I stalk forward and grab Austin’s arm. His body doesn’t even register the touch—his muscles are slack, his whole body mutable—a six-foot-tall doll. Mab chuckles as I pull him away; he moves like he’s sleepwalking.
“Indignation is a good color on you, love. But do remember, I like my performers with just a little fire. Too much, and I may have to reevaluate your usefulness.”
I don’t answer. I don’t look back. And I don’t let the first angry tear fall until Austin and I are out of the tent and stalking toward the main pitch, my mask broken and bloody on the ground.
* * *
Mel wasn’t kidding about the bonfire. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed in the enchanted Tapis Noir tent, but the fire is blazing a few hundred feet away from the main pitch. Even from here, I can hear the drunken shouts and singing that accompany the Bacchanalian revelry, the tent crew’s shadows casting chaotic lines over the browning grass. The sky above is overcast, and a chill wind races across the mountains like a slap in the face after the tent’s heat. But the goose bumps spreading across my arms are the least of my worries; my focus is on the man at my side. The man I know I was once in love with but can barely remember beyond snippets of dreams.
I can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop glancing over my shoulder in hopes that maybe, this time, I’ll remember him as more than just a vision. I’ll remember the love that brought me into his arms, the feeling of safety that made me trust him with my little sister, Claire. But every time I look at him, all I can think of is a mantra that eats at my heart: He’s not Kingston. He’s not Kingston.
I don’t know which is worse: losing the man I loved, or finding the man I should love. Either way, it feels like I’m betraying both of them.
I’m so lost in my thoughts and the presence of Austin that I crash straight into someone drunkenly stumbling from the fire.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Taking your meal to go?” she replies.
“Melody,” I say, as her shadow resolves itself into something recognizable. Her eyes glitter in the light of the fire, and her usual patchouli scent has been overpowered by whiskey.
For her part, she’s not looking at me; she’s still staring at Austin.
“Couldn’t you have picked an ugly one?” she asks. Her voice is practically pining and only a little slurred. “Such a waste. A sexy, sexy waste.”
“I’m not…I’ve already done it,” I say. She raises her eyebrows. “I see. Time for a little…” she makes a thrusting motion with her hips and stumbles.
“Mel, shut the fuck up. This is Austin.”
Her hands drop to the sides.
“Shit,” she says.
She closes her eyes and shudders. When she looks at me again, the glaze to her eyes is gone.
“Ugh, sorry. Shifter perk number one: instant de-alcoholification. Feels like shit, though.” She takes a deep breath and looks between Austin and me again. “I didn’t realize he was the strong, silent type. With an emphasis on, well, both.”
“Mab hit him with faerie dust,” I say.
“So I gathered. But what is he doing here?”
“Meet the newest concessionaire.”
She wasn’t smiling before, but now her face goes even more serious.
“You’re kidding me.”
“I wish. She made it sound like he sought her out but…I don’t know, Mel. What the hell am I going to do?”
“Well, first, you’re going to go take a shower and change into normal-people clothes. I don’t think bloody vixen is the way to reintroduce yourself.” She looks at him and shakes her head. “I never thought I’d say this, Viv, but he could be the one who turns me.”
I snort and fall into a fit of laughter. It’s not even the humor, it’s the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, the complete lack of hope. It feels like hitting rock bottom and being told to dig deeper. I’m not laughing because it’s funny; I’m laughing because it hurts.
When she wraps her arms around me, I realize I’m also crying.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers into my ear. She holds me up with one hand, the other petting my hair. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the world.
Because I know it won’t be okay. It could never be okay—Mab made sure of it.
And it’s only going to get a hell of a lot worse from here.
* * *
I take Melody’s advice. Together, we lead Austin into my trailer, and she agrees to sit watch while I shower. I grab a towel and pajamas and head over to the bathroom trailer, which is actually just a small bunk with a shower and sink. No toilet—that’s what the porta potties outside are for. There’s barely room to stretch out my arms, but after using it all summer it no longer feels suffocating. Tonight, I don’t turn on the lights. Partly because I don’t want the glare, and partly because I don’t want to watch the water swirl pink. I want to pretend I’m somewhere else. In the dark, I can convince myself I’m far, far away, somewhere without long-lost lovers and diabolical fairies. I push open the small vent window and let the scent of wood fire and sound of laughter fill the stall. When I turn on the water, I close my eyes and pretend that the warmth can wash everything clean.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
My heart is an acrobat tumbling in my chest, and my ears are ringing with the afterbeat of the Tapis Noir, but I try to calm myself. I try to settle in to the fact that when I leave this shower, I’m going to have to talk to the boy from my past. The boy I was in love with. I’m going to have to figure out how to integrate him into this life—not only the circus and his role within it, but to this new me. Because even though I can barely remember him or the girl I was, I know for a fact that I’m no longer the one he fell in love with.
“He shouldn’t be here.”
I scream.
I slam myself into the wall of the shower, making the whole trailer sway. There, silhouetted in the open doorway by the fire outside, is the tiny form of Lilith.
“Get out!” I yell, trying to cover myself. “Get the fuck out!”
She doesn’t, of course. Her head cocks to the side as she studies me. The glow behind her makes her look properly demonic.
“You shouldn’t have brought him here,” she says. “If you’re wise, you will get rid of him.”
“Who the fuck are you talking about?” I ask. Someone stumbles past outside and peers in, then keeps going. I’d yell at Lilith to close the door, but there’s no way in hell I want her locked in the same small space as me.
“That man,” she says. She points to the side, directly toward my trailer. The pose makes her look like a baby scarecrow. “You brought him here.”
“His name is Austin,” I say through gritted teeth. “And he’s here because Mab wants him to be. I had nothing to do with it. Why should I get rid of him?”
She giggles, and even the warm water isn’t enough to heat the cold that ices through me.
“For when I want to play. You will want him gone by then. He won’t like it when I play. Neither will you.” Her voice drops to a dangerous octave. “But you’ll play with me no matter what.”
Then she turns and leaves. She doesn’t close the door behind her.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and slide down the shower wall, letting the spray wash over my face.
“Shit,” I whisper, and let the hot water flow.
* * *
I don’t feel refreshed when I head back to my bunk. The moment my hand is on the door it feels like the first time I stepped into the center ring: the fear, the expectation, and the knowledge that everyone would see me, and see through me, and there’d be nowhere to hide after that. Still, there’s no getting around this grand entrance. The show has already begun.
Melody’s sitting at my desk, reading one of her paperbacks, her legs propped on the bed. Austin is still on the mattress, hands folded in his lap and a dazed expression on his face as he
stares at the wall. My eyes catch on him when I step inside, tracing the lines of his jaw and arch of his eyebrows. There’s a familiarity in that geometry, one that hints of lives once lived, curves once kissed. But it’s just a ghost of sensation; I can’t find the emotion, just the nagging feeling that I should feel more.
“Did you wash behind your ears?” Melody asks, not looking up from her book.
“Lilith came in.”
Mel looks up, an eyebrow cocked.
“What?”
I shake my head and throw the bloodied clothes in a grocery bag I’m using as a hamper. There’s nowhere else in the room to sit, so I push her legs aside and sit on the bed. Right beside Austin. I half-expect to feel the tingle of static between us, the heat of an old flame. But there’s nothing. Just a void carved out between us, a blankness threatening to devour.
“She’s getting worse,” I say, forcing my thoughts toward Lilith. I still can’t say “Kassia” aloud—against the contract—but I stumble around it. “The thing inside her. It’s getting stronger. I don’t think we have much time left.”
“What did she say?”
“That she was going to play soon. And that I wouldn’t want Austin around when she did.”
Melody shudders.
“Well, I guess we just hope that when that happens you’ll be able to fight her off.…” Her sentence trails off as she locks her eyes on me, her brow furrowing like I’ve got something cryptic written across my face.
“What?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer at first, just sets her book on the desk and stands, that quizzical expression not leaving her features.
“I wonder,” she says. “Do you know if your powers are genetic or magical?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Both?”
“In that case.” She reaches out to touch my face, then stops herself, her hand hovering by my cheek. “Sorry. I should ask permission first. Do you mind?”
“If you pet me?”
She chuckles.
“Sort of.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Then her hand touches my skin.
Heat blooms under her touch, wraps itself under my flesh and through my bones. There’s a tingle to it, like peppermint or electricity, and it reaches through every vein, heats every bone. Then the sensation slips away, sucked back into her hand, and I’m left a little colder than before.
But the magic doesn’t stop once it leaves my body.
Melody is already changing. Her face remolds as her body shifts—subtle things, like a slight widening of the shoulders and hips, a barely perceptible lengthening in height. Her jagged brown hair turns blonde and grows as her skin pales into my hue. It takes only seconds for her to assume my shape. When she steps back, I feel like I’m looking into the mirror.
“Impressive,” I say, because that’s really all I can say. “Are my boobs really that big?”
She grins with my lips. “I took liberties.” Even her voice is mine.
“What did you just do?” I ask, bringing my hand to my face. The fact that she doesn’t mirror me makes it even more surreal.
“Well, normally we can just shift into an impersonation of something—sort of like a bad photocopy. But if we want to really become someone else, we have to…ah, it’s hard to explain. It’s sort of like getting a copy of your DNA.”
“Like in the Animorphs?”
“The what?”
“It’s a…never mind. Literature from before your time I guess.”
She shrugs. “In any case, this is about as close to being you as is possible without actually being you. Which means…”
It clicks.
“If my powers are genetic, you can replicate them.”
She smiles wider. I’m pretty certain my teeth aren’t that white, either. Coffee addict and all.
“Bingo. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” She practically bounces on her heels. “If this works, we can get every Shifter to turn into you the next time Lilith changes. She’ll be toast.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t even know how to use my powers.”
Another chuckle. “Yeah, well, you’re you.”
Before I can ask what she means by that, she closes her eyes and holds her hands out in front of her, as if she’s praying around an invisible juggling ball. I don’t breathe. And, for a few moments at least, it seems that she doesn’t either.
Then she sighs and drops her hands. In that motion, my features wipe from her body, and she’s once more her usual pixie-like self.
“No go,” she says. “I couldn’t even feel a hint of power. Whatever you have, it’s magical in nature. Or something else. Genetics has nothing to do with it.”
“Makes sense, seeing as this is apparently passed down from life to life. Still, thanks for trying.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been wondering,” I say. “Does it hurt? Shifting?”
“No more than ovulating,” she says. Her sudden grin is split by a yawn. “It’s not that bad. But it’s draining. Especially the big-level stuff. I once tried to turn into a manticore and passed out.”
“When?”
She waves her hand. “Awhile ago. Last week or something. Anyway, I should go; I think Comatose Beauty is starting to wake up.” She nods to Austin. His eyebrows are twitching, and there’s a distinct slump to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. “Unless you want me to stay, of course. I can be your bodyguard.”
“It’s okay,” I say. I stand and walk her the three steps to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.” When I hug her, I whisper in her ear, “I’ll find you if I need anything.” She hugs back tight, then leaves with only a few “you-sure-you’re-okay?” backward glances.
I lean in the doorframe for a moment, watching her leave, watching a few Shifters play beer pong by the fire. Behind it all is the chapiteau, the great black-and-purple tent that once felt like home and has now become my prison. And I have a sinking feeling Austin is just going to be one of many wrenches in my “happily-ever-after” life.
The trailer creaks.
“Vivienne?” Austin whispers behind me. My blood stops at that voice, at the haunting tingle it brushes over my skin. It’s time to face the music.
I turn to see Austin standing by the bed, looking at me like he’s been waiting for this for months. Which, I suppose, is entirely possible. His perfect lips are parted, and there’s a haze to his pale blue eyes that wavers on tears. My heart aches—not because I feel the same, but because I don’t.
I nod.
“It’s me,” I say. I try to smile. “You’ve found me.”
Chapter Five: Cold Case Love
For a moment we just stand there, staring at each other, and a thousand different scenarios play through my head: me remembering it all and running into his arms, him saying he never gave up trying to find me. There are thousand ways for this to be a Hallmark moment. But as we stand and watch each other, each passing second is a reminder that none of those instances will come to light. I feel nothing; the look on his face tells me he feels everything.
“What happened to you, Viv?” he finally asks. He shakes his head like he’s trying to remember or forget. “What happened to us? To me?”
I close the door behind me and slump against it. I’m suddenly more tired than I’ve felt in days. Then again, it’s hard to sleep with a show on your shoulders.
“Impossible questions,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “What are you even doing here?”
He doesn’t answer at first, just bites his lip and sighs and stares at me, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. If only his eyes would lose that sheen. If only I could convince myself I wasn’t the one who put him through whatever he went through to find me. He’s my responsibility, in more ways than one.
“I don’t really know,” he finally says. “The summer is a bad dream; I don’t even know what’s real. I was going through life like normal—work and sleep and all tha
t—and then about a week ago I woke up and just…remembered. Like you just reappeared in my memory. And I knew I had to find you. I don’t get it—before that, I didn’t even know I’d lost you.”
“How did you find me?” Easier to focus on the practical side of things; the less we veer toward emotions, the better. Does he remember coming here and discovering me months ago? Or did Kingston effectively wipe that memory out of Austin’s mind?
Austin looks down at his feet. “I didn’t, at first. You were like a ghost—no one I spoke with knew who you were; you weren’t in any phone book or yearbook photo or anything. For a while I thought I was making you up. Then one night I just remembered where you lived. Or, well, used to live. I even remembered your apartment number.” He laughs, but the laughter is filled with pain and confusion. “So I went back to your parents’ place. I mean, I tried. There was a woman outside the front door. She was like some dominatrix, wearing this long leather coat. She said she knew how to find you.”
“And you believed her?”
He shrugs. “Something about her made me trust her. And she was right, wasn’t she? She helped me find you.”
Mab. If I didn’t want to kill her before, I do now. Lilith’s warning dances through my mind, and I push myself from the door, partly to move and partly to force the girl’s mocking words away.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” I say. I collapse on the bed. He remains standing.
“So tell me,” he prompts. “What are you doing here, Viv? That woman said you were in charge of a circus now. Who the hell runs away and takes over a circus without telling anyone? And how the hell did I forget you like that?”
I open my mouth to say I didn’t run away, but I can’t bring myself to lie like that. I was running away. It just didn’t work.
“What else did she tell you?” I ask. Stick with the practicalities. “What do you remember?”
“No, Viv. I’m asking the questions.” There’s no anger in is voice when he says it, though. He sounds hurt. And it only gets worse when he asks, “Why did you leave me?”
The Immortal Circus: Final Act (Cirque des Immortels) Page 5