POI fic: Carnivale
TITLE: Carnivale
AUTHOR: whomii2
DISCLAIMER: do not own
SUMMARY: When the Agency tries to terminate him, Reese flees across Europe before taking refuge with the IFT Traveling Carnivale. But not all the carnival workers are what they seem, some harboring dark secrets of their own...
Reese figured his career with the CIA was over when the Agency tried to have him killed. He wasn't sure if it was something he had done, or if they were just trying to clear up any loose ends connected with the mission. Either way they weren't going to give up. Reese had been becoming increasingly dissatisfied with some of the things he was being asked to do. He wouldn't put it past that bastard Snow to be up to something unsanctioned on the side and to be using Reese as a fall guy.
Reese stumbled through the woods, the pain in his side due to more than just exertion. His wound had opened again, and as he pressed his hand against his makeshift dressing he could feel blood seeping through. He had only had a brief period of respite to try and patch the wound before his pursuers drew too close. Reese thought he might have given them the slip in the woods, but wasn't sure he would be able to muster the energy to tend to the wound. He could barely keep plodding onward. But he couldn't afford to stop. They would be coming for him. They would keep coming until they had him. If he wanted to survive he would need to remain one step ahead, although that was growing harder and harder as his condition deteriorated. But his slow trudge onward came to an abrupt halt when he stumbled over a root he couldn't see in the night dark woods. He landed hard, shooting pain radiating from his abdomen where his wound impacted with the ground. He tried to rise but found he didn't have the energy. As he drifted into unconsciousness he wondered if he would live to see the morning, or if Snow and his flunkies would come upon him in his weakened state and end him with a well placed bullet.
XXXXXXXXXXX
John slowly swam back toward consciousness. He was resting on a soft bed, not lying on the cold ground of the woods. He didn't detect the overpowering scent of disinfectant so he couldn't be in a hospital. Instead he smelt....spices? Herbs? Something heavy in the air that he couldn't quite identify. He stayed still and opened his eyes a slit to assess his position. It seemed he was on a pull-out bed in a motor home. The breeze through the partially open window over his bed chased away the spicy scent from before with the crisp smell of wet pine. So probably not too far from the forest. Perhaps he had been found by some campers? Motion from the corner of his eye brought his gaze around to another occupant of the motor home. A man sat in a chair across from him, reading a book. The turning of a page had caught Reese's attention. Oddly enough, the man was dressed in a tuxedo. He seemed perfectly at ease despite the formal wear. He finished a passage in the book and glanced up, smiling as his gaze caught John's.
“I am glad to see you have finally awakened. You had us worried.” He put down his book and fetched a glass of water, moving to kneel awkwardly by John's side. “Perhaps a bit of water if you think you can keep it down? Then maybe some broth if you wish. I am afraid you have lost quite a bit of blood and you need to build up your fluids again.”
John struggled to sit up, the stranger helping him and then readjusting the pillows behind John's back to give him some support. When the wave of dizziness set off by that small exertion had passed, John took a few cautious sips from the glass. The cold water felt heavenly on his dry throat and he had to fight the urge to gulp it down. A few more sips and he felt slightly better with his thirst assuaged. He eyed the man in the tuxedo curiously. Not your usual camping attire. “Thanks for your help. Sorry for any trouble I might have caused you. But I am a bit confused. Where am I?”
The other man noticed John eyeing his tuxedo and chuckled softly. “Yes, I believe some explanation is required. You have been taken in by the IFT Traveling Carnivale. You see before you Harold the Magnificent, Magician Extraordinaire. I am afraid I had not yet changed back from my stage attire. While I appreciate good clothing, even I don't consider tuxedos day-to-day attire. And you are.....?”
“John”
“Pleased to meet you, John …..?”
“...Smith.”
“I see. Perhaps I should point out that you aren't the first person who has sought sanctuary by losing themselves in our carnival. We all have our little secrets, the things we like to keep hidden in the dark where no one can see. We tolerate each others foibles. And respect each others privacy ” Harold commented, making a point to not look at John as he talked. “I don't wish to pry, but considering the state in which we found you, it might be prudent to know if there might be anyone looking for you. Purely as a precaution.”
John wasn't inclined to trust anyone nowadays, but this stranger had done him a good turn by taking him in and caring for him. It was pretty obvious from the gunshot wound that John had enemies, so he wouldn't really be telling the man anything he hadn't already guessed. “Had a falling out with some acquaintances of mine. Thought I gave them the slip but they are still out there looking for me. I'll leave come morning.”
Harold raised an eyebrow behind his glasses. “I think you will find that rather difficult. I doubt at this point you could even make it to the bathroom without assistance. As I mentioned before we are a traveling carnival. You have been unconscious for more than a day and in that time we have moved a considerable distance from where you were found. We look after our own here, and for the moment that includes you. I appreciate your concern for our safety but I think you can afford to take a little time to recuperate and get your strength back. Now how about that soup I mentioned?” The other man was off and headed to the kitchen portion of the motor home before John could say anything. He moved a large pot off of a burner onto a trivet beside the stove. Taking a can down from the cupboard he opened it and poured its contents into a smaller bowl that he placed on the burner, adjusting the temperature and starting to stir it with a wooden spoon removed from a drawer. A short time later the soup was ready. John managed to down several spoonfulls before he no longer had the energy to eat and lapsed back into sleep.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
John had been curious about the concoction Harold had been brewing when he first awoke. He had thought it might be the man's dinner, but instead of serving it the man had poured the contents into a large jar and then screwed on its lid. He had then taken it back into his bedroom and stored it away somewhere. The mystery of the jar was explained when there was a knock on the trailer door later that evening. Harold had just changed from his tuxedo into more casual clothes. He reassured John, who had tensed up at the first knock, that it was just a friend. He opened the door to let in the woman waiting anxiously outside.
“Hello Joss. I have the new batch. Give me a moment and I will bring it to you” Harold said as he headed back to his bedroom. John took the opportunity to examine the guest. He didn't remember seeing her on his brief foray outside earlier in the day. He wondered what role she played in the carnival and why she seemed to have been hidden away. He thought under better circumstances she would be beautiful. But at the moment she looked drawn, her eyes sunken. John thought something must be troubling her, and the gentle way Harold talked to her only supported that suspicion. John was surprised when Harold returned with the jar and handed them to the woman. “This should help ease him for a while. Let me know how he responds to it.” With a brief thanks the woman left. Harold caught John's questioning look and sighed before starting to explain.
“It is her son, Taylor. He is very ill. I worry that she is so busy taking care of him that she doesn't take proper care of herself. It is difficult to get her to eat or rest.”
“Her son, is he...?”
“I am afraid he is dying John.”
“There's nothing they can do?”
“I am afraid medical science has nothing to offer in this case. It is a hereditary condition the boy has struggled with all of his life. Root and I brew some homeopathic remedies to try to ease the symptoms, but it would take something like a miracle to put the boy to rights.”
John felt a flash of anger, which Harold noted with a frown.
“I am not one of those charlatans who takes advantage of desperate and gullible people with worthless cures. I don't offer anything I don't believe will work. Doctor's have nothing to help the lad, so the boy has only lasted this long and done as well as he has based on our efforts. Some old wives' tales do contain a measure of truth.”
John felt slightly ashamed. The other man had taken him in and cared for him no questions asked, and John had repaid his hospitality by impugning his integrity. Besides, considering what Reese had done for the Agency, it wasn't like John could claim the moral high ground. He decided a change of subject was in order.
“So what's the story with Root?”
“You don't believe in a higher power? An unseen force that weaves together the threads of our lives in some grand design? Root has the ability to tap into that power, pierce the veil of mystery and catch glimpses of what the future holds.” At John's raised eyebrow Harold coughed a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away with bits of my usual midway spiel. But the truth is Root does have a gift, a gift which led us to find you.”
“Then I guess I owe her a thank you.”
“I am sure she will appreciate it” Harold replied, so deadpan that Reese wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He knew the other man must have picked up on some of the tense atmosphere between John and Harold's protege, the young fortune teller who called herself “Madame Root.” Her stage name also seemed to be her preferred name, as most of the other carnies just called her Root; Harold would occasionally call her “Miss Groves” when he was disappointed with her.
Root respected Harold even if she didn't seem to respect anyone else. While she was icily polite, John could still detect a hint of disdain when he interacted with her. Reese put it down to a bit of jealousy over the time her mentor was spending in John's company.
XXXXXXXXXX
John dreamed of Jessica from before the towers fell. But in his dream her kiss turned cold, with the chill of death. He woke up with a shiver and a sense of foreboding. Something in her voice when she last called. He needed to get back to her. But he needed to be careful.
Stanton knew about Jessica, but was unlikely to have shared that information with others. She liked to keep her cards close to the vest for any possible advantage. John thought he had kept knowledge of that particular vulnerability safe from the rest of the Agency, but he couldn't be sure. He wanted to check on Jessica but couldn't afford to be too direct. If they were aware of her then her phone would be tapped, making the idea of calling her too great a risk. It might tip them off to John's whereabouts, or even worse give them the knowledge that Jessica could be used as leverage against him.
He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, disturbed but not wanting to awaken Harold. He was surprised when some quiet noises from the kitchen area indicated the other man was still up.
“I didn't wake you, did I Harold?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing John. I hope my working in the kitchen didn't disturb your rest.”
“No, just a bad dream. What's your excuse?”
“I suppose we all tend to be night owls. When most people finish work they come to the carnival, which means our workday is just beginning. And the excitement after the shows are over make it hard to wind down. If you fancy a distraction perhaps a game of chess to occupy your thoughts?”
Thus began a series of late night matches between the two. It was a vicious cycle. John worried about Jessica and about what might happen if Snow caught up to him while he was still at the carnival. But John couldn't do anything about either situation until he was well enough to leave. However, the worries resulted in troubled sleep, which didn't help the healing process. Harold gave John concerned looks when John awoke, but said nothing after his hesitant offer of a sleeping aid was turned down. Instead he would take out the chess board and distract John with conversation on a variety of topics until the other man grew tired enough to sleep again.
XXXXXXXXX
John would sit outside in the sun for short periods during his convalescence. He never ventured toward the midway with its games and attractions, or close to the rides and concession stands. Instead he stayed sheltered in the area nestled in amongst the various campers, trucks, and motor homes of the carnival workers. It was the private area where the roustabouts and performers could relax and enjoy themselves away from the prying eyes of the public. As Harold had said, the carnies tended to keep to themselves. They would nod at John in passing, or share coffee or food with him, but no one asked any prying questions. There were a few John saw more of than the others, the ones he assumed were particular friends of Harold. There was Fusco the Strong Man and his young son Lee. Harold's prickly young protege Root. And the occasional glimpses of Carter when she consulted Harold about her son's condition.
John was seated at the picnic table, sipping at his coffee after finishing the hearty stew Finch had nagged him into eating for dinner. Carter glided up silently and took a seat next to John. After a brief nod to him she stared off into space, lost in her thoughts while waiting for Harold to bring out his latest concoction. John thought they must be helping her son, as Carter looked a bit less gaunt and worried. Root came and sat down on the bench on the other side of the table, doing her best to ignore John's presence while sipping a cup of tea. Drawn by the smell of fresh coffee, Fusco strolled up and helped himself to a cup from the pot on the table and they all sat in silence for the next few minutes. After finishing his coffee with a few quick gulps, Fusco put down his cup and proceeded to break the uncomfortable tension between Root and Reese by throwing one meaty arm around Root's neck and yanking her up against his broad chest. While he had her trapped in place he rubbed the knuckles of his other hand vigorously across her scalp. She shrieked and batted unsuccessfully against him with her hands. Fusco might not have the traditional body builder's physique, but John has still seen the Strong Man perform some impressive feats of strength. The petite Root was no match for him and was at his mercy until he finally deigned to let her go. She scowled and shot him a death glare as she tried to smooth her hair back in place.
Fusco merely chuckled “Aw, don't be like that Rooty. You know we're practically family. Lee's still determined to marry you when he is older.”
Root's death glare lightened a few notches and her scowl became almost fond. But she stood and gathered her skirts and her dignity around her as she stalked off like an offended cat that has had water thrown on it. John wondered what had prompted the altercation until he saw the slight smile on Carter's face.
Fusco continued chuckling as Harold came back with the draught for Taylor. “I wondered what had gotten into Root. I should have known it would be you Lionel. You really like to live dangerously, as you know how vengeful she can be.”
“I can handle Coco Puffs. She just needs to lighten up sometimes.”
“You know she will kill you if she hears you call her that.”
“She can try.”
John laughed at the whole episode, until he caught Fusco giving him a speculative look. He drew himself up and shot the man his own death glare. “Don't even think it.” Fusco looked unimpressed but was distracted by Harold.
“You need to apologize to her Lionel. You know she doesn't take teasing well.”
“I will. I'll even write her a formal letter saying I'm sorry. I'll have Lee deliver it along with some flowers. I'm sure he would pick some for her.”
“Indeed. Root has dashed the dreams of many a wistful suitor or hopeful penitent, but I doubt she could be so cruel as to turn away young Mr. Lee even if he is simply your messenger.”
He then handed the jar to Carter, who went back to her trailer after a quick thank you. John saw his new friend gazing sadly after Carter. On impulse he asked Harold if there was anything he could do to help. Harold wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve but he did let himself show one of his rare smiles. “I appreciate the offer, John. More than I can say.”
XXXXXXX
John jolted awake from a nightmare. The details were fuzzy, he just had a vague memory of gunshots and screaming. It could be a twisted memory from one of a dozen different missions. Harold had been working on a new potion for Carter's son, which was still bubbling on the stove. But Harold was nowhere around, so a chess match was out of the question. His heart still pounding in the aftermath of the dream, John decided to get a bit of fresh air before trying to go back to sleep.
John went outside to where some seats had been set up around a campfire. He settled into a folding chair with a cup of decaf coffee, letting the warmth from the fire and the drink drive off the night's chill and the lingering shivers from the dream. He could hear noises from around the camp and figured he wasn't the only one awake at this late hour. The moonlight through the clouds was strong enough that he could just make out the shadowed forms of Fusco and Lee playing soccer with some lumpy ball in an open space out behind the vehicles. He snorted as Lee jumped up and down excitedly over an imaginary goal. When they resumed kicking the ball back and forth between them he turned his gaze to the fire. He hadn't regained his strength as quickly as he would have liked, but he really needed to get back to the United States. Traveling with the carnival was good cover, and Finch had subtly indicated that they had experience smuggling people past border checkpoints, but the slow pace of the traveling circus was a problem. He also didn't want to risk leading his pursuers to the people who had taken him in. Harold had said they could protect themselves, but John didn't think that they had encountered a determined CIA hit squad before. His planning session was interrupted when an over-exuberant kick by Lee sent their ball careening towards the fire. It bounced off the stones lining the firepit and rolled around a bit before coming to a stop face up. It took John a stunned moment to realize that what he was looking down at was the battered severed head of Mark Snow.
Reese was dizzy and sluggish as tried to rise. He only succeeded in toppling over. Fusco knelt down on his shoulders, trapping his hands on the ground in a grip of iron. Harold and Root appeared out of the shadows, Harold carrying his pot and Root a large book.
“No use struggling John. You would have trouble breaking Fusco's grip under normal circumstances, let alone on a night of a full moon.”
A glance at Lionel's face showed he was sporting much more than 5 o'clock shadow. His curly hair had also grown longer to form a shaggy mane almost like a lion's. The leonine effect was only enhanced by the gold color of his eyes.
“We were at our wits end trying to help Taylor. The young man is a dhampyr, the offspring of the union between a human and a vampire. Sadly the vampiric curse in his blood acts similar to an autoimmune disease, attacking the body and causing a wasting sickness. But that same trace of vampirism makes it almost impossible to turn a dhampyr into a fully-fledged vampire as they are resistant. We finally came across a spell that would allow him to be turned. There was only one crucial ingredient missing-a hero's heart. And as you offered your assistance that makes you a willing sacrifice.” At the conclusion of his monologue Harold pulled a small hand axe from his coat. Before John could protest Harold plunged it into his chest, wasting no time in opening the chest cavity to retrieve the necessary organ. He placed it, still warm and quivering slightly, into the pot and after speaking a few words of power gave the pot to Lee to take to Carter.
Harold breathed a sigh of relief. It had been difficult but they had managed to pull it off. Harold had worried that John might decide to leave them before the full moon when the potion could be completed. The heart had to be fresh when it was added. Of course they could have restrained and imprisoned John if necessary, but Harold preferred to avoid that if at all possible. John was suspicious and not easy to fool. But while his magician's act was a cover, Harold still was quite good at his craft. After all those slight of hand performances on stage, slipping a little something extra into John's food without him knowing was simple. A few nocturnal visits from Carter also helped keep the man too weak to leave. It was an ideal solution for Carter's predicament, as she was unwilling to leave Taylor long enough to hunt and they didn't want to attract any unwanted attention by having her feed on one of the paying customers. John showed remarkable fortitude in resisting the usual fugue associated with the vampire's feeding, so Harold had taken to keeping a watchful eye on him lest the man become suspicious of the source of his nightmares.
Focusing on the task at hand, Finch took the book from Root and recited the incantation, making sure that his enunciation of the Latin was clear and precise. He thought wistfully that he was going to miss their chess games as it had been a while since he had an interested partner. His melancholy was chased away by the thrill of success when he saw the body twitch. His first zombie! He was so excited!
Root gave him a quick hug in congratulations before helping to put the finishing touches on the newly reanimated corpse. “Let's turn that frown upside down” she said with an evil smirk as she applied John's makeup. Fusco had already removed John's torn and bloody garments and placed him in a more colorful outfit. The garish makeup would help conceal the vague discoloration of rot in John's features. And no one would think twice about his stumbling walk or awkward movements, thinking it just part of his clown persona.
XXXXXX
Taylor lay with his head on his Mother's lap as her hand carded through his unruly hair. She held the goblet containing the potion to his lips as he took a few shallow sips. He sighed out his last breath while Carter placed the goblet on the bedside table. Taking a silver dagger, she sliced a gash across her wrist and let a few drops of blood fall into Taylor's open mouth. When his red eyes opened a few moments later she held out her bloody wrist so that he could drink his fill.
That night the carnival denizens celebrated Taylor's new birthday and the addition of a zombie to their ranks.
AUTHOR: whomii2
DISCLAIMER: do not own
SUMMARY: When the Agency tries to terminate him, Reese flees across Europe before taking refuge with the IFT Traveling Carnivale. But not all the carnival workers are what they seem, some harboring dark secrets of their own...
Reese figured his career with the CIA was over when the Agency tried to have him killed. He wasn't sure if it was something he had done, or if they were just trying to clear up any loose ends connected with the mission. Either way they weren't going to give up. Reese had been becoming increasingly dissatisfied with some of the things he was being asked to do. He wouldn't put it past that bastard Snow to be up to something unsanctioned on the side and to be using Reese as a fall guy.
Reese stumbled through the woods, the pain in his side due to more than just exertion. His wound had opened again, and as he pressed his hand against his makeshift dressing he could feel blood seeping through. He had only had a brief period of respite to try and patch the wound before his pursuers drew too close. Reese thought he might have given them the slip in the woods, but wasn't sure he would be able to muster the energy to tend to the wound. He could barely keep plodding onward. But he couldn't afford to stop. They would be coming for him. They would keep coming until they had him. If he wanted to survive he would need to remain one step ahead, although that was growing harder and harder as his condition deteriorated. But his slow trudge onward came to an abrupt halt when he stumbled over a root he couldn't see in the night dark woods. He landed hard, shooting pain radiating from his abdomen where his wound impacted with the ground. He tried to rise but found he didn't have the energy. As he drifted into unconsciousness he wondered if he would live to see the morning, or if Snow and his flunkies would come upon him in his weakened state and end him with a well placed bullet.
XXXXXXXXXXX
John slowly swam back toward consciousness. He was resting on a soft bed, not lying on the cold ground of the woods. He didn't detect the overpowering scent of disinfectant so he couldn't be in a hospital. Instead he smelt....spices? Herbs? Something heavy in the air that he couldn't quite identify. He stayed still and opened his eyes a slit to assess his position. It seemed he was on a pull-out bed in a motor home. The breeze through the partially open window over his bed chased away the spicy scent from before with the crisp smell of wet pine. So probably not too far from the forest. Perhaps he had been found by some campers? Motion from the corner of his eye brought his gaze around to another occupant of the motor home. A man sat in a chair across from him, reading a book. The turning of a page had caught Reese's attention. Oddly enough, the man was dressed in a tuxedo. He seemed perfectly at ease despite the formal wear. He finished a passage in the book and glanced up, smiling as his gaze caught John's.
“I am glad to see you have finally awakened. You had us worried.” He put down his book and fetched a glass of water, moving to kneel awkwardly by John's side. “Perhaps a bit of water if you think you can keep it down? Then maybe some broth if you wish. I am afraid you have lost quite a bit of blood and you need to build up your fluids again.”
John struggled to sit up, the stranger helping him and then readjusting the pillows behind John's back to give him some support. When the wave of dizziness set off by that small exertion had passed, John took a few cautious sips from the glass. The cold water felt heavenly on his dry throat and he had to fight the urge to gulp it down. A few more sips and he felt slightly better with his thirst assuaged. He eyed the man in the tuxedo curiously. Not your usual camping attire. “Thanks for your help. Sorry for any trouble I might have caused you. But I am a bit confused. Where am I?”
The other man noticed John eyeing his tuxedo and chuckled softly. “Yes, I believe some explanation is required. You have been taken in by the IFT Traveling Carnivale. You see before you Harold the Magnificent, Magician Extraordinaire. I am afraid I had not yet changed back from my stage attire. While I appreciate good clothing, even I don't consider tuxedos day-to-day attire. And you are.....?”
“John”
“Pleased to meet you, John …..?”
“...Smith.”
“I see. Perhaps I should point out that you aren't the first person who has sought sanctuary by losing themselves in our carnival. We all have our little secrets, the things we like to keep hidden in the dark where no one can see. We tolerate each others foibles. And respect each others privacy ” Harold commented, making a point to not look at John as he talked. “I don't wish to pry, but considering the state in which we found you, it might be prudent to know if there might be anyone looking for you. Purely as a precaution.”
John wasn't inclined to trust anyone nowadays, but this stranger had done him a good turn by taking him in and caring for him. It was pretty obvious from the gunshot wound that John had enemies, so he wouldn't really be telling the man anything he hadn't already guessed. “Had a falling out with some acquaintances of mine. Thought I gave them the slip but they are still out there looking for me. I'll leave come morning.”
Harold raised an eyebrow behind his glasses. “I think you will find that rather difficult. I doubt at this point you could even make it to the bathroom without assistance. As I mentioned before we are a traveling carnival. You have been unconscious for more than a day and in that time we have moved a considerable distance from where you were found. We look after our own here, and for the moment that includes you. I appreciate your concern for our safety but I think you can afford to take a little time to recuperate and get your strength back. Now how about that soup I mentioned?” The other man was off and headed to the kitchen portion of the motor home before John could say anything. He moved a large pot off of a burner onto a trivet beside the stove. Taking a can down from the cupboard he opened it and poured its contents into a smaller bowl that he placed on the burner, adjusting the temperature and starting to stir it with a wooden spoon removed from a drawer. A short time later the soup was ready. John managed to down several spoonfulls before he no longer had the energy to eat and lapsed back into sleep.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
John had been curious about the concoction Harold had been brewing when he first awoke. He had thought it might be the man's dinner, but instead of serving it the man had poured the contents into a large jar and then screwed on its lid. He had then taken it back into his bedroom and stored it away somewhere. The mystery of the jar was explained when there was a knock on the trailer door later that evening. Harold had just changed from his tuxedo into more casual clothes. He reassured John, who had tensed up at the first knock, that it was just a friend. He opened the door to let in the woman waiting anxiously outside.
“Hello Joss. I have the new batch. Give me a moment and I will bring it to you” Harold said as he headed back to his bedroom. John took the opportunity to examine the guest. He didn't remember seeing her on his brief foray outside earlier in the day. He wondered what role she played in the carnival and why she seemed to have been hidden away. He thought under better circumstances she would be beautiful. But at the moment she looked drawn, her eyes sunken. John thought something must be troubling her, and the gentle way Harold talked to her only supported that suspicion. John was surprised when Harold returned with the jar and handed them to the woman. “This should help ease him for a while. Let me know how he responds to it.” With a brief thanks the woman left. Harold caught John's questioning look and sighed before starting to explain.
“It is her son, Taylor. He is very ill. I worry that she is so busy taking care of him that she doesn't take proper care of herself. It is difficult to get her to eat or rest.”
“Her son, is he...?”
“I am afraid he is dying John.”
“There's nothing they can do?”
“I am afraid medical science has nothing to offer in this case. It is a hereditary condition the boy has struggled with all of his life. Root and I brew some homeopathic remedies to try to ease the symptoms, but it would take something like a miracle to put the boy to rights.”
John felt a flash of anger, which Harold noted with a frown.
“I am not one of those charlatans who takes advantage of desperate and gullible people with worthless cures. I don't offer anything I don't believe will work. Doctor's have nothing to help the lad, so the boy has only lasted this long and done as well as he has based on our efforts. Some old wives' tales do contain a measure of truth.”
John felt slightly ashamed. The other man had taken him in and cared for him no questions asked, and John had repaid his hospitality by impugning his integrity. Besides, considering what Reese had done for the Agency, it wasn't like John could claim the moral high ground. He decided a change of subject was in order.
“So what's the story with Root?”
“You don't believe in a higher power? An unseen force that weaves together the threads of our lives in some grand design? Root has the ability to tap into that power, pierce the veil of mystery and catch glimpses of what the future holds.” At John's raised eyebrow Harold coughed a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away with bits of my usual midway spiel. But the truth is Root does have a gift, a gift which led us to find you.”
“Then I guess I owe her a thank you.”
“I am sure she will appreciate it” Harold replied, so deadpan that Reese wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He knew the other man must have picked up on some of the tense atmosphere between John and Harold's protege, the young fortune teller who called herself “Madame Root.” Her stage name also seemed to be her preferred name, as most of the other carnies just called her Root; Harold would occasionally call her “Miss Groves” when he was disappointed with her.
Root respected Harold even if she didn't seem to respect anyone else. While she was icily polite, John could still detect a hint of disdain when he interacted with her. Reese put it down to a bit of jealousy over the time her mentor was spending in John's company.
XXXXXXXXXX
John dreamed of Jessica from before the towers fell. But in his dream her kiss turned cold, with the chill of death. He woke up with a shiver and a sense of foreboding. Something in her voice when she last called. He needed to get back to her. But he needed to be careful.
Stanton knew about Jessica, but was unlikely to have shared that information with others. She liked to keep her cards close to the vest for any possible advantage. John thought he had kept knowledge of that particular vulnerability safe from the rest of the Agency, but he couldn't be sure. He wanted to check on Jessica but couldn't afford to be too direct. If they were aware of her then her phone would be tapped, making the idea of calling her too great a risk. It might tip them off to John's whereabouts, or even worse give them the knowledge that Jessica could be used as leverage against him.
He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, disturbed but not wanting to awaken Harold. He was surprised when some quiet noises from the kitchen area indicated the other man was still up.
“I didn't wake you, did I Harold?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing John. I hope my working in the kitchen didn't disturb your rest.”
“No, just a bad dream. What's your excuse?”
“I suppose we all tend to be night owls. When most people finish work they come to the carnival, which means our workday is just beginning. And the excitement after the shows are over make it hard to wind down. If you fancy a distraction perhaps a game of chess to occupy your thoughts?”
Thus began a series of late night matches between the two. It was a vicious cycle. John worried about Jessica and about what might happen if Snow caught up to him while he was still at the carnival. But John couldn't do anything about either situation until he was well enough to leave. However, the worries resulted in troubled sleep, which didn't help the healing process. Harold gave John concerned looks when John awoke, but said nothing after his hesitant offer of a sleeping aid was turned down. Instead he would take out the chess board and distract John with conversation on a variety of topics until the other man grew tired enough to sleep again.
XXXXXXXXX
John would sit outside in the sun for short periods during his convalescence. He never ventured toward the midway with its games and attractions, or close to the rides and concession stands. Instead he stayed sheltered in the area nestled in amongst the various campers, trucks, and motor homes of the carnival workers. It was the private area where the roustabouts and performers could relax and enjoy themselves away from the prying eyes of the public. As Harold had said, the carnies tended to keep to themselves. They would nod at John in passing, or share coffee or food with him, but no one asked any prying questions. There were a few John saw more of than the others, the ones he assumed were particular friends of Harold. There was Fusco the Strong Man and his young son Lee. Harold's prickly young protege Root. And the occasional glimpses of Carter when she consulted Harold about her son's condition.
John was seated at the picnic table, sipping at his coffee after finishing the hearty stew Finch had nagged him into eating for dinner. Carter glided up silently and took a seat next to John. After a brief nod to him she stared off into space, lost in her thoughts while waiting for Harold to bring out his latest concoction. John thought they must be helping her son, as Carter looked a bit less gaunt and worried. Root came and sat down on the bench on the other side of the table, doing her best to ignore John's presence while sipping a cup of tea. Drawn by the smell of fresh coffee, Fusco strolled up and helped himself to a cup from the pot on the table and they all sat in silence for the next few minutes. After finishing his coffee with a few quick gulps, Fusco put down his cup and proceeded to break the uncomfortable tension between Root and Reese by throwing one meaty arm around Root's neck and yanking her up against his broad chest. While he had her trapped in place he rubbed the knuckles of his other hand vigorously across her scalp. She shrieked and batted unsuccessfully against him with her hands. Fusco might not have the traditional body builder's physique, but John has still seen the Strong Man perform some impressive feats of strength. The petite Root was no match for him and was at his mercy until he finally deigned to let her go. She scowled and shot him a death glare as she tried to smooth her hair back in place.
Fusco merely chuckled “Aw, don't be like that Rooty. You know we're practically family. Lee's still determined to marry you when he is older.”
Root's death glare lightened a few notches and her scowl became almost fond. But she stood and gathered her skirts and her dignity around her as she stalked off like an offended cat that has had water thrown on it. John wondered what had prompted the altercation until he saw the slight smile on Carter's face.
Fusco continued chuckling as Harold came back with the draught for Taylor. “I wondered what had gotten into Root. I should have known it would be you Lionel. You really like to live dangerously, as you know how vengeful she can be.”
“I can handle Coco Puffs. She just needs to lighten up sometimes.”
“You know she will kill you if she hears you call her that.”
“She can try.”
John laughed at the whole episode, until he caught Fusco giving him a speculative look. He drew himself up and shot the man his own death glare. “Don't even think it.” Fusco looked unimpressed but was distracted by Harold.
“You need to apologize to her Lionel. You know she doesn't take teasing well.”
“I will. I'll even write her a formal letter saying I'm sorry. I'll have Lee deliver it along with some flowers. I'm sure he would pick some for her.”
“Indeed. Root has dashed the dreams of many a wistful suitor or hopeful penitent, but I doubt she could be so cruel as to turn away young Mr. Lee even if he is simply your messenger.”
He then handed the jar to Carter, who went back to her trailer after a quick thank you. John saw his new friend gazing sadly after Carter. On impulse he asked Harold if there was anything he could do to help. Harold wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve but he did let himself show one of his rare smiles. “I appreciate the offer, John. More than I can say.”
XXXXXXX
John jolted awake from a nightmare. The details were fuzzy, he just had a vague memory of gunshots and screaming. It could be a twisted memory from one of a dozen different missions. Harold had been working on a new potion for Carter's son, which was still bubbling on the stove. But Harold was nowhere around, so a chess match was out of the question. His heart still pounding in the aftermath of the dream, John decided to get a bit of fresh air before trying to go back to sleep.
John went outside to where some seats had been set up around a campfire. He settled into a folding chair with a cup of decaf coffee, letting the warmth from the fire and the drink drive off the night's chill and the lingering shivers from the dream. He could hear noises from around the camp and figured he wasn't the only one awake at this late hour. The moonlight through the clouds was strong enough that he could just make out the shadowed forms of Fusco and Lee playing soccer with some lumpy ball in an open space out behind the vehicles. He snorted as Lee jumped up and down excitedly over an imaginary goal. When they resumed kicking the ball back and forth between them he turned his gaze to the fire. He hadn't regained his strength as quickly as he would have liked, but he really needed to get back to the United States. Traveling with the carnival was good cover, and Finch had subtly indicated that they had experience smuggling people past border checkpoints, but the slow pace of the traveling circus was a problem. He also didn't want to risk leading his pursuers to the people who had taken him in. Harold had said they could protect themselves, but John didn't think that they had encountered a determined CIA hit squad before. His planning session was interrupted when an over-exuberant kick by Lee sent their ball careening towards the fire. It bounced off the stones lining the firepit and rolled around a bit before coming to a stop face up. It took John a stunned moment to realize that what he was looking down at was the battered severed head of Mark Snow.
Reese was dizzy and sluggish as tried to rise. He only succeeded in toppling over. Fusco knelt down on his shoulders, trapping his hands on the ground in a grip of iron. Harold and Root appeared out of the shadows, Harold carrying his pot and Root a large book.
“No use struggling John. You would have trouble breaking Fusco's grip under normal circumstances, let alone on a night of a full moon.”
A glance at Lionel's face showed he was sporting much more than 5 o'clock shadow. His curly hair had also grown longer to form a shaggy mane almost like a lion's. The leonine effect was only enhanced by the gold color of his eyes.
“We were at our wits end trying to help Taylor. The young man is a dhampyr, the offspring of the union between a human and a vampire. Sadly the vampiric curse in his blood acts similar to an autoimmune disease, attacking the body and causing a wasting sickness. But that same trace of vampirism makes it almost impossible to turn a dhampyr into a fully-fledged vampire as they are resistant. We finally came across a spell that would allow him to be turned. There was only one crucial ingredient missing-a hero's heart. And as you offered your assistance that makes you a willing sacrifice.” At the conclusion of his monologue Harold pulled a small hand axe from his coat. Before John could protest Harold plunged it into his chest, wasting no time in opening the chest cavity to retrieve the necessary organ. He placed it, still warm and quivering slightly, into the pot and after speaking a few words of power gave the pot to Lee to take to Carter.
Harold breathed a sigh of relief. It had been difficult but they had managed to pull it off. Harold had worried that John might decide to leave them before the full moon when the potion could be completed. The heart had to be fresh when it was added. Of course they could have restrained and imprisoned John if necessary, but Harold preferred to avoid that if at all possible. John was suspicious and not easy to fool. But while his magician's act was a cover, Harold still was quite good at his craft. After all those slight of hand performances on stage, slipping a little something extra into John's food without him knowing was simple. A few nocturnal visits from Carter also helped keep the man too weak to leave. It was an ideal solution for Carter's predicament, as she was unwilling to leave Taylor long enough to hunt and they didn't want to attract any unwanted attention by having her feed on one of the paying customers. John showed remarkable fortitude in resisting the usual fugue associated with the vampire's feeding, so Harold had taken to keeping a watchful eye on him lest the man become suspicious of the source of his nightmares.
Focusing on the task at hand, Finch took the book from Root and recited the incantation, making sure that his enunciation of the Latin was clear and precise. He thought wistfully that he was going to miss their chess games as it had been a while since he had an interested partner. His melancholy was chased away by the thrill of success when he saw the body twitch. His first zombie! He was so excited!
Root gave him a quick hug in congratulations before helping to put the finishing touches on the newly reanimated corpse. “Let's turn that frown upside down” she said with an evil smirk as she applied John's makeup. Fusco had already removed John's torn and bloody garments and placed him in a more colorful outfit. The garish makeup would help conceal the vague discoloration of rot in John's features. And no one would think twice about his stumbling walk or awkward movements, thinking it just part of his clown persona.
XXXXXX
Taylor lay with his head on his Mother's lap as her hand carded through his unruly hair. She held the goblet containing the potion to his lips as he took a few shallow sips. He sighed out his last breath while Carter placed the goblet on the bedside table. Taking a silver dagger, she sliced a gash across her wrist and let a few drops of blood fall into Taylor's open mouth. When his red eyes opened a few moments later she held out her bloody wrist so that he could drink his fill.
That night the carnival denizens celebrated Taylor's new birthday and the addition of a zombie to their ranks.