Spectris by Quinn Coleridge

Author:Quinn Coleridge [Coleridge, Quinn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brompton Road Literary LLC
Published: 2017-11-08T23:00:00+00:00

Kelly purchases the most expensive seats for the main attraction, but they are lost on me. Alice thinks they’re wonderful. We are on the very front row, almost a part of the circus itself. The atmosphere is heady with the scent of bark chips, roasted peanuts and grease paint. I hope Alice remembers this moment always, the childhood wonder and innocence, the tender years . . .

My startled mind cannot finish this thought, not with the image forming within it of a presence floating high above us. Pro di immortales! Sir Death is watching the action from the rafters of the big top. What the hell is wrong with Him? I’ve never known one of His kind to act this way. Distressed by the hovering Reaper, the muscle near my right eye twitches, and I push at it with my knuckle.

Sir Death is killing me. I’m going to die by association with His strangeness.

As the carnival music ends, someone steps forward. I subdue my hearing once more when a booming voice rings out, asking for the audience to put themselves into the performer’s shoes as they wait in the wings off stage. It is Mr. Desmond, co-owner of the circus.

“Imagine the fear if you dare, ladies and gentlemen! A hair’s breadth from oblivion! A second away from missing the trapeze bar, from being torn apart by the jaws of a lion!”

A portion of the audience shouts out encouragement, while others boo and call for the acts to begin. Either way, Desmond is enjoying himself. Happy emotions practically ooze out of him, all floral and sticky sweet. I imagine he is the creative, the-show-is-all type, but what about his partner Bloom? Is he the brains of the organization or does that position belong entirely to James Scarlett?

Desmond continues bellowing at the crowd. “Let us move beyond this circus tent, to the death rites of ancient Egypt, of Africa, and Siam!” He pauses for effect and the audience roars until he speaks again. “Tonight, dear friends, we have a rare treat for you. A professor in the art of death. His studies will make your blood run cold!”

My own blood freezes when Sir Death floats down from the ceiling to sit next to me. He crosses His legs and hunches forward, hanging on each word.

“Welcome Phineas Hammersmith, doctor of thanatology!” cries Desmond.

The audience claps and Dr. Hammersmith comes forward, as impassioned by his subject as Desmond. He expounds upon mummification and the way a human brain is extracted through the nose with an iron hook. A female behind me faints, and she is carried from the tent. This only enthralls the crowd.

Except for Kelly. He takes Alice out for another ice at the first mention of brains and iron hooks.

For a professor of death, Hammersmith has a larger-than-life, vital quality about him. He is a vigorous adventurer who travels all over the world, examining cultures and peoples in exotic locales. Whether facing man-eating pygmies in the Amazon or the heights of Mount

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