Midian Unmade (23 page)

Manda smiled an honest smile, and Brigid managed a nervous one, seeming to melt on the spot.

“Thank you, Brigid,” Manda said. “I didn't know our next event.”

Brigid giggled. “Yeah. They're all kind of the same. Right?”

Manda kept her smile and nodded. “Yes.” She stepped forward and cupped Brigid's cheek, making her eyes widen and her smile fall away. Brigid's eyes wandered across Manda's pale thick lips and rose to the bottomless black of the sunglasses.

“Again,” said Manda, lowering her voice, “thank you.” Manda stepped back.

Brigid's cheeks flushed and she only managed an “uh-huh” before she slipped between the curtains and back to the front of the bus and the world of light.

“You're going to get us in trouble,” Ozlet said.

Manda killed the light with a tug of the chain and took off her sunglasses. “Don't worry, my love. I won't consume where I defecate,” she said, licking the sweet sting of pheromone and sweat from her fingers. Brigid
would
taste so good.

*   *   *

With the falling of the sun, Manda opened a curtain and dropped a window. Even parked behind the dark box of the curtained stage, the roar of the whining gears of spinning rides and their cacophonous music punctuated by some shrieking girl wound its way among the multitude of buses. She breathed deep, taking in the rain-cooled night air. In the east, the clouds had parted and the full moon hung above the horizon, shining like a welcoming friend. She smiled.

She stepped away and parted the two-piece couch, shoving the sections to the side. The heavy blanket that hid the door, she pulled aside.

“You ready?”

Ozlet shifted in his box, making a thump. “I'm always ready to get out of here.”

Manda dropped the sheer gypsy veil across her face, and with two hands, she pulled the lever across the stamped
EMERGENCY EXIT
, and flung the door open. A shadow of a wide-shouldered beast stood before her, its backlit bald head near level with hers. Manda gasped and startled back. Serge's deep staccato laugh filled the compartment.

“Did I scare you?” Serge's Russian accent turned “scare” into “scar.”

Her composure back, Manda lifted Ozlet's box to the edge of the door. “What do you want, Serge?” Hidden behind her veil, she eyed him with suspicion and disdain. Serge was nice and protective to the entire troupe—especially Brigid—except her and Ozlet, keeping his distance and whispering to others behind their backs. Manda had felt a touch of hatred and mistrust leak from his walled-off mind. And sometimes, fear. Fear could turn even the best into monsters.

Serge took a step back into the light. Nearing seven feet tall, his already small Speedo looked swallowed by his bulging muscles. Bald and without a single hair on his face, his oiled body glimmered and rippled in the light. His arms were covered in a menagerie of tattoos and his chest was a billboard for a large-typefaced
STRONGMAN
. Below that, great brass rings pierced his nipples.

“Oh, no need to feel scare for Sergy. I may be
Strongest Man in World
but I am gentle as puppy dog. I am good guy. I am only here to assist you with your little man.” He slapped the top of Ozlet's box a little too hard. “You okay in there, little Ozlet?”

“Hey,” cried Ozlet, “watch the ape hands there. You about deafened me.”

Manda set her hands flat on the box, holding it in place. “You never help us, Serge. What is it you want?”

Serge smiled without kindness. Brigid bounced out from behind his broad torso and waved.

“Sorry! It was me. I talked him into it. I just hate seeing you lug that b … I mean,
carry
Ozlet around all the time.”

Manda moved around the box, her skirt rising up as she made the long step to the ground. Both Brigid and Serge eyed the long perfect lines of her pale legs before her skirt fell to her feet.

“We have done well this far,” Manda said, turning her back to them and reaching for Ozlet's box. “And we will continue to do so.”

Brigid slapped Serge's arm and he stepped forward, brushing Manda aside. He lifted the box as if it were empty cardboard and set it down with a
thud
. Ozlet made a muffled curse. Serge patted the box as if it were a tender kitten.

“Sorry little man.”

“Yeah, right. Why don't you keep your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape.”

Serge laughed too loud. “That is from movie
Planet of Apes
. Very clever.” Serge's face fell to a grim menace. “For so small a man you have funny stinging mouth.”

A high-pitched chuckle came from inside the box and the curtains barely parted. “Please disregard the warning on the side of the box, Serge. Let's touch and let me get to know you.”

An uncertain smile passed across Serge's lips, and he glanced at Brigid then looked into the darkness of Manda's veil. He grunted and waved a dismissive hand.

“Enough,” Manda said, and pulled a lever at the back of the box. It lifted on four worn rubber wheels. Her faceless veil turned to Serge and he stepped back, letting her roll the box forward and close the exit door.

“Thank you, Serge. I'm sure you've done quite enough for now.” She turned to Brigid, who stood frozen in her faceless sight. “What way to our tent?”

“Oh yeah, let me show you.” They left the scowling Serge behind as Brigid led them down the side of the bus, its side painted in broad carny colors declaring
WILD WILL'S FANTASTICAL FREAKS
, and into the maze of buses and trailers.

*   *   *

Even through the multilayers of hanging blankets in the tent, the thundering guitars and drums pounded into her sacred place. They had listened to the cheers from the outdoor venue as Wild Will, Master of Freaks, introduced the show's acts one after another, then the
oohs
and
aahs
and shocked moans as they performed: Serge the Strongman; Billy Blockhead; the Illustrated Hootchie; Black Saber, Man of Knives; Snake Girl and the Hypnotic Haboob; Dom, Whip Master; Chainsaw Cherri; Rubber Woman; Deep Throat; and the Girl That Plays with Fire. While they performed, Amanda performed too, without enthusiasm, reading the mundane pasts and sorry futures of the giggling, stoned young and debauched. When the music started, the customers ended.

Manda sat at her round, velvet-covered table staring into the glass orb at the table's center, idly shuffling her tarot cards. The single, handkerchief-covered lightbulb overhead spotted the crystal ball and splashed muted colors on the curtain walls. The smoke of incense layered flat above the bulb, turning in psychedelic swirls. She reached beneath her veil and scratched her nose. The emptiness she felt was not in her stomach, but in her loins and blood.

“I'm hungry,” she said.

From behind her, Ozlet's box (its side stenciled
WARNING: DO NOT INSERT HAND BEYOND CURTAIN
) sat on a shadowed table. Ozlet said, “Me, too. I can smell those deep-fried Twinkies from a mile away. Driving me crazy.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Breathe, my love. It will pass. And remember the law of Midian.”

She moved to turn to him, to chastise him for holding on to the past, and that burned dream. But she stopped, and laid the cards on the table.

“Midian fell and the law with it. I am free to do as I please now.” She laughed without humor. “
Free.
”

Ozlet let out a long sigh. “I've noticed.”

From the distant stage, a power chord thundered and a demon-voiced singer screamed.

The entrance curtains moved, and in slipped the Girl That Plays with Fire.

“Busy?” She stepped in, hands held demurely behind her back. The hanging smoke parted and banked down in curls. She still wore her act costume: spiked high heels, torn and singed fishnet stockings barely held by frayed garters, silk panties that dipped far below her bared belly, and the nearly sheer red and black bra that lifted her breasts to a faux cleavage. The front of her panties held a grinning, flaming skull.

Manda smiled behind her veil and slipped her hands beneath the table to slide up and down her thighs as her legs parted ever so slightly.

“Not at all, my dear. How did your performance go? Amaze everyone with your fiery delights?”

Brigid giggled and Ozlet audibly sighed.

“Yeah, they loved me. I kind of pushed it tonight. Left the fire on a little too long in spots.” She lifted a corner of the handkerchief to light her. She slid a pointed finger across her breasts and belly, tracing the bright red paths that marked the dragging fire.

Another fire lit between Manda's legs. Blood rushed and cried out in her veins. She leaned closer.

“Oh, my. Doesn't it hurt?”

“Hell no. Feels good, really. But I did kind of go too far here.” She lifted each leg in turn, showing the deep red glow where fire met the skin of her inner thighs. Brigid rubbed at the minor burn as if she were putting out a flame.

“Crazy, huh?”

Dare I? She is so strange and beautiful and so willing …

“Indeed.” Manda almost moaned. “But there's nothing wrong with pushing boundaries. Am I right?”

Brigid dropped her leg and dragged the tip of her finger across the smooth table cover. She grinned.

“‘Pushing boundaries' is my mantra.”

A sound of disgust came from Ozlet's box. “That's not a mantra. That's more of a philosophy. Not a healthy one at that.” Ozlet's warning did not pass Manda by.

Manda lifted a dismissive hand. “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.” She stood and moved to pull the opposite chair around the table.

“You know, I have never read you in all the time we've known each other. Would you like that, Brigid?”

Brigid smiled and clapped her hands and sat right down.

“Please, please.”

Manda sat and reached out, clasping Brigid's hands in hers.

Brigid said, “Don't you need your cards?”

“Oh, no. That's just for the rubes. You get the real thing.”

The girl's eyes went wide and she gripped Manda's long fingers. “Oh, wow.”

Manda slipped forward in her chair, letting their knees touch. Brigid sighed.

“Quiet now,” Manda said, her voice lowering. “Breathe easy and relax.”

Manda closed her eyes and the images came rushing in. She spoke softly, careful not to react, telling Brigid of her torn past: the drunken father, the brutality of her mother's beatings at his hand, the dark shadow that entered her bedroom night after night, his wandering hands across her body and the pain as he lay atop her and entered her again and again, moaning and sweating; her mother turning away in silence, silent until he abandoned them, and silent still. Her high-school Goth years and the gang rape at a drug-fueled party as she lay incoherent and helpless. The cutting. The drugs. The burning of the school. The attempted suicide. Her running away and life on the streets. All laid out in Manda's dispassionate voice. Only when she heard Brigid's sobs did she break away, letting the brutal imagery fall away.

Manda pulled closer and cupped the girl's tear-strewn face. Tears streamed between her fingers and down the back of her hands.

“Oh, my dear girl. Such a sad life. So brutal and unjust. You are so strong … and tender.”

Brigid gripped Manda's arms, and looked into the veil, searching for Manda's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Brigid sobbed, “so sorry. I didn't mean to break down like this. Let you see me like this.”

Manda petted her cheek. “No, no, no. It's okay. You must cry. To let it all go and flow away with your tears. It will all be okay. I not only tell the past, but the future, too.”

Her head tilting down, Manda took a hand away from Brigid's cheek and started to lift her veil. Far away a great calamity of thudding music and howling vocals rose with the cheers of the crowd.

Ozlet's voice went unheard. “Manda. Don't.”

Brigid's eyes cleared and she stared into Manda's eyes. “What? Am I going to be okay? Am I going to die? What?”

Manda swept the veil over her head, revealing her quivering red-lipped smile. “No death for you, just bliss.”

Brigid moaned in and out in a rush of breath as she stared into the mirrored pupils of one of the Nightbreed. Manda leaned in and pressed her lips to the girl's, sucking at her breath. As Brigid went near limp, her arms wrapped around Manda's neck as if she was drowning and feared sinking. With a quick sweep of her arms, Manda pulled her to the floor, pressing her body, parting Brigid's legs with her knee, her hand passing across breasts and belly and diving beneath the flaming skull. With mouth wide, Manda sucked in the eternal, life-animating force of the living. Her fingers massaged and dived between Brigid's legs, making the life force expand uncontrollably into her mouth and lungs, feeling it flow and burn into her cells, making Manda squirm and sending her to near orgasm.

They rolled on the floor and moaned.

“What the hell are you doing?” Serge stood above them, yelling above the musical din. He kicked Manda hard in her ribs, sending her sprawling and gasping to her back. Brigid moved as if drugged, trying to lift her head, eyes rolling into her head. Her skin was sickly pale and her lips blue. She gasped.

“No, no. Don't stop. Don't—”

With one hand, Serge threw the table aside with a splintering crash. The glass globe flew and slammed into Ozlet's box, toppling it to the floor.

Manda pressed a hand against her ribs and sat up, screaming. She turned her mirrored eyes to Serge and hissed. He took a shocked step back.

Grinning wide, Manda slung her hair back, pulled up her skirt, and spread her legs. She was too far gone and her hunger burned as a fire that needed quenching. Serge's eyes fell to her parted cunt and her glistening wetness.

“Come,
strong man,
” Manda said, her voice turning velvet. “Take what you've wanted since you laid eyes on me. Come feed your lust. Come and
fuck
me.”