouraged. It's just all of us, the Circus family. No outsiders allowed."

"Sounds like fun. Thanks."

Charlie nodded and headed toward the clowns. Buella came toward her, hands out for the hat. Her pleased smile said she liked Charlie's efforts. After she put it on, adjusting the chin strap, she bounced in a circle like a waddling penguin, jumped into a handstand and followed it with a somersault, seeing what the antenna would do.

While vastly entertaining, Ruth reminded herself she was on the job and moved on. She did think about Charlie's invitation, though. Hell yes, she'd go, even if she'd be eager to watch but afraid to participate.

Story of her life.

The parking lot was filling up fast. Gundar had told her that most of their performances were sold out before the Circus arrived.

Local hires were handling the parking process, though Burt floated among them. Dollar said their presence, employed proactively, in the right way and at the right times, headed off most situations before they became a problem. The team members who were physically imposing had an obvious leg up, but a calm and authoritative attitude was the best tool any security member could employ.

The challenge for Ruth grew as the gates opened and the midway became clogged with people, filtering into the sideshow tents or moving toward the Big Top. She didn't spend much time in busy urban environments, so she had less practice at sorting this much sensory input.

However, the humans on the security team managed to stay as vigilant and situationally aware as was required. She had far more acute senses, so with effort and patience, she could do the same.

She'd learned from the feline preserve inhabitants. They knew how to filter their surroundings, so neither the scratch of a rat moving across dry ground, or the shadow from the dip of a hawk's wings far above their heads escaped their notice.

As she made a circuit of the midway, moving with the tide of people, she paused outside Clara's tent. A man was sitting at her table while she listened. When she asked a question, her expression was warm and inviting. She wore a head scarf, her abundant hair tumbling around her face, her velvet dress matching the gold and blue colors of the tent. Makeup pulled color into her cheeks, and admirably managed to make her hollow eyes seem more deep set and mysterious. The shawl draped on her shoulders obscured the thinness of her upper body, but she looked lovely.

As she'd told Ruth, most of "fortune telling" was listening and intuition. "But I don't fake it," she'd added. "I make sure what they get for their money is sincere and real. I'm just not doing a deep dive into what's ahead of them. I don't think most people really need to know that. They just need to be pointed toward the ways to handle it. Or embrace it."

Ruth finished her second trip around the midway and outside perimeter of the Big Top, coming back to the front gate. Showtime was in five minutes. They'd already blinked the strung lights along the midway as a warning.

Late people, exiting their cars at the far end of the full parking lot, hurried at the attendants' urging, carrying shorter-legged children toward the gate.

The wind had picked up and, as it did, it brought Ruth a scent. Just a hint of something, brief enough she couldn't quite catch it, but it brought her to a halt. She was near the popcorn vendor's cart, and changed her position so the food smells drifted away from her.

She increased the reach of her senses, a pack of hunting hounds let loose. Her attention moved over the parked cars. Moonlight gleamed off the various colors and sizes. Beyond them was a pine forest. Burt, who'd been helping the attendants shepherd in the last groups of families, had moved to the gate and was speaking to the ticket vendor.

Ruth melted into the shadowed area between two tents and used the parked Circus trucks behind them as cover to gain a different vantage point of the lot and pine forest.

She waited. Studied the trees, the cars. Two minutes. Three. There. A slight movement between two trees. Then it was gone, but she caught it again thirty seconds later, between two vehicles at the back end of the parking lot.

The ticket gate was an artificial barrier. The only physical impediment to coming into the Circus was the chain link fence around the outer fairgrounds, a six-foot climbable structure, and the vigilance of the security team. Every ticket holder had a glow-in-the-dark hand stamp, two and a half inches in diameter, so they looked for it on all attendees.

Whatever this was, it wouldn't be coming to the gate to get a handstamp. She didn't want to be an alarmist, the newest member of the team trying to prove herself, but something was off.

"What do you see?"

She'd felt him come up behind her, that light flutter of air and arousing scent. While the shiver of sexual reaction was automatic, she ignored it, also putting aside the question of whether Marcellus had assigned him to babysit her.

"East side, behind the red pickup truck. Gone now. Whatever it is, it's on the move. My gut says it's trying to approach without detection. It's not human."

Merc curved a hand over her shoulder, thumb sliding along her collar bone. An intimate touch, but a brief one. "I'll go that way. Act casual. See if we can flush it out. Watch the midway and the gate."

"Got it."

He was gone. Clara was right. He was fast. Was he as fast as a full blood angel, like Marcellus? And how fast was that? Another question for later.

Waiting for the interloper to make itself known again was like watching for a diving cormorant to surface in a parking lot sized body of water. She changed position and increased the range and depth of all her senses, including her intuition, to determine where that bird's head might pop up.

Merc hadn't questioned her instincts. A nice thought.

Another whiff of that obscure scent, and she tried to isolate what it was. So faint, so faint…

Shit, it was past the gate. She made her way along the midway, feeling for whatever it was. It was close.

And it was getting closer to Clara's tent.

Unease shot up the base of her spine. This threat might have a target.

A roar came from the Big Top as the show kicked off, the reaction thrumming through her feet. Colorful lights speared the sky through the roof opening in the giant tent, a kaleidoscope of color.

No matter the limited audience size Yvette preferred, it was more than enough noise to cover someone who'd planned their incursion well.

If they weren't being tracked by a vampire on one side and an incubus angel on another.

It was taking a circuitous route, but she'd locked onto its trail and was sure of its goal. Yep. The fortune teller's tent.

It was cloaking itself in more than one way. When she finally had enough sensory input to identify it, she realized why. He knew he would be recognized.

A vampire.

Not just any vampire. Trad vampires had an unmistakable smell, like how dogs and wolves smelled differently. She'd never met one, but her father had described them in detail to her in her teens, because of the threat they posed to young female vampires.

Unease became cold anger, and her predator instincts went into killing mode. Within seconds, he would be aware of her presence, if he wasn't already. Her only advantage was if he thought his cloaking had kept him shielded. Even so, he was too close to his goal. Abandoning any pretense, she bolted toward Clara's tent.

It was a good decision.

Because the show had started, Clara was in the tent alone. When Ruth entered the front, a blade flashed as the vampire sliced an opening in the back and shoved through.

The fortune teller surged up from her table, trying to put it between her and the attacker.

The vampire threw a bolas at her. It whipped through the air, wrapping around her calves. When the balls hit her ankle bones, Clara cried out. As she fell, she grabbed at the table, clutching the blue cloth draped over it. A heavy crystal ball swirling with lights came tumbling off of the surface.

The move wasn't uncalculated. When she flipped over, despite the bolas's restraint, Clara had the crystal ball in her hands. She flung it at her unwelcome visitor.

Not enough force or speed behind it to do real damage, but he had to deflect it, which provided Ruth a vital distraction.

She noted a human-sized burlap sack at his belt, ready to conceal his human prisoner. Not happening.

Ruth launched herself, hitting the Trad with enough force to shove them back out the slit in the tent. When hard blue eyes turned her way, the Trad evaluated her age and strength in a heartbeat. He wasn't old, but he knew she was outmatched.

She didn't mind being underestimated. She dodged the strike of his fist at her throat, leaping back from the knife he drew. While the one she clutched was razor sharp steel, his was wooden. His thin-lipped smile showed dirty teeth and big fangs.

"Fledgling," he said, whipping the knife at her. She deflected it enough that it only grazed her shoulder, and spun under his guard to hit him mid body again. It rolled them farther from the tent. She stabbed him twice with her knife before he hit a pressure point and the weapon fell from nerveless fingers.

Fuck, she needed backup. If the Trad wasn't alone, a cohort could take Clara while Ruth was fighting him. She hadn't detected one, but with that cloaking spell, she couldn't rule it out.

The Trad lunged at her. Ruth blocked his next kick, turning into it and pushing him off balance. It was a sound tactic, but he regained his feet, clamped his hand on her forearm and thrust it at an awkward angle back toward her. His knife was rushing toward her chest. Ruth twisted hard to break his hold. Her bone snapped, but it saved her life, the wooden knife shoving into the right side of her chest, instead of into her heart.

She'd screamed when the bone gave, but rage was mixed with the pain. Despite having only one functional arm, she struck at the Trad with the other. She had no problem fighting in ways other vampires considered beneath their dignity. She stabbed a finger into his eye, rupturing it, and hooked a thumb into his mouth, trying to wrench his jaw loose from its hinge.

Now he was the one shrieking. He tried to pull back, get the knife loose and stab her again. She wouldn't be able to stop him, so she focused on breaking his jaw, wrapping her legs over his thighs, refusing to let him get away from her. The problem was him realizing the advantage that tactic gave him. He could crush her ribcage inside the band of his arms.

"Let go."

The snarled command didn't come from him. It penetrated her fury-filled mind, and she released her opponent, rolling away. The Trad was pulled off of her, a sweep of black and white wings obscuring her pain-blurred vision as Merc tossed him across the ground.

The Trad had taken the knife with him, the blade ripping more flesh, but leaving her heart intact. Before he stopped rolling, Merc was on him again. The Trad spat a curse, but then went curiously inert, holding the knife out to his side. He shot a contemptuous look at Ruth. Then smirked.

The Trad's arm shot up, and he jammed the wooden knife into his own chest. Merc hadn't anticipated a self-inflicted attack. Pale green smoke wafted from the Trad's open mouth, like fogged breath on a cold day.

" Merc, move back ," she shouted. "Everyone keep away."

That was for the other security personnel who'd arrived, It relieved Ruth of the worry about backup eyes on Clara, but not of her fear for Merc.

She struggled up, lunged across the ground, stumbling, but when she reached Merc, grasping his arm, trying to pull him back, it was too late.

Confusion gripped Merc's features. Then the whites of his eyes went full silver and he stiffened. His fangs shot forth, large, gleaming and deadly, and his attention locked upon her. Wild, hungry. Homicidal. She'd fallen onto her knees while gripping his arm, her other hand pressed to the wound in her chest.

Though she was far too close, no hope of outrunning him, she sat back on her ass, tried to stay non-threatening and move back from him slowly. His lip curled, a smirk way too close to the Trad's. He knew he had her and was just letting her think she could get away.

Nothing but violent, hungry predator was in his gaze. No empathy or awareness of her beyond something to tear apart and consume. Nothing she did or said would penetrate. But while he was tracking her futile retreat, he wasn't focused on anything else.

A familiar tremor went through the ground, a small earthquake. Her head whipped toward Marcellus. Since she knew where his attention would immediately go, she screamed to pull it toward her.

Just as the incubus charged for her.

Marcellus conjured a sword from the air. Fear spiked in Ruth's chest, giving extra strength to what she shrieked next.

"Hallucinogen."

Thank the Great Father, Marcellus understood. The sword disappeared. "Take care of Clara," he ordered, already in motion.

He and Merc met with an impact that should have broken bones. Merc had almost reached her, so that she covered her head and curled into a ball to protect herself as Marcellus straddled her, hanging onto the snarling, thrashing incubus. Their wings beat at one another like enraged roosters in a yard, the feathers whipping across her back and neck.

Then they were in the air. As she lifted her head, she saw Marcellus had his arms banded around Merc in a wrestling hold. A blink later, they were both gone.

Please don't hurt him. A crazy thought, with all the other things Ruth had to think about, but it was as strong as any other impulse she was having.

Dollar knelt by her. "Christ, what the hell was that? Has Merc finally lost it? Or was he working with them?"

She stared at him. No matter the years he'd been here, no one trusted Merc. Which meant it wasn't his home. Did he have any place that was?

"No," she said. "The Trad had an airborne hallucinogen capsule behind his fang. It's designed to fuck up whoever is right over them. It dissipates pretty fast, but I'd still wrap him up and let the sunlight have him after you examine his corpse."

"Fuck." Dollar barked a warning at the team members approaching the Trad. "Get something impermeable to put him in and stow him somewhere safe until the show is over. What are you doing?"

Ruth was struggling to her feet. She grabbed his arm to push herself to her feet. "Clara," she said.

Dollar didn't argue, a good sign for their future working relationship. He did keep his arm out to help her get back into Clara's tent faster, which Ruth supposed was evidence she looked a little rough at the moment.

The fortune teller was sitting with Zee, another woman on the security team. The bolas had been removed and Clara was sitting in her chair, rubbing her ankles. She gave Ruth a wan thumbs up. "Thank goodness my last client had left."

Ruth didn't think that was luck. This had been too well planned. Clara's expression was pale and tight, but also angry, a good sign. Her attention slid to Ruth's blood-soaked shirt. "Dollar, why the hell is she standing? Has Charlie been called?"

"I'm fine," Ruth told her. "I'm not human. Remember?"

"Yeah, but you still don't look so good," Dollar said. "An arm is not supposed to point that way. We should probably get it fixed, because it's making mine hurt just to look at it."

"Big baby," Ruth said between gritted teeth. The jibe earned a startled look, followed by grudging approval. "If I can get someone to set it, it will heal," she told him and Clara. "Did you ever have one of those dolls with moveable joints? It's like that."

"Yeah, but those dolls aren't in agonizing pain while their bones are shifted back into their proper place." Another member of the team had arrived, a man as big as Dollar. She'd met him during the security briefing. John Pierce, Medusa's mate. Like Dollar, the male was former special ops, and looked every inch of the warrior he was. He glanced at Zee. "Go get Charlie."

"No. I mean it." Ruth waved at him. "It's not the first time I've broken a bone. If Dollar's not going to bother Yvette about a Trad attack during the performance, I'm sure as hell not pulling away one of her key people to do something I can do for myself. One of you big, strong types can help me set the bone. If someone else can go grab me some blood, that would be great."

Dollar and JP exchanged a glance. "Do you two want to do rock, paper and scissors to see who has the balls to do it?" Ruth asked.

Zee hid a smile as Dollar cleared his throat. "I'm in charge, I'll handle it," he told JP. "Go take care of the body."

JP gave Ruth a steady look—another Dom, of course—but it was tinged with respect. When he departed, Dollar pointed Ruth to Clara's guest chair, which Zee set upright. As Ruth sat down, she told him how to set the bone.

At his dubious look, she added, "Have you ever done one of those online puzzles, where if you get the pieces lined up close enough, they pull together the right way? That's what vampire bones do. If I did absolutely nothing, one piece of the bone would eventually gravitate back toward the other one, until they met and fused on their own. It's excruciating, but vampires injured with no one around to help, their spines broken, have talked about how it happens."

"All I'm hearing is that it's going to hurt like a son of a bitch."

"It hurts that way right now. The smoother and quicker you do it, the better. If you stop and ask me if I'm okay, I might rip out your throat. Speaking of which, it would be really good to have that blood on the way."

Zee disappeared on that errand. Ruth could control her blood hunger to a certain point, but it was increasing, her body seeking the nourishment to augment the healing process.

Clara sat down next to her and gripped Ruth's hand, a kind offer of moral support, if entirely inadvisable.

"You okay?" Ruth asked. "I'm sorry I wasn't in time to keep him from getting into the tent. Stop looking at my arm or you're going to faint."

Clara gave her an exasperated look, though it was overshadowed with other concerns. "Marcellus?"

"Dealing with Merc." Ruth explained what had happened, and then disengaged her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "When Dollar does this, I might break all your fingers. Marcellus will kill the Circus's newest security hire."

"Oh. Forgot about that."

Ruth winked at her, then gripped the edge of the table. "Please stop dicking around and do it," she said in Dollar's general direction, as politely as possible.

He complied. It was like being struck by lightning, without the mercy of being knocked unconscious. Biting back the undignified scream didn't work, but she kept it to a muffled shriek behind clenched teeth—the enamel might have cracked—until she "felt" when the bones were aligned properly and could tell Dollar he was done.

He was sweating, a slight tremor in his hands. When she gave him a questioning look, he grunted. "First time I've had to do that to a slip of a girl."

"I can bench press you," she coughed. "Then hurl you halfway across the Big Top."

Crap. She shouldn't have said that word. She barely had time to grab a cauldron she sincerely hoped was a decorative prop before she threw up into it.

When she was done, Zee had returned. The woman sat two packets of blood on the table and withdrew a cloth rectangle from her slacks pocket. It was a tissue holder. As she offered Ruth one to wipe her mouth, Ruth noted the fabric was printed with cheerful ladybugs.

"I have allergies," she told Ruth. "Charlie made me the tissue holder. I like ladybugs." Her gaze shifted to Dollar. "I'd pay good money to see her do that bench press thing, boss."

Dollar had recovered enough of his aplomb to shoot her a you wish look. He watched Ruth closely as she probed the stab wound in her chest. It had clotted, and its healing would accelerate moderately when she had the blood.

When she started to reach for it, Dollar pushed it closer so she didn't have to aggravate her shoulder. "Do you want a sling for that?"

"I'm good. After I drink this, I can finish my shift tonight."

"There's such a thing as overkill when it comes to proving yourself," he noted grimly.

"I did ask for your help setting the fucking thing. See? I can be girly."

Though the residual pain was pounding through her body like the drum section of a high school band, she grinned at him. Having the arm back in its proper healing spot reduced the pain considerably, and being able to prove it with her banter, no matter how weak the delivery, eased some of his tension.

She was really worried about Merc. It would take time for the hallucinogen to wear off, but she reminded herself it would do so, and Marcellus was more than capable of looking after him. It replayed in her mind, the Trad coming back for that killing blow, Merc pulling him off of her just in time. Yes, that was his job. They worked together as a team to protect the Circus and each other's backs. But what stuck in her mind was what he'd snarled when he'd pulled the Trad off of her.

She wondered if he was aware he'd said it. It had been a guttural hiss, barely recognizable as speech, but her sensitive ears could detect the nuances of a cat's purr. Happy purr, sad purr, angry purr.

"She's mine."

"That's Charlie and Gundar's blood," Zee told Ruth. It made Ruth stop mid-swallow.

"Tell me you didn't take it from Yvette's stock without asking?"

Zee gave her an amused look. "Do I look like I have a death wish?"

"We had permission," Dollar interjected. "I sent Lady Yvette a brief status update over my second mark. She had Gundar intercept Zee with these packets."

The honor of the Circus owner's gesture was as rejuvenating as the blood itself. Ruth straightened in her chair.

"Yvette's still doing the Promenade at the end of the show, right?" Clara asked.

"Yeah, far as I know. I told her we had the situation contained for now, though there'll be a hell of a briefing after close-down tonight."

"Good. The Promenade's my favorite part. Will you feel up to it, Ruth? After you drink the blood?"

Ruth exchanged a look with Dollar. "If my boss is okay with me taking a few minutes, you can count on it." But she had a more serious question for Clara. "Was the Trad the one you saw in your vision?"

"No." Clara shook his head. "Probably someone doing his bidding."

"I believe there was more than one," Ruth told Dollar. "Fortunately, the second one was just a spotter. Kept his distance. Probably long gone." And returning to villain central to report a vampire was now active on the security team. Shit. But at least they knew it would be far harder to access Clara here.

Maddock or Yvette might be able to retool the spellwork that helped "hide" Clara at the Circus, but it wasn't likely they could fix the vision Trad's awareness of her presence here now.

"We have the rest of the team scouring the area around the Circus," Dollar said.

"After I finish the blood, I'll do the same. In case I detect something they can't." As Dollar looked undecided, Ruth pushed. "That's my job. Right? Let me do my job."

"That's my job if I say it's your job. Right?" When his gaze hardened on her, she swallowed back a kneejerk retort. "I have to assume you know your own limits, Ruth. A security team member who doesn't becomes the weakest link in a crisis. Understand?"

"I do."

"All right, then. Once you finish the blood, check the perimeter."

"Thank you. Seriously, Dollar, in the vampire world this is just Tuesday night. That's why we have accelerated healing and a high threshold for violence and stress."

"Like comic book characters," Clara said.

"Yeah, but are we the ones with lots of sex and pretty people, or the gritty, life sucks and then you die kind?" Zee asked wryly. "You know, the perpetually tortured and broody hero?"

"Ooh, those are usually the sexiest ones. Can we be both?" Clara asked.

Ruth chuckled, but her mind went back to Merc, her broody, sexy incubus. Please be all right.