The Circus Crown

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

Kenna was on her third protein bar by the time he looked away from the TV. She ripped open the package and shoved half of it into her mouth at once. It may as well have been caviar by the look on her face. Pure satisfaction. She rolled her eyes with glee and dramatically chewed the strawberry-flavored snack.

When she came up for air, Dakota smiled. “Hungry?”

“Always.” She consumed the other half just as quickly and efficiently. The discarded wrappers sat around her like fallen soldiers lying on a battlefield of ugly green and red plaid. The couch had seen better days. “I could eat the whole box if I wanted to.” She eyed the multi-colored cardboard container. Biting into her lip, “I might.”

“I still don’t know how you fit all that food in you.” Ken was actually shorter than Dakota, and it seemed she’d finished growing, at least in height.

Ken shrugged. “A warrior’s gotta eat.”

He reached into a backpack, still full from their last mission. Producing an apple, he tossed it to her. “Well, the warrior can at least cut it out with that junk for a while.”

She narrowed her eyes at the fruit but eventually took a bite.

Dakota turned back to the television, which, of course, displayed a news channel. They always had the news on. There were so many reports of strange events. Whole towns disappearing. Monsters in the night. Water on fire. Weather out of control. No way to tell which ones were real and which were the product of some lonely person’s imagination as they looked for their fifteen minutes of fame. All the stories were taken seriously now. And not just stuff that could easily be a talisman. UFOs, ghosts, vampires, etc. Hell, last week, they had a little girl who swore she encountered a unicorn. In a world of proven magic, reporters took every crazy story seriously.

It was a s**t show, to say the least.

He had to wade through two hours of crap to finally get to the story he wanted. Tornadoes acting strangely. To both their delight, Dakota and Ken made the right call when it came to Lovington. After the funnel “miraculously” dispersed before hitting the town, no new twisters formed. But they were out of luck when it came to more information. It seemed the journalists knew about as much as the two of them did, including that there were other towns that hadn’t been as fortunate. And they correctly assigned the issue to a “stone-like device,” or SLD. It was the standard mainstream terminology for talismans.

Even people who believed it was magic knew how ridiculous it sounded. And it seemed like most of the talking heads and investigative writers understood that this amounted to far more than mere “devices.” Technology had nothing to do with it. Why else would they entertain conspiracy theories, mythological creatures, and story-time fantasies? Because, to them, anything was possible now. They just hid the truth behind couched language, thinly veiling it for the sake of retaining normalcy.

Their interest and acceptance in a magical world were both helpful and frustrating. They saw coincidences where there were none, spoke at length about nonsense, and brought forth a conga line of idiots to speak on a subject they barely understood, if at all. At times, however, the uninitiated newscasters and steel-hearted columnists got something right. A real lead—identified as such by the reporters themselves—unlike in the past where they had something but didn’t realize it. These particular stories, unsurprisingly, had a tendency to resolve themselves after the group caught wind of them.

The constant coverage, with new information and voices pouring in practically every minute, also helped Dakota and his colleagues to follow the efforts of governments and politicians, from local to international, non-profits and charity groups, militias, and wealthy citizens in their attempts to control, become involved in, or fight talisman usage. They only got a small picture, but it was enough to identify a few low-risk targets.

Every now and then, he recognized a familiar face. Agent-turned-DHS-Head Liliana Cortez. In under a year, her little office, which specialized in the unusual and dangerous, consumed the whole department. It now tackled the strange events out in the open. She was occasionally called upon to comment on a new event, and she would either confirm or deny its validity. Usually deny. She assured the public that the matter would soon be under control, that it was a top priority, and that they needn’t worry. Most were isolated events. The whole thing had been overblown by the media. Blah blah blah.

Cortez looked straight into the camera when she talked, often surrounded by a bunch of her cronies. And she lied. Over and over. When a problem disappeared—because Dakota and Ken had personally taken care of it—half the time she took credit. The other half? It was just a natural or man-made disaster. They did happen, every once in a while, after all. Please send prayers to the victims.

She looked relatively uncomfortable in the spotlight. Fidgety. Stiff. Anyone could tell, though, that she was a mover and shaker—that she actually got things done. Seeing her on TV probably comforted the increasingly frightened public. But in truth, it amounted to little more than song and dance. As far as Dakota could tell, her office and department still didn’t know how to use talismans, or, if they did, they hadn’t, yet. And very little else could be utilized to stop weaponized ones except maybe shelling the target. Some off-shore military actions could be suspect, but the government sure as hell was not bombing its own people and land. He didn’t want to see the day come if and when they decided to do so.

It both angered and interested Dakota to see her. Knowing how she started and how far she’d come. Knowing that if the feds ever got their act together, Cortez could be a real risk to him and the group. He watched as much to hear the woman dodge questions from reporters as to keep tabs on her. Dakota didn’t make any more calls to DHS. It felt too dangerous now. If he created a mess, he simply left it. The public knew enough by now. There was no point in hiding the aftermath of a successful mission.

As the news station rolled an older clip of Cortez talking about how she thought the stone-like devices did not originate in the U.S.—and thus perhaps the American people should look beyond its shores, as in blame another country—Dakota let out a big sigh. “All she’s gonna do is start another war.”

Kenna nodded. “She thinks it’ll take some of the heat off, so people don’t start blaming our own government. It’s desperate.”

Agreed. And a very bad sign. She was throwing in the towel. Not only did DHS have little control over the problem, but it was quickly losing the trust of normal people, too. A government without a society willing to depend on it could govern no one.

“It won’t help,” he confirmed.

The girl pushed her box of snacks away, the conversation having stolen her perpetual appetite. “She knows. You can see it in her eyes. This is gonna get bad in a hurry, and she knows it. It’s gonna get really bad.”

With a little stretching, Dakota reached over and patted Ken on her arm. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”

The look on her face said she didn’t believe they were really making any progress. But Ken stayed quiet. Her attention returned to the old TV, and her jaw clenched. Whatever passed through her mind, Dakota couldn’t guess. He decided to drop the subject. This “End of Days” talk wasn’t new, but it still disheartened him, even despite everything they faced. He honestly didn’t want to hear it, no matter how probable that future might be.