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“It’s Greek; beyond that I do not know. I will ask those of my brethren who spent more time in ancient Greece than I did if they are familiar with it.”
Jean-Claude brushed Asher’s hair aside until he could see his face more clearly. Asher jerked away at first, then apologized. “It is just that until tonight I was the mysterious and beautiful ringmaster of the Circus of the Damned, but now…the video of my deformity is already on the internet.”
“There were people with their phones ready,” Jamie said.
Kirby said, “There were some women and maybe a man with the attacker. They had their cameras ready.”
“They were the only ones in the crowd that showed no surpriseat the attack,” Lelio said, “but they seemed surprised or even disappointed that Asher wasn’t more inhuman under his mask.”
“They expected me to be like the Norse Goddess Hel, with half my face skeletal or rotting,” Asher said.
“They said that, out loud?” I asked.
“Not the Goddess Hel, but it was the only metaphor I could think of, once my attacker yelled at me, angry that I was not a rotting corpse under the mask. One of the women with him said something about where are the bones.”
I went for the door, but Wicked blocked my way. “Anyone who would attack Asher could see you as a target, Anita.”
Lelio said, “The attacker and the entire group are detained, awaiting the police.”
“Claudia and the rest of us have it handled, Anita, I swear,” Jamie said.
“I believe you, Jamie, I do. It feels weird to stay away from the emergency.”
“It’s not an emergency anymore, it has been dealt with,” Lelio said.
I stared into his dark, serious face and nodded. In the front of my head, I knew he was right, but in the back where all the messy stuff lives I felt like I wasn’t doing my part. “I know you’re right, but I have a gun and a badge; we don’t have to wait for the cops, I am a cop.”
“Ma petite, remember the homework the therapist gave you?”
“I’m supposed to give myself more downtime and not take responsibility for everything. I am not the only cop in the world, and I’m not the only competent person in my life.”
“Thank you,ma petite.”
“You’re welcome, though honestly, knowing how pissed off Claudia would be if I intruded when she’s got things handled is an incentive to stay out of it.”
“I thought you were friends with our tall, dark, dangerous beauty,”Asher said. He came closer to me, smiling but still holding the red cloak very tightly closed. The new outfit he wore as ringmaster was sexy and hot, and showed off his body. He’d been flirting with all of his lovers in it since he started wearing it, so why wasn’t he doing that now?
“Are you hurt somewhere besides the small cut on your face?” I asked.
He huddled the cloak tighter around him and said, “No,” but he wouldn’t look at me. I was suddenly looking at a thick spill of his hair hiding all of his face from me.
“Show us where you are hurt,mon chardonneret,” Jean-Claude said.
Asher bowed his head lower. “I cannot show you my heart, or mind, or ego, and that is where it hurts.”
We came in from both sides to touch his hair at the same time, sweeping it back so we could see his face. The pain in his eyes was so raw it hurt to see it, but I didn’t look away, because we were in love with him. When someone you love hurts like this, you stay in the pain with them; even if you don’t know how to help, you stay with them.
“Asher, what is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.
The cloak opened a little as he reached his hands up to unfasten the neck of the cloak. He let the scarlet cloth slide down his body, revealing his bare chest and the torn remnants of his costume barely clinging at his waist. It was designed to leave the left side of his body as bare as possible and hide his right side behind glittering gold cloth. It was so skintight it was hidden under black satin slacks, a blue-and-gold vest, and a blue tailcoat like the traditional ringmasters wore. There was a blue top hat that went with it. The red cloak was to help him do the magic trick where the magician act would vanish the lovely female assistant and Asher would appear again in an outfit that was almost identical to hers, though it was like the her/his version.
The audience loved it because he looked gold and almost nudeand perfect. They never saw beyond the illusion. The long-ago priests that had wanted to spare some of that gorgeous face hadn’t felt the same about his chest and stomach. The scars on his chest and upper stomach were the worst; it was like the skin was just scars with only his nipple and some of his stomach left bare and as originally made. The rest looked like flesh that had melted and cooled like a candle, except rough to the touch.
“There are video and pictures of me on the internet now like this; no illusion will hide the horror of it now.”
“Never say that about yourself again,” I said.
“I have eyes and mirrors, Anita. I know what I look like.”
