“Convincing, eh?” he says. “Janet usually does this gig, but she’s on security instead.”
“Security?”
Heath’s smile slips. He doesn’t answer.
“Oh, right.” I pause. “Has Mab come through here?”
“Hell no,” he says. “You’re my only visitor so far. Well, a couple kids came through but they ran off when they met Honey.” He holds up the tarantula.
“Okay, thanks,” I say, turning around.
“You’re not looking for trouble, are you?” he asks, his voice sliding back into cool feminine tones.
“Never,” I say, and head toward the exit.
“Good,” he/she says. “Because I’ve got a feeling trouble won’t have any problem finding you.”
* * *
The alley is a little less crowded now. I can hear the music from the big top and know they’ve probably already called out that the second half is about to start. Everyone is heading toward the chapiteau. I stand on tiptoes, trying to peer over the crowd, and see a shock of pale white hair near the end of the path. I don’t wait. I push into the crowd and make my way toward the end of the lane.
When I get there, the man is nowhere to be seen. The crowd has thinned out and I’m standing alone in a small cul-de-sac. I turn around. I would have seen him leave, and Mab wouldn’t have allowed magic with punters around. That’s when I notice the small space hiding between the tents. A backstage exit.
I step toward it and then stop. If Mab catches me sneaking out through there, she’ll know I was following her. I might as well sign my own death warrant. I need to be crafty. Inconspicuous. I glance at the tent next to the alley. Human Pincushion — adultz only is written on the sign in curling ink. I have to be sneaky.
I duck under the tent flap and enter a room filled with dim light and the scent of hay and oil smoke. The sounds of a viola are coming from a man in the corner, and it’s like I’ve been transported back a few dozen years to the heyday of sideshows. The inner tent walls glow orange in the lantern light and there, on a wooden platform, is a Shifter girl. Her hair is pink and done up in six-inch spikes, and the only thing she’s wearing is a black dog collar around her neck. Every square inch of her naked flesh — from neck to nipples to heels — is pierced. Rings, studs, even what look like nails and acupuncture needles, all sparkle in the lamplight as she weaves a small, slow dance on the platform. The tent contains mostly speechless men, all watching her undulate like a slow-motion belly dancer. She catches my eye as I walk in and winks, then goes back to entrancing the crowd. The black cauldron at her feet is already brimming with bills and coins.
I take advantage of the crowd’s fixation and sneak to the edge of the tent, where the canvas overlaps, and crouch down. I peer out through the tiniest of cracks. Hidden from the crowds, Mab and the blond guy stand beside a few crates. They’re talking, but I can’t make anything out over the music. I don’t want Mab to see me, but I’ve already come this far. And besides, I now feel like if someone’s fucking with the circus, they’re fucking with me. I take my chances and give the occupants of the tent one more glance to make sure no one’s looking, then slip out into the night.
I stay low, crouching behind boxes and sticking to the shadows. Mab and the man are talking near one of the parked company semis. I crawl closer, praying that she’s too fixated on the man to notice me slinking around. I weave behind the semi and crawl underneath, until I’m only a few feet away from their legs. I nearly yelp as something brushes past me, but a quick glance shows it’s only Lilith’s cat, Poe. Which means… I look to my other side and sure enough, there she is, hiding next to one of the wheels like a solid shadow. If she sees me, she doesn’t make any motion to show it. I try not to sneeze as the scent of brimstone fills my nostrils.
“…direct violation for you to be here, you know this,” Mab says. I inch closer and peer up, trying to see her face, but all I can see are her stockings.
“And you are in direct violation of the Blood Autumn treaty,” says the man. His voice is smooth and deep, almost musical, with the lilt of an accent I can’t place.
Mab pauses.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.
“Don’t play stupid. Your time among the mortals is making you soft. I know what I’ve seen.”
“This is a circus,” Mab says, her voice pitched dangerously low. “Eyes are meant to be deceived here. What you speak is nonsense. And what you’ve done is unforgivable. You dare stand in the Winter Court’s own land and challenge its queen?”
The man doesn’t answer. He shifts his feet, though, which is answer enough.
“I could have you killed,” Mab says, “and not even your Summer King would bat an eyelash. You know you are not welcome here, and you know your life is forfeit the moment you step foot on my land. Now, unless you wish to pay for tonight’s near-disaster with your life, you will leave. And you will not return.”
I expect the man to run. There’s blood in Mab’s words, a fury begging to be unleashed. Instead, he stands his ground. I have to give him credit; he has balls.
“As you say, Queen Mab,” he says. “But we are on to you. The dream trade will stop unless you meet our demands.” He steps back and turns, begins walking away. “Even queens must pay for their actions. Even queens must die.”
Then, without any signal I can see, the man vanishes from the night.
Mab sighs and stands there a moment longer.
Then, reaching down to the tabby cat now purring at her feet, she says, “You can come out now, Lilith dear. It’s safe once more. The bad man is gone.”
Lilith comes out of her hiding place, her frilly black dress smeared with mud.
“What does he want?” Lilith asks. Something about her voice makes me shiver. It’s not as vapid as usual.
“Nothing important,” she says, stroking Lilith’s hair like a pet. “Nothing to worry yourself over. Come, let’s get you some cotton candy.”
She guides Lilith away, Poe following close at their heels. I stay there a moment longer, waiting for the blond man to show up, waiting for someone to come under and yell, “Hah! Found you!” But there’s only the rumble of the crowd behind me. The music in the tent changes, but I don’t head back to my seat. I don’t wend my way back through the sideshow. I just lie there in the cold mud, too distracted to shiver, watching the woods on the far end of the field.
I know without a doubt that there’s more to Sabina’s murder than a random act. Mab is hiding something. And I have a terrible feeling that her secret will get us all killed.
Chapter Six: Thief Of Hearts
The next morning, before the sun is even up, someone bangs on my trailer door. My heart sinks the moment I gain consciousness. Experience has proven that waking up like this is never a good sign. I pull on a shirt and shorts and open the door. Sure enough, it’s Kingston, looking like the whole world’s on fire and he’s just too tired to give a damn.
“We’re leaving,” he says, handing me a travel mug of what smells like coffee. “In twenty minutes. They’re disconnecting the water in ten, so you might want to hurry if you want to shower.”
“Wait, what? What time is it?” My head still feels like it’s swimming and I’ve got that sharp taste in my sinuses that I’m positive is God’s punishment for waking up at the ass-crack of dawn.
“Five,” he says without checking a watch. “And I already told you the important part: we’re leaving.”
“But, we aren’t scheduled to jump ’til tomorrow.” I take a deep drink from the coffee, hoping that maybe it will help me remember the day of shows I’ve apparently missed.
“And Mab changed her mind last night. Look,” he says, and I really do look at him. He looks about as bad as Mel did yesterday, with dark circles under his eyes. His black hair is tangled and I’m pretty certain that’s the shirt he was wearing yesterday, but I don’t mention it. “Don’t ask questions, okay? For your own sake. Just go take a quick shower or brush
your teeth or whatever you do in the morning, grab something to eat, and get in the truck. You’re riding with Lilith and Penelope.”
“But the tent,” I say, and then I realize why something about the view seemed off. My door opens out to the chapiteau. And yet right now, it’s all empty field. It clicks. “Wait, so Mab…she used magic to take the tent down? I thought she refused to do that.”
“Don’t assume,” Kingston snaps. He takes a deep breath, grabs the coffee from my hands, and takes a drink. “To be more precise, she used my magic last night to take the tent down. And now, I either want to sleep for the week or die. I’m not fussy. But I’m also not asking questions, and I suggest you do the same.” He takes another drink, grimaces, and swirls his fingers over the lid. I don’t see anything happen, but the next swig he takes brings a relieved smile to his face. “Much better,” he says.
He takes another big gulp and hands it back to me, then turns away and starts back to his own trailer. “Ten minutes,” he calls back. “And be careful with that. It’s strong.”
I take a drink and nearly burn my throat. He’s spiked it with something that tastes like Kahlua and nail varnish. I dump it out in the grass and go find my toothbrush. When I go back outside, I’m not at all surprised to see that spot of grass is already turning brown.
* * *
No one knows where the next site is.
Apparently, Mab’s completely changed the tour schedule overnight, refunding everyone who bought in advance and donating a dollar to Clowns Without Borders for every refunded ticket, just to soften the blow. At least, this is what Penelope tells me in the truck as we make our way to some unknown destination, following the semi in front of us. I'm hoping no one needs to stop for a piss on the way — myself included. I've got a feeling Mab hasn't scheduled any stops for the drive. Penelope’s driving, with me riding passenger and Lilith riding bitch. Poe is curled up in Lilith's lap, fast asleep. The kid hasn’t said anything, and Penelope — usually full of conversation — isn’t doing her part to mend the silence. NPR is playing in the background, but all I’m really paying attention to is the landscape sliding by and my deep, deep desire to pass out with my face pressed to the window. I am not a morning person, and the clock on the dashboard is telling me it’s only 7:13.
“What you did the other day,” Penelope says, breaking me from my stupor. “It was quite brave.” She reaches over and rustles Lilith’s hair. “If you hadn’t jumped in there, our little girl might have been crushed.” She smiles over at Lilith like calling her “our little girl” is some sort of compliment or like the kid is completely mentally vacant. It’s probably a bit of both.
“Just seemed like the right thing to do,” I mutter. Clearly it was the right thing to do; the surprise came from the fact that no one else had done it.
For her part, Lilith just stares at the road ahead, not really responding except by stroking the contented Poe.
“What did you get up to last night?” Penelope asks, seemingly out of nowhere.
I glance at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says, not taking her eyes off the road. “I saw you come into the sideshow, but I never saw you leave. And I was in that tank for quite a long time. I find it to be relaxing.” She says the last bit like it’s some secret, as though swimming in a tank for a crowd of gawking people is her idea of a spa day.
A beat passes. My brain is too tired to try and come up with a suitable answer. I hadn’t gone back to my trailer until the second act was nearly over, and although I’d gone to bed right away, I couldn’t sleep at all. She’s got me cornered, but she doesn’t seem to realize it.
Apparently my lack of an answer is enough for her.
“It was a curious night, was it not?” she continues.
“I guess so.” I wish she’d just let me sleep. There’s no way I’m going to make it out of this conversation without sticking my foot in something.
“Did you run into Mab last night?”
I can’t help but jerk my head to look at her. She’s still not looking at me, though, and her voice is light.
“I only ask because I saw her enter Alligator Alley a few moments before you. It’s quite rare that she makes an appearance backstage. Especially with company. That man she was with…perhaps she found another plaything.”
Of course Penelope would have seen Mab and the man go backstage. I do my best to look completely unfazed. Disinterested.
“Didn’t see her,” I lie, and pray I’m getting better at it.
For a horrifying moment, I envision Lilith saying that she and I were hiding out under one of the trailers, spying on Mab, but she doesn’t seem to be paying us any attention.
“Hmm, well, they didn’t come out the same way either. They must have found something worth exploring.” She giggles to herself, and I lean back against the seat. I close my eyes. Just let me sleep. I really couldn’t care less if Penelope thinks Mab was screwing dangerous-looking Scandinavians.
“I’ve been wondering,” she says, after I’ve had just enough time to drift. “The terms of your contract, what are they?”
I sigh. Force myself awake. There’s no point trying anymore; Penelope wants company. And she certainly won’t get any juicy stories out of Lilith.
“I don’t know,” I say as I watch the road signs fly past.
“You don’t know?” she asks. There’s an incredulous note in her voice I don’t like.
“I don’t remember,” I say. “All I remember is signing the contract.”
“Interesting,” she says, almost a purr. “Remembering one’s contract is often a part of the contract itself, lest people forget why they joined on in the first place. I wonder if she had Kingston — ” Then she catches herself, though the slip seems far from unintentional, and switches subject. “No matter. The past is the past, after all.”
Lilith stirs beside me, making it impossible for me to concentrate on this new piece of information.
“Kingston. Kingston is pretty. King, king, king of hearts.” Her words are quiet, barely a whisper to her cat.
“He is pretty,” I say. Lilith is nearly a teenager, but I feel like I’m talking to a baby. “But I think he and Mel are a thing.”
Penelope laughs, then, which sounds horribly loud in the cab. When she finally gets herself under control, she throws me a glance and a devious smile.
“Oh, my dear,” she says, “I think not. Melody is, well. Melody plays for the other team, if you know what I mean.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Melody’s gay?”
“You didn’t realize?” she says. “Your brain must be more addled than I expected. Haven’t you noticed how she looks at you? No, Kingston and Melody are not a thing. He hasn’t been in a serious relationship for at least a dozen years. Trust me, I know everything in this company.”
If it wasn’t 7 a.m., and if I didn’t feel like my head was stuffed with cotton candy, I would have laughed. Melody’s gay. And Kingston is single. Which means I’m in the clear. I have been all along. I don’t know if it’s relief flooding through me, but I definitely feel better than I have since falling for him. Then the other half of Penelope’s statement tries to crash through my sleep-deprived mind. A dozen years? Is that some sort of joke? I don’t say anything, though. My feelings for Kingston are something I refuse to let her know about. Lilith is still humming Kingston’s name under her breath, singing it like some nursery song to Poe.
“Don’t tell me you have a thing for him?” Penelope says, looking over at me with an eyebrow raised.
“I don’t — ”
Lilith pipes up then, “Kingston is pretty. I like Kingston. He understands. He burns, too.”
Penelope continues on like Lilith’s not even there.
“Well?” she asks. “Don’t lie. I’m ever so good at picking out lies.”
And I’m ever so shit at lying.
“I guess…yeah,” I say. So much for keeping my cards hidden. Lilith looks at me. One eye t
witches, and her expression doesn’t look so blank. “I think he’s nice,” I continue, though under Lilith’s gaze it comes out more as a question.
“Kingston is nice,” Lilith says, and her voice is a dangerous whisper, a frighteningly sane contrast. “Kingston is nice to me, and Kingston is mine.”
I stare at her a moment and then her face glazes over again, and she’s stroking Poe and humming under her breath once more.
Penelope casts me a glance. “Looks like someone’s got a crush.”
I can tell she’s not just talking about Lilith. I lean back against the window and close my eyes, wishing I’d shut up ten minutes ago.
* * *
“Well then,” Mab said, standing in one feline-smooth motion. It was only then that I realized she had changed clothes completely without me noticing, sometime between meeting me outside and coming in here. She was now in an elegant black lace dress, a burgundy bra and panties showing through the sheer fabric. I felt the heat in my cheeks rise at this — she’s probably old enough to be my mother, which she made an easy fact to forget — and looked at the walls. She continued speaking as if she weren’t wearing something almost too scandalous for Victoria’s Secret.
“Now that your terms are settled, I’ll show you around the company. You’ll find that we are a very warm, open community here.” She swept around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready?”
She helped me to my feet and opened the door to the trailer. It was still pouring outside, but the moment she stepped out there was a large lacy umbrella in her hand, the type you’d expect to see Morticia holding in the Addams Family. She held it out for me, and when I stepped out into the rain, the door shut behind us on its own accord.
She led me around the trailers, pointing out who lived where and what the daily schedule was like, when to wake up for breakfast, and when my turn for washing pots would be. The exact memory was hazy; sometimes, when I thought back, I remembered blood on the knees of my jeans. Other times, I just remember them being ragged.
The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) Page 7
