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think I could have taken another second around the devil’s spawn.” Flint chuckled, feeling some of the curling tension in her gut begin to unwind.
    “Adam can be pretty intense sometimes, but he’s all right. His bark is worse than his bite.”
    Flint threw a parting glance over her shoulder at the office beginning to fade from sight. “You sure, because there didn’t seem to be anything remotely warm and fuzzy about him.”
    Janet jogged toward the huge tent in the center of the grounds. The one that’d caught Flint’s eye earlier.
    “I didn’t know you were a carney too.” Janet still hadn’t released her grip on Flint’s wrist—a surprisingly strong grip for someone who probably only weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.
    “Umm, I’m not.”
    “Oh,” Janet said, sounding like someone had burst her bubble.
    “Well, I was. But not anymore.”
    “Oh!” The light gleamed bright in her eyes again. “So cool. Someone who knows the life of a circus freak.”
    “Well, you hardly look like a freak.” She eyed the svelte, raven-haired beauty. The pink tutu looked completely garish, but perfect, on her. It paired nicely with the white leotard and spotted animal-print stockings.
    “Oh, but I am. My parents came here from Japan. We’re contortionists. Oh, and then there’s Rhi. Rhiannon”—she waved her hand—“though she prefers Rhi. Anyway, she works here too.”
    Janet pushed back the heavy black flap of the tent and the smell of hay and dirt smacked Flint in the face, the scents and sights of the big top so familiar they brought a small pang to her chest.
    She remembered warm-ups, the excitement of watching the crowd trickle in, the pull of her muscles as she twirled and dived, maneuvering through the air like a bird with no wings. It’d been fun.
    Smiling, she looked around, floored by the scope of the place. It was easily twice the size of any tent she’d ever worked under before. Blue lights added a ghostly ambiance. Black chairs—seats folded up—surrounded the entire length of the center circle.
    It might be bigger, but it wasn’t all that different when it came down to it. Muscle memory had made Flint one of the best and most fearless. She bet if she tried, she could do it again without too much effort.
    “Isn’t this place awesome?” Janet looked around as if she were trying to see it the same way Flint did. For the first time.
    “Yeah.” Flint shoved her hands into her pockets. “It’s huge. And awesome. Wow, so you’re a carney, huh? I would have never pegged you.” Flint unlocked one of the seats and sat.
    Janet shrugged. “Not like we wear a tattoo or something. I had no idea you did stuff either. What did you do by the way?”
    “Lots of things. I grew up in this.” She flicked her wrist. “But mostly I did walking and flying, and every once in a while I’d juggle knives. I was being groomed to sword swallow, but my gag reflex couldn’t really handle that.”
    Janet’s eyes widened. “You did all that? Do you know how impossible that is? I mean all that stuff take years to master. Who trained you?”
    When she put it that way, maybe it was sort of impressive, though Flint had never thought of it like that. “Mom was a walker and Dad a flier. My best friend Evan—a retired Vietnam vet who occasionally moonlighted as a clown for birthday parties and a sword man at night—trained me in knives. Which totally pissed Mom off, but I loved it.” She chuckled, remembering all the times her mother would wail that her poor daughter would lose an eye one day. Her smile slipped, because it hadn’t been her to get hurt first.
    Shaking away the gloomy thought, she struggled to remember what she’d been saying. “Every... every other day I’d work with one and then the next day the other. And then at night I’d play with knives. Mom always said it was amazing how well I picked up everything, but from the moment I started walking they were all training me.” She shrugged.