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He laughs, “Years.” He flicks ash onto the ground. “You think I can’t feel when you’re near? After everything?”
I don’t answer.
“What do you want from me, Tobias? What are you really doing here?”
What am I doing here? Watching him, always watching him, but it’s more than that this time. Because of her.
“I don’t know,” I admit, the closest to honesty I’ve allowed in a long time.
Before he can respond, Rosie appears at his elbow, her painted face with a sweetness that doesn’t match her at all. She’s basically been a poison here since she joined. Before Emerson joined, she unfortunately found herself in Kenan’s bed more times than I want to think about.
“Kenan, darling,” she purrs, “he wants you. Now.”
Kenan’s expression darkens. “Tell him I’m preparing. I’ll be up after she’s finished.”
“Tell him yourself,” her smile stretches. Her gaze slides to me, calculating. “Well, well. The Illusionist emerges from his shadows. Special occasion, is it?”
I meet her stare but say nothing. I don’t have to.
She hooks her arm through Kenan’s. “Come along, knife boy. Our master calls.”
Master. The word ignites a memory I’ve spent decades trying to bury.
* * *
I feel the phantom sensation of The Ringmaster’s hand on my shoulder, guiding me down the twisting corridor to the amphitheater in the never-ending darkness that is the In-Between. The place we exist when The Carnival leaves the planes of existence for seven years.
“You understand what you’re offering?” His voice is thick like oil that won’t leave my skin.
I nod. Kenan has been with the Patrons for three nights … just three nights of his seven-year time period since he joined us. Three nights that left him hollow-eyed and trembling, unable to hold his knives steady, even the one he twirls for fun at his side. Any more would destroy him. I wasn’t sure The Ringmaster would even accept a trade, and only got the courage to ask now, which is another guilt I’ll carry.
“I’ll take his place,” I whisper. “Just let him go.”
Joshua’s smile is triumphant. “Very well.”
The amphitheater is lit by nothing but a faint glow that radiates from the magic that secures The Carnival to this place. The In-Between is all we’ve ever called it. It smells of decay and expensive perfume. The Patrons sit in fake finery, their souls darker than anything imaginable. Souls rejected from Hell itself. The Ringmaster who needed more to enjoy this creation of his. And yet … they still hide their faces behind ornate masks.
“Our newest offering,” Joshua announces, his hand firm on the back of my neck.
Their fingers are cold as they trace my skin, and I close my eyes. A woman’s fingertip against my cheek, a hand on my thigh, and then I build my walls. Barricading inside myself, refusing to let the part that belongs to Kenan be hurt by this. They feed from my body, my soul … everything they think they are owed because of the twisted deals The Ringmaster promised. My body violated, my mind ransacked. But I endure it all to keep him safe.
Hours pass like years when you are trapped between the patron’s touches. But, finally, they tire of me, and I turn to find The Ringmaster. “Well, you never had to be here, but you survived with your mind intact,” he says. “Most don’t.”
He releases me. Unlike many of the others who have joined The Carnival I never had to become a part of the deal with the Patrons … they came later. I stumble back to my tent, collapsing in a heap of exhaustion. Kenan finds me immediately. “How fucking dare you! Baby, I told you not to …”
He knows the deal I made, but I won’t take it back. Not now.
* * *
For years we existed in a balance of surviving beneath The Ringmaster’s eye. When it was time for The Carnival, I created illusions while Kenan threw blades. We were in love, and even in the In-Between, I would never give up my place with the Patrons because it was for him. And when I was with him, everything was worth it.
Until The Ringmaster demanded something else.
* * *
“Your little romance is a problem,” he says, examining his long fingers. “The knife-thrower’s emotions are … unstable. It affects his performance.”
“He’s the best you have,” I argue. “The crowds love him, especially in the final show with me.”
