House of Mirrors by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon Page B

chills.”
    Rafe clapped his hands together. “There you go. Your niche discovered, Talbot. You can develop your dramatic flare while earning your keep. I suppose it’s time I started paying you with more than food and a bedroll. Now it’s time to open the gates, lads and lasses. Let’s go.”
    Rafe stalked away with a dramatic swirl of his cape. His showman’s outfit made him a larger-than-life, romantic figure, someone for women to swoon over and men to imagine themselves being. Even in the late June heat, his appearance remained cool and intriguing. No one, especially Jonah, could take their eyes off him when he walked by.
    Another carnival day began with first a trickle and later a stream of customers through the gates. Jonah began the day calling for the freak show, but customers weren’t too interested in what he was promoting. After a bit, he traded off with Jones, one of the rousties, and took a turn at the House of Mirrors. For some reason that was an easy sell, attracting customers like bees to pollen. Maybe it was the idea of entering another world and perhaps seeing one’s future in the mirrors. Jonah did his best to infuse his spiel with as much magic and mystery as Rafe had on the first night he’d seen him. He almost began to believe himself when he told about the amazing world within the wagon.
    After a desultory flow of traffic early in the day, the carnival came to life in late evening, when lanterns created more illusion of a magical place. Jonah’s voice was hoarse and his throat sore when Jack Treanor finally came to spell him.
    “Go see Parinsky,” the clown ordered as he commandeered Jonah’s money apron. The pouch was heavy with coins from the day’s collection, and Jonah didn’t like surrendering the belt to Treanor. He didn’t trust the man, who was quick with a joke and a laugh but had cold, calculating eyes.
    Jonah located Parinsky near the hoochie-coochie tent, only to learn he was being demoted to janitor. “Kid puked by the lion’s cage. Go clean it up.”
    Swallowing his irritation, Jonah went to find a bucket and shovel. It was a task any of the rousties could’ve performed. He wondered if Parinsky had chosen him because the doctor didn’t like the newcomer’s suddenly elevated position. The odor of Sir Lancelot’s rank, feline piss had Jonah’s eyes watering as he scooped dirt and vomit into the pail.
    The cat stared at him with golden eyes, opened his mouth, and yawned, exhibiting his few remaining teeth. Lancelot’s breath rumbled in his chest—either a purr or asthma.
    Jonah saluted the beast. “You get bored in there, big fella? I bet you’d love to get out and run around once in a while. Not much of a life, stuck in a cage, is it? I know exactly what you’re feeling, but I was lucky enough to get away.”
    He retreated from the tent, gasping. After taking care of the bucket, he meandered down the midway, listening to the calls of barkers and the excited chatter of people enjoying rare entertainment. This carnival might not be top-notch, but it was a breath of fresh air to hardworking people whose lives were caught between weekday drudge and Sunday prayer meetings.
    By the time Jonah stopped by the chuck wagon and finished eating a bowl of stew, Rafe had blown the last call. The customers drifted away, leaving litter and quiet in their wake.
    Jonah caught a glimpse of Rafe’s tall, gaunt figure walking briskly from one tent to another far down the row, and his tiredness evaporated. There were much better ways to relax than going to sleep. Since that night—two weeks ago now—when he and Rafe had gotten together by the horse paddock, things had changed. When they grasped their precious minutes each day, neither pretended it would be the last time. Without discussing the change, both understood their meetings would continue.
    Jonah had stopped questioning whether Rafe cared for him at all. He only knew that he must have a taste of the man every single