Sleep is a long time coming, but I finally drift off and in no time at all Maura is shaking you awake.
"Jane? Can you hear me?"
I grunt and she sighs in relief, asking pleasantly, "How did you sleep?"
"Just great," I lie. "You?"
"Not well." she admits. "Someone is still trying to kill me. I suppose that sort of thing can wreck a girl's sleep."
"I suppose so," I tell her.
"Do we have a plan, Jane?"
I yawn and stagger into the bathroom, splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth while I formulate.
Maura has a death curse hanging over her.
Magic like that, once it has been cast, keeps coming back until it gets the job done.
Like the proverbial bad penny, it will just keep turning up.
Even if I figure out who cast the spell, caught them and kill them, the curse would still kill Maura.
First order of business is disarming the death curse, but that kind of magic is way out of my league.
Even if I had the right spell components and knew the counter spell, it probably wouldn't work.
I don't have a whole lot of talent for dismissing black magic courses, but I know someone who might be able to help.
I pat my face dry with a mostly clean towel and then I pour myself a drink from the bottle on my desk. "Someone put a powerful hex on you," I tell Maura. "A death curse to be exact. We're going to see about getting it dispelled."
"How come we didn't do that from the beginning?"
"Two reasons," I say. "First, I couldn't be sure we were actually dealing with magic. Some people see poltergeists in every shadow."
She crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side skeptically. "And the second?"
I pick up my coat, find it still soaking wet and attempt to wring out some of the moisture. "This is high level magic. It don't come free," I tell her.
She puts her fists on her hips. "Are you attempting to get more money out of me, Mrs. Rizzoli?"
"Money isn't the issue."
"You just said it wouldn't be free."
"I said it wouldn't be free. I didn't say it costs money." I take my Glock from the desk drawer, pull on my damp, wrinkled overcoat, pick up the phone and fail Hank's number.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Another five Dollar cab ride takes us to the outskirts of town, along a dusty road to the front gate of a forgotten circus.
The wrought-iron fence that hems in the grounds is grown over with creeper vines.
The tents, their red and yellow stripes bleached by the sun, look like they've been standing there long before the city came along and they'll go on standing long after the port town has dried up and all the people move on.
A breeze lifts the top of the nearest tent. It snaps back down.
A large Ferris wheel rears up at one corner of the park like an ancient monolith to a forgotten god.
There is a rusting old tilt-a-whirl and a gilded carousel, too.
The sign over the front gate reads Cirque du Curieux.
The tires crunch on the gravel drive.
Hank shifts into park, plucks the stub of cigar from his mouth and gives a low whistle. "Sure this is you want to be, hun?"
Maura cranks down her window. She looks at the circus and then back at,me. "The circus?" she asks. "We're going to the circus?"
"What's the matter?" I open my door and climb out. "You don't like carnival games?"
Hank leans out of the window. "Want I should wait?"
"Thanks." I fok over another five clams to keep him waiting, then head round the hood of the car toward the front gate.
Maura steps out of the cab and her high heels sink into the loose gravel.
She does an awkward wriggle and shake, but stays on her feet.
A big, heavy padlock, secures the gate.
She sees it and asks, "Over or under this time?"
I give her an obvious once over and start to say I take either.
She leaves a look at me, and I reconsider saying it aloud.
I mention to the gate. "Just give it a push."
"It's locked."
"Trust me."
Maura, rolling her eyes, puts a hand up to push.
Before her fingers even make contact, the padlock opens with a clank and the gate swings in.
"Okaaaay" She takes a step back. "That was strange."
"You know what Curieux means in French?" I indicate thwrought-iron sign overhead.
Maura shrugs one shoulder.
"Curious," I tell her. "The Curious Circus. Things get a little strange in here, dollface. Watch your step and don't get lost."
She's walking so close your elbows are touching.
She does her level best to watch everywhere at once. "I didn't even know there was a circus in town," she tells me.
"There isn't," I tell her. "At least not in that sense. The Cirque du Curieux has always been here, long as I can remember. Most people stay away. I've only have occasion to be here twice. Both were very surreal experiences."
"Does it open?" She asks. "You know, like at night. All the lights come on and clowns out. Kids, music, rides? The place looks deserted."
She's holding onto my arm now.
"I've never heard of being open." I shake my head.
"I don't like it here, Jane. Let's go back."
"Not yet," I tell her. "First we have to get rid of the hex."
"But the place is empty."
I point between a pair of tents to a mechanical fortune teller.
"You're kidding."
Ignoring her, I proceed up the tall box with the swarthy, goateed mannequin in a large purple turban.
He, it, has eyes like coal that cause gooseflesh to march up my arms.
I put a nickel in the coin slot and turn the knob, saying. "I need to see him.", as you do so.
There is a dispenser on the front of the machine where the fortune card rattles into place.
I take the card and turn it over.
Not likely.
Maura takes a step back. "Did you just talk to that machine?"
I nod. "Give it a try, but don't let him get to you."
She shakes her head wonderingly. "It's not even plugged in."
Turning back to Zoltar I say, "Listen, this is important. Could you let me in?"
Another card drops into the slot.
Piss off.
I crumple the card and toss it at Zoltar's plastic face.
The crumpled wad bounce off the glass and falls to the ground. Still, it made me feel a little better.
I don't like taking guff from a machine, but I need to see Pasha, the Gypsy. He'll know how to lift the hex on Maura, if it can be done at all.
Since Zoltar is just a box with a wooden head in it, he ought to know better than to mess with someone who could push him over. Maybe I need to make that clear?
On the other hand, perhaps Maura can sweet talk the machine?
Finally, there's always the option of just looking for Pasha lair.
It has to be around here somewhere.
Taking a moment to control my annoyance, I turn to Maura and say, "He's got a soft spot for pretty ladies. Hell, if I'd been trapped inside a box for a thousand years I'd be a bit randy myself. Ask him to let us in."
"You want me to talk to it?"
I give an encouraging nod.
She rakes a hand through her hair and steps in front of Zoltar. "Um, hello, could you let us in please?"
A card drops into the slot.
I take it and turn it up so Maura can read as well.
Show me your goods.
"What?" Maura's mouth drops open. "No way."
Another card drops.
Fine. Stay here then.
Feeling sorry for Zoltar's isolation, I say. "You know, you could give him a peak." You're laughing now.
"This ... Puppet or whatever it is, wants to get fresh! Why don't you be a man and shake his cage a little?" she says.
"Maura, it's just a wooden head. He just stares out that glass all day and night. Have some pity and five him a thrill."
Maura sighs. "Alright, but you have to turn your back."
"I've already seen them," I say with an amused smirk.
"Turn around," Maura orders.
I take three big steps back until I am behind Maura and spread my hands. "Will do this?"
She shrugs, now all business, hooks her thumbs through the shoulder straps on her dress and pulls the top down.
All of Zoltar's lights turn on and his wooden mouth drops open.
Maybe I am imagining it, but his eyes seem to widen.
Maura sighs, waits another few seconds, and then pulls her top back up.
The lights stay on and his mouth continues to hang.
A card clicks into the slot.
Maura takes this one and turns it over.
Yowza!
She gives him a hard smile that doesn't go to her eyes and says, "Now would you please let us in?"
Rather than a card, a pair of Harlequins come flipping and tumbling out from behind the nearest tent.
One male. One female.
At first glance, they appear to be wearing red and black diamond body stockings.
But a closer look shows me the red and black diamond patterns have been bare skin.
Black masks covers their faces.
Their black rubber noses are a foot long.
Then it occurs that these might not be masks at all.
The thought sends a shiver tip-toeing up my spine.
The harlequins come to a stop facing each other.
They lean in until their long noses are almost touching and then blow a kiss.
Their heads swivel to face me.
They move like automatons.
Their heads bobble slightly as they reach the end of the movement.
They bow in unison, step back and sweep their arms with a flourish.
Behind them stands a gyspy caravan where there had been only empty air a moment ago.
Maura hurries after me, but the harlequins cartwheel her path, barring her entry.
A card drops into Zoltar's slot.
Maura goes and reads. "Only her."
I hadn't planned on that.
Leaving Maura here, unattended, makes me nervous.
A lot could happen.
The worst being that I have absolutely no idea what could happen.
I am a detective, not a magician, and I am drabbling in a world where I don't know all the rules.
But getting the death curses removed is more important.
"Stay here," I tell her. "Do not wander off."
"You're going to leave me here?"
"You'll be fine,", I say, hoping it's true. "Just stay put. I'll be out in a minute."
"No," she shakes her head. "Absolutely not. You aren't leaving me out here with this randy fortune-telling machine!" She faces Zoltar again and pulls her top down, gives a little shake and asks, "Can I go in?"
Zoltar, his lights still on and his mouth hanging open, remains silent.
No card.
"Maura, it's going to be fine," I say. "Just stay here."
She pulls her top back up. "Fine. But don't be long."
"I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail, sweety." I pull open the brightly painted door of the caravan and step inside.
The caravan is bigger inside than it looks from the outside.
Not much bigger, but there is room to move around.
That's often the case with magical abodes, though I couldn't say why.
It disturbed and disoriented me the first time.
Now I don't bother questioning it.
Go trying figure these things out and I might drive myself insane.
The place is cluttered with colorful pillows, cooking pans, bladed weapons, scarves, a hookah pipe, mason jars full of medical ingredients and more things I don't even recognize.
I certainly couldn't name them.
Amongst all this various and sundry chaos sits a wizened old man with watery black eyes and skin like dried-up parchment.
He's in purple baggy pants and a blue vest, sitting cross-legged on the low stool.
If he pulled out a rug and flew away, it wouldn't surprise me much.
He takes a hit from the hookah pipe and blows vapor in my direction.
The sickly-sweet smell of whatever he is smoking invades your nostrils.
I tip my head at him. "Pasha. Always good to see you."
Pasha sniffs.
I unearth another stool from a mountain of blankets, pillows and yarn, have a seat and say, "I need a counter spell. Someone is trying to kill a friend using some serious mojo. Maybe some of those defensive charms wouldn't go amiss either.
Pasha continues puffing on the hookah.
His watery eyes bore into mine lime he can see right down into my soul.
"Look, I know we've never seen eye-to-eye, "I tell him. "But a lot of innocent people are getting killed. More are going to die unless you help me counter that death curse. What's it going to take to earn your help?"
The old gypsy takes his lips off the pipe long enough to say, "A memory."
His voice is like dried-up parchment with thick Romani accent.
I can't help but laugh. "You want one of my memories? I have to warn you, old timer, most of them aren't so great."
"Then you have no reason to horde them," Pasha says.
I consider his offer and shake my head.
Memories are tricky things.
You keep them in your head for a reason.
What if you can't remember your own name when he's done.
How will I help Maura if I don't even know who I am?
It's an awful gamble.
I get up and and start for the door. "That's asking a lot, Pasha."
He inclines his head. "So you are you, Miss Jane. A death curse is not easily cast and much harder to dispel. Even if you find and kill your enemy, the curse will be in effect."
That stops me from walking out.
What good will it do to find the killer if I can't stop the curse for killing?
I hesitate with my hand on the door knob. "What memory so you want?"
"You are not such a fool." He grins. "You will still remember your name."
It's not the first time Pasha has said something that leaves me feeling he can read minds.
I take a seat in the stool, chew the inside of my cheek as I think it over and then say, "Alright. But I want your word you can lift the death curse."
"It will be dispelled," he assures me. "And I can give you a powerful totem to use against the evil sorcerer. It will offer you protection."
"Alright," I nod. "Which memory do you want? Something from my childhood?"
Pasha's weathered his lips from a lopsided grin.
He passes the hookah piper over and motions for me to inhale.
Suddenly wary of what I might be getting into, I take a pull.
The caravan starts to tilt.
The roaring of the ocean fills my ears.
I feel my eyelids getting heavy and then I'm floating through a void.
Smoke envelopes me and when Ii look close, I find little memories, just pictures, in the nimbus clouds.
There are sounds too, distant but growing louder, more distinct.
One of the nimbus memory clouds envelopes me.
I am at a house party, walking around the swimming pool with a drink in hand.
I am wearing my police uniform.
It's late in the evening and the light in the swimming pool turns the water to a rippling blue with hints of yellow.
Everyone is laughing, having a good time.
There are other police uniforms mingling with the crowd.
It's graduation day.
Me and the other recruits spent the morning sitting through the ceremony.
Now it's party time.
My best friend from academy calls my name.
I turn.
Trevor has a girl by the wrist, pulling her through the crowd.
Her skin is the color sun kisses and her hair is gold blonde.
She has big green eyes and a mouth that is a little to small for her face, but then she smiles and it all comes together.
Seeing her smile is like watching a flower bloom.
She's in an emerald green dress that shows off her shoulders and they are worth showing off.
Trevor, well on his way to drunk, motions to her with his plastic cup, sloshing some beer in process. "Jane, this my cousin, Rose. Rose, this is the girl was telling you about. Jane Rizzoli. Jane and I are going to be partners.
I offer my hand.
She takes it.
Her hand is small, almost dainty, but she's got callouses, like she's used to physical work.
"Trevor told me a lot about you," she says.
I open my mouth to reply, but I get lost in those green eyes and that smile ...
I know right then and there, this is the girl I want to marry.
This is the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with.
I finally find my voice and say ...
But the memory is gone.
I am back in the caravan, facing the old gypsy, holding the hookah.
Her face, her smile, the first time I met her it's all slipping away.
The conscious mind still knows it happened, but I can't bring the pictures or the sounds up from the well of memories.
I drop the hookah and stand up. "Not that one," I tell him. "You can have any one, but not that one!"
His boney shoulders rise and fall. He spreads weathered old hands. "It's done."
I drop back onto the stool and put my face in my hands.
The rest of the relationship is still there, intact.
I remember it all; the first date, the first kiss, the first time we made love, the wedding and the honeymoon.
But the first meeting is gone, erased from my mind. Gone forever.
As the shock wears off, anger sets in and my fists clench.
Plugging the old gypsy in the face would probably be detrimental.
Things don't work the same here, whenever here is.
Still, he didn't tell me he'd take something so precious.
I let out a shaky breath, scrub my face with my hands and use the motion to wipe away a tear that found its way out. I made my bargain.
Now I have to live with it.
I should have negotiated the particulars of the deal before agreeing, but that's water under the bridge.
"Mrs. Rizzoli," Pasha says and I look up.
He blows blue smoke at my face.
It's my wedding day.
Rose looks amazing in her dress.
She's beaming.
So am I.
It's the happiest day of my life.
I live the thing.
Or more precisely, I re-live the whole thing.
I experience the whole day in it's glory.
I come back to the caravan feeling elated.
Pasha looks on me with kindly eyes.
The needing day is still intact in my memory.
Still there. Still mine.
Re-living was a gift.
I manage to smile. "Thanks." I mutter.
Pasha shrugs.
The old gypsy roots through a chest of drawers out a small silver amulet and passes over to me.
It's an animal's head, but not any any animal I am familiar with.
It looks like a cross between a goat and a lion.
An arcane symbol is carved into the animal's forehead.
The silver feels warm to the touch, like it has some hidden power.
"This will help you," he tells me. "Think of it like a suit of armor. It will protect you, but only so much."
I nod and slip the amulet into my pocket. "And the death curse?"
He wave a hand in the air. "Gone. But I cannot prevent your enemy from casting another. And I doubt you will want to give up any other memories."
"How hard is it to cast a spell like that?" I ask.
"It takes time," he says vaguely, which isn't an answer at all. "But if I were you, I'd work fast."
"That thought had occurred to me."
"Goodbye, Jane Rizzoli."
I tip him salute and step out.
The sun is a father west then it should be.
A quick look at my watch confirms my suspicion.
I've been in Pasha's caravan most of the day.
It's nearly six o'clock.
What felt like minutes were actually hours.
the shadows are getting long.
The day is nearly done.
Also, Maura is nowhere to be seen.
The door to Pasha's caravan won't budge.
The Harlequins are gone, not that they'd answer any questions, and I can't get a response from Zoltar either.
I push his buttons, cajole, plead, even give his box a few good slaps.
He only stares at me with those wooden eyes.
Before walking away, I show him my middle finger.
"Maura!" I shout her name, thinking she might be not too far. Maybe she just went round the corner for a tinkle. "Maura! Where are you?"
No answer.
She could be anywhere.
She might have gotten fed up waiting and left.
I walk to the gate.
Hank's cab is parked right where we left him.
The far cabbie is slumped down in the driver's seat, his eyes closed and his chin on his chest.
May as well let him sleep.
I start back through the park keeping my eye lids peeled and trying to think like a woman of Maura's Isles' class.
Horses leap to mind.
Girls like Maura love horses.
I head over to the carousel.
Weeds have grown up around the base.
The gilded horses have time-administered scars.
Some are missing eyes while others missing feet or tails.
The mares and the geldings stand in frozen motion, doomed to the forever chase the animal in front but never catch.
Caught in the endless cycle.
That's no way to live.
But then, these horses are made of wood.
And Maura is obviously absent.
I call her name a few times just to be sure.
She's not at the Farris wheel, or the tilt-a-whirl.
I search various tents, rides and carnival games, calling her name.
It's getting late.
The shadows are getting long and the clouds overhead take on the rosy hues of early evening.
A cold wind whistles between tents, stirring up dead leaves.
There are only three places I haven't looked - the hall of mirrors, the house of horrors and the wax museum.
All three locations strike fear into my heart.
It's not the knee-shaking, stuttering type of fear, just a quiet dread.
This is no ordinary circus and I have no idea what to expect.
I've only been here twice before and both times was to Pasha.
Being around the old gypsy is weird enough.
I have little desire to see just how strange this circus can get.
But Maura is in here somewhere an I need to find her.