The Circus Crown

Introduction

Introduction

Dakota

It’s not gonna hold, he thought, tying a fourth knot. f**k, it’s not gonna hold.

But they were out of time. Dakota latched the tenuous cords to their belts. Each had a mountain-climbing-grade karabiner made of heavy-duty pressed steel. The locks would stay tight until the moment the pair needed to flee, whereupon they could disconnect quickly. The ropes were orange nylon—the same kind local firefighters used. Both would easily support their weight. He wasn’t worried about their gear.

The farm’s fence, however, looked to be older that he was. Split and dried wood constituted the posts, which, at most, went about two feet into the dusty ground. Between each one lay nothing more than two strings of loose barbed wire. Dakota held no confidence that it would weather the storm.

But they couldn’t locate anything else on such short notice. The only saving grace was that Ken had managed to find the gate, which seemed slightly newer and had been reinforced with cement to keep it grounded. Still, if the reports could be trusted, whole buildings would not withstand the monstrous whirlwind headed their way. In fact, the small city behind them might be gone by sunset.

Lovington, New Mexico. Population? Just short of 13,000. Thirteen thousand people who were desperately clamoring to their garden cellars, basements, or any other place they could hope to be safe. Thirteen thousand who didn’t know that this wasn’t a regular storm, who didn’t understand that they would fare better if they got in their cars and took off. Who didn’t know that this city, for some reason, was a specific target.

It had to be. The magically created tornado didn’t follow normal weather patterns. It didn’t move like any other run of the mill, life-destroying storm. In fact, a few miles down the road, it had turned on a dime, in a perfect ninety-degree change in path—so that it could hit Lovington head-on.

Why? The two of them had no idea. But this wasn’t the first town to end up in the sights of whoever had the powerful twister-maker. There were two near Atlanta, one in Kansas, and possibly hundreds of other unsubstantiated events crossing several years’ worth of time. Whoever had the tornado talisman would drop in out of nowhere, destroy some poor place, and then disappear before anyone even caught on that it wasn’t just a natural disaster. While Adelaide and her crew had identified the problem ages ago, they couldn’t pin down the bastard. It was by absolute chance that the father-daughter partnership ended up here, and they weren’t exactly thrilled about it.

They finished a case the night before, in Roswell of all places, which sat relatively nearby. Basic scenario? A wealthy inhabitant had procured a relatively powerful talisman at a regional auction. The old fucker didn’t know how to use it—and thus defended himself against anyone who knew about the sale—but he did understand, on some level, what it was. He’d paid a pretty penny for it, and, needless to say, he wasn’t inclined to just hand it over.

But they couldn’t let the guy keep it either, since it would get him murdered or prove dangerous to other people. The magic rock could turn anything made of wood into stone. Houses, decks, floors, furniture, objects, trees—you name it. There were a thousand ways something like that could accidentally kill a person, so while the man was a low-level threat, he needed to be dealt with.

The old oil baron was a complete and total prick, but he’d done nothing to warrant execution. He wasn’t a fighter. He was a rich collector who wanted in on the talisman game. Or perhaps he worried his piles of cash and expensive things would be threatened if and when the real soldiers ended up at his door. Maybe he bought it for defense.

Whatever the reason, Ken and Dakota spent more than a week attempting the closest thing to a jewel heist that they’d ever accomplished. They broke into the guy’s house from a rooftop window, and Ken dangled down on a rope to retrieve the necklace, which sat relatively unprotected on the mantle. No one was the wiser. No one got hurt, and they had the talisman. They would check in on him in a few months to see if he tried to hunt down any more crystals.

On their way back to their temporary home in Rapid City, they got the call. A safe house underling who had a tendency to watch the news.

Tornado sighted in southeastern New Mexico. Acting erratically. No known storm activity in the area or unusually strong winds. Just a big, dusty twister that started at the side of a highway and proceeded in a guided trajectory toward Lovington. On an otherwise sunny day.

They were pretty far north already, on Route Two-Eighty-Five, but they double-timed it to the safe house in question in Artesia—to pick up a very important weapon against the attacker. It took extra time, even though they were only at the house for a minute or so, but there was no point in trying to fight this wannabe weatherman without the pit stop.

By the time they did reach the outskirts of Lovington, Dakota and Kenna needed to make a choice. Try and save the town or kill the person behind the deadly onslaught. But since they didn’t know where the guy could be found, what else he might have at his disposal, and whether or not he could summon more than one tornado at the same time, the two of them chose the former. Thirteen thousand was a lot of people. They couldn’t just walk away in favor of a wild goose chase for a person they knew nothing about and wouldn’t immediately recognize.

So, here they were, tied to a fence with the rope meant to steal a necklace. Exhausted and desperate from the long case, Dakota raised his hand toward the swirling mass of dust and debris, and he readied himself against the strengthening winds.

Their plan was questionable at best. He kept Ken a step or so behind him and insisted that she play no part in this particular showdown. Instead, she would lean against the gate, holding on with one hand. And with the other—at all costs—Ken would keep a hold of Dakota’s free arm, skin against skin. Not for emotional support. She required none. In the face of danger, she approached it with excitement. No, it was entirely a defensive tactic. His protective crystal would only provide relative safety against the tornado if she maintained a grip on him.

As for the flying rocks and unidentifiable projectiles? Those wouldn’t be part of the equation. Both of them were completely vulnerable to anything that flew their way. They would have to stop the twister as quickly as possible to avoid getting injured or killed—or rely entirely on luck.

“Cover your face!” he ordered as the tornado came into view. Both had donned sunglasses in lieu of goggles to help fight off some of the dust, but breathing it could be just as dangerous and painful. Dakota already had a bandana tied around his nose and mouth, but Kenna had kept her scarf down, citing difficulty speaking.

She didn’t need to talk now, anyway. She just had to hold on. Like a good assistant, she wisely listened to him.

With at least the security of her lungs temporarily assured, Dakota turned his full attention back to the storm. He tried to keep his arm steady. “Ba’reck eta ma!” he screamed over the roaring wind.

The tornado took an immediate hit. Now in full view, the funnel looked like it received a punch to its midsection, jolting backward and losing some of its smooth, dusty exterior. It bent over like a man in pain before righting itself again. Thought it spun in place for a few moments, the monstrosity began advancing once more.

His eyes watered, and his voice shook as violently as his extended arm. But he did not relent. A normal tornado may have been destroyed by one magic attack, but since this was a case of two talismans fighting each other, Dakota imagined that it might take a lot more effort. Whatever. He was determined to save this town, even though they might never know that anyone went to bat for them.

“Ma!” he yelled past cloth, dust, and all the debris. For effect—and to help focus his mind—Dakota lurched his body forward slightly, trying to will the magic into doing its job. He pictured it as a large knife or sword, cutting into the thing like any other enemy. “Ba’reck ma!” he fought the storm. “Ma!”

It convulsed. The movements became erratic, and it almost seemed like pieces of the thing fell off. In reality, he was disrupting the wind somehow, blocking it like a wall or neutralizing it in blotches. A tornado, the way he understood it, was just swirling air, sucking up whatever it got close to and then tossing out things at random. While this particular one had been crafted by an actual person, the basic tenants remained the same. It was just wind, he told himself. And his newest talisman was tailored to fight twisters.

He could only hope it was as strong, or stronger, than the stone that created this storm in the first place.

Dakota didn’t wait for the tornado to recover. He shoved again and again, screaming the evocation at the top of his lungs. Coughing from the dust and strain on his vocal cords, he pushed past the pain and silently hoped he could rip the funnel to shreds.

The fifteen-year-old buried her face in his back. It was an unusual sign of weakness or maybe even fear. While she kept one hand clenched on his arm, the other went to his opposite shoulder, as though she thought that if she just hid behind him, the storm could not hurt her. Did she really believe in his abilities that much? Could she not feel him trembling? Couldn’t she see how weak he was?

Maybe Ken had no other choice. He was the only form of protection in her life other than herself. Sure, she had a big gun, a s**t ton of fighting skills that Dakota could only begin to understand, and a hoard of magical necklaces of her own. But when it came down to it? When they faced something as big and horrifying as a giant tornado made of dust and destruction? The only comfort was her dad. Even after a year of working together. After everything, she still needed him. Still felt like he was indestructible. Still found comfort in his abilities, what little he actually had.

It acted as a boost to his confidence, though he didn’t believe in himself nearly as much as she did. He trusted her judgment on a daily basis. He had to, in order to rely on her input and live through missions. For a few minutes, he knew he could do it.

“Ma!” he repeated at the struggling storm, which looked as though it had fallen partially on its side, to its “knees.”

As it tried desperately to right itself, Dakota delivered the final blows, cutting it in half. The bottom dispersed immediately, with garbage and dirt slowing to a stop in mid-air before flitting to the ground. The top portion spun out of control, whipping around wildly. Trying to find or perhaps regrow its other half. Dakota likened it to a snake, still moving, but without its head. Adding to the gruesome picture, bits of unnamed items spat out of the funnel in throngs, like blood released from an arterial wound. A sure sign that the wind was slowing down, too weak to hold the heavy mass it planned to inflict on Lovington.

Just like that, the demon was vanquished, reduced to nothing but a column of airborne dust. Dakota put his arm down as Ken released him and started whistling in joy. Removing her scarf, “Holy crap! We got it! We got that monster like it was nothing!”

Nothing? They almost died! With an inaudible sigh, Dakota slid down his bandana, took off his sunglasses, and peered into the horizon. He could see no vehicles or people. No sign of the villain behind the storm. Slowly, he unlatched them both from the fence and set about collecting the rope. When he finished, Dakota motioned with his head for Ken to follow him to the Jeep, so that they could get the hell out of there.

“Shouldn’t we wait here for a while in case the jerk tries again?” she asked as they followed the fence.

He shook his head emphatically. “Chances are, that guy, whoever he is, has no idea who or what stopped his little storm. Which is really good for us, because we have no idea who we’re dealing with. I don’t wanna wait around for him to find us, do you? Besides, he doesn’t know if we’re staying or not, so I’m guessing he’ll take off like with the other cases, rather than get caught.”

“Okay,” she said with a slightly downtrodden voice. When he looked over, she was eyeing the small city with suspicion.

“What is it?”

Her attention snapped back to Dakota. “Why this town?” she asked. “What does this place have that somebody thinks it shouldn’t exist anymore?”

Dakota shrugged. “We can do some research on it, but as far as I can tell, absolutely nothing. It’s possible this bastard just likes hurting people. Who knows? I’ve seen pretty much every motivation out there, but in the end, half the time, they’re just sadists who like being in control. We can do a run through the town if it’ll make you feel better, but I doubt we’ll find anything.”

“No, you’re probably right.” She put her head down and focused on the path back to his car.

Dakota looked her over for injury. Spotting a tear in the side of her dress, just above her scuffed-up commando boots, he pointed at the damage. “Did something hit you?”

She looked confused for a second before staring at the ruined garment with annoyance. “Ugh, no. It got caught on the fence. I probably should’ve worn jeans.” Pulling on the hem, Kenna seemed to be contemplating whether or not it could be fixed. “Not a whole lot of soldiers wear dresses.”

With a slight smile, he patted her head. “You’re not a soldier. You can wear whatever the hell you want so long as you can still get the job done. No reason you can’t look fabulous while doing it.”

Though he spent very little time on his own appearance, to the point of sometimes looking positively disheveled, Dakota liked that Ken still managed to keep her personality. She wore earrings every day. Dresses and skirts whenever it was warm enough. Other jewelry. Nice things. Her version of a military uniform. It was the one thing that identified her as a teenage girl, other than the curves that began to fill out her small form. He thought she deserved a chance at normalcy.

And it was helpful, anyway. She could talk to people, and they wouldn’t suspect her motives. A pretty young girl asking for directions or buying provisions or whatever. Dakota looked guilty by default, and his face had been on the news. As far as anyone was concerned, though, Ken could be a complete innocent. They would be stupid not to take advantage of that.

“Maybe Katya can fix it,” she mumbled as they reached his vehicle.

“I bet she—oh, you’ve got to be f*****g kidding me!”

The outburst was not directed at Ken, but rather, the side of his car that had been facing the tornado. It was covered in dents, scratches, and dirt. There was even a rock lodged in the passenger side door. Luckily, apart from one of the mirrors, the glass and tires seemed fine. But he loved that Jeep. Immensely. It’d saved his life more times than he could count, and Dakota took great care of it. Now, the silver paint job was ruined, and if he didn’t take it to get fixed soon, the holes and scratches would rust. It would be a pain in the ass, to say the least.

His hand trembled as he begrudgingly pried open the driver’s side door and got in. Ken took a more dramatic route, jumping over the door and stopping only to dust the seat off. “I’ll clean it when we get back,” she offered, trying to improve his sour mood.

But Kenna wasn’t his servant. He could do it himself. “Nahh, you got homework. Don’t think I didn’t notice you left your books back at the house. What’d I tell you about that?”

She snorted, but thankfully didn’t get angry. “It’s not like we had any downtime, anyway! And I can’t read in the car. It makes me sick. You know that.”

“Don’t remind me!” Deciding to keep it lighthearted, “Do you know how long it took to get the smell of puke off of my floor mats? Even with the roof off, it was awful!” He laughed. “Anyway, you’re behind in math, and I think I can handle washing my own car!”

“Fine. But can I at least go with you when you take it in? You know, since it’s gonna be mine next year.”

“Yeah, right.” Dakota scoffed dismissively. “Let Adel buy you a different vehicle. Something slow. I’m taking this one to my grave.”