Page 26 of Carnival’s Playground

Dutch's radio roars back instantly. "Petey, hold your position! Do not pursue! Wyatt, Avery, move!"

"On our way," I bark into the radio, shoving it back onto my belt.

I grab Avery by the hand, hauling her to her feet in the narrow corridor. Her face is pale, but her eyes are blazing with pure, lethal determination. She grips her heavy metal flashlight like a weapon, her jaw set like iron.

"You ready for this, spitfire?" I roughly ask, pulling her toward the exit flap.

"I am ready to put this bastard in the dirt," she fiercely growls, matching my stride as we burst out into the blinding Texas sunlight, running full-tilt toward the western perimeter where the shadows are finally starting to show their teeth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AVERY

The west fence sits at the far edge of the grounds, past the animal trailers and the row of generators we’ve already picked apart twice today, right where the tree line presses in close enough to throw shade over the chain link even at midmorning. My stomach’s been in knots since we left the equipment shed, and the tighter the distance closes, the worse it gets.

Petey’s standing there when we arrive, one hand braced on a fence post, the other holding his radio like he’s forgotten he’s still gripping it. His face is pale, mouth pressed into a thin line that tells me whatever he’s found isn’t good.

"What’ve you got?" Carnival asks, voice already tight, braced for bad news.

"Cut through," Petey answers, pointing at a section of fence low to the ground, where the links have been snipped clean and pulled back just wide enough for a person to crawl through. His hand shakes slightly when he gestures. "Found it when I came out to check the tree line for downed branches. It wasn't like this yesterday."

"You’re sure?" Dutch demands, crouching to run his fingers along the cut edges.

"I walked this exact fence line yesterday afternoon," Petey insists, jaw tight, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "It was solid. I would’ve noticed a hole big enough for a body to crawl through."

"Prepared for what?" Dutch pushes up to his feet, eyes raking the shadows of the tree line as if he expects to catch someone crouched in the brush. "They came to cut a fence, or did they come for something else?"

"Maybe they’re just watching and biding their time," I mutter, trying to hide the fact that my voice is wobbling, but everybody hears the terror in it anyway. The words taste bitter rolling off my tongue, and my skin crawls with the thought of someone standing right here, eyes on us, on me, while we worked. "This spot’s got a clear view of the equipment yard and half the big top. Somebody standing right here could see everything we’ve been doing all week."

"Fuck," Petey mutters under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at the fence.

"That’s about the gist of it," Carnival agrees, standing to get a better angle on the tree line, hands braced on his hips. His shoulders are rigid, tension radiating off him in waves.

Dutch pulls out his phone, snapping pictures of the cut fence from three different angles before crouching again to examine the dirt just past the opening. His movements are sharp, angry, controlled only by years of practice keeping his temper in check. "The ground's soft here. Might’ve left something."

I step in to help him, careful where I place my boots, trying to focus on the task instead of the sick feeling spreading through my chest. That’s when I see it, half buried in the mud just inside the tree line where the shade keeps everything damp longer than the rest of the yard. My breath catches. "Hang on," I say, pointing with a hand that’s not quite steady. "There. By the root."

Carnival’s already moving, crouching beside the spot, and he pulls a folded scrap of paper free from where it’s wedged against a tree root, mud clinging to one corner. He unfolds it carefully, and I lean in close enough to read it over his shoulder, close enough to feel the heat coming off him, grounding me when everything else feels like it’s tilting sideways.

"What is it?" Dutch demands, already reaching for it.

"Business card," Carnival answers, turning it so the weak morning light catches the print. "Water damaged, but readable."

I take it from him, careful with the soggy edges, squinting at the smeared ink. The name still holds, black letters over a faded logo shaped like a ringmaster’s top hat. My stomach drops. "Vesper Crow Traveling Circus," I read aloud, and something cold settles low in my gut. "There’s a handwritten name on the back."

"Read it," Dutch orders, his voice sharp and all business.

"Rourke," I say, squinting at the scrawled letters. My voice comes out thinner than I want it to. "That’s it. Just the name."

"Vesper Crow," Petey repeats it like the words taste bad in his mouth, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Aren’t they the outfit that got shut out of the last three towns on this circuit? Heard they lost their permits for safety violations."

"Heard the same thing," Carnival confirms, taking the card back from me to look at it again, turning it over like the answer might be hiding somewhere he hasn’t checked yet. His jaw’s tight, muscle jumping near his ear. "Heard they were pissed about it too. Blamed the city inspectors, blamed bad luck, blamed everybody except themselves."

"You think Vesper Crow is trying to sabotage us?" I ask, and even saying it out loud sounds insane, but nothing about this week has made much sense anyway. My hands are cold despite the morning sun, and I shove them into my jacket pockets to hide the tremor.

"I think somebody connected to them was standing right here on our dirt," Dutch states, gesturing with a heavy hand at the severed chain link, at the churned mud, at the entire goddamn mess laid out before us. His voice is rough, anger barely leashed. "And there’s not a single chance in hell that this is a coincidence."

"Grimwood Crossing is a tiny circuit stop," Carnival adds, flipping that plastic-coated card between his calloused fingers one last time before shoving it deep into his jacket pocket. "If Vesper Crow lost their slot here and Dutch locked down the extended permit through Halloween, that’s more than enough fuel for a grudge."