The Immortal Circus: Final Act (Cirque des Immortels) (7 page)

“Friends?” I ask.

Her smile is too large for her face; I jerk my attention back to the road to keep us from crashing.

“Oh yes,” she says. “My friends are coming to play. You will meet them soon.”

“Who are they, Lilith?” For some reason, I’m reminded of Oberon’s warning.
My children…will make sure you burn with the rest of your troupe.

Lilith says nothing, just chuckles to herself and begins humming “Ring Around the Rosy.”

I want to ask Melody a thousand questions, want to see if there’s a correlation between Lilith’s elusive friends and Oberon’s nameless children—is Lilith in league with the Summer Court, now that Mab’s gone? But I can’t ask Mel anything, not now. I turn up the radio and drive into the sun. I can’t turn it up loud enough.

I don’t really know what I expect from a dinner date with Austin. A few hours after reaching the site, he and I head into town in silence. I don’t expect the sparks that seem to jolt through me every time the back of our hands touch, nor do I expect the awkward quiet that seems to stretch between us with every step. The only thing I did expect was the severe lack of dining choices; the little backwoods town doesn’t disappoint in that regard.

My eyes keep flicking over the top of the menu at him as he reads through the options. The scent of grease and mozzarella stains the restaurant air along with the cigarette smoke still stuck in the cracked vinyl seats and green wallpaper. Italian wasn’t my first choice, but it was definitely my only choice, and seeing as the place is packed with locals, I’m praying it will be one of those hidden gems TV networks are always seeking out.

Because, as we sit there without speaking, I have a feeling the food will be the only potential highlight of what I now realize was a horrible idea. The more I stare at him, the more I realize I want to be in love with him. He’s the one who protected me from my family when shit hit the fan, the one who let Claire and me stay over without asking too many questions. He would have defended me from my father, held all the old monsters at bay. And here we are, sitting in this crappy restaurant in this crappy town, and the air between us is so thick, so awkward, I want to crawl out of my skin and die.

This is the man I shared my life with—shared my
bed
with—and I can’t even think of a single thing to talk about. I have the memories, the puzzle pieces; but they’re incomplete, the picture far from formed. The longer I sit here the more I realize that this is the man who once held the keys to my heart. And I’m only just beginning to remember why.

Worse, the more I think about Austin, the more I realize I resent that his presence is pushing Kingston from my mind. Austin followed me here with no magic or agenda, just desire. And here I am, pushing him aside, putting him in danger. Betraying him, because I still can’t let Kingston go.

“What are you thinking?” Austin asks. That’s when I realize I’m staring at the top of his head. His hair is so immaculate, like he just left a photo shoot.

“I, um…”

“To eat,” he says, raising his eyebrow.

“Oh. Carbonara. I love me some pork.”

He snickers and looks back to the menu. His eyes are so
blue.
“Well, at least
that
hasn’t changed.”

“What do you mean?”

The grin slips.

“You used to love it when I cooked you bacon for breakfast,” he says, and that little dagger in my heart gets another painful wrench.

He cooked me breakfast?

And there, with a flash, I can see it. It’s not like the visions of the future, with their fire and blood and brimstone. No, this vision is warm, shellacked with the amber of age. Me, stepping into the kitchen behind Austin, him wearing only jeans as he fries bacon and eggs; I laugh as I run my hand down his muscular back, whispering, “I won’t feel sorry for you if you burn yourself,”
and he chuckles and points to the coffee pot. I shake my head and the vision sifts away, but it doesn’t disappear; it collects in the corner of my mind like a swathe of gold silk, brilliant and light and strong.

“You okay?” he asks.

I brush a hand across my eyes. My fingers come away damp.

“I…” I begin, and when I look at him my words lodge in my throat.

Something cracks.

Suddenly, it’s there. All of it. The two of us curled up on the sofa at three in the morning, talking about college and the future and how many acres our dream house would have. The touch of his skin pressed against mine, the covers twined around us like a knotted promise as our breath rose and fell to the sway of our hips. My bedroom a riot of red and pink on Valentine’s Day, every surface covered in roses and candy hearts and pink petals. Each of those petals is a memory, each rose a blossoming reminder, a heat that uncurls in my chest as it’s not just memory that returns, but feeling: all those feelings, an upturned bottle of love and pain and hope that pours through my veins in a flood stronger than magic, more binding than contracts.

I gasp and his hand is on mine on the table between us, his eyes not leaving my face. His blue eyes, the eyes I peered into every night and every morning, the eyelids I kissed and the strong fingers that held me together when I couldn’t do it myself.

“Viv,” he says, “what’s wrong?”

For the first time in what seems like ages, the warmth running down my face and neck isn’t blood; it’s tears, and I’m not going to wipe them away.

“I remember,” I say. The whole world seems to hold its breath and condense into this one moment, this one exchange. “I remember everything.”

Austin and I walk back to the site hand in hand.

After the memories came back, we fell into a night of laughing and reminiscing, though it wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. Because underneath it all were three realizations: one, I still had feelings for Kingston; two, the life Austin and I wanted to build was moot in light of the show; and three, he didn’t remember I had a sister. Which meant he still didn’t know I was a murderer. And I had no idea how things would change if or when he remembered.

Still, if there were some chance, any chance, that I could hold onto this feeling, this sense of happiness, of
finally
having someone who knew me for more than what I was onstage or in another life, I would clutch it as long as I could. I squeeze Austin’s hand tighter and lean into him, letting the familiarity replace the alienation from before. I still feel like a traitor to Kingston and things aren’t right between us, not entirely, not yet. But there’s hope—and that isn’t a feeling I’ve had for a very long time.

“This town reminds me of when we tried to go camping,” he says, squeezing my hand.

I chuckle.

“Emphasis on
tried
. It doesn’t really count if you end up in a motel.”

“Sort of like that one, actually,” he says, nodding to the motel beside us. The exterior is a faded teal, and the neon sign flickers lazily in the darkness.

“So romantic. Still, it was better than sleeping in your truck.”

“Well, if
someone
hadn’t forgotten to pack the sleeping bags…” he says. I nudge him in the ribs and he wraps me in a hug.

We pause there, under the flickering neon, and my heart is flickering, too. My breath catches when he pulls back and looks down at me, brushes a strand of hair from my face.

“I missed you,” he says. His thumb doesn’t leave my jaw and my pulse hammers in my veins.

I don’t want to lie about missing him—after all, I never knew he was gone. I hesitate for only a second. Then I say the three words I never thought I’d whisper again.

“I love you,” I say.

He smiles. And when he leans in to kiss me, it feels like the first time all over again.

When he finally breaks the kiss and steps back, he doesn’t let go, doesn’t let his hands slide from my skin.

“I’m not going to lose you again,” he says. “I know there’s a lot going on I don’t understand. And I also know I’m more a liability than anything else. But I’ve found you. Finally. And even if we don’t make it out of this show alive, I’m just thankful I got to hold you again.”

Tears swell at the corners of my eyes, and I draw him down for another kiss, this one filled with fire and pain and love and despair. Because his words shake me to the core, touch nerves I didn’t want to recognize. All the dreams he and I shared: leaving Michigan, getting a house, raising a family.…All of them are dead in the water. The future we craved is so far from the one we’ve been given, it feels like a nightmare.

He must sense it, too. His lips are hard on mine. Even his tongue tastes like tragedy.

Finally, with tears in our eyes, we pull away. He kisses the top of my head and together, we walk back toward the tent. Back toward the life we have to, somehow, impossibly, make work.

I can only hope the strength he showed me before is enough.

Melody’s the first to see us. It’s a block away from the pitch, and the moment I see her hustle over I realize something’s wrong. The pitch doesn’t look right, somehow, even in the darkness. She stops under a streetlamp with her hands in the pockets of her long brown cardigan and a worried bite into her lower lip.

“Hey,” she says the moment we near. Somehow, that casual greeting is laced with more worry than I thought humanly possible. “How was dinner?”

“Good,” I say, though it comes out more as a question. Mel’s practically bouncing back and forth on her feet in agitation, and she won’t stop looking around. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” she asks. Then she shakes her head and takes a long, steadying breath. When she looks me in the eye, all happiness from the dinner pops like a busted balloon animal. “You…you might not want to come back right now.”

“Mel.”

She takes another deep breath. “It’s the Shifters,” she says. “I’ve tried everything, but they won’t listen to me.”

And that’s when it clicks—the pitch doesn’t look right because nothing’s been set up: no tent, no concession booths, no dirt promenade to the big top. The lot is filled with silence and semis.

I don’t hesitate. I let go of Austin’s hand and brush past Mel, jogging the last block into the shadows of the pitch.

The only light coming from inside the ring of trucks is a bonfire, and when I get closer I realize the kindling isn’t wood, but show programs and popcorn boxes and a few shattered shipping crates. That’s not what makes me stop in my tracks, however: it’s the crew. Everyone—Shifters and performers and musicians and tech crew—stands around the blaze. All of them throw more show pieces into the flames. Everyone hollers and laughs as they watch the show burn.

Everyone but Lilith. She stands apart, by the wheel of a semi, her eyes flickering orange and hellish in the light. The smile slashed on her face glows like embers. I don’t look back when I hear Austin approach me from behind, and I don’t let the fear that’s coursing through my veins shut me up. I’m facing down a cast and crew of fifty, a group that was all put here because they performed some terrible crime in the past. A mob with powers most mortals couldn’t imagine.

But I’m far from innocent. My crimes are worse than anything their twisted minds could dream up.

“What the hell are you doing?” I scream.

One of the Shifters, a woman with stars tattooed over her brow and leather straps laced up her wrists, steps forward.

“What do you think we’re doing?” she spits. “This is a coup.”

I don’t actually say anything for a moment. Not because I’m surprised, but because it’s finally happening, like the difference between getting into a plane to skydive and standing in the open threshold thousands of feet above the ground. I stare at the silent troupe, the only sound the crackle of the bonfire and a few trucks on the highway beyond.

“A coup?” I ask. I step forward. “Are you an
idiot?”

The woman’s eyes dart between Mel and me.

“We’re done with this, Vivienne. Our contracts are shit and Mab’s nowhere to be found, and then you have the nerve to invite
him
.” She points to Austin. My nerves flare. “We’re not going on like this, not anymore. Too many people have died and no one knows when they’re getting out—the terms we signed on for aren’t being honored, so why should we honor ours? Until we get a better deal, we’re not setting up. We’re not performing. We’re not going to be your puppets any longer.”

Fire burns inside me.
Puppets? You want to talk about
puppets?

“If Mab finds out about this—” I begin.

“Yeah, well, Mab isn’t finding out about this, is she? Because
Mab isn’t here.
You’re in charge, Vivienne. This is your shit-show now, and you’re going to make it right.”

“What do you want me to do?” I yell. The happiness from before is swallowed with anger—anger at the rebellion and anger at this bitch for ruining my night. And yes, anger at myself, too, because I know there’s nothing I can do to change anything. Especially since it was Melody’s and my idea to rile them up in the first place. “I don’t have the book of contracts. I don’t have any way of getting in touch with Mab. We’re all stuck here. We’re all fucked. So get over yourselves and get on with the show so we can actually do something about it later.”

The woman shakes her head. The fact that I don’t know her name only further cements just how inadequate I am at this job.

“The show isn’t going on, Vivienne. Haven’t you been listening? We’re done. But since we can’t leave without dying, we’re just not going to work.”

“Come on, guys,” comes Austin’s voice, strong and commanding. He steps up beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder. Despite the comfort we found a few minutes ago, his touch makes me want to shirk away. Not out of revulsion, but because I can’t let the troupe see us like this. “Vivienne’s not at fault here.”

The woman’s painted eyebrows practically disappear into her hair.

“And who the hell are you to tell us how to run our show? You’re just the ringmaster’s fuck buddy.”

His grip on my shoulder tightens.

“Austin, don’t—”

But he cuts me off. He steps toward the Shifter, his hands clenched at his sides. The crew behind the woman shuffles closer, ready for a fight.

“We’re all stuck in this game,” he says. He gestures to me. “I know I’m new around here. But that just means I can call it like it is. This isn’t Viv’s doing. It’s Mab. All Mab. If you want to fight or rebel against someone, rebel against her.”

“We can’t,” she retorts. “Don’t you think we’d have tried? It’s against our contracts. Just
thinking
of rebelling against Mab makes me choke. But her?” she says, nodding toward me. “No such clause. We could overthrow her any time we want.” The grin she gives me is far from nice; her lips are a knife slash, bleeding murder. “The only thing that’s kept us from offing her in her sleep is Mel.”

My blood goes cold. But I don’t look to Austin. I stand up straighter and try to let the death threat roll off.

“You’re dumber than I thought if you think my death will change anything.” I address the rest of the troupe. “Listen, I know you’re pissed. I am, too, trust me. And just like you, I’d do anything to get back at Mab for what she’s done. Your fight’s with her, not me. But if we don’t run the show, we die. All of us. No second chance, no renegotiations. If we miss a single fucking performance, our contracts are up and we all get the ax. Do you really want that?”

A voice from behind me makes my blood run cold.

“What is this about shirking obligations?”

The moment Mab’s voice snakes through the crowd, everyone stiffens a little bit straighter. Even the woman leading the coup takes a half step back.

I turn around and watch as Mab emerges from the shadows, her body barely covered in a sheer black gown and black leather go-go boots. Her green eyes flicker around the assembled troupe, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She steps beside me, and that’s when the ice in my bones melts. She doesn’t
smell
like Mab. She smells like patchouli.

Melody.The leader of the coup is flabbergasted; she stands before the fire with her mouth gaping like a fish, her eyes constantly darting back to the troupe for backup. None comes. Melody takes another seductive step forward, her hands on her hips. She must have done that whole DNA-tap thing to Mab: the resemblance is too perfect for ordinary Shifter magic. Though how Mel ever got close enough to Mab for that touch is beyond me.

“I don’t like what I see, loves,” Mel says, her smoky voice drifting like ash from the fire. “I know I may be a bit…removed…from the troupe lately, but I know your schedule like the back of my hand. The chapiteau should be erected by now, and it hasn’t even been unloaded yet.”

She turns to me.

“Is this what happens when I leave you in charge? Are you completely worthless, or only partly so?”

My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice calm.
Convincing, Mel. A little
too
convincing.

“I was away for the evening,” I say. “I assumed they’d be able to set up without a babysitter. Apparently I was wrong.”

“Apparently,” Mel says, and turns back to the crowd. “You have until dawn. If the chapiteau is not assembled by then, you will all be fired. And as I’m sure you remember from your contracts, line 127 clearly states that an early dismissal due to sloth will result in an immediate and painful death. I’m afraid ‘fired’ has a very literal meaning in this case.”

As if on cue, the bonfire pops like a gunshot. I can’t help but grin at the way the troupe collectively jumps at the noise.

“I would get started, if I were you. Time is of the essence.”

No one moves, not at first. They stare at her like maybe they’re gaining some of their resolve back. If they decide to rebel against her, we’re screwed. The fire pops again as another log rolls down and into the dirt. That’s when Lilith steps forward, emerging from the dark of the trailer like a child banshee. My skin grows cold as the fire flares higher and I’m suddenly wondering if it’s in response to Lilith’s presence or just a fluke.
Not tonight, not tonight, don’t let Kassia release tonight.

“You best get Auntie Mab,” she says, walking closer. The crowd parts around her like she has the plague, and when she steps up to me and stares into my eyes, I wish I could bring myself to step away as well. I’ve seen many emotions in her eyes before, but I’ve never seen such glee. Not like this. “You best get Auntie Mab right now.”

“I am Mab, Lilith,” Melody says. Her eyes flicker toward me.
Shit.

“No,” Lilith says. “You are Melody. And if you do not get Auntie Mab, you’re all going to die.”

My hands clench tighter. I’m acutely aware of Austin standing beside me, his presence a promise of failure. Every other member of this troupe can fight, has some power up their sleeve. But Austin is vulnerable. He’s my responsibility. And Lilith already warned me that I should have gotten him out.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

No one grumbles as Melody shifts back into her usual self. Everyone is still—they’re too scared of Lilith to even begin yelling about Melody’s treachery. The silence stretches.

The girl doesn’t speak. Not at first. She slowly lifts her hand and points to the horizon; her grin widens with every inch.

“My friend is coming,” she says. “He’s almost here.”

I look to where she points. There, in the darkness, is the orange-red glow of flame. Even from here I can feel my skin tingle, can feel the light and power build beneath my palms as traces of brimstone waft through my nostrils. My powers stir. And there’s only one time when my powers stir.

“A demon,” I say.

I look at Lilith, who stands before me with her hands clasped in front of her and an excited smile plastered on her face. There’s no sight of Kassia in her childish features, but I don’t doubt that that could change at any moment. “I thought you were the only one,” I whisper.

“I was,” she says. “But the Broken King made more. Broken children for a Broken King.” She cocks her head to the side. Even with that innocent smile, her eyes burn harsher than hellfire. “I told you, you should have run. Now, we’re all going to get to play. And you will
not
like our games.”