Circus of Killers

Chapter 2 | Pam

"Go! Go! Go!" At John's command I swung my legs through the slime-slick opening and into darkness. Half a minute later, I heard the clean clank of the manhole cover slipping back into place. I didn't dare check back to see if the six Blues behind me had made it; doing so would distract me. A split second of anything less than pure focus could land me in a prison cell in the darkest part of Cai. "Left!" John's voice sounded from the back. I shoved aside the feeling of relief. No time for pesky emotions right now. I had to be iron-solid in my focus.

Following the footsteps of the Blue ahead of me, I pivoted left, the dust kicking up under my feet. As a cohesive caterpillar unit, we zigged and zagged through the sewers, the terrain shifting from utter black to flashing light, from rotting mud-slime to unstable dust and concrete. My hair, thick and chocolate-colored, swam free of the tight braid to which it had conformed last night, but I didn't stop to even flick it from my face. I had been raised among Blues. We were taught from birth to never stop moving.

I turned another corner, keeping my eyes pinned on the flashing highlights glinting off the folds in the cerulean uniform of the Blue ahead of me. Just keep going, Pam. Accelerating to a light jog with the rest of my squad, I followed John's barked orders until a faint swatch of gray grew into the blinding blue of the dawn sky. "Halt." John's voice dropped from a harsh directive to a hushed, tense word. We were close to the surface, and if the unfamiliar light hadn't signaled to me that we would soon be exiting the sewers, John's tone would have. I came to a stop just inches behind the Blue in front of me. His back was tensed, creasing his uniform into hard lines. I knew mine was the same.

The creaking of this manhole cover being pried open filtered through my ears, and I couldn't help the grin that wrapped around my usually straight face. The Blues moved through a complex network of sewers and safe houses, conducting business in between rushed evasions of Caian law, so spending these precious moments in the light of day was always seen as a precious privilege. I'd been fourteen before they'd even considered allowing me into the open, and that had been after almost a decade of rigorous training. The Blues were nothing if not careful.

"Move." John's voice was low and tense, wordlessly expressing the need to be as quiet as we'd been taught to be. Moving on the balls of my feet, I shuffled silently forward, swinging myself up the sweaty metal ladder, pulling myself up onto the street, and keeping low to the ground as I made my way to the alleyway where half my squad had already gathered. I'd always hated that part. Dodging traffic, no matter my many opportunities to practice, was not my forte.

At least I had the brightness of day to guide me. Because of the draining effect the blazing Cai sun had on magic, most practitioners— and the Caian police— avoided the day. As a result, those of us who were constantly being pursued by the aforementioned police traveled by light. Unfortunately, the exposure to the sunlight left us with tanned skin that made it even easier for the Caian government to identify us than the bright blue uniforms for which we were named.

One of the Blues in my squad— I believe his name was Austin— passed me a red tank and black slacks. I whipped off my uniform top, secretly grateful for the release from its constraining stiffness, and replaced it with the bright red tank that clung to all the curves I didn't possess. Careful to not wrinkle the unwieldy fabric of my uniform top, I folded it and set it on top of the dumpster to my left before removing the loose pants of my uniform.

Equally stiff and uncomfortable, they were baggy enough to allow me the movement necessary to sprint through a sewer system in pitch darkness. I was quick to replace them with the comfortable black slacks that had been provided for me. I knew without asking that they had come from last year's selection at a local department store. The clothing we Blues used to disguise ourselves in Caian and Californian society was purchased for the specific purpose of appearing somewhat poor, nondescript, and unmemorable.