“We need to do both,” I say, and look her up and down.
She’s eager and excited. I think. Ihope.But we shouldn’t take unnecessary risks, and I really think floor work is a safer choice for day onethan spins.
“Do you not trust me?”
“No. I mean, no I do, I just think you’re a little green.”
Tempest’s lips go flat, her voice deadpan. “What the Hel does that mean?”
“Have you ever done aerial work professionally?” I ask. I already know the answer is no, but I’m trying to be respectful by asking her about her life. All I know is from what she told me that night at the bar, and what the case file Draven and Gemma provided me says. Plus, this gives me an opportunity to gather how accurate the information Draven and Gemma obtained actually is. Checks and balances are important.
She shrugs. “No.”
One corner of my mouth turns up. “That’s okay, but I have. It’s dangerous and not something to be rushed. Plus, neither of us have done a lot of duo work. We need to be careful.”
“I might not be a professional, but I’m not an amateur either.”
Is she always this difficult, or is this an act to get under my skin?“That is the literal definition of the word amateur.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. There's a connotation to that word.”
I furrow my brow and stick my head out, unsure of how we got into this pedantic mess. “There’s a connotation toeveryword. You are not a professional, therefore you’re an amateur. I don’t mean it as an insult. It doesn’t mean you’re talentless or that I’m better; it simply means this has been my job for years. You get to do silks for fun in your free time, I have to do lyra whether I like it or not. And some nights, it’s not. Sometimes I’m exhausted and sore and it borders on dangerous, but I do it because it’s my job. It’s not just some fun little hobby for me.”
Everything moves faster than my mind can keep up. Tempest pushes me against a pole, her claw digging into the bottom of my chin.
“Just because you’ve had the privilege of doing this as a profession, doesn’t mean that this is just some silly thing to me.Some days, silks are the only thing keeping me sane, but I could never be a performer for my career. It’s not an option for me. My soul—mylife—belongs to my pack. So check your fucking self before making assumptions as if you know me,” she says, spitting the words like venom, and I still for a moment before grabbing her wrist and pushing her off me.
“I—” I start, but she rushes from the tent.
I don’t know what I was going to say. I think maybe sorry, except I’m not sorry at all. I’m not privileged because I get to perform. I worked an awful job where we were essentially tortured—the same job that caused my parents’ death—until Khalid and I were skilled enough to leave. We worked day in and day out to become better.
We committedcrimesto obtain our magic so that we could become even better candidates, and we worked our asses off to join Hel’s Carnival. That isn’t privilege. Our lives were just as fucked up, if not more, and we prevailed.
Why can’t she?
Walking out of the tent, I make my way across camp to find something, or someone. I don’t even know what I’m seeking as I wander aimlessly around until I find myself at the entryway of Lilian and Baelor’s tent.
“Knock knock, is anyone home?” I say before pushing open the fabric.
“It’s just me.” Lilian’s voice is always comforting to me. Though she’s only a year or so older, there’s something maternal about her energy.
Tonight is one of her nights to perform in The Sinner’s Circus, so she sits at her vanity getting ready. Her long, dark pink hair falls onto her back in waves, her horns curling behind her head and back up under her ears.
“Sit. Tell me what’s wrong,” she says as she applies rouge to her pretty pink skin.
I plop onto the edge of her mattress with a huff. “First practice and we’re already at eachother’s throats.”
“How come?”
“She’s immature; she wants to rush into things.”
Lilian looks at me in her mirror, golden eyes shimmering beneath her eyeliner. “Sheisa little younger.”
“Yeah, about a year. And alotmore inexperienced,” I say.
“You don’t work well with others. Even in The Devil’s Masquerade, you’re constantly complaining about Absinthe and Reina.”
She’s not wrong. I am frequently frustrated with them.
