A Circus of Ink

by Lauren Palphreyman

  ‘What do you mean, Elle?’ he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

  I think he knows exactly what I mean. That familiarity, that pull in his eyes disappears and is replaced by something wild and dangerous. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he looks as if he is ready to murder someone. Maybe me. But I don’t put distance between us, even though that is the sensible thing to do. Because I created the hurricane. And a part of me—the frustrated part of me that hates what he is, that hates what he’s done—still wants to provoke him. Still wants to see what he will do.

  ‘They initiate all the Darlings in the Circus tent,’ I say. ‘Jay . . . they want you to tell them a story.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jay

  ‘No.’ I turn away from the Twist and rub my face. The air around me is too heavy. I can’t breathe properly. What the fuck am I doing here?

  ‘I know it seems—’

  ‘I’m not fucking doing it.’ There’s pressure on my chest, and my throat constricts. The ink in my veins burns—it’s been burning since I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. None of this is right. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. ‘I need to go.’

  She grabs my wrist before I can stand. ‘Jay—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You can’t go.’

  ‘Course I can.’

  She nods at the covers, and the corner of her lip quirks. ‘Not without your clothes.’

  ‘Do you think I give a shit?’

  ‘You should. If anyone is watching our shipping container, which I presume they are, they’ll see in an instant that you’re a Blotter. And that won’t end well for either of us.’

  I pull away, and her hand falls to her lap. ‘Why are you trying to piss me off so much?’

  ‘Because—’ She bites her lip and looks away, sighing. ‘Because I don’t want you to leave. Because I think you’re important.’

  ‘I’m not important. Get that out of your head right now.’

  ‘Yes. You are.’ She turns back to me. ‘Because you’re different. And different is good.’

  I hate that fucking look in her eyes. Like she thinks I’m more than what I am. Like she thinks I can help her.

  ‘Do you know how many people I’ve killed, little Twist? Do you?’ My voice comes out cold.

  She grits her teeth. ‘I can guess.’

  ‘Doubtful. Do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to give you a number?’ I lean closer, and she stiffens. ‘Do you want me to tell you how I did it? How I took their lives? How I spilt their blood?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Do you want to know how they sounded when they died? How they screamed? How they begged for mercy?’ Pain flickers across her face. Good. I lower my voice. ‘Do you want to know how young some of them were? Do you want to know how defenceless?’

  Her chest rises and falls quickly as if she’s trying to keep something inside. Her cheeks flush with anger.

  ‘Do you want to know how little I felt when I did it?’

  She turns away from me, her jaw set. ‘I know what you’re trying to do.’

  ‘Yeah? And what’s that?’

  ‘I know what you are. I know what you’ve done,’ she says, ice in her tone. ‘I know that you stand for everything I hate.’

  ‘Do you?’ I grab her chin and force her to look at me. She grips my wrist, and I catch the glimmer of panic crossing her face. Is she finally understanding? ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘Get your hands off me.’

  My lips twist into a smile. And I’m done. Whatever weird thing has been going on tonight, I’m done with it. If anyone stops me outside, I’ll kill them. Because that’s what I am. A killer.

  I release her. ‘We’re finished, little Twist.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  I laugh. It’s a horrible, cold sound that should make her recoil. She doesn’t. She should be afraid. She isn’t. She’s agitated though. Breathing fast. Conflicted, I think. Because she may not fear me like she should, but she knows I’m her enemy. She knows I’m a killer.

  ‘I know what you are. I know what you’ve done. I know that you stand for everything I hate.’ She swallows hard. ‘But I know you didn’t kill me when it was written.’

  ‘That means nothing.’

  ‘I know you carried me, unconscious, to your home instead of leaving me to die.’ Her voice is louder. ‘I know you killed five Blotters when it would have been easier to hand me to them. I know you followed me to the Edge of the World, through the mist, even though you thought it would make you disappear. I know you’re afraid. I know you’re trying to make me hate you because you think that makes it easier. I know I should hate you.’ She bites her lip as she glances at the dandelion seed on my chest. ‘But I’m not going to let myself hate you. Because you’re different.’

  ‘I’m not different.’

  And that fucking curious, wondrous look is in her eyes again. I glance away, palms still flat on the ground beside me. Air escapes through my teeth.

  ‘You’re important, Jay. I don’t know why, but you are.’

  ‘I can’t stay.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘You don’t get it, little Twist,’ I say. ‘I’m a Blotter. I can’t make up stories.’

  Tentatively, she reaches for my thigh, and my skin hums at her touch. It pisses me off. She shouldn’t be having this effect on me. It’s weak, and weird, and full of sin.

  ‘You don’t need to make up a story,’ she says. ‘You are the story.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Her inability to turn the fuck away from me like she should makes my skin itch. Frustration rises inside. I want to grab her, sink my fingers into her flesh. I want to rip off her top and put my hands on her. I want her to moan with pleasure as I push her onto the floor and hold her body down with mine. I want to feel her heat around me.

  I want a release—no, I fucking need it. A release from the rage, and the conflict, and the irritation. She knows what I’m thinking. I can see it in the raw curiosity of her gaze, and the way her chest is lightly flushed. Yet still, she doesn’t turn away from me.

  ‘What do you want from me, little Twist?’ I lower my tone. ‘Do you want to fuck me? Is that what this is all about?’

  Her eyes widen, and a sudden vulnerability flashes across her expression. It lasts half a second. But it fills me with relief and terror in equal measure. Because for the first time since I met her—for the first time since I’ve been drowning in all this shit—it occurs to me she was supposed to die tonight, and I am a killer, and maybe she’s feeling out of her depth too.

  ‘I want you to stay,’ she says.

  We stare at each other. Then I exhale, and my whole body deflates. I lie on my back, crossing my arms behind my head. She sighs, her shoulders relaxing. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the half-smile toying on her lips.

  ‘Don’t make a big fucking thing out of it,’ I say. ‘I still might leave once our clothes are dry.’

  She lies down beside me, and for a moment, I think she’s going to touch me. I want her to. I don’t want her to at the same time. I don’t know what I want. Not since I messed everything up so badly. Nothing makes sense anymore.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll leave,’ she says.

  I close my eyes and try to slow down my racing pulse. ‘Shut it.’

  I don’t tell her what I’m thinking. Because the thought terrifies me.

  I betrayed the Creators. I saved her life. I followed her to the Edge of the World.

  I don’t think I’ll leave either.

  I think I’m going to see this through to the end.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elle

  Do Blotters dream?

  I lay on my side watching him.

  His heat washes over me along with the masculine scent of dried sweat and rain. His breathing is steady, and his bare chest moves softly up and down.

  I should sleep too. I need to rest. But I don’t think I can.
So instead, I prop myself up on my elbow and study him.

  He is tense even in sleep. His lightly stubbled jaw is set in a hard line, and every now and then, his arms tighten behind his head. Is that a dream stirring him, or just a reflex? I can’t imagine the Creators would allow one of their creatures to dream. Dreams are stories that cannot be controlled. Dreams belong only to the dreamer.

  If he could dream, what would he dream about? Death and darkness? The murders he has committed? Perhaps robbing him of his dreams is a mercy.

  My eyes trace the black patterns that brand his hips, his chest, the undersides of his arms. Some are thick black lines joining together like a roadmap across his body. Others are small and disjointed—a flame curling around his belly button, a dot on his neck, a ring around his arm.

  A dandelion seed.

  I shift closer, twisting my body over his. His arm twitches, and I still, holding my breath until he softens once more. Why would he have this tattoo? Why would we both have this tattoo? It doesn’t make sense.

  My father always said stories grow like dandelions in the cracks in the pavement. This seed is a symbol of hope and change. It is defiance of the Creators. And yet, alongside the deadly path they have written for him, there it is.

  I reach for it.

  Jay grabs my wrist. ‘What are you doing, little Twist?’

  ‘I want to touch it,’ I say as he opens his eyes.

  His lip twitches. ‘Touch what?’

  ‘The dandelion seed.’

  His forehead creases. ‘Why?’

  ‘It reminds me of something someone used to say to me.’

  He looks at me studiously. Then he moves his arm back behind his head, leaving my hand hovering above his chest. My heartbeat quickens. I’m not sure if it’s an invitation or if he’s just playing with me. He killed five trained Blotters with ease earlier, he grabbed my hand even though I was sure he was sleeping. His reflexes are fast.

  Tentatively, I touch the dandelion seed. When he makes no move to stop me, I trace it with my fingertip. His breathing deepens.

  ‘How do they do it?’ I ask. ‘How do they map out your life?’

  ‘I don’t know, little Twist. I’m a Blotter. I don’t know the mechanics, do I?’

  I slide my fingers down to the circle with the twisted line above his heart—the tattoo that told him that I must die. His pulse thuds beneath it.

  ‘Were you born this way? With the tattoos? With ink in your veins?’

  He sucks his bottom lip. ‘No.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  His expression darkens. ‘There’s a Ceremony.’

  ‘What happens?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  He swallows. ‘It’s an honour.’

  ‘But does it hurt?’

  He averts his eyes from mine, body tensing. ‘Yeah.’

  I have always seen Blotters as mindless monsters. Puppets of the Creators. It never occurred to me the Creators hurt them too.

  Cautiously, I move my fingers down one of the black lines. His breathing quickens as I trace it over the hard ridges of his torso. Then I slide my palm back up to the dandelion seed.

  ‘You said it reminded you of something someone said,’ he says. ‘The seed.’

  His eyes are heavy-lidded when I meet them. ‘My father.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said stories grow like dandelions.’

  ‘So, crazy runs in the family then?’

  My lip quirks. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Is he . . .?’

  ‘Dead?’

  Jay inclines his head, and I sigh. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Blotters.’

  He chews his bottom lip, his face darkening. ‘Oh.’

  The air seems to get heavy around us. It’s filled with things that do not need to be said. We are supposed to be enemies. He stands for everything I hate. I was supposed to die at his hands.

  Someone like him killed my father.

  ‘Everything happens for a reason,’ he says finally—as if he expects me to find some comfort in that.

  My insides turn to ice. ‘Everything happens for the Creators’ reason.’

  ‘I just mean . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘The Creators may seem cruel at times. But they have their reasons, and the reasons are for the good of everyone. For the good of the One True Story. That’s just the way it is.’

  I frown. Why can’t he see? ‘Just because something is the way it is doesn’t mean it’s right.’

  ‘You’re being naïve.’

  ‘I’m naïve?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I flatten my hand on his chest and I’m overcome with an insatiable urge to hurt him. To dig my fingernails into his flesh, to bite him, to make him bleed. Before I even realise I’ve moved, my hand is lingering at the base of his neck.

  ‘What? You’re going to choke me now, little Twist? You’re going to choke me because I don’t agree with you?’

  My fingers twitch. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. He just lies there, looking up at me with cool blue eyes.

  I know I couldn’t. He is too strong.

  And somewhere deep within me, I know I wouldn’t choke him even if I could. I told him I wouldn’t let myself hate him. It isn’t his fault he thinks this way. Yet still, frustration buzzes beneath my skin like an angry swarm of bees, and I want it out of me. I want a release.

  So I tighten my fingers.

  Before I can even process what is happening, he flips me onto my back. His body moves on top of mine, holding me in place. His covers shift, and I’m suddenly very aware that he is naked, his strong, bare legs pinning mine down through my sleeping bag.

  His face is inches from mine. One of his hands is flat on the floor beside my head, the other curled gently around my neck.

  ‘I’m not naïve,’ I say.

  I feel his breath on my face. ‘You are naïve, little Twist. Or you would be afraid of me. But you’re not, are you?’

  My heart beats hard against my ribs, betraying me. I will it to slow. I will myself to calm down.

  ‘You know what I am. You know I’m a killer. And yet you’re naïve enough to think you’re safe around me. You’re naïve enough to think you can fix me.’

  ‘I don’t think I can fix you.’

  ‘No? Well, there’s only one other reason you’re keeping me around then. Do you want to know what I reckon, little Twist?’ The hard weight of his body shifts on top of me. ‘I reckon you’re keeping me around because you want to fuck me. You want to know what it would be like to be with a Blotter. You know it would be different to anything you’ve experienced before. And once that curiosity has been satisfied—and believe me, you would be satisfied—you’ll be less bothered about keeping me around. And then you can do whatever crazy shit you have planned, and I can be left the fuck alone. So I’m going to make it easy for you. Ask me. Ask me to fuck you. And I’ll do it, right here, right now. You get what you want, I get what I want, and this whole ridiculous night can be brought to an end.’ His rough thumb trails down my neck. ‘Ask me, little Twist. You just have to ask.’

  My breath catches in my throat. No one has ever spoken to me like that before. My insides clench. I can feel my pulse throbbing through my core.

  And I hate it. I hate this feeling that makes no sense to me. I hate that my body is responding to his touch, his rough words, his hardness pressing against my thigh, when I’m so angry with him. I hate that I want to sink my teeth into his bottom lip, and tighten my legs around his waist, and feel him hard inside me.

  That animal look is in his eyes again—only this time, it’s focused solely on me. As if he wants to devour me.

  ‘The little Twist speechless?’ he says softly. ‘I never thought it was possible.’

  I hate that I want him. I hate that I want him to ease this ache growing inside of me.

  But I refuse to say it. I refuse to let him know. Because he’s wrong abo
ut me. That is not all I want him for. As much as he wants me to prove to him that’s all he’s worth, as much as I want to succumb to his offer, I won’t.

  And not just because he is a Blotter.

  Our stories are linked now. I won’t let it end here.

  I shake my head, my breathing fast.

  He stares at me for a moment longer. Then he exhales and rolls off me.

  I turn my back on him. My heart hammers against my chest, and I’m hot. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to see.

  I am not vulnerable. I am not afraid. I do not want him.

  Stories are true when we believe them.

  Gradually, my pulse steadies.

  ‘I don’t think I can fix you,’ I say quietly after a while, unsure if he’s even still awake but feeling it needs to be said.

  ‘No shit.’ He sounds frustrated.

  ‘I don’t think I can fix you,’ I say, ‘because I don’t think you’re broken.’

  He lets out a bitter laugh. ‘No?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I think the world is broken.’

  ‘And you’re going to fix it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He laughs again, but this time, the bitterness is gone.

  ‘Crazy little Twist,’ he says quietly. ‘You know, my offer still stands. If you decide you can’t wait, feel free to wake me up. I’m happy to oblige.’ His voice roughens. ‘But otherwise, go the fuck to sleep and don’t disturb me again.’

  I look over my shoulder and catch the ghost of a smile on his lips, though his eyes are now closed. Soon, the sound of his steady breathing fills the shipping container again. And again, I wonder if he’s dreaming.

  I lie like this for a long time, listening to the sounds of the Darlings moving around the settlement outside—laughter and chatter and the roll of barrels of food and drink. My mind buzzes, but I need to get at least a few hours’ sleep.

  Soon, we’ll have to go to the Circus, and I think the Blotter will be difficult. I need to prepare him. I need him to stay calm so I can get the Darlings on my side.

  I need them for my plan.

  Because the world is broken.

  And I’m going to fix it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jay

  I slam my hand onto my chest. My body’s on fire. Fuck. I breathe through my teeth, sucking in the musty air, until the pain subsides. The tattoo still burns, but it’s a dull throb now. Manageable.