called to me somehow. Like I was meant to find it.”
Sounds plausible enough, Pete thought, believing Nadia’s story. He wondered how long the glove had been sitting dormant—and who had it originally belonged to. Mary Todd Lincoln? Charlotte Brontë? Catherine the Great? Maybe Artie could figure it out.
In the meantime, there was a more pressing question.
“So where is the real left glove?”
“I wish I knew.” Nadia looked hopefully at the right glove. “Does this mean I get them back?”
“Sorry,” Pete said. They needed to hang on to the glove until they found its mate. “No can do.”
“But you don’t understand!” She grabbed for the glove, but Myka yanked it away from her, beyond her reach. Nadia burst into tears. “I have to heal people! I have to!”
Whoa, Pete thought, taken aback by her outburst. Talk about a drama queen. Was there more to this than just an understandable desire to do good? She sounded out of control, almost like she was under some kind of compulsion. Maybe we’re taking that glove away from her none too soon?
“Hey, rube!” an angry voice intruded. “You need to listen to the lady.”
The curtain was yanked open from the outside, exposing the stage. Jim Doherty had returned—with reinforcements. His sideshow cronies glared at the two agents. A snake charmer cradled a hissing python. A scowling strong man flexed his muscles. The fat lady crossed her slab-like arms atop her capacious chest. The alligator boy, his body covered in scales, bared his teeth, which were filed to points. A full set of throwing knives was tucked into Jim’s belt.
Crap, Pete thought. This could get ugly.
Myka held up her badge. “I’m going to have to ask you all to vacate the tent. We’re on official business.”
“No way, toots,” the strong man rumbled. A poster outside had hyped him as The Mighty Atlas! Leopard-print trunks left most of his imposing frame exposed. His muscles had muscles—and big, bulging ones to boot. His sinews stood out like steel cables. A thick skull rested atop a neck wide enough to serve as a pedestal. A handlebar mustache framed his jowls. His deep bass voice made James Earl Jones sound like a castrato. “Nadia’s one of us. We look after our own.”
“Yesss,” Ophidia the snake charmer hissed. Sequins glinted like scales on her tight sheath dress. A forked tongue showed just how far she was willing to go for her act. The python flicked its own tongue in unison. “Ssshe’s helped usss all.”
She got a little too close to Atlas, who shot her a disgusted glance before putting some distance between them. He clearly wasn’t a fan, not that Pete really cared. The agent was more concerned with shutting down this sideshow before someone got hurt.
Like maybe him and Myka.
“Everyone needs to calm down here.” He drew his Tesla from beneath his jacket and swung its muzzle from left to right and back again, trying to keep the entire crew in his sights. “And leave the tent immediately.”
“You got that backwards, rube,” Jim shot back. “You and your partner are the ones who are leaving.” He nodded at Myka. “Without the glove.”
“No way.” Myka stuffed the glove into her pocket, then pulled out her own sidearm, but the knife thrower was quicker on the draw. Moving faster than the proverbial eye, he flung a blade at the gun, knocking it from Myka’s grasp. The gun skidded across the dirt.
“Myka!” Pete decided that Jim was the primary threat. He swung the Tesla at the youth even as Atlas and the alligator boy charged him from opposite sides. A bolt of polyphase energy burst from the gun, but struck the alligator boy instead. Electricity lit up his scaly body and flung him backward across the stage, nearly colliding with Jim, who jumped out of the way just in time. He hurled a second knife at the Tesla, but the commotion threw off his aim. Pete felt the blade whoosh past his hand as he lurched away from the knife—right into the arms of the oncoming strong
Sounds plausible enough, Pete thought, believing Nadia’s story. He wondered how long the glove had been sitting dormant—and who had it originally belonged to. Mary Todd Lincoln? Charlotte Brontë? Catherine the Great? Maybe Artie could figure it out.
In the meantime, there was a more pressing question.
“So where is the real left glove?”
“I wish I knew.” Nadia looked hopefully at the right glove. “Does this mean I get them back?”
“Sorry,” Pete said. They needed to hang on to the glove until they found its mate. “No can do.”
“But you don’t understand!” She grabbed for the glove, but Myka yanked it away from her, beyond her reach. Nadia burst into tears. “I have to heal people! I have to!”
Whoa, Pete thought, taken aback by her outburst. Talk about a drama queen. Was there more to this than just an understandable desire to do good? She sounded out of control, almost like she was under some kind of compulsion. Maybe we’re taking that glove away from her none too soon?
“Hey, rube!” an angry voice intruded. “You need to listen to the lady.”
The curtain was yanked open from the outside, exposing the stage. Jim Doherty had returned—with reinforcements. His sideshow cronies glared at the two agents. A snake charmer cradled a hissing python. A scowling strong man flexed his muscles. The fat lady crossed her slab-like arms atop her capacious chest. The alligator boy, his body covered in scales, bared his teeth, which were filed to points. A full set of throwing knives was tucked into Jim’s belt.
Crap, Pete thought. This could get ugly.
Myka held up her badge. “I’m going to have to ask you all to vacate the tent. We’re on official business.”
“No way, toots,” the strong man rumbled. A poster outside had hyped him as The Mighty Atlas! Leopard-print trunks left most of his imposing frame exposed. His muscles had muscles—and big, bulging ones to boot. His sinews stood out like steel cables. A thick skull rested atop a neck wide enough to serve as a pedestal. A handlebar mustache framed his jowls. His deep bass voice made James Earl Jones sound like a castrato. “Nadia’s one of us. We look after our own.”
“Yesss,” Ophidia the snake charmer hissed. Sequins glinted like scales on her tight sheath dress. A forked tongue showed just how far she was willing to go for her act. The python flicked its own tongue in unison. “Ssshe’s helped usss all.”
She got a little too close to Atlas, who shot her a disgusted glance before putting some distance between them. He clearly wasn’t a fan, not that Pete really cared. The agent was more concerned with shutting down this sideshow before someone got hurt.
Like maybe him and Myka.
“Everyone needs to calm down here.” He drew his Tesla from beneath his jacket and swung its muzzle from left to right and back again, trying to keep the entire crew in his sights. “And leave the tent immediately.”
“You got that backwards, rube,” Jim shot back. “You and your partner are the ones who are leaving.” He nodded at Myka. “Without the glove.”
“No way.” Myka stuffed the glove into her pocket, then pulled out her own sidearm, but the knife thrower was quicker on the draw. Moving faster than the proverbial eye, he flung a blade at the gun, knocking it from Myka’s grasp. The gun skidded across the dirt.
“Myka!” Pete decided that Jim was the primary threat. He swung the Tesla at the youth even as Atlas and the alligator boy charged him from opposite sides. A bolt of polyphase energy burst from the gun, but struck the alligator boy instead. Electricity lit up his scaly body and flung him backward across the stage, nearly colliding with Jim, who jumped out of the way just in time. He hurled a second knife at the Tesla, but the commotion threw off his aim. Pete felt the blade whoosh past his hand as he lurched away from the knife—right into the arms of the oncoming strong
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