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After his other half-brother, Reeves, also a werewolf, ripped out his throat, a golden-haired angel resurrected him and granted him a new life and a new muscled body.

  “You’re now equal to any man,” she whispered in her silvery voice. “You’re ageless, and will never look over thirty.”

  At the time, looks didn’t matter to him. His concern was the Lamont curse—he and his brothers were cursed with the lycanthropy gene and strong lycanthropic impulses.

  “You are not a vampire,” the angel had told him. “Rather than feeding on blood, you will gain your life force or chi from good deeds.”

  He liked the idea of being reborn to help others. It came natural to him.

  “The down-side,” the angel confided, “is you’re still a werewolf and only you have the power to cure your plight.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “In time, if you stay on the right path, it will be revealed to you,” she said and then floated upward and disappeared into the clouds.

  He’d learned to accept what he couldn’t change. His journey was difficult, but never boring. In the past, during the years he was a hated and feared hunchback, his mother and his half-brother, Damon, showed the kind of the sincere compassion and validation which made his life bearable. In gratitude, he assisted his mother until she died; then he dedicated his life to Damon, serving him in whatever capacity he could in exchange for a home. Damon showed him undying kindness.

  Hugh sighed. For years his goal had centered on protecting Damon and his family from the deadly assaults from brother Reeves and other evil beings. But all that was in the past. His job as protector was no longer needed. It was time to look forward into the unknown future and find his place in this complicated world.

  As he moved closer to his destination, the misting, dark sky brightened slightly. The circus had tied down on the flat acreage of vacant land adjacent to the Shandon Foothills, on the outskirts of the city of San Bernardino under the shadow of the Arrowhead Springs Hotel.

  A twinge of excitement shot through him. The traveling circus would be moving on soon to Scotland, and he could barely wait to visit the country with its brooding castles, wooded hills, snaking rivers, and misty mountain peaks.

  Hugh’s eager steps were muted by his Indian moccasins. Like the wolf in him, he preferred to move swiftly and silently through his environment. He glanced up at the sky again. Its misting, moonless darkness was a troublesome tradition for the circus. The day the extravaganza came to town rain would follow. According to the newspapers, in the past, management had tried an April opening and still the rain came and almost drowned them out.

  The moonless grayness worked for him. It lessened his call of the night and his propensity to roam the hills. This evening he had to tend to business. He needed a job—this job. The ever-moving circus and it’s bounty of animals seemed the perfect solution.

  He had the expertise circus-management needed and he’d worn his tool belt to impress the bosses. It now swayed against his hip with each step.

  Hugh smiled. He loved animals and children and wouldn’t mind trying out for a trainer or clown position. An urge rose in him to tackle anything and everything. He could handle it all; abilities gained through difficulties and inner-growth gave the kind of training no one could take away. He sighed. The truth was—he’d accept any job he could get. As he approached the lively confusion of the circus grounds, with its brilliantly lighted Ferris wheel, his heart beat faster. Exciting merry-go-round calliope music blared from the arcade along with the happy tunes from the tilt-a-whirl and other rides. With the carnival-circus-setup, jobs should be plentiful.

  A stab of doubt shot through him. Was his confidence a mirage? No, I can do this!

  In his other life, before the angel resurrected him, he’d had glint-less tombstone gray eyes and a hunched back. She found him a host body blessed with soft, friendly gray eyes. He’d found being blessed with gentle, smiling eyes helped him in his desire to mingle with people; he counted on the gray warmth to help land this job and, if lucky, later make it possible to meet and charm the woman of his dreams.

  He clung to the enticing, glistening chain of hope, dangling like gold in his mind. He could never have attracted a woman in a good way when he was a hunchback. He raked his inky hair and stood tall and straight; with his new erect, strong body he had a chance. Angela, his brother’s wife, had told him he had a handsome, young-looking face. He’d tried not to let the compliment go to his head, but it gave him a measure of confidence to know he no longer repulsed women.

  Hugh glanced up. Evening had brought total darkness to the moonless sky except for the bright glow spread across the circus grounds lying directly ahead. As he walked through the fine mist, anticipation built in his soul. Parents yanked their children forward. Behind and ahead of him families and groups of laughing people hurried toward the tall entry arches to buy tickets. He lined up with them. Then, with tickets in hand they proceeded orderly through the turn-style gates.

  A blanket of lights lay at the bottom of a double Ferris wheel and around its circumference. The wheel made a slow slice through the glowing brightness. A din of band music mingled with the hum of the milling crowds and joined with the distant sound of whizzing cars on the nearby freeway. He was probably the only one who noticed the cars. But with his sharp wolf hearing he heard more than regular humans.

  His brown leather jacket, snapped to the neck, protected him from the brisk wind, but the chill went right through his jeans and the cold and mounting exhilaration speeded his steps. He followed the smells of popping corn and cotton candy into the arcade area.

  Watching the time, he wandered through the various rides and their glittering lights including the merry-go-round, the Ferris wheel, and the whips while listening to barkers and a hodge-podge of lively music. He familiarized himself with the lay of the land. Yes, yes, this was the thrilling atmosphere he hoped would be his new traveling home.

  Thick fog crept from the west down from the Cajon Pass, joined by patches of vapor drifting down from the high mountain peaks behind the Arrowhead Springs Hotel, an imposing and brooding historic monument that had survived fires and earthquakes.

  He spied a fortune teller’s tent. He smiled. Madam Mystic’s banner promised a peek at the future for only five bucks. Hugh remembered Damon’s late-departed crystal gazer, Nola, with fondness. He wouldn’t have believed looking into the future was possible, but Damon had sworn Madam Nola was authentic. That didn’t mean this gal was. But since he had a little time before his job interview, it might be a kick to get a reading. It would be worth a few bucks if she told him he’d get this job.

  Hugh opened the flap of the fortune teller’s tent and paused. The inside reeked of

  incense and sawdust. Fighting a tickling nose, he glanced around the dimly lit interior. At the back hung heavy velvet drapes with pasted cut-outs of coiled rattlers, owls, hawks, stars, and crescent moons. A painting hung from a wire. It was a familiar piece of art displaying a full moon and, on a snow-covered boulder, a howling gray wolf. Along a counter, the Halloween-type décor revealed skulls with what he hoped were make-believe worm-like snakes crawling out of the eyes and mouth.

  He frowned. The place pandered to the superstitious and easily frightened. And he was neither. Still, he was ready to high-tail it out of there when a section of the drapes parted. “Don’t leave, my brother. I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in and sit down.”

  The mystic, a big-boned Amazon-sized African woman with a calypso accent, waved him in with a flourish. Her arms were muscled and husky enough to wrestle a bear. The woman’s head was wrapped in a silk burgundy turban. Her long carroty hair, probably a wig, frizzed around her strong-jawed face. Was she a man pretending to be a woman or a woman with masculine features? With such huge breasts, she was probably female. Either way she lacked feminine softness and her masculinity made him edgy as hell.

  When she lit some low iridescent gold candles, the glint of her dagger-like nails
on

  her immense, ham-hock hands blinded him for an instant.

  Although feeling an urge get the hell out of there, he sat down, mesmerized by the stage she’d set and the captivating performance.

  “I read tea leaves, palms, and tarot cards,” she said in a raspy tone. “For a few dollars more, I’ll gaze into the opaque crystal ball and alert you more intimately to your future…your fate.”

  He turned one of his pockets inside out and laughed. “Do you give discounts to future employees?”

  Her heavily made-up eyes narrowed. “So, you’re a tight-fisted man. Such a pity.”

  “Actually, I’m a man without a job.” He grinned. “But then maybe your spirits already told you that.” If she was on the level, maybe they also told her he had a prepaid debt card and $18,000 in a savings account from his work for his brother and from his small construction business.

  “I understand about nearly empty pockets. I, too, was once at poverty’s door. I can give you a discount on the higher priced reading this once. But next time the fee will double.”

  He shook his head. “What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”

  She laughed, throatily. “The Fates have decreed it. You’ll see.” She eased her bulky frame into a chair. When it creaked at the weight, she smoothed non-existent wrinkles from the downy tapestry covering the round table. A chill slid down his spine when he noticed the table cloth revealed a forest scene and a baying pack of wolves. Was her wolf décor a coincidence?”

  A huge, Persian sooty black cat jumped up on the table, curled his tail around his plump, long-haired body, and stared unblinkingly at Hugh with piercing green eyes.

  Hugh loosened his collar. I’ll bet this fortune teller has a rap sheet a mile long. She definitely has the finesse of a scammer.

  He tapped the cloth and gestured toward the wolf painting. “Do you have a fondness for wolves, Madam Mystic?”

  “Yes, and tigers and certain other creatures of the night. But you didn’t come here to talk about me. So let’s move on. Because I like you, I’ll give you a very special crystal ball reading.” She met his gaze and patted the table. “Just as soon as you plunk down your five bucks.”

  Hugh dug the money out of the hidden compartment in his tool belt. Before it touched the table, the mystic snatched up the bill and tucked it into the deep, dark cleavage of her at least size-forty bosoms.

  She touched something under the table and the room darkened and a heady sweet incense sprayed from the mouth of one of the skulls.

  Madam Mystic waved her hand across the crystal ball and called on the spirits in some African mumbo-jumbo. She tried twice but nothing happened. “One more time. In special cases like yours, the spirits are sometimes hesitant to reveal themselves,” she said in an eerie tone.

  “Special cases?”

  She put a finger to her lips and gestured to the opaque crystal ball. It darkened to the color of coal with silver snakes slithering through it. The mystic’s face took on a sinister look. “You will get your job, my brother. But sometimes what a passionate Shadu-protector like you thinks he wants is the very thing that can destroy him. Yield to desire and you may die.”

  ****

  Hugh left the Fortune Teller’s tent shaking his head. At least he’d gotten the directions to the office from her. What was that about Shadu-protector? How could she know about his driving need to protect? And what about her prophesy? On the one hand Madam Mystic said he’d get the job, on the other, maybe he shouldn’t want it. Why was he giving any credence to what she said? He shook off her ridiculous warning and jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and wandered around aimlessly, fighting to keep the mystic’s words at bay and failing. Yield to desire and you may die.

  Soon, it was 12:30 am. Rides stopped and one by one lights clicked off. The crowds got the message and ambled toward the exits. With the circus closing down for the night, many of the workers would head for their trailers. His appointment with the boss-man was in fifteen minutes. He headed in the direction of the office. Damp threads of grayness met and settled over the maze of tents and caravans as though concealing their secrets. He groaned; he was getting melancholy again. He shook off his brooding mood. This is my new start.

  Halfway across the arcade mid-way, he passed a banner showing a wild-looking beauty wearing only two narrow strips of what appeared to be tiger fur. She was flanked by two ferocious-looking tigers. The circus banner proclaimed: Tigra Tortella, Queen of the Tigers. Hugh laughed. The curvy bundle of wildness could be the queen of his amusement park anytime.

  Whoa! Where did that come from? Apparently my power tool gene has kicked in. It isn’t like me to think erotic thoughts about a lady. But her manner of dress…wow! He laughed. What a sensational match—tigress meets wolf-man. Even though she couldn’t be the real thing, he dare not even joke about such a ridiculous and risk-ridden union. Just taking this job was a risk; no one wanted a werewolf around, especially close to skittish animals. It was essential to keep his lycanthropy curse a secret. He didn’t need more complications. Please Lord, let me land this traveling job, and if it is your will, perhaps allow me to meet a normal lady friend to while away the hours and end my aching loneliness.

  Hugh entered the caravan-trailer marked office. He shook hands with the husky Carney-circus boss behind the desk, Ralph Coleman Once Hugh started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m a hard worker, can think on my feet, and I get along well with others. I’m a skilled maintenance man, animal handler, jack of all trades, and the perfect roustabout. I can rig tents, set up high-wire lines and carnival rides with the best of them.” He rattled on about all the jobs he’d had and gave his half-brother, Damon, as a reference. Coleman stared at him with a hard gaze as though seeking more. But he’d given his best sales pitch and there was nothing more to say, so he shut up and prayed. After an uncomfortable silence Coleman steepled his hands. “Do you have any questions, Hugh?”

  “Yes, sir. Are you going to hire me?”

  Coleman laughed. “With your directness, roustabout experience, hunger for work, and the fact we’re shorthanded, I’d be crazy not to hire you. When can you start?”

  “Tonight. May I sleep somewhere on the grounds until—”

  “You can use caravan thirteen if you’re not superstitious. I’ll fax your resume to the head office and get you on the payroll. We’ll start you as a roustabout. And in our operation that means you’ll do whatever needs to be done. Tigra’s assistant Rolo left quite suddenly, leaving her shorthanded. Report to her in the morning. She’ll keep you busy. But watch out for her passions. She tries to pull everyone she meets into her fight against the capture and caging of wild tigers as pets. And she’s always heading up a collection to save the big cats from extinction.”

  Hugh smiled. He liked her already. But it added to his anxiety about the new job to accept he was also thinking how much he’d like to get into those little strips of fur. Holy demons! He needed a cold shower. He cleared his throat. “She sounds like a woman after my own heart.”

  Coleman’s gaze darkened. “For your sake, I hope not. And watch yourself; she has a way of getting what she wants. Take care around her tigers. They get testy with strangers and, like their trainer, have a volatile way of getting what they want as well.”

  Chapter Five

  Aerialist-vampire Vance watched out his caravan’s picture window for Tigra. He coveted her blood so badly he could taste it. He looked up at his raven. “You know, Blacky, in my former life, I was an October 31st Scorpio with an extraordinary capacity to remake myself into a suitable image in line with my needs. I feel confident I can portray an image to Tigra which will eventually unite us.”

  He gently lifted the bird from the perch and stroked his smooth coal black feathers.“One of my most useful qualities is my ability to adapt well to each lifetime,” he told the bird with pride in his voice. He stared across the room with his dark, haunting eyes, seeing his past flashing before him. Perhaps seeing it
all in a flash was necessary because of the many lifetimes behind him. “Blacky boy, did I ever tell you I was a professor in one of my journeys and an actor in another? It was beneficial to be able to hang onto what I’d learned each time.”

  “It’s odd, in my journey through each existence, I never found a woman worthy to span eternity with me—until Tigra. Besides being an enticing challenge, there’s something super-natural and ethereal about her.” He felt heat shoot to his groin. “The high eroticism and mystery about her has convinced me she’d never bore me and would always arouse me. Inconveniently, trails of other men have felt the same way about her. One by one, I eliminated them. Rolo was the easiest of all. But they kept coming like ants to honey. Let them come, if they dare.”

  Blacky squawked as if he understood.

  Vance laughed. “Right, Blacky. In a circus where all acts have inherent danger, there are many creative way to maim and kill. Rolo learned that.”

  The raven flew from his finger and landed back on his perch. At the sound of a car outside, Vance glanced out the window. It was merely a taxi. No problem there. Cars could come and go all night as far as he was concerned—just not cop cars. But the cops would arrive soon.

  “The pretend vampires who filed their teeth to points and slept in coffins gave vampires too much publicity and made it more difficult to keep a low profile while the humans around me demonstrated their own predatory propensities,” he told the bird.

  He shook his head. The vampire and human world interpenetrated in odd common bonds, both with virtuous and parasitic mannerisms.

  Grabbing up a pitcher of water, he tipped it and drank it down without stopping, in an attempt to satisfy his enormous thirst.

  “Blast the humans who believe they rule the Earth! Damn them all to Hell.”

  Vance glanced at Blacky for agreement. “Humans shouldn’t blame or condemn me. After all, everyone has a dark side and before I was betrayed, I was human just like them. I still possess a partially human consciousness. I feel pain, passion, a lust for revenge, and overwhelming desire. And right now I crave a soft, unsuspecting female’s throat between my fangs and long for her life-sustaining, warm blood.”