by A. R. Kahler
Our trailers are set up in parallel lines at this site, so I’m facing the door to the opposite bunk. No one’s walking back and forth in the alley between the double-wides except Arietta as she heads toward the baseball diamond. The air smells faintly of bacon and cut grass, and I head over to the one place I can expect to find Kingston—or anyone else—at this time of day: the pie cart.
The little kitchen trailer is set up a few yards away from the bunk trailers. It looks like one of those food trucks you’d see selling crappy Mexican food in a big city, but this trailer is painted with flowers and is heavily decorated with dangling wind chimes and Tibetan flags. So yeah, more like a food cart selling organic granola and kombucha. There’s a pavilion-style tent set up beside it, with a few empty benches under the awning. One of the tables is already laden with fruit and rolls and a couple silver canisters of heaven—fresh coffee.
But other than a few Shifters yawning beside the coffee dispensers, the dining area is empty. So much for finding Kingston.
I head over to the cart and grab a plastic mug from the rack. I can’t help but notice that the Shifters—two that I don’t recognize, not that that means much among people who can and do change their shape like Harajuku girls change their hair colors—immediately go even quieter the moment I’m near. Sara’s words wiggle through my tired and already stressed mind: They see you as Mab’s henchmen.
“Morning,” I say as I pour sugar into the mug.
They grunt in response. I raise an eyebrow. The guy has a shaved head and steel spikes jutting from his lower lip. The girl is about half a head taller than baldie, with acid-pink hair and a splash of stars inked across her right temple.
“I’m Vivienne,” I say. I hold out a hand. They want to be awkward? I will make this shit awkward. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.”
“Michelle,” says the girl. She speaks her name like she’s wielding a blunt object at my face.
“Craig,” says the guy.
Neither takes my hand. I keep it there for what I hope to hell is an awkward slow five seconds. One Mississippi …
“How are you guys settling in?” I do my best to keep my voice cheerful, which, as anyone who knows me would quickly attest, is a sure sign I’m acting, especially so early in the day.
Craig shrugs. Michelle looks away.
“Fine, I guess,” Michelle says. “We should get going. Some of the stakes on the west end need adjusting.”
“Have a lovely day!” I call out to their backs. And then, when they’ve disappeared around the corner of the tent, “Fucking assholes.”
Today is not a day I want to be screwed with or vilified or any of that shit. Today I just want to find Kingston and have him apologize and maybe have some makeup sex so we can go back to the way things were. None of this evading the subject. None of this treating me like I’m radioactive. It’s not my fault he’s feeling guilty about erasing my memory. It’s not my fault I can’t remember the men of my past. Okay, maybe it is sort of my fault if I put it in my contract, but I’m not responsible for the fallout. The growing ache in my head isn’t making any of it better, either.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Mel comes up beside me and puts a hand on my arm.
“You okay, sweetie?” she asks.
I glance at her. She’s in a loose T-shirt that almost covers the tiny pink shorts sticking out underneath. Her hair is all mussed, and her smudged eyeliner tells me she’s just woken up.
“I’m …” I sigh. I don’t want to lie to my only friend, but I don’t know how much she knows about my contract. And 7 a.m. isn’t any time to try and explain it away. “Boy troubles,” I say. It’s the truth. Sort of.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Has he done something?” she asks quietly. Normally, I’d expect her to make a joke or try to play things off, but her voice is deadly serious. “If he’s done anything to hurt you or …”
I shake my head.
“Nothing like that,” I say. “It’s just …” Another sigh. God, saying anything in this troupe is impossible anymore. “It’s my contract. The whole ‘forgetting my past’ thing. Turns out I had a boyfriend.”
“Not surprising,” Mel says. She turns to grab some coffee, now that it’s clear Kingston’s not being a dick. “I’d date you.”
“Thanks,” I say with a small laugh. “But … Mel, he showed up yesterday. He knew me. And I didn’t know him.”
That gets her attention.
“I thought they couldn’t …?” she begins. And with that little slip, I realize she’s known that part of my contract all along. She actually blushes a little with her admission. Under normal circumstances, I’d be upset she was hiding that from me. But it kind of pales in comparison to what I’m keeping from her. “What happened?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Kingston told him to go away or something.” I run a hand through my hair. Actually, what did Kingston say to him? I never found out—does Austin still remember me? “But now things are awkward. I don’t even remember this guy. What if I still have feelings for him, underneath all the layers of contract?”
Mel bites her lip and is silent for a long while.
“I’m not really Miss Good Relationship Advice,” she allows. “But what can you do? You don’t remember the guy, and even if you did, you’re bound to the show now. Chances are you forgot about him for a reason, and chances are even better that you’ll never see him again. So who cares? He’s just a ghost from your past.” She pauses to take a sip of her coffee. “Kingston’s real. He’s here right now. And he’s in love with you. Do you really want to throw that away for a guy you can’t remember?”
She’s got a point, but she’s also not in my shoes. She still knows the majority of her past. And she’s never had those hidden memories come back to say she used to love them.
“You’re right,” I say. There’s no use arguing. I signed away my memories for a reason. But now that they’re resurfacing, I can’t help but want to know more. It’s like finding a piece to a jigsaw puzzle you forgot you had; the desire to complete the picture is suddenly overwhelming.
That’s when she takes another sip and I notice the faint, fresh bruises on her wrists.
“Mel,” I say carefully. “What are those?”
She blushes a deeper red.
“Handcuffs,” she confesses. She smiles wickedly. “They’re Sara’s. Want to borrow them? Might do wonders for you and Kingston.”
“What would?” Kingston asks.
His timing, as always, is impeccable.
“Handcuffs,” Melody chirrups happily. I look back at Kingston, who’s maybe a foot behind me and still in his pajamas. Which is to say, shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Zal is stretched from the back of one wrist to the other, the serpent’s body a faint gray blur under the thin fabric. Kingston has a bemused half-grin on his face. He also isn’t fully meeting my gaze.
“I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing,” Kingston says. He steps over and grabs his own mug. He stands close to me, so close without actually touching that my skin almost aches to reach for him. I shake my head. I’m not going to be that girl.
For her part, Mel acts oblivious to the way Kingston edges around me.
“Turns out I’m into a lot more than I expected,” she says. “Sara’s very good at being persuasive.”
“I shudder for your neighbors,” Kingston says.
Mel’s grin widens.
“About that,” she says.
“What?” Kingston says.
“Well, remember when I was sick and Mab dropped by?”
“I do,” Kingston says, “but you shouldn’t.”
Mel shrugs. “Word travels. Anyway, I’m assuming she cast some sort of buffer spell or something, because my room’s a veritable bunker. No one can hear anything.” The blush comes back, but her smile hides it well. “It’s come in handy. If you ever need to borrow the room, let me know.”
Kingston shakes his head. He’s smiling, but it see
ms somewhat forced. Clearly, he’s not happy with Mel remembering that part of her past. How does he keep track of what everyone’s supposed to remember? Does he have some sort of magical witchy memory? Or does he have a diary somewhere, filled with everyone else’s history?
“Speaking of,” Mel says. She looks between the two of us. “I should probably go … you know, set her free.”
My eyes widen. “She’s still in there?”
Mel shrugs again. “She likes it. Kinky aerialists.”
“You saucy little minx,” Kingston says.
Melody chuckles and turns to go. As she walks off, she calls out. “You can borrow them after me!”
This time, it’s me who blushes.
Kingston turns and begins to walk off. I follow at his side. He glances to me once, then dips his eyes back to the grass at his feet. We’re heading toward the big top.
“So,” I say. “Where were you this morning?”
His free hand runs through his hair.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
It sounds like an easy out, but I don’t press it. He pulls back the violet curtain for me, and we step into the cool interior of the tent. It smells of earth and vinyl, a strange combination that I know only exists in spaces like this. I can practically feel the old dreams drifting in the stagnant air, waiting for the Wheel to turn them into faerie food. This is the nexus of the Dream Trade: this tent is how Mab feeds her kingdom.
Kingston walks to the ring curb and sits down, facing center ring. I sit next to him. With all the empty bleachers behind us, it feels like we’re performing for ghosts. It’s only when we’re inside that I realize just how much the sunlight was killing my eyes. The headache had been getting worse, but in here it seems to ease up a bit.
“I’m not going to continue like this,” I say. I’m not going to wait for him to grow a pair. I’ve been through too much to put up with this. “If you want to start ignoring me, fine. But at least man up and admit it.”
He sighs into his coffee and puts one hand on my thigh.
“It’s not that,” he says. “I don’t want to ignore you. It’s just …” He looks at me then, and his brown eyes seem lost. “I’m waiting for you to wake up and remember you care about him more. That you miss him or that you regret leaving him.”
His hand actually trembles. The coffee in his cup ripples.
I want to tell him that won’t happen. After all, Melody was right: I’m part of the show now. I’m here for life. Even if I did have feelings for Austin, it wouldn’t mean anything. I couldn’t go after him even if I wanted to.
But that doesn’t promise anything. Because if I do wake up some morning with forgotten longing, I’ll have two choices: I remember and suck it up and say nothing and suffer, or I ask Kingston to erase it, and he lives with the knowledge that I needed him to make me forget I loved someone else.
Being in my shoes sucks, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in his either.
“Do you know anything about him?” I ask.
Kingston shakes his head. “I didn’t even know he existed. When I erased you from the world, it was a mass-effect sort of spell. One casting and you were supposed to be plucked from the minds of everyone who knew you. It’s not my favorite spell, but Mab forces me to use it every once in a while, when her performers are on the run.” He pauses and looks into his coffee. “I’ve never had someone break through it before.”
“So what did you say to him?” I ask. “To make him leave. Did you pluck me from his mind again?”
“No,” he says. “I just told him you weren’t feeling well. It was weird. He looked like he was sleepwalking. When Mab showed up and asked him to leave, he asked who you were and if you were going to be okay.”
For some reason, that’s a stab in the gut. I know I don’t remember him, but … a small part of me was hoping that he was still out there, thinking of me. Even though I locked it away, it was comforting to think that I still had a lifeline to my past.
“I’m sorry, Viv,” he says. He squeezes my thigh. “For all of this.”
“It’s not important,” I say. Even though a part of me is screaming that it is important, that I shouldn’t let myself forget again. My head swims a little, and the ache in my temples throbs. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“Like what?” comes a voice from the bleachers. My heart drops into my stomach.
I turn, slowly, to where Lilith sits. She’s on the top bleacher, in the shadows. And I have no idea how long she’s been there.
The moment we spot her, she begins clambering down the bleachers, crawling over them like a child on a jungle gym. It makes her look like something from that horror movie The Ring. Her black hair is in pink ribbons, and she’s wearing a baby-doll dress that makes her look positively cherubic. Which, given her fiery interior, is even more terrifying.
“Heard you,” she says as she moves, “heard you talking. Came to see.” When she reaches us, she stands a few feet away, her glossy shoes scuffed and dusty in the ring. “You think we’re going to die.”
The last sentence, the somberness of it, makes my hair stand on end.
She’s still locked up, I try to convince myself. Kassia can’t escape.
“What are you doing here, Lilith?” Kingston asks. He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “You know Mab doesn’t like you eavesdropping.”
“Auntie Mab dislikes many things,” she says. Her voice keeps that eerily sane quality, the tone that makes me think she’s about to flip out. “She dislikes secrets most of all.” She cocks her head to the side. Her green eyes bore into mine. “You’re keeping secrets. So many secrets. Even from yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but I’m suddenly acutely aware of the note Sheena gave me, still tucked away in my Tarot pouch. Was Lilith eavesdropping on that too?
“He is coming,” Lilith sings. “The Broken King is marching, marching, marching out to get you.”
She starts to do a little twirl.
“Lilith,” Kingston begins. But she stops mid-twirl and stares at him.
“I did not forget,” she whispers. “How you hurt me. I did not forget that. No, no. He will come for you as well. And when he does, I will laugh and play. The Broken King will kill you both, and I will laugh and play.”
She completes the spin and then leaves the tent, bouncing and humming with every step.
When she’s gone, Kingston squeezes his eyes shut. It’s only when he loosens his grip on my leg that I realize he’s been clutching it with white knuckles.
“What the hell was that all about?” I ask.
“She’s getting worse,” he whispers.
“I noticed.”
He doesn’t ask me about secrets. He, like me, has probably already had his fill. He fishes around in the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a cigarette. I can’t tell whether it was there or if he manifested it through magic. It’s already smoldering when he brings it to his lips.
“Who is the Broken King?” I ask.
“Oberon,” Kingston says. The word sounds like a curse, especially under the big top; I expect crows to caw or lightning to strike. If anything, the air just seems to grow a little warmer.
“Why did she call him that?”
“Because,” he says, “the Summer Court’s falling apart. Oberon’s claim to the throne grows weaker every day. His people don’t think he’s fit to rule, not with Mab dominating the Dream. His kingdom is broken, and he’s broken too.”
I watch the smoke that trails from his cigarette, inhale the familiar scent of cinnamon and brimstone. Just that tiny whiff is enough to make my lungs tingle and burn. In a good way.
“And that’s why he’s coming after us,” I say. I almost say me, but I catch myself. Kingston’s eyes flicker over me, but he doesn’t press it.
“So it seems,” he says. Another deep inhale. The smoke that trails from his lips on the exhale r
eminds me of serpents or vines. I’m harshly reminded of the talk he gave, months ago, on the dynamics of faerie sustenance. It’s hard to imagine that here, under the lights of the big top, we’re manipulating an entire economy. That our existence might be destroying a whole realm.
I stare at the smoke and wonder how we’ve gotten so far off topic. I’m still churning inside. Austin’s a ghost I can’t exorcise, and I don’t want to. It’s not that I want to find emotion for him—Kingston’s everything I could have wanted and more. It’s just that … Austin’s a link to everything I chose to forget. And right now, it feels like my past has a frighteningly large impact on my future.
Chapter Six
Kill the Lights
“You’re going to fall in love, soon,” I say, glancing up from the cards spread out in front of me. It’s twenty minutes before the evening’s first show. I’m back in my gypsy wear and trying to focus on the present—and not how creeped out I am over the idea of Lilith listening in behind the walls of the booth. The woman on the other side of the table doesn’t tear her eyes from the spread. She’s mid-forties, with a few streaks of silver in her hair and one of those thin tie-dye blouses that went out of style in the seventies. “Someone tall and fair-skinned. There will be much happiness.”
Melody told me, when I first signed on, that I needed to get better at lying. She doesn’t tell me that anymore.
She’s watched me work.
Now, lying is all part of the job. Hell, it feels like it’s the only thing I do anymore, not that I’m complaining. The lies are what are keeping me alive. Sane. Besides, my gig is fortune teller, not counselor. The woman sitting across from me doesn’t want to know the truth the Tarot cards are actually revealing through the haze of my migraine. She doesn’t want to know that her son is addicted to heroin, and her ex is about to take her to court. She doesn’t want to know that she’ll lose the house in the settlement or that a year from now her start-up business is going to go under. And yeah, there is a tall, fair-skinned man involved, and he will make her happy. Until her son goes into rehab and the douchebag leaves her.
