Page 92 of Evil Hearts

The minotaur shifted his head and sent the blade flying. It landed in the dirt several feet away. Diego stumbled back and scrambled to unfurl his muleta. With a snap of his wrist, the red cloth was released. A mighty roar bellowed from the throat of the minotaur as he rose back to his full height, beckoned by the fiery color. Diego shook the fabric and began circling his adversary, slowly making his way back toward the blade with the steps of a seasoned ballet dancer. Feet positioned just so, ankles twisted ever so gently, legs bowed at perfect angles with each step. Graceful and elegant.

The myth followed him with his burning eyes, and a hush fell over the crowd once again.

Blood ran down the handle of the muleta, disappearing against the deep red hue of the cloth. He flicked his wrist, the fabric rippled like the broken surface of a lake. The myth tensed, muscles flexing and nostrils flaring in response. His tail flicked, then he charged.

Diego kicked the hilt of his blade and sent it heavenward. He snatched it out of the air and struck the killing blow as the legendary minotaur bowed his head to strike. The muletacascaded over the body, tangling in the drifts of forward motion. It wrapped around the myth as he toppled to the dirt, ending the battle as Diego’s triumphant cry was met by the cheers of the crowd.

The music turned into a cheerful melody of celebration as Diego took a bow. Sweat had begun to form under the rim of his montera, his dark curls twisting from the perspiration, and he finally let out a shuddered, slow breath. He took in the sounds of approval and excitement around him with every sense but his eyes. His gaze was locked onto the limp form hidden under that blood red cloth. The bailiffs returned, their plumed hats bounced as they walked out with a cart. The orcs that performed feats of strength in the troupe helped remove the massive body.

Diego finally pulled his eyes away to appreciate the masses that had come out to see the show. Glad to know that so many ordinary people were able to escape to a world of magic for an evening. Glad that his friends and their talents were celebrated with such fervor. Glad that fear was no longer the winning emotion when it came to the world of monsters. It made his heart swell to know that the people he loved dearly were able to soar—in more ways than one—in this new world. That he found a place beside them as their equal, and friend.

He hoped he’d put on a good show, but still sent up a silent apology to his father—as he did every performance—for going against tradition and putting his own spin on the fight. It was more fun this way, he loved the spectacle of it all. Loved creating routines and using the environment to amp up the tension. The emotion. The story.

With a sigh, he took a final bow—and stock of his body and his suit. Snatching up his discarded cloak, he headed off after the others as the ringmaster of the Cirque des Étoiles arrived to close out the event and thank the patrons for coming.

Once he walked through the arched doorway and the noise subsided, he let out a heavy groan. Several of his coworkers clapped him on the shoulder, handed him bundles of roses, and congratulated him on a show well done. The orcs let out hearty laughs and his fae friends whooped and cheered in their bright, billowing costumes. Diego smiled and quietly excused himself to the staging area where the cart had been set. He tossed his hat to the side then lifted the cloth and smirked. The minotaur’s head was tilted, his tongue hung limp, and he made a pitiful noise.

“You look ridiculous, Atticus,” Diego chided with a smile.

“Come now, let me have my fun,” Atticus said with a throaty laugh as he blinked his eyes open. The beast’s brows furrowed. “You’re hurt.”

Diego looked at his hand. “Just a scratch. We really need to work on the landing of that jump for next year’s show, I can’t get the angle right. I keep missing by an annoyingly small margin and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he mused.

“You know you’re allowed to keep yourself from falling.”

“I know, but I’d rather risk a small injury than yank out a handful of your fur or accidentally grab your ear. It’s fine, we simply need to reassess. It’s time to mix up the routine, anyway. I doubt after a show this big we’ll be able to keep up the ruse that Islayyou every night. Hopefully no one actually believes that, that would be horrendously cruel, but you never know. I’d rather stop any bad press and rumors of actual violence before they start.”

Atticus sat up and took Diego’s trembling hand in his own, the cart rocked as his weight shifted and the fake chains that still hung around his wrist made soft noises. He huffed, warm air shot out of his wide nostrils as he looked at the gash.

Diego set his free hand upon the minotaur’s cheek and smiled. He mouthed a soft ‘I’m fine’ before he turned to address the troupe’s medic who came running when she heard Atticus’deep voice mention a wound. From behind him, he heard the doors to the stadium close, followed by a wave of cheers and applause from his fellow performers when their employer said those oh-so-amazing words, ‘that’s a wrap!’. One of the orcs helped Atticus to his feet and got the show chains unlocked. The grumpy myth grumbled under his breath about being too old for this nonsense, causing Diego to laugh. The minotaur’s tail whipped around and he shook his shoulders, trying to get the dirt off of his fur. He didn’t want to bring it into his trailer and make a mess.

Once Atticus was upright, he set his large hand upon Diego’s back. His thick fingers rubbed up and down the human’s spine as the matador turned to offer up his wounded appendage to the medical fae who had arrived with a belt of potions and bag of who-knows-what. Diego never could quite keep up when they tried to explain their magical ways to him.

“Excellent performance, as always, gentlemen,” Rigby the ringmaster said with a hearty laugh. His curly mustache wiggled and his plump cheeks rose so high they hid his eyes. “Your suit fared better this time around.”

“Wish I could say the same for my manoletinas. I think they’re done for,” Diego said sadly as he lifted his leg. The sole of his left shoe flopped.

“You’ll need a new wardrobe for next season, anyway. I anticipate an even bigger show, so you may as well invest in somethingreallyflashy!” Rigby said with pride. He grabbed the lapels of his bright red coat and smiled at his performers. “Is it safe to assume you won’t be joining us for the post-show festivities, as usual?”

“We may swing by for a short while; this is the last performance of the tour, after all. But I promised Atticus I’d check his horseshoes tomorrow—speaking of shoes—and I’llneed to rest for the drive home. My body can’t handle these back to back performances like they used to,” Diego replied.

Rigby nodded in understanding. “Then I entrust our star to you, Atticus. Make sure you say goodbye before you take off tomorrow, nonetheless, and take your medication tonight. We don’t need any emergencies. New York hospitals aren’t cheap! I imagine it will take some time for the crowds to shuffle out so mind yourselves as you leave. Can’t have our vanquished beast wandering around under this bright full moon in front of the common folk!”

Atticus huffed and stooped down to pick up Diego’s discarded items. Diego chuckled as he watched his furry friend fret over tiny things, as he was so apt to do. He was glad that the tour was wrapping up, that the sweltering summer months were over. He was tired, his muscles ached, and he knew that both of them needed a break.

Cloaks over their bodies, Atticus and Diego exited through the back of the stadium out into the breezy autumn air. The full moon overhead looked bright, but the stars weren’t visible with the light pollution of the big city. Skyscrapers rose in every direction, kissing the heavens with their pointed roofs. They could hear cars zooming by and conversations echo as the crowds filed out of the doors on the far side of the building. Diego wondered what their tomorrows would look like, wondered if the big city folks had gotten used to the oddities that came alongside having orcs in their offices and werewolves in their subways. The normal lives of humans seemed worlds away from his own that was so fully enveloped by magic.

“It’s too busy,” Atticus mused as the barrage of city noise swept over them.

“It is quite busy, isn’t it?” Diego asked, mostly rhetorically. “It’s amazing that we’re even allowed to perform here. A few years ago most humans didn’t even know ‘myths’ and ‘cryptids’ actually existed, and now we’re headlining sold out shows in New York of all places!”

“And yet I still must hide.”

Diego set his hand on Atticus’ arm to sooth him. “Oh, you silly bull. Don’t be so dramatic. You have panic attacks when you get swarmed by people, you don’t like crowds, and you hate conversing with strangers. No one istellingyou to hide, Atti, but we both know you’re safer and happier when we keep hidden. I hate seeing you distressed.”

Atticus huffed again, a sure sign that he wouldn’t try to argue. That he knew Diego was right.

They stuck to the comfort of the shadows as they made their way to their trailer that was parked alongside the other troupe vehicles. The fleet of large semis and trailers made the loading zone feel crowded; it would be a pain to get out in the morning when they were packed in like sardines. Especially with everyone heading their separate ways. It was odd to think that the caravan wouldn’t be driving single file down the highway onto the next venue once the sun came up. Their second season with the troupe had come to an end, and Diego wasn’t sure how to feel.

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