Gypsy Blood

Chapter 1 - Climbing Broken Ladders

Carnival closed his eyes but it was darker inside than out. He settled for an Eastwood squint. The squint would have worked if he’d had a cigarillo to bite down on. Too bad he’d never learned how to smoke.

Hurry up, boy. Time has never learned how to crawl.

What the hell was he thinking? Standing here in the doorway of the Second Chance Church and Wedding Chapel, leaning on an eight foot wooden stepladder, with wads of candle wax stuffed in his ears. There were worse ways to commit suicide but at the moment he couldn’t think of one. At least it was a good stepladder. He’d hunted seven city blocks to find it. There was magic in sevens, wasn’t there? He counted ladder rungs, searching for sign.

This has got to be one of the stupidest stunts I have ever tried.

Are you made of broken clocks? Hurry up.

That was Poppa, grumbling about broken clocks. Poppa’s grumbling sounded like slow wet boulders churning in the darkness deep inside Carnival’s chest where Poppa lived.

Don’t rush me, Poppa. I’m thinking

Think faster. There are three painters sitting up on the roof of the house from where you stole this ladder. By now, they’re wondering how they’ll get down.

Poppa, I looked. There was nobody on the roof.

I counted three painters. Maybe you didn’t see them. Open your eyes.

Carnival decided that Poppa was lying about the painters. Lying was Poppa’s favorite hobby. Every man needed a hobby, even a dead man and Poppa was as dead as they got.

Three is good luck, isn’t it?

Poppa shrugged. It was a funny feeling; someone shrugging their shoulders inside your chest. Like a small wet belch with bony shoulders, waiting to be born.

Ask Shemp.

Who is Shemp?

Poppa said nothing. Carnival went back to counting. There was magic in numbers. Accountants never saw that. You had to ask a Bingo player if you wanted to get to the truths of life. And because he was being ignored rather than doing the ignoring, Poppa chose to speak.

Shemp was the third stooge. There were five stooges in all, but because you never saw more than three at any time you thought of them as one. A sacred trinity of comedy. Larry, Moe and the other one.

Shemp?

It could be Shemp. Could be Curly Joe, or even the one they just called Curly. One in three, three in one. Good things come wrapped in triangles.

It was hard to ignore Poppa. Even the candle wax in Carnival’s ears didn’t help. Poppa could be more intrusive than a wet willie of pure sulphuric acid.

Shemp died. A heart attack. You cannot trust your heart. Three on a match burns your fingers, every time.

It was hard to ignore anyone who lived inside of a little cage of meat and bone just east of your beating heart. Like a ticking clock in a dead dog’s bed all you could do was listen.

Ticking clocks usually go boom. Hurry up, you’re wasting time.

Carnival ignored Poppa.

Nuisances went away if you ignored them long enough.

And where would I go? This cage is stronger than a sour garlic milkshake.

It ought to be strong. Carnival built it himself with magic, prayers and sacrifice. It took three nights of bargains and counter spells. He tasted the memory of the magic he’d put into building the cage and the taste made him want to spit.

Hurry up. You’re so slow. Have you been drinking molasses with your tea?

Carnival pretended deafness. Poppa didn’t like that. The old man’s distemper burned like old coal. Soul heartburn, nothing hurt worse. Carnival grinned. Pissing off Poppa was endless pleasure. It made it easier to face the hell-on-two-legs he was here to confront. He stared at the silver painted spikes he’d driven into each end of the ladder.

Painted nails? What kind of magic do you think you’ll make with painted nails? Some shuvano you are.

Shuvano was the Rom word for witch or wise man which was what Carnival was supposed to be. Poppa had a point but Carnival would be damned if he’d let him know. Real silver would be better but how could a simple back street fortune teller afford spikes of silver?

You could steal them. A real Gypsy would have. Oh, wait, what am I saying?

Carnival bit his lip, pretending Poppa’s last shot hadn’t hurt. His teeth drew blood. There was a thin crack running straight up the left side of the ladder. He kissed the crack, smearing his blood upon the wood. That was a bit more magic, even stronger than numbers. Blood is strong and Gypsy blood is strongest of all.

You’re no Gypsy. Stop lying to yourself.

Carnival stared at the crack. He concentrated on it.

Poshrat!

Poshrat. It meant half breed and the word hurt Carnival worse than the bit lip. He ignored the insult and stared harder. The crack seemed to widen the harder he stared.

Come on now baby. Daddy’s ready for some loving, Carnival taunted.

The ladder began to tremble.

Half-blood!

I see you, Carnival said. In the shadows, in the back.

Nothing.

Was the church empty?

Had he imagined her evil presence? No way.

Lilith spawn, Carnival shouted. Sucker of skivvy-scum. Dampener of good bad dreams. Come out. I see you.

You see nothing, Val my boy. There is nobody here but echoes.

And then she stepped out of the shadows from the back of the church. One of the deadliest females Carnival had ever seen.

She is not female. She is just painted herself that way.

She looked female enough to Carnival. All streak and line and curve and shadow. Flesh and flash running in the ways that made a man scream of angels and hellfire.

You are done here, Carnival whispered. I am here to end you once and for all.

She didn’t look one bit impressed. He didn’t blame her. He and his silver spiked stepladder didn’t look all that dangerous.

I am here to finish you.

Tell her a joke. Women love to laugh. A giggle and a wiggle go hand in hand.

Carnival stared hard at the boot polished rungs, trying to conjure up John Wayne fantasies as he circled the wagons of his courage. The best he could manage was a daydream of a pissed off Chill Wills.

Tell her how much you earned last year. She will laugh her head off.

Carnival grinned. Poppa was funny when he wanted to. The grin took the edge off of his fears.

And you could thank me for that.

For the thousandth time since he had caged Poppa, Carnival wondered why he hadn’t thought to install a mute button.

Thank you Poppa.

He stepped closer to the woman in the shadows, trying hard not to listen to his Poppa, trying harder to avoid her awful stare. Her eyes flashed and he felt it like sparks flung from an angry fire. He risked a glance. She caught the glance like a back fielder snagging an easy line drive. She held it hard, a frozen gaze. He couldn’t move. Not forward, not back. He liked it this way. Having no options kept things simple.

He smiled and whispered her true name, stepping closer into the shadows.

Succubus.

The succubus was the kind of woman that wanted to be stared at. She demanded it by her very existence. She was the kind of woman that made a man want to burn the Mona Lisa for daring to think it self a work of art. It wasn’t so much her looks. It was the thoughts she poked into your skull. The dreams she stirred and the images she conjured. A wave of cool heat rolled off of her. Carnival shivered. He reminded himself to be brave. He could take her.

You and what army of silver painted tongue depressors? You are under-gunned boy, doomed to die.

Shut up Poppa. I’m trying to fight.

You are trying to get yourself killed. Why piss on a dragon in her lair?

Carnival tried to suck up enough saliva to spit but his mouth forgot what courage tasted like. The succubus smiled as implacable and as silent as a carved Buddha grin.

You don’t scare me, Carnival lied.

She still didn’t speak. That was okay by Carnival. He didn’t want hear her. Even with the candle wax he’d plugged into his ears he still didn’t want to hear her speak.

Hurry up, boy. There’s television I need to watch.

You can’t watch television. You don’t have any eyes.

I’ve got eyes all over, boy. Don’t you ever forget that.

The succubus tilted her head slightly as if she could hear Poppa’s grumble which was quite a trick. Darned few could hear Poppa’s loudest yell. Yet who could tell with a succubus?

You are wasting time, boy. Stop thinking so long and move.

Carnival took one step forward. The succubus sighed softly; a dove’s wet coo, steeped in rotting honey. Carnival felt a quiver in his groin like the thrumming of a burning bull fiddle. He picked up the ladder by its middle rungs, hefting it like a picket fence quarterstaff. He grinned at her because it wouldn’t do any good to cry.

Come on sexy. Come on you wet dreaming wonder-box

Carnival kept his eye focused on the crack in the ladder. That was important. Focus on anything but her. Think of nothing. Think of baseball.

That’s right lover boy. Joe DiMaggio would know what to do right now.

Let’s play ball, Carnival shouted.

The succubus’s sigh grew louder, a record player slowly turned upwards. Carnival felt his blood rush, his dark uncut hair rustling behind his ears like a tiny super-hamster’s cape.

Come on now, darling, he called. Come on cinder-britches.

The sigh grew louder. Her face simmered. That was the only word for it. It simmered like a pot getting ready to boil, the flesh softly heaving and churning.

Sweet talk her, boy.

Come on, you mouth breathing bimbo psycho queen.

Her face stretched and flexed like a reflection in a funhouse mirror.

Open up, baby.

And then her mouth opened into a trapdoor full of secret nightmares. Carnival felt them pulling him closer. He wanted to climb inside that mouth. He wanted to get naked, peel off his skin, climb inside and roll around in his bare buff bones.

Damn it.

He wanted her.

That was what she did. That was what her job was. A succubus. Bitchling daughter of a yearning want. Lilith’s premenstrual backwash. She was a doorway on two legs. She’d open up and suck a man into a world of darkness and fantasy and raw living hunger. And it was Carnival’s job to stop her.

Gypsies don’t have jobs. Not real ones, anyway.

Shut up Poppa. I took the job and I’ve already been paid

I saw your paycheck. Tied up in a pretty blue bag. Ha!

Carnival raised his voice, yelling as much at the succubus as at Poppa. Open wide!

She opened like a door, a coffin, a canyon, like the mouth of a crescent moon.

He rushed towards her holding the ladder out like a rickety shield.

Open wide and say aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

He screamed the last word as he rushed in, trying to keep his courage up. It was the only way to keep from pissing in his pants. He felt his feet leave the floor. A pew rushed past, sucked straight into her mouth. The silver-painted nails he’d pounded into the top and bottom rungs of the ladder drew and snagged at the corners of her mouth just as he’d prayed they would.

Now what?

Don’t ask me. You’re the one who insisted on carrying a stolen wooden ladder into a mystical sudden-death showdown.

Carnival hung there, gripping the ladder with every mulish ounce of stubborn Gypsy blood. Her teeth gnashed like churning ivory tombstones, bits of bone and flesh wedged in between them, chunks of flesh colored parsley. Temptation spirits never bothered with dental floss. He stared at the chunks because they were better than staring at that awful darkness down beyond. One of those chunks used to be named Benny. A dead man he’d been paid in blue plastic to avenge.

He felt the ladder give and shiver. The crack in the wood widened. If it snapped he’d be sucked in and gone. He felt the strength running out of him. It would be so easy to just let go and let the succubus swallow him. He started to let go. Why not? It’d be easy. Just give up and let go.

Then he heard Poppa’s laughter.

Let go, boy. Let us both let go and see what’s inside. Let go, but look down first.

Carnival looked. The bones inside the mouth were moving. He told himself it was the wind. It wasn’t. A gnawed up nest of knucklebones reached out for him. A masticated skull, maracassing the ruin of its teeth like a clatter of petrified rattlesnakes chattered at him.

Let go boy. They want you to let go. They want your company.

Carnival hung on.

Listen to her boy. The bitch is laughing at you.

She was. Even above Poppa’s laughter.

Listen, boy. She is insulting your mother.

She was.

The hellacious Hoover-queen was insulting Momma.

That did it.

Nobody insulted Momma.

Carnival kicked at one of her teeth. A molar, maybe. A platter sized molar. The tooth gave way like a well-oiled gas pedal. His wind tunnel monkey bars creaked like the mast of a storm tossed ship. The succubus sucked harder. Carnival’s cock hardened. He didn’t want it to harden, but the situation was worse than staring at a wall full of hard core porn. It shouldn’t have been sexy but it was. His memories flooded in, threatening to drown him. That was her power. To stir up a man’s memories and make him yearn for the rear view mirror.

He remembered his first kiss. The first time he got naked with a girl. The first time he masturbated. The first time he saw a woman’s eyes glaze in that amazing state of torpid satisfaction, following the first mutual orgasm he’d been lucky enough to conjure.

Not that he would ever stoop to using magic on women.

He had some scruples.

Scruples? You? There are no scruples in screwing, boy. A man will grab what is hung before him.

Carnival kicked another tooth, ignoring Poppa’s misogynist fantasies. He blamed it on the succubus, and took it out on her.

Dance, boy. Kick up a jig. And then you screw her.

Screw you, Poppa. Images conjured by the sin-siren’s singing rose before Carnival’s eyes. Flesh, dancing in candlelight, memories of slow wet lips, hot kisses, and the damp moth flutter of a woman’s breath upon the hollow beneath his neck.

He kicked again.

Choke, you pneumatic bitch!

The bones of men were nothing to her but her own bones would catch in the funnel of her throat. At least that was his plan. The second tooth came loose. The ladder bucked and swayed like an acrobat’s spring pole. Her lips puckered inwards trying to cover her remaining teeth.

She wants to suck you, boy. I guess you look better than a bus.

It was a bad joke. Carnival kept on kicking, trying not to laugh at how bad it was. The world swallowed inwards. His hair whipped past his ears like a cat of nine thousand tails. The skin of his face threatened to blow loose and blind him. She was choking on her own teeth, catching somewhere in her throat. Carnival wasn’t about to offer her a psychic Heimlich. He was winning but it was happening way too slowly. He felt his fingers giving way. He felt a fingernail folding back and screaming through his nerve-lines. He was losing, letting go. And then something changed. He felt strength, strange muscles, moving beneath his skin.

Hold on boy, let me drive.

This had never happened before. Poppa had never moved this close inside him. It didn’t matter. Carnival needed help right now and it didn’t pay to ask the cost. The succubus billowed inside herself. Carnival felt his ears popping like a shout of flattened balloons.

The succubus gave one last heave, her face all full and swollen like a burning bright blue birthday balloon. And then it burst. Just as sudden as a bullet, she was gone, sucked into herself, through herself.

The church rattled.

The stained glass shattered inwards in an implosion of color and light. The pews heaved about like trailers in a Florida hurricane.

Carnival felt the aura of the building pull and push itself out of shape. The succubus was a pathway between this world and another and when she’d imploded the real world rushed in a little bit to fill the vacuum. He didn’t know what effect this might have on the future. It didn’t bother him. He was a live-in-the-moment-and-don’t-worry-about-the-cholesterol kind of guy. It was the gypsy way.

And what would you know about being a gypsy, half-blood?

Carnival smiled. His skin hurt like it had been stretched beyond recovery. His teeth ached and his legs felt like he’d tried to moonwalk down a sledgehammer gauntlet.

That was for you, Benny.

That wasn’t true. He had done it for more than just Benny. He had done it for all the homeless men she had sucked in and eaten before he had finally tracked her down to this church. Benny was just the catalyst. The domino that started the whole universe tumbling.

Ha! You did it for a pair of lonely beggar’s eyes. You felt sorry for those eyes.

"The homeless can be useful, Poppa. They see things that more comfortable folk would rather ignore.

And a Rom loves his secrets. Liar. You did it for sympathy. You are weaker than a woman. Some hero. You didn’t fix anything. Benny the bum is still down there. Down in her mouth. Ha!

She’s gone, Poppa.

Ha! Nobody ever goes. She’s just moved somewhere else.

Shut up, Poppa.

Carnival tried to imagine Benny. Somebody he’d never known. He’d never even heard of him until last week when three houseless men knocked on Carnival’s shop window and hired him to make vengeance. They’d paid Carnival well. Nearly thirty eight dollars in scavenged pop bottles, bagged in bright blue plastic recycling bags. He never would have done it for free. He had some scruples. Hey, Gypsies have to eat too.

Maybe she was hungry too? Did you ever think about that?

Carnival paused.

He let his breath out in a long and tired sigh.

Great, he said. Guilt the pissed-on lily, why don’t you Poppa?

Carnival walked away, not looking back, trying hard to forget that feeling of someone wriggling beneath his skin. It ought to have been over but it wasn’t. It had only just begun.

Several heartbeats after the door closed behind Carnival, as he walked away from the shaken church, a tall lurching twist of a figure slanted like the shard of a sunbeam from out of the heart of a shadow. It looked around the ransacked church, a prospective tenant sizing up a brand new sublet.

Yes, The Blood-Shambler said. This will do, nicely.

And in the darkened heart of the darkest shadow something else watched the Blood-Shambler.

Something else that couldn’t be seen.

Something that was already making its plans.

Poppa’s laughter echoed through the empty church.

Chapter 2 - An Evening Caller

Doris shivered as the night wind whispered down the back of her collar. Should she do this? Could she? Her mother would have called this a sin. Her mother called a lot of things sins.

She looked at the sign in the shop window.

GYPSY FORTUNE TELLING - BY WALK-IN OR APPOINTMENT ONLY. ASK ABOUT OUR RAINY DAY SPECIAL.

If you couldn’t believe in a sign, what could you trust? There was a sign on the lamppost beside her as well.

JESUS CHRIST SAVES ALL SINNERS. PRAY TO JESUS NOW. OBEY THE BIBLE.

Now there was a message as direct as a drill sergeant. They did not call it the Salvation Army for nothing. A basket of biblical tracts sprouted beneath the sign. She picked one of the tracts up and read it over.

DEATH, JUDGEMENT, ETERNITY, HEAVEN OR HELL, YOU DECIDE.

So many messages. Who should she believe?

Trust Carnival, her best friend Margaret had told her. Carnival knew things.

Doris squared her shoulders, stepped up to the door, and pushed it open.

A little brass bell heralded her entrance.

Enter freely and of your own will.

She looked at the man who had spoken. He flashed a quick grin to show her he meant no harm.

Come in. Sit down.

Her mother would have called him rough looking. A faded brown suede vest worn too tightly to be fashionable. Tousled black hair, salted with a little age and comfortably uncombed. A scar on his right cheek that made him look dangerous. He had a nice smile but you can’t trust a smile. Jimmy smiled whenever he asked her for money.

The man chuckled as if he could read her thoughts.

Maybe he could.

Come in. Don’t let me scare you. It’s just my idea of a joke. Something I heard in an old Dracula movie. He shrugged. For half an instant he looked like her dead husband, Frank.

He looked like someone she could trust.

Sometimes I try too hard to be funny, He apologized.

He sat at a card table. A deck of cards was tabled in front of him. Tarot cards, she presumed. She’d seen them in the movies and in that strange little mysterious downtown boutique bookstore where the women wore dresses that looked like fancy nightgowns.

Come in, he repeated.

She stepped closer. Her hands were shaking.

He flashed another smile.

Don’t be scared, he said. I make it a point never to terrify anyone on their first date.

He gestured for her to sit in a large green lawn chair. It was big and heavy and plastic.

Sit down. I just got the chair. Do you like it? Green is very soothing to your chakra.

He extended a hand. She stared at it, like it was a snake. He gently took her hand and shook it.

I am not trying to pump money out of you, he said, grinning. Not yet, anyway.

Feeling flustered, she sat down. I’m sorry. I forget my manners. You meet so few people who shake your hand these days.

I’m my own one-man time warp. You’ll get used to it. Call me Carnival.

She told him her name. And then she finally had to ask.

So what is a chakra?

An energy source. The body has them all over it. Here, he touched his belly. And here and here.

He touched his head and he almost touched his heart. Doris would have sworn that he flinched just before his knuckles touched his chest. Another smile fluttered upon his lips. He looked a little nervous like he had just broke wind.

Are you a real gypsy? she asked.

As real as truth.

Is Carnival your real name?

He smiled at that. She could see the laughter hiding behind his eyes. It was a good laugh, not at her but with her. The laughter and something else moved behind his eyes like a dancing shadow.

You can call me Val if Carnival had too many syllables to chew over. It doesn’t pay to give out real names in some of the circles I travel in. he answered.

Doris wondered what sort of circles he might mean but she was too polite to ask.

So what can I do for you, Doris?

She felt the blood rush to her face.

She knew she was blushing.

I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. Read me the future, I guess.

He gave her another smile. He had lot of smiles to go around.

I don’t read futures. That’s for little old ladies in spotted kerchiefs.

Then what do you do?

I dukker. That’s Rom for telling fortunes.

Rom?

Rom’s Gypsy talk. It’s our language. It’s supposed to be secret. We don’t even write it down. It’s passed on, tongue to ear. I’m not even supposed to say this much.

She grinned.

Will you get in trouble for telling me?

He shrugged. It’s worse than sharing a Masonic handshake. They only kill you for that.

So you’re a gypsy.

Yes. I am Rom. You call us Gypsies. We call you Gaijo.

He looked her in the eye. He had dark eyes like mirrors in shadow. Nice. If she was younger, she might have wanted to meet him over coffee.

So tell me why you have come?

She stood up, flustered, not knowing to do with herself.

It’s my son. I have a problem with him.

He looked at her.

Sit down.

She sat back down. He shuffled the cards.

Don’t tell me anymore. I like to look at the cards first, without knowing what I’m looking for. It’s too easy to cheat if you already know the question.

He laid out the first card. She saw the picture, a woman sitting on some sort of a chair. Was that her? The chair in the picture looked like a lawn chair to Doris.

This is you, Carnival said. You have a problem. Someone expects something from you.

She nodded, just slightly, trying too late to check herself. She didn’t want to telegraph her situation to this man but she had the feeling he already knew what her problem was.

He laid another card, a dark haired figure sitting atop a large black horse, staring hard at a star in a circle in his hand. The card was upside down.

The Knight of Pentacles, reversed. Someone promises action, but so far he’s nothing but talk. Your son?

She couldn’t help but nod.

He laid a third card down. Three long swords piercing a heart. The sky behind the heart appeared to be raining.

Three of hearts. A hard decision. Tears falling upon the ground. You have to cut some one away.

Carnival looked in her eyes. She felt his eyes, analyzing. Reading her like a hand running over a well-thumbed book.

With respect, you could throw a rock at sixty years, couldn’t you Doris? he asked.

It took Doris a moment to realize he was talking about her age. She nearly blushed. Stupid, that a woman of her age should worry but she did. Some things never changed.

How can you tell? she asked.

I look here. He touched the corner of his eye. Where the crows dance. They never lie. He looked at her again like he could see through her eyes. Like Superman in the comic books.