I turned to smile down at Teddy, who had come from the back. He was without a doubt my favorite of the lot. His brown hair fell over half his face, and he brushed it aside and fiddled with his suspenders.
After shoving aside the wrappers, I pulled open the foil. The enticing smell of greasy fries and beer-battered fish overwhelmed my senses. I sank into the booth. The food was a bit cold, but I was starving.
Teddy climbed in across from me, sitting on the top of the booth so he wasn’t looking up at me. “You were out later than usual.”
I squirted the packet of vinegar over my meal, hoping to mask the rubbery texture of the cold fries. “Was I?”
His rusted eyes met mine, his permanent grin fixed. “By almost an hour. Is everything okay?”
I smiled. It was nice to have someone who cared. “I took a tumble and had a chat with a cat.” I bit into a fry to hide my grin.
“Ah, the green-eyed menace,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow.
I almost choked on my fry.
Teddy passed me a napkin, his smile tighter than usual. “If you thought no one would notice a coin like him coming down here, you must have knocked something loose in that fall.” He glanced to the side, obviously trying to keep the others from overhearing. Judging by their yells and muttered curses, he didn’t need to worry.
“You know you shouldn’t associate with the likes him,” Teddy persisted, his expression turning serious in the dim light. “People could get the wrong idea.”
“He followed me,” I said with what I hoped was a careless shrug. “That’s all.” But my face heated, belying my words.
Teddy shook his head. He was simply looking out for me, I knew. Everything he said was true—nothing went unseen in this circus. Chayse and I had been skirting around this fact for months now. A friendship between us crossed too many invisible lines.
I slouched deeper into my seat. “It’s not like that,” I muttered, breaking a fry apart and eating it piece by piece, all the while maintaining eye-contact. I didn’t want Teddy to think I was hiding anything. “It’s not anything.”
Was I trying to convince him or myself?
Teddy’s look of concern deepened. “Best to keep it that way.”
I nodded. Chayse was a razor blade, sharp and alluring. To touch him was to accept the risk of getting cut. And I was already bleeding.
Chapter Two
Chayse
Snow hurried inside without a glance back. The icy air bit my face as I walked away, quickening my pace. Autumn didn’t agree with me. It stilled the hot blood in my veins. I snapped my fingers, coaxing a small flame to warm my chilled hands.
I slunk into the shadows. I didn’t belong here in the dregs of the circus, but neither did she. She wasn’t one of us. She even smelled different—fresh and pure. Here everyone else carried the gritty taste of despair, an ashy flavor that seemed to coat the air. I carried that despair as much as the others.
But it only brushed Snow. She held on to her hope for something more. For something better. The rest of us had accepted our fate.
Humanity. I grimaced as the word crossed my mind, but I couldn’t deny the truth of it: Her humanity saved her. She never experienced the empty, hungry desperation that consumed my kind and made us view things like her—humans—as something akin to prey. She was a deer in a pit of lions. And yet she remained oblivious to her danger. She walked among us as if she were invincible.
Only because she’s ignorant, I reminded myself harshly. If the glamour were to fall from Snow’s eyes and she saw the truth of her dire situation, would she show such strength? If she ever recognized the monsters surrounding her, would she fare better than any other human?
Clumping footsteps sounded behind me. I maintained my even pace. Only the brave or the very stupid would dare challenge me here. The stench of booze and cigarettes told me it was one of Snow’s companions . . . or rather, a dwarf.
“Where are you going, Hunter?” A reedy cough followed his words.
“For a relaxing walk. Of course that could change,” I said with mild annoyance. The flicker of flame in my hand flared into a small orb of fire, illuminating the dwarf’s eyes and yellowed teeth.
“I have information,” he growled. His small body tensed, waiting for a blow.
“Really? Seems out of character for a dwarf.” I doused the flame, but even without its glow I could see him cowering in front of me.
“I value gold over death.”
I gave him a skeptical glance. “What makes you think I will give you gold?”
He smiled, a crude, awful expression, suited to his face. Teardrop tattoos punctuated his cold, mirthless eyes. “Because I have information.”
“So you’ve said.” It was my turn to smile. “What makes you think we’re lacking information? The queen has her sources, and they are reliable. Far more reliable than the word of a clown.”
He sneered. “There are fair folk in the queen’s favor who would stop at nothing to overthrow her.”
My eyebrows rose ever so slightly. This was the first I was hearing of it. Most of the fae were too scared or too weak to challenge Mother. “What do you know?” I asked, keeping my expression neutral.
He moved closer, his compact frame making him look misshapen in the low light. “Gold first.” He held a hand out.
I took a menacing step, my hair bristling. A low growl escaped. “I could beat it out of you.”
“You really are your mother’s son then.” The dwarf drew back but didn’t seem afraid. “I fear that won’t serve you as well as it has her.”
His words carried a bite. With a curse hissing between my teeth, I dug into my pocket, pulled out a coin, and flung it at him. “Speak then.”
He caught and held the gold reverently. His eyes flashed to meet mine, glinting with an unfriendly light. “There is a rebellion forming. They are planning to take down the queen.”
I grabbed his arm. “I know that is not what you wasted my time to tell me.” My hand heated, searing his skin.
He let out a guttural sound and yanked his arm back. “They are planning to use her weakness to take her down.”
“I’m losing my patience with you.”
He held up a hand and glanced back toward Snow’s trailer. “Her. The weakness is her.”
That stopped me. Snow’s connection to the queen wasn’t common knowledge. She was supposed to be just another piece in mother’s treasure trove. A valuable to be coveted, a walking jewel begging to be taken, but to touch it was to ask for death.
Plenty of fae, especially royals, purchased or took humans. Humans afforded status. But Snow, now . . . Snow was a little different. She had been swapped out at birth with a changeling, and the switch had cost Mother dearly. But it was a price she was willing to pay. Snow was needed.
This secret, known by only a choice few, was not the sort of thing a dwarf would ever find himself privy too.
I maintained a stony expression. Any reaction from me would only further their agenda. “They cannot hope to win then,” I said with casual indifference. Then I tossed another coin and hurried away from the miserable creature.
Swallowing his words left my throat thick with disgust. They knew about Snow! A wave of panic flooded through me. Of course, using Snow was the only way they could hope to overthrow the Queen. But I wasn’t about to share that information with a bunch of rogues.
I loped back to the heart of the circus where Mother’s tent sat at the hub of it all. It looked just like the Big Top on the outside, weathered and faded. The inside was another matter— white silks draped everything, complemented by the warm glow of candles. Mother refused to part with any luxury, even in our current choice of home. Rugs, tufted sofas, and love seats imported from France furnished the interior. Most everything was inlaid with gold filigree: the tables, curtains, and candlesticks. Tea steamed in a silver pot, and a spread of finger sandwiches, pastries, and macaroons covered one of the tables. I snitched a few and poured myself a cup of tea, ad
ding a splash of rum from her extensive cache.
“There you are.” Mother’s purr reached my ear just before she pulled apart the curtains separating her room from the sitting area. She flounced in, bringing the overwhelming scent of roses with her. With blonde hair artfully piled on top of her head, a string of pearls gracing her neck, and an ivory dressing gown wrapping her youthful body, she looked garish.
Snatching the teacup from me, she kissed my cheek, leaving a blood-red stain. I scrubbed at it with the back of my hand. She gave me a wry smile as she sashayed back to her boudoir. “You’re a bit later than usual.” Pausing before the large gilded mirror, she admired herself for a moment before switching her gaze to focus on me in the reflection. “Should I be concerned?”
I poured myself another cup of tea, this time more rum than tea, and slouched onto the settee. “I don’t see the need. Snow just took a fall.”
She shook her head, pursing her full lips. “The aerial arts require a bit of poise. Not a trait commonly found in the mortals.”
I slurped my tea. “They do seem fragile.”
Her smile disappeared. “Yes, quite fragile.”
I met her cold gaze and bit into the sandwich I held.
“Is that all?” Her tone was soft, but her eyes were steel.
I swallowed the bite of bread. “Of course, Mother.” I managed a grin even as the bread, along with my unsaid words, clogged my throat. I took another drink, forcing it down. I had to remind myself that she couldn’t read my mind.
Her icy stare released me at last, and she returned to her preening. Mother was beautiful, even I couldn’t dispute it. High, sharp cheekbones paired with vibrant, glowing skin. She looked to be only in her mid-thirties—a far cry from her true age.
The price of that beauty was more than I could stomach.
With frosty, critical eyes, Mother took in her flawless complexion, then picked her way through her assortment of beauty products and jewelry. She would spend hours in front of that mirror, primping and evaluating. Everyone else looked at her in awe of her almost impossible beauty. But she was never satisfied, always finding fault.
I knew the truth of her almost eternal youth and beauty. I understood why she secretly hated herself: It was never going to be enough.
She was aging. At an imperceptible pace, almost invisibly. But it was happening. Neither of us had brought attention to it. For me it was in the hope of saving a life; for her, in simple unwillingness to believe. Yet today she seemed more self-aware.
“I feel a wrinkle coming on, dearest.” She pouted at her reflection. “Wouldn’t that be awful?”
“You look as stunning as ever, Mother,” I murmured into my drink. I was tired of feeding her vanity.
She smiled and turned to me. “One cannot trust a charmer like you not to lie. I raised you to be far too good at it.”
I smirked in response and stretched out on the soft cushions. Watching her as she preened, I wondered if she hated me like I hated her.
Puckering her lips, Mother added another coat of scarlet. “Alilion may be visiting soon. I have to be positively glowing.” She blotted the excess away on a white silk handkerchief.
I rolled my eyes and scarfed down a few cookies. “For Alilion, I’m sure as long as you have a feast with some sort of meat, he will be happy.”
She sighed and sprayed another mist of perfume into the air. “Diplomacy, darling. I know, a hard concept, but a necessary one.”
“It’s unnecessary,” I said, raising my glass. “You’re rich enough.”
She tossed me a pitying look. “I envy your ignorance.” Cupping her cheek, she closed her eyes. “I remember being young and carefree. The late nights filled with champagne dreams and whispered promises.” Her lashes fluttered open, and a blissful look decorated her porcelain face.
I shook my head at her. “You can still have champagne.”
She smiled at me, her teeth almost sparkling in the candlelight. “She comes of age soon.”
I froze, trying to think of something to cover with, all the while knowing I had nothing. “I suppose so.” I kept my expression unchanged, calm. Snow had a few weeks at least. Mother would wait . . . I hoped.
That smile that had seemed so genuine turned harsh and feral. She looked back in the mirror and traced her imaginary wrinkles. “Good.”
Poor, naïve Snow had no idea of the truth of her existence, no idea that the only reason she was still alive was for the queen to use.
She was alive for her heart, nothing more.
Chapter Three
Snow
The circus is an assault on the senses. The cheers and jeers are deafening, the colors blinding, and the smells and tastes are unmistakable. From the perspective of the audience, it’s a thing of wonder and astonishment, a marvel of seemingly impossible feats and outrageous acts.
To us, the workers, the circus means setting aside our last shreds of dignity to repeat a tired routine of drudgery. It means applying a thick layer of greasepaint and a wig to amuse bratty children . . . and their indulgent parents, who say nothing as their children throw popcorn at your face, tug on your wig, and try to steal your nose. It is forcing a smile as you thump around in oversized shoes and fake-trip into the audience.
The circus means humiliation.
I sat with three of my unsavory bunkmates. The ground beneath us was hard, compacted dirt. We waited under a trap door; a clown car would soon be wheeled over it. Then we would spring out and pretend we had all been stuffed in there together. I would come out last and, because of the drastic size difference, the audience would roar with laughter.
I glanced at Moe. He was as unsmiling as ever. He embodied the sad clown even when he wasn’t performing. Two teardrops were painted on his cheeks.
He glared at me. “Problem?”
I shook my head and stared at my hands. They were still splotchy with the white makeup I had applied to my face earlier. I had drawn black triangles under my eyes and finished with a goofy red lip. My head begged to be scratched under the mop-like wig I wore. I resisted the urge; I would be on-stage in a minute.
The boards above us creaked as the clown car passed over the hidden door. Lenny pulled the trapdoor open and waved his hand around, waiting for someone to grasp it. Teddy got up with some resignation and tipped his red bowler hat as he was pulled up. Sean followed, looking equally unenthused. Moe grudgingly stood and prepared for his turn. He looked up at me, his expression no longer sullen but cautious. He glanced around us as if afraid someone was lurking in the small area.
“The audience is a little rough tonight. I would be wary.” He hesitated as if he had more to say, but before he had a chance, he was pulled up.
It was a strange thing to say. A cold shiver rippled down my spine. I tried to sort out what he meant. We had our share of rough crowds. Madame’s circus, though highly praised and somewhat more elite than other circuses, still made camp in some sketchy places. The crowds could range from unruly to violent. Maybe this was one of those hazardous times.
I partially stood and heaved myself up into the near-empty clown car. What was impossible for the guys to climb was nothing more than a ledge to me. Lenny dropped the trapdoor after me and kicked some hay over it. He gave me a wink, pasted on a smile, and ran out into the madness.
The roar of the audience grew.
I waited a bit longer than I was supposed to. I hated it—the crowd and the fake smiles. But there was no avoiding it.
I took a breath and put on a syrupy smile as I sprang out. The lights were hot and blinding, the audience nothing more than blurred shadows. The laughter surrounding me came to a crescendo. I made a dramatic swiping motion across my head, as if I had been working hard to get out. I made a show of stretching and did a cheeky wave at the audience.
They loved it. Faceless children squealed as the boys ran about doing various tumbling acts. I swung myself into a cartwheel, my calloused hands pushed off the worn wood. The world spun with me, a fantastic array
of colors. I followed it with a handspring. More cheers. I did an exaggerated bow then faked a trip into the shaky pyramid the boys had just topped. I fell into them, sending some of them crashing to the ground.
The falls looked real. We had practiced them innumerable times. Someone in the audience gasped, a sign that our practice had paid off. I pulled myself up and looked around with pretend panic, as they picked themselves up and glowered at me with annoyance.
They started toward me with a bucket. This signalled the beginning of the chase.
I took off through the audience. Hundreds of faces came into focus, too many to take in at once, both young and old alike. I weaved my way through them, causing delight and some annoyance wherever I went. I slipped in beside a portly gentleman and stole his hat, then leaned back and pretended to take in the show.
Three of the guys had followed. They were scanning the crowd. Members of the audience either sold me out or pointed the opposite direction. It was just nice when they participated. It seemed an amiable crowd, which made Moe’s cryptic words even more confusing.
When Kirk pointed at me and shouted for the others, I took my cue and passed the man his hat before squeezing past the rest of the people in the row and back onto the walkway. I allowed them to catch up to me, and they emptied the contents of a bucket at me . . . only to find it empty. They made a great show of finding a hole in the bucket.
I ran down the steps. This had been one of the harder things to master, for the steps were uneven and oddly placed. I’d tripped more than a few times and gotten the fat lip to prove it. Sometimes members of the audience tried to trip me. I had learned to watch my feet and dance around any unexpected obstacles.
Back in the ring, I put up a little more of a fight before I stopped to take some heaving breaths. As I leaned over panting, they dumped a bucket of warm water over my head. There wasn’t really a way to prepare for that part. When the weather was nice, it wasn’t bad. I never knew how they actually managed to get warm water, but I was grateful for it.
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