The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) (8 page)

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.

T
he 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 the 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 twitches, 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.

“And
this,” she said, leading me to a small tent pitched up next to what she called
the pie cart, “is Kingston. Consider him your tutor, if you will.”