Not when I plan on destroying this place when I leave here.
I run my tongue up the side of her neck and whisper in her ear. Climbing off of her, I gesture to the suitcase. “Put on one of the outfits you didn’t get to wear and let’s go. We’ve got flyers to go pass out.”
“I just got back from Proditorum, I’m exhausted,” Yasmeena whines, but I shake my head.
“And yet we’ve got a performance to advertise,” I say, not giving in.
Yasmeena decides on a black miniskirt, a white top, and a red-leather jacket that makes my cheeks heat. I can’t help but envision her in just that coat alone, with her sleek black boots that come up to her knees.
I change into cargo pants and a black crop top—a perfect balance between feminine and masculine—and we exit our tent.
Coming up to Absinthe’s workshop, we enter the tent to find Absinthe holding a stack of papers.
“Just who I was looking for!” she says, and hands me the stack. “Here are the flyers, as requested.”
Yasmeena grabs a flyer and holds it up for us to view.
The Sinner’s Circus presents: Unmasked.
“Shouldn’t the title be something likeUnited?” I ask, but Absinthe shrugs.
“It’s Gemma’s concept, I just came up with the design and had them printed.” Absinthe’s face is painted with hearts on both cheeks. “Did Baelor bother you while we were gone?”
“No, thankfully not. I didn’t even really see him.”
“Good. Hopefully he doesn’t bother you again,” she says.
We exit Absinthe’s workshop and head towards the large metal gates leading out of Hel’s Carnival. The sun is high in the sky, but there’s a nice fall breeze as we make our way towards the economic district.
When we reach a street lined with felion-owned businesses, we start passing out flyers for our new show.
After Roxanne’s death, I half expected the felion to treat me with suspicion and disdain, but they’ve been surprisingly kind. Every adult we’ve offered a flyer to has reacted with interest, or at least polite rejection.
“It’s a show you won’t ever forget!” Yasmeena says as she excitedly hands a flyer to a younger woman.
“You sound like Raph,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “Isoundlike I’m trying to advertise.”
“That’s fine, but if you start doing jazz hands, I’m out of here.”
We continue down a walkway, enjoying the crisp air, when I smell something rich. Cinnamon and honey, it’s heavenly.
“What is that?” I ask, and Yasmeena’s head cocks to one side.
“A bakery?”
I sigh. “Yes, I realize. What is that smell?”
“Do you wish to try it?” she asks, and I nod.
We follow the smell until we reach a cute building that readsHaeresis Bakeryon the front. Opening the door, Yasmeena and I step inside, where my nose is met with hundreds of smells.
Cinnamon. Brown sugar. Honey. Cardamomum. Elderberry. Ð?i h?i. Le cerfeuil.
It all smells otherworldly.
Yasmeena orders a few baked goods for us, and we take them, sitting at one of the small round metal tables outside. It’s nice, just existing like this for a change. No carnival performance or political affair, just two beings enjoying a sweet treat.
