Colt winks, then cuts through the night faster than my brain can process. His form is a blur, moving from trailer to trailer. Within seconds he’s back, barely out of breath, his hair still in place.
“The last trailer is different from the rest. Smells like herbs. Not the cooking kind,” he informs us.
Lacey sets him with a beatific smile. Grayson and I only fall in line, refusing to acknowledge each other
I glance sideways at him and although he doesn’t turn, he shakes his head. I hate the tears brimming in the corners of my eyes.
This trailer does smell different from the rest.
Even with my nose raw and aching, my bellowing lungs, my overwhelmed senses, there’s a change in the air around it. A pulse of magic. It’s impossible to miss once you’ve gotten a feel for it.
Decorative rungs line the side of the steep steps leading up to a circular door decorated in gingerbread patterns. The spikes of painted flowers and arches, arrows and moons, bleed together in an ominous welcome.
From the outside it looks like a colorful version of a Romani caravan plucked from history.
I catch Grayson’s eye before he climbs the steps, jerking his head to get me to hurry up and follow him. His knuckles poise in the air above a crimson red poppy north of the handle.
This is going to be one hell of a surprise to the shaman.
With only minutes left before the show, and Lacey and Colt keeping a lookout to make sure none of the vamps who run this place surprise us, Grayson knocks.
The door swings open before he makes contact a second time and we exchange glances.
“Hello.” A soft voice greets us, stealing the words from my mouth. Like our visit was expected all along. “Come inside.”
Grayson and I step into the caravan and the door swings shut behind us, surrounding us in a world of pink.
I can’t get the world to stop spinning in a tornado of blush and rose, flamingo and bubblegum. Acid climbs up my throat and Grayson’s’ fingers on the small of my back are the only thing grounding me.
A young girl sits cross legged on a bed of peony sheets and soft ruby blankets. Blonde hair curls over her shoulders, half of it pinned to her head, the other half left loose and wild.
Ruffles on her dress bunch like blossoms, accentuating her curves.
“Where are the shrunken heads?” Grayson is the first to break the tension.
I have the same thought.
The girl laughs She is young, probably around fourteen, fifteen. Younger than us in any case.
“I know, right? It’s the kind of thing you expect. Like I should have normal shrunken heads and bones everywhere, but isn’t this nicer?” she scolds. “It’s so cute and peaceful.”
A raspy meow sounds from around our feet before a fat white cat jumps onto the bed beside the girl.
“Isn’t it so cute? Yes it is,” the girl coos to the animal. Finally, she drags her gaze away from the fluffy beast and sets it on us. “I’d prefer your friends to join us…”
A ripple of unease pulses across my chest.
The strange ringing in my ears grows louder as the door opens and Colt and Lacey stumble into the caravan, forced by magic. It ripples in the air, the room spinning with it.
Grayson keeps hold of me as Colt steps in front of Lacey to protect her.
The shaman is saying something but I can’t hear what it is. I stare at her, the cat, the floor, until the ringing subsides.
“How can I help you?”
None of this is what I expect, and the scent of rose water and frankincense are strong in the air, smoke billowing from an abalone shell filled with incense. Dizzy, I lean to the side, almost knocking into a waterfall of rose quartz crystals hanging like a windchime.
“We must have the wrong trailer. We’re looking for the shaman.” Grayson recovers faster than I do. I have to give him credit.