The Immortal Circus: Final Act (Cirque des Immortels)

by Kahler, A. R.

  My lip quivers into a smile, the warmth in my chest expanding a thousandfold.

  “You don’t need to do anything,” I say. I loop the necklace around my neck. He helps with the clasp. “Just having you is enough.”

  “Actually,” he begins, his voice purring in his chest. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “What?” I ask. The contentment from the gifts begins to melt.

  “This is a big house, Viv. And I’m starting to think that you and I aren’t enough to fill it, not anymore.”

  I turn around, look up into his eyes.

  “I want to start a family,” he says. “I know we talked about it before, but I think it’s time. Are you game?”

  I laugh. Are you game? So like him.

  “Of course,” I whisper. I wrap my arms around him, nuzzle my head against my chest. “Let’s make a family.”

  He wraps his arms around me and chuckles. “Then let’s start immediately.”

  Then, with a smile playing across his lips, he lifts me up and brings me to the bedroom. We pass through the door…

  And the kitchen is gone.

  “What the hell?” I whisper. There’s an ache in my chest that wasn’t there before, a heaviness that seems scraped from the bottom of my being.

  “Tír na nÓg has shown you your heart’s desire,” comes a voice. I glance up to see Meadowsweet sitting in the branches of a tree. “Tír na nÓg knows what you want most in this world, and we can give that to you. Here, you can always live your dream.”

  “What are you talking about?” But I know. I try to shake the image of Austin out of my mind. If I don’t, if I don’t focus on saving Kingston and ending the demons…I think of Austin’s kiss, the familiarity and warmth. The promise of a family. It takes everything in me not to turn around. I clench my hands at my sides and force myself to stay facing forward. “I don’t want an illusion,” I say, trying to steel my voice and the pang in my heart that longs for that life. “I just want to get out of here. I don’t have time for weakness.”

  She shakes her head sadly. “So much bitterness. But Tír na nÓg will show you. You don’t want to leave, not yet. All you need to do is stay.”

  “I don’t have time for this. Just show me how to get out of here and you can focus on someone who actually needs saving.”

  “Oh, but I am guiding you,” she says. “Your path is ahead.”

  She points to the ground below her, to the path of rose petals at my feet. Sunset burns through the arch of branches at the far end.

  “Thanks,” I say. But try as I might, I can’t find the will to walk. My feet don’t want to move. You could stay, Austin’s voice whispers in my mind. You could stay with me forever.

  But that would just be an illusion, and if I don’t stop the demons, forever is going to be a very short time.

  I force my feet forward.

  “You almost ready, V?”

  I turn from the mirror and look at Kingston, my Kingston, still as hot and youthful as the first day I met him, thirty years ago. I wink and return to my reflection, adjust the top hat to just the right angle. To be fair, I’m still as hot and young as I was back then, too. It’s Tapis Noir tonight, but that’s not the only reason tonight’s a show to remember. My diamond-studded corset glistens like a black sky of stars, the sheer silk gloves and tights the color of dark dreams. Kingston steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist—not that I can really feel the embrace through the boning and layers of the corset. His stubble tickles the base of my neck, and I have to swat him away when the nuzzle becomes a nibble.

  “Patience, tiger,” I say. I turn around and pull him close, my hands tight on his hips. “There will be plenty of time to play tonight.”

  He whines against my lips as I kiss him. His mocha eyes close in pleasure.

  “But you’ll be distracted by the other pretty boys and girls,” he finally whines.

  “Says you,” I say. “I’ll get one we can both play with. Promise. It’s our anniversary, after all.”

  “Thirty scandalously perfect years,” he says. I kiss him again.

  “Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” I ask. “To be out there, with normal jobs and normal lives?”

  He laughs.

  “Utterly boring. People like you and me don’t handle normal. We need the thrill of the limelight, the glory of applause. The promise of ridiculously hot sex under a big top.” I purr as he bites my neck again, just above the collarbone. Screw it—if he leaves a mark, I’ve got plenty of concealer. “Besides,” he continues, “we’ve got everything we need here. I mean, you’re happy, right?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I say.

  “Good. Because tonight I’m going to make you even happier.” He winks. “I’ve got a few new tricks up my sleeve.”

  Before I can ask what he’s talking about—not that I really want to spoil the surprise or pop the bubble of excitement in my chest—he takes me by the arm and pulls me from the dressing room. The tent lights blind as we step out the door.

  And I stumble to the ground, my feet catching on a log. Dry leaves scrape against my skin and bits of ice and snow flake over my fingers. When did it get so cold?

  “You’ll have to choose, soon,” Meadowsweet says. She perches on a big red toadstool a few feet away, her legs daintily crossed. “The life with Kingston or the life with Austin. You’ll have to break one of their hearts, and your own as well. But in Tír na nÓg, you would not need to choose. You could live with both, forever.”

  I choke back the words I want to say, because my heart is practically burning now. Kingston’s touch still ghosts against my skin, but with it is another knowledge, the memory of Austin. People like you and me don’t handle normal, Kingston said. And he was right. But a life under the big top would just be another illusion. There’d still be the threat of war, the slow drone of eternity. There’d still be the question of whether or not Kingston’s love for me was real, or if it was all some extended plan to keep me there. I’m not saying a life with Austin doesn’t sound dull in comparison, but there’s something about it that pulls at my heart: after so much time running and questioning, a home is more desirable than any applause.

  Kingston already betrayed me. Who’s to say he won’t do it again?

  “Which will you choose?” she asks, pulling me up from the depths. My hands and knees are frosted, but I’m numb to the pain. “The life of glamour or the life of mortal love? You can’t have both, Vivienne. Not out there. But if you stay here, if you give yourself to Tír na nÓg, you would never have to choose one or the other. What is that human phrase? You could have your cake and eat it, too? We very much enjoy cake and the eating of it in my court. Simply stop fighting. Open your heart to Tír na nÓg. Don’t you deserve to be happy? Don’t you deserve to stop sacrificing everything?”

  I struggle to force out her words, to keep Mab’s charge in my head. I have to save Kingston. I have to save the mortal world.

  But why? Why is it always me? Why do I have to keep hurting like this?

  “Yes,” Meadowsweet coos. “Tír na nÓg knows. And it wishes to help you. Let your dreams rest here. Let yourself surrender.”

  I open my mouth, and I don’t know if it’s to scream at her or tell her that yes, yes, I’m so tired of fighting. But Zal gives a furious sting on my wrist. The pain pins me in place like a butterfly on a corkboard.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Time,” Meadowsweet says. “Yes, there is the matter of time. That is always the enemy of you mortals. Let me show you.”

  I try not to listen to her; I need to get out, before she manages to convince me to stay. I push myself up from my knees.

  There are comforting hands on my shoulders. Comforting, but not comforting enough. I look down into the casket at Austin’s face. The years have taken their toll, but he’s still beautiful to me. He’s still the boy I fell for, and he always will be.

  “There was never any other,” I whi
sper, or maybe I think it; it’s hard to tell anymore. But my daughter wraps me in a hug as she pulls me away from Austin’s casket. Heart attack, the doctors said. But he went in his sleep. In my arms. That’s what we always wanted. I walk away in my daughter’s arms. Will she hold me when I pass? Will he be waiting for me to join him?

  Or will I be alone?

  I don’t cry as hard as I should, the ache is so great. My daughter doesn’t let go of me, and I lean against her as the rest of our family and friends come up to pay their last respects. There are so many lilies in here, I feel like I’m drifting in a soft world of white. A world of soft edges, of comforting smells. A world where nothing withers or dies.

  “It’ll be okay, Mom,” she sniffs. And I nod and stare at Austin’s face.

  But I don’t know if I believe her. I don’t know if it will ever be okay again. Not until the end comes. Not until it swallows me whole. Hopefully, when it does, we’ll be together again. Back under the faerie lights of Prague, dancing in the snow-swept streets, dreaming of endless days and nights of bliss.

  “Time is the greatest murderer of all,” Meadowsweet says. I look over to her, to where snow lies in drifts. Ice cracks against my cheek. I brush the tears away and watch them fall to the ground as dust. Every blink is Austin’s face, as wrinkled and pale as the snow on the ground. Every blink is a reminder of the end. His end. Our end.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I manage.

  “Because I want you to stay here. Tír na nÓg wants you to stay here. In the mortal world, you will watch your loved ones age and die. If you choose Austin, you will see him buried. But if you stay here, if you give up this fight, you can live with him in bliss for eternity.”

  “But it’s all a lie,” I say. I take a deep breath and try to remember what I’m dealing with. Faeries don’t lie. But they always have an agenda. “What’s in it for you? If I don’t fight? If Mab and Oberon kill each other. What do you gain?”

  She smiles a sweet little smile.

  “Let’s just focus on you, Vivienne. See what I am giving you, not what I could gain.”

  “I don’t trust you,” I say. “You’re no better than Mab.”

  “Mab, who promised you an eternity? She didn’t promise everyone. Time will take those you love, Vivienne, no matter which path you choose. Unless you stay here. Here, you would never know the greatest of mortal pains.”

  I block her out, focus on Zal writhing on my wrist. I wipe the snow and dust from my hands.

  “Just like dust,” Melody says. I look up at her, diverting my attention from the linoleum floor of her trailer. “C’mon, Viv. You know it’s better than the alternative.”

  “She has a point,” Kingston says from beside me. I spare him a glance—he’s in his normal street attire, the faded leather coat and jeans I swear he wears more often than underwear.

  I sigh and look back to Melody. Like Kingston and me, she looks the exact same age as when we met. Her hair is curled and streaked with magenta now, but she’s dressed in an oversized cardigan and torn-up denim like always. Unlike Kingston and me, however, her age is just an illusion, a trick of her Shifter nature. Every day she forces her body to take on this form. But she’s still aging, underneath all the illusions of youth. She’s still dying.

  One of us has to. The tithe demands it. And that is the one act of magic no contract can break—it doesn’t matter that I’ve been the ringmaster for nearly seventy years. The tithe is law. Not even Mab could break it, not that she’d care enough to try.

  “I’ll have to find another…” I begin, but Melody waves her hand. The motion is slow. She stopped performing years ago, and I think that marked the start of her inevitable decline. Going from star to worker-in-the-shadows had to have been a tough choice on her part, even if she never showed it. Especially when she still looked like she should be doing backflips onstage.

  “That will be taken care of automatically,” she says. “The faeries handle it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the moment I’m gone, the faeries will go out and find another child suitable for the tithe and deliver her to your doorstep. Usually within the hour.” She coughs as she laughs. “Better than overnight delivery. Mab doesn’t mess around.”

  “Still, Melody, you can’t ask me to do this.”

  “Technically she can,” Kingston corrects. I glare at him, but he doesn’t cower. He’s Melody’s friend, too, and I know deep down this choice grates on him just as much. He’s just better at dealing with it. He’s had centuries of practice. “You’re ultimately in charge of contracts. Why else do you think Mab gave you the book? She was tired of meddling—you’d already proven yourself.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” I say. I look back at Melody. There’s a slight glaze to her youthful eyes, her age peering through the cracks, proving her mask an imposter. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

  Melody nods.

  “I’ve lived more than long enough. Everything hurts, Viv. And I’m starting to forget things: the good old days, the acts I did. Hell, I’m saying things like the good old days. It’s time. I’m ready.”

  I sigh and bite back the tears. I have to stay strong. Rule number one of showbiz: it doesn’t matter how much it hurts or how much you’re breaking inside. The show always goes on.

  I snap my fingers.

  The book appears from thin air. It coasts down in front of me and lands on my lap, already open to Melody’s page. Another wave of my hand and a giant peacock feather appears, the steel nib dry.

  “You’re sure?” I ask. I don’t want her to be sure. I want to wave my hand and make the damned book disappear. I want there to be another way. There has to be another way.

  “I’m sure. I’m begging. Please. Don’t make me suffer.”

  I’ve done many things in my time in the Cirque des Immortels. Many things I talk about, and even more I don’t. But I know, without a doubt, as I reach over and prick Melody’s finger with the quill, that this moment will go down in history as the worst executive decision I’ve ever had to make.

  I bring the pen back to the page, the nib hovering above Melody’s full name, the drop of her blood poised on the tip.

  “I love you, you know,” I say.

  “Lesbo,” she says. She coughs again, and I’m positive it’s to hide a sob. “I love you, too. Both of you. Thanks for a great career.”

  I nod. I don’t take my eyes off her.

  Not as I bring the nib to the page, not while I write “Contract Terminated” in crimson ink.

  She doesn’t gasp when the line completes. Instead, a tightness unravels behind her eyes, like a coiled spring suddenly releasing its tension. Her lips quirk into a smile.

  And then, as she slouches into herself, her body disintegrates, fluttering to the ground in a cloud of sparkling, pink dust.

  “You did the right thing,” Kingston says, and there’s a note in his voice that tells me he’s trying harder than ever to keep his shit together.

  I don’t speak. I shove the book from my lap—it disappears into the ether before it hits the floor—and I bury my head against his chest. He wraps his arms tight around me as I let myself sob. I haven’t cried in years. I haven’t needed to.

  We’ve always had each other.

  And soon, that’s all we’re going to have.

  Him and me.

  Forever.

  The illusion fades as I blink back tears. The night is dark, the trees around me vanished. I stand in a field of tumbled weeds and broken stalks. The only light comes from the waning moon above and the glowing form of Meadowsweet hovering before my eyes.

  “Not even Mab’s magic will keep you safe from time,” she says. “But here, in the land of Tír na nÓg, we can shield you. You needn’t watch your friends and family die. You may live every day in the glory of youth and happiness. Why would you choose anything else? No matter your choice, people will die. No matter your choice, your life will be wracked with pain. W
hy hurt? Why hurt when you can be free?”

  Her words are the worst temptation I’ve ever felt. Beneath all the layers of duty and rage is an ache, an exhaustion I simply can’t release. And her words draw it out, make it as palpable as a wound slashed across my chest. I just want to lie down in the snow. I want to let her take it all away.

  Don’t give in to her. Kingston’s voice comes from nowhere. Keep fighting, Vivienne. Please.

  Maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe I’m hallucinating his voice. But if he’s still fighting, even in death, I can’t give up either. He still needs me. Austin still needs me. As much as it hurts, I can’t stop yet.

  I look up to her. “I can’t stay here,” I say, and I’m only partially ashamed at the pain laced through my voice, at the whine that tells my greatest secret: I want to stay. I want to give in. I don’t want to do this anymore. “They need me. I can’t let them die. I just can’t. Please, you have to let me go.”

  She sighs, then, and it’s only in that moment that I realize the music is gone. The night air is silent and empty and cold, as though everything is absent save for this moment.

  “Tír na nÓg wishes you would stay. But we are the realm of dreams, not threats. We cannot keep you here, not against your own free will. If you truly wish to leave…” she looks across the empty field. Well, mostly empty, save for the smudge of buildings on the horizon, their forms dimly lit by the aurora overhead.

  Behind us is the forest, the path lit by pearls and toadstools. When I glance over, I hear the music again, the faint promise of an eternity of dreams and happiness. Tír na nÓg wishes you would stay. And I wish it, too. The path calls to every fiber of me, every traitorous part that wants to stop fighting and hurting and losing.

  But I can’t leave Kingston and Austin in the dust. I can’t live a lie of dreamed happiness when they’re out there, suffering, because of me.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  But when I turn toward her, Meadowsweet is already gone. I look back to the path. That, too, has vanished into the night—the only thing surrounding me is endless field. For a moment I think she’s abandoned me in the mortal world, probably somewhere in Canada, based on the aurora. Then I catch a familiar scent, one at odds with the dust of snow around me: clover. Clover and fresh earth, the scent of growth.