Today I'm so happy to welcome Voss Foster with his new book, Zirkua Fantastic!
Circuses, real circuses, don' just happen. Before anyone can
even consider driving a stake into the ground, the advance comes along. It's a
crew that, in times past, would have stapled and tacked flyers for the coming
circus up to two weeks in advance of the circus' arrival. Nowadays, they're
more likely to call newspapers and magazines, put up flyers on bulletin boards,
and give local businesses tickets to sell. But they still work ahead of the
circus.
The problem I came across while writing Zirkua Fantastic was
that, because of the way that the magic worked, I couldn't have an advance. I
had to rely on the spontaneous urge, most often on weekdays, to go to a circus.
No warning, no time to plan. That doesn't work, not in reality.
But I had a full complement of performers to work with. What
better way to work up a hype quickly than to display the talents the audience
could see? Well, there's only one better way: a touch of magic.
Blurb:
Zirkua Fantastic has been steadily running since 1753,
amazing its patrons
with acts of otherworldly skill and prowess. But that talent comes at a
steep price: each artist must give a year of his or her life to the
circus. None of them know why, only that the circus' owners will go to
whatever lengths are necessary to ensure it. Toby, the hoop dancer at
Zirkua Fantastic and son of one of the owners, is content with his life:
he enjoys performing and Zirkua's wandering life, and even has a
boyfriend among the circus' hawkers. But when a new artist arrives, bringing
with him a strange flask and a number of odd occurrences, Toby falls
face-first into the truth behind the circus: Its contracts bind King
Jester, the immortal embodiment of chaos.
Zirkua's
performances and contracts have held King Jester prisoner for centuries, but
now something's amiss. King Jester's sister, Dragon, has escaped her own bonds
and is working to free her brother, and his power is growing. If he is loosed
on the world, it will mean the worst war in human history and the end of
civilization... unless Zirkua Fantastic can find a way to stop him.
Excerpt:
As the caravan rambled down the
interstate, Tobias rolled onto his side. The prop wagon wasn't the most
comfortable. He'd have to opt out of practice to sleep once they got the tent
up. No hope for that here.
He tossed aside the air silk he'd
been using as a blanket and sat up, looking around, listening to the truck's
tires thud across potholes and cracked pavement. He checked the straps holding
the crates, tightened one that had loosened on the drive. "Crap." If
one came loose, others could, too. He pushed himself off his stack of crates and
toppled when they hit a particularly nasty bump. "When was the last time
they fixed up this road?" He dragged himself up and stumbled toward the
rear door of the truck, cranking straps tighter as he went. Once he got used to
the movement, he sped up, tightening down all the cargo in fifteen or twenty
minutes. Only the first strap had come loose.
Wood scraped against wood. His
heart beat faster, breath catching. He scanned through the truck. Nothing had
moved, to his eye. "Just another bump." Palm pressed to his chest, he
tried to force his heartbeat back down to something normal. "Nothing to
worry about."
He sat back on his crates and
wrapped himself in the air silk. Sleeping or not, he needed a barrier against
the cold and, though he would never admit it, it left him feeling safer, more
protected against whatever probably wasn't in the truck with him. He scanned
the boxes a final time, just in case he had missed something.
Still nothing out of place. Not
that Tobias could see much in the dark. He tossed the silk over his head and
lay down on the crates, desperate for some semblance of sleep. He sucked in a
deep breath. The silk smelled like tobacco.
He heard some kind of rustling
and flipped the silk back over his head. Cerulean eyes filled his gaze. The
familiar, heady scent rushed into his nostrils. "Marley."
"You sound surprised."
"A little." Marley
lifted the silk and climbed in next to Toby, snuggling up so close his scent
filled the cocoon. Nice to have you here. "I mean, this is an
artist's wagon. It's not really the sort of thing you do."
He chuckled, hot breath cascading
over Toby's back. "That's not quite true." He kissed Toby's neck,
sending a chill racing along the corded muscles. "I end up in the prop
wagon most nights."
"Do you?" He did his
best to sound unfazed. In reality, he fought back warm, nervous
laughter. "I'd think I would have noticed."
"Well, you did this
time."
"So I did." Toby
scooted closer, relishing in Marley's warmth. "And I'm very happy
about it." He leaned his head against Marley's chest. The slight movement
of the fabric wafted more of the intoxicating perfume into the space. "How
much longer 'til we get to the next town, you think?"
"I'd give it an hour. Maybe
a little more. If I'm any good at guessing distance." Marley pulled Tobias
even closer. "You need to get some sleep, babe."
"Not if it's only an
hour." He turned over and nuzzled into Marley's shirt, staring up into
bright blue eyes. "I'd still be completely useless with only an hour's
sleep." He yawned, and then slapped Marley across the arm. "Stop
being so damn warm." The end of the sentence got muddled by a second,
gaping yawn. "It's like sleeping with a space heater."
"You can't blame me for
being hot. In fact, I remember you thanking me profusely on more than
one occasion for it."
"Well, it's not very helpful
when I'm trying to stay awake."
Marley chuckled. "Then get
off."
He nestled closer in response,
muttering into Marley's chest. "It's not that unbearable."
Marley wriggled his hand under Toby's chin, lifted his face,
kissed him. "I figured that much."
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