Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) by Delilah S. Dawson Read Free Book Online Page A

skies. I was startled as a velvety red bludsquirrel darted out of the high grasses to grab half a wrappy sadly dropped on the ground. In the cities, the small beast was considered a dangerous pest hell-bent on draining innocent humans, but out on the moors, it was just a comical furball with an oversized fuzzy tail struggling with a chunk of sandwich. Thanks to enterprising creatures like him, we never had to hire a janitor. All trash, big and small, just . . . disappeared.
    “You get ’em, buddy,” I said. In response, it dropped the wrappy and chittered through snake fangs before snatching it back up and disappearing into the darkness.
    I usually loved this time of night, loved waiting for Criminy to come find me and carry me, laughing, to our wagon. But with Torno missing and my grandmother strange and predatory, I felt off-kilter and trapped in a way I hadn’t for years in Sang, not since Jonah Goodwill had stolen the necklace that let me pass between worlds.
    When Crim didn’t arrive with his usual flair to escort me to our wagon, I walked around the outside of the caravan train’s large circle by myself, passing empty acts and gaudily painted sets. Everyone was gone, and a shiver arced up my spine as a pair of bludbunnies tumbled out of the high weeds just beyond the bright lights, fighting over a bit of pink flesh. I hurried around to the striped backdrop where Torno’s weights and blocks were arrayed and wasn’t surprised to find most of the caravan gathered around the ringmaster. Up front, of course, was Emerlie in her lime-green tutu, with Charlie Dregs the Bludman puppeteer almost close enough to put a hand against her back. The denizens of the freak tent huddled together, many of them new: Patrick the human pincushion; a young, heavily tattooed Bludman named Peter with a thick beard and a huge curling mustache; Zazu the mermaid; and a very unfortunate fellow named Murgatroyd with a horrible case of elephantiasis. Veruca the Abyssinian sword swallower and Eblick the lizard boy were aloof on the outskirts, as always, alone even among their fellow freaks.
    The crowd parted. Abilene the bearded lady edged away from Catarrh and Quincy as our artificer, Mr. Murdoch, hurried to the door of Torno’s wagon with a magnifying glass in hand and his goggles pulled down over serious eyes. Scurrying beside him, his wife, Imogen, still wore the scarlet and black Monarch costume that matched her butterfly circus as she flipped through a book, looking for answers. On the periphery, the knife thrower, Marco, paced nervously, a dagger held between his fingertips and his unnaturally violet eyes watching the moors with suspicion as if Torno’s kidnapper or killer might appear at any time and require skewering.
    Marco’s girlfriend, Jacinda, walked up to me, her journalist’s notebook at the ready . “As a glancer, Tish, you’ve surely seen a glimpse of Torno’s future. How did he die?”
    I rolled my eyes and patted her shoulder. “If I knew, I would’ve mentioned it by now. I only saw his past and one incident that we were able to prevent. It happens that way sometimes. There’s no rhyme or reason. Doesn’t mean he’s dead.”
    “Scuttlebutt says the last carnivallero to disappear from this circus was a tattooed girl named Lydia . Do you know where she went?”
    I went cold and pinned her with my glare. “We don’t talk about it. Charlie Dregs buried her. The bludding didn’t take—it was messy. That was before my time. And she wasn’t the last to disappear.”
    Before she could shoot her next question with the cool aim of Marco’s knives, I pushed through the throng to Criminy, who stood in Torno’s open door.
    “No sign of struggle. Looks like he may have packed a bag.” Crim’s grin quirked up, just a little. “His mustache wax is gone, which tells me he had some say in the leaving, at least.”
    He held out his hand, and I let him pull me into Torno’s wagon and shut the door on the curious