The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

Chapter Twelve: Burning Up

I don’t wait. I jump out of the cab and run the short space to the mob of performers. All I can see is Kingston. All I can see is the tiny line of blood dripping down his neck. My world goes red. Someone tries to grab my arm as I run forward, but I push him off.

“Get off him,” I growl.

I stand at the front of the assembled mob, a few steps ahead of everyone else. My white-knuckled fists are clenched at my sides and there’s a burning in the pit of my stomach that threatens to overwhelm me. I am half a second shy of going ballistic on a guy who could probably kill me with a thought.

He glares at me.

“Who, child, are you?” he asks. His voice is deep. Precisely the same as I remember when I was hiding underneath the semitrailer, listening to him and Mab argue.

“Someone you don’t want to fuck with,” I say. I don’t know where the words come from. The man’s got a knife pressed to Kingston’s throat; I’m in no position to play chicken. My skin tingles as the fight or flight response kicks in, all gears shifted to fight.

“Vivienne,” Kingston whispers. “Please, don’t…”

The bastard pulls him in tighter.

“Vivienne?” he mutters into Kingston’s ear. Then he looks at me with a devilish grin. “Ahh, I see. The wicked witch has a suitor.”

“Fuck you,” Kingston says, which just causes the man to dig the knife in deeper. Another line of blood trickles down his neck. His chin is raised high, as though he can squeeze his way out of this. That’s when I notice that Zal, too, seems to be pierced from the knife. The tattoo is squirming underneath the blade, stuck like a butterfly on a pin.

“And he likes her!” he calls out with a laugh. “The witch fell in love.”

Kingston squeezes his eyes shut and says nothing.

“You weren’t listening to me,” I say. I take a half step forward. The tingling in my hands grows stronger, feels like pins and needles coiling beneath my skin. “Let him go.”

“Now, now,” the man says. He turns the knife just a little bit. “Let’s not be too hasty. I’m not here for him. I’m waiting for…her.” He looks past me, past the troupe, to where Mab is pulling in.

The black Jag pulls up beside one of the semis. Her headlights go out. Then, the headlights of every truck in the lot blink out, one by one, until we’re all standing in complete darkness. Even the moon and the stars above seem dimmed. The only thing I can hear is the wind and Kingston’s ragged breath. Everything else seems to be waiting for the storm.

Mab appears from her car in a haze of blue light that stretches out across the ground like talons. She is shadow at first, then darkness made solid, a presence I can barely see but can feel with every nerve of fear in my body. She hovers as she moves forward, her skin pale and glowing, her black dress twining itself out of and into the night air. Glowing ice forms in the grass around her, crackling out in thunderbolts. Her image flickers, and she’s suddenly standing beside me. The man’s and Kingston’s features are outlined in the glow of the demonic Faerie Queen.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mab asks, her voice colder than frost, darker than midnight.

“You have broken the Blood Autumn Treaty,” he says.

“Bold words, Senchan,” Mab says. Both of their voices carry over the field, both as clear as crystal. “Once more, you come onto my land — “

“Ah ah,” tsks the man — Senchan. He wags his free finger. “You see, that is where you are wrong. This land is neutral.”

Mab takes in a sharp breath that seems to hiss from the cornstalks around us.

“You dare.” She says. “You dare spy on my Court and impede my plans.”

“Your plans are moot,” Senchan says. “You know the price of your insurgence. You will give the girl up, or we will hunt you down and flush her out of hiding.”

Kingston gasps as the knife goes deeper.

“Release him,” Mab says. “And we will talk.”

“Not until you’ve promised me safety from your dogs,” he says, nodding toward me.

Mab doesn’t even glance over.

“I swear that none in attendance shall harm you. Release him.”

Senchan hesitates. Then he withdraws the dagger and knees Kingston to the ground. Kingston stumbles. I hold out a hand, reach forward to help him up, but then he’s standing, and before I can do anything, he runs. Not into my arms. But toward the trailers.

Senchan looks at me with a smirk on his face.

“Maybe not in love then, after all,” he says.

“Enough,” Mab says. “Come back to my trailer. We will speak there.”

“No chance, Queen,” he says. “We will stay here. On neutral ground. With both your and my Courts as witness.”

Mab doesn’t even flinch at this. “Let me guess, your kin are hiding like snakes in the grass,” she says.

The man bows, mockingly. “I learned from the best.”

“Vivienne,” Mab says. “Check on Kingston. Make sure this beast hasn’t hurt him.”

I nod, not entirely sure I want to run after him when he clearly didn’t want my help in the first place. But I also have no desire to stay here in the crossfire. Now that Kingston is safe, the fight impulse is dying, the heat in my hands faded to a faint tingle. I turn and head through the crowd, straight toward Kingston’s bunk.

The bunk numbers are barely visible in the darkness, but I finally find 13. Kingston’s. I don’t even knock; I just open the door and step in.

The only light is coming from a green candle on his table. He’s on his bed and barely looks up at me coming in. Then something slams into me, pushes me to the wall. A hand clamps over my mouth.

“Are you?” my assailant asks. “Are you bad man?”

Lilith.

I shake my head, and she steps back.

“Oh. Vivienne.”

Then she steps away. She goes over to the bed and puts one arm around Kingston. That one small action makes my blood boil. I want to protect him, but I can’t tell if that’s protecting him from Senchan or from Lilith’s arm around his waist. He’s mine, something in me hisses, even though I know it’s not true.

“Bad man hurt Kingston,” Lilith whispers. “Hurt him bad.”

“I’m okay,” Kingston says. He looks up at me. There's something in his eyes that tells me his words couldn't be further from the truth. For one thing, I've never heard his voice waver before. The wound is still dripping a smear of blood down his neck. Zal has disappeared from sight. “I’m okay now.”

“What did he do?” I ask. The fire in me builds. I want to kill Senchan for doing this to him, whatever it was. My fists are clenched and I can hear the blood in my ears grow louder. It takes everything I have not to yell at Lilith, to force her out of the trailer so I can take care of him. But I don’t. For some reason, a part of me knows Lilith needs to stay.

“Nothing,” Kingston says. “I mean…I’m not hurt. But he has my magic.” His voice cracks at this.

“What?” The roar grows louder.

“He…when I got here, he ambushed me. And I don’t know how, but he took it.” He holds up his hands in a begging posture. “That’s why I couldn’t enchant the place, couldn’t make it part of Mab’s territory. He stole my powers. It’s all my fault.”

“I’ll kill him.” The words echo in my ears, and that’s when I realize I wasn’t the only one saying them. Lilith is staring at him.

“I’ll get your magic back,” she continues. “Mab be damned, I will kill him for hurting you.” She looks at me, and there’s a fire in her eyes, a literal glow of red and gold that makes me edge further against the wall. Her gaze makes my skin go hot, like standing over the edge of a volcano.

“Vivienne,” she says. Her voice is cinder and ash. “We must kill him. Together. Tonight.”

I’m not a killer. I’m not.

She holds out her hand.

I’m not a killer.

I look at Kingston. The blood still trickling down his neck. The lost look in his eyes. The bloodlust in me hums.

I’m not a killer, but I’d kill for him.

I nod at Lilith. Senchan will pay for this. Senchan will die. I take Lilith’s hand. The world explodes.

Chapter Thirteen: Amnesia

If I wasn’t one hundred percent certain we didn’t have animals in our show, I would have blamed the elephants for trampling over my head. There’s no other explanation for the pounding in my temples and the fact that every joint in my body feels like I’d been sent to boot camp. I roll over in bed, and try to visualize happy, healing light spreading all over me, easing away the pain. Then someone puts a hand on my forehead, and that’s exactly what happens.

My eyes flicker open. There’s Kingston, leaning over me, a sad smile on his face. No sign of tears or blood, just his usual shadow of stubble and a tiredness in his eyes. I wish I could kiss his exhaustion away.

“You got your magic back,” I mumble. His touch is ice water over flame, the perfect dose of Vicodin.

“What do you mean?” he asks. He pulls his hand back and the sensation goes away, though now the pain isn’t as bad.

“Last night,” I say. I try to think back, but it’s mostly a blur. I just remember him in the trailer and Senchan and Mab in the headlights. Something about Lilith…a flash of pain makes me wince. I close my eyes and burrow my face into the pillow.

“What about last night?” he asks. His words are slow. Deliberate.

“You were hurt,” I mumble, leaning my head to the side. It feels like trying to string together a dream from two weeks ago. I know it’s there, but I can’t bring it up. “After…after the guy from the Summer Court took you. You said he took your magic.” It even sounds stupid once I say it.

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t speak.

“What?” I say. Maybe I’m still asleep. Maybe that’s why everything’s slurring together in my brain.

“You really don’t remember?” he asks.

“Remember what?” The memories are swirling along with the trailer now. The last thing I want to do is try to remember anything but the solidity of this bed.

“Last night…gods, I can’t believe this.” Another deep breath on his part, and I look up in time to see him press his face into his palms, like he’s about to deliver a death sentence. “You passed out last night.”

“I figured,” I mumble, trying to motion to the bed but failing. Even thinking of moving a limb hurts. “But I saw….”

“Honey,” he says, and he reaches down to pull the covers off me. Honey. The word makes me melt. “You nearly died last night.” I look down to where he’s pointing. There, on my calf, are two red scabs, the skin around them puffy and pink. “You were bitten by a rattlesnake a few minutes after getting out of the truck.”

“But the Summer Court guy. Senchan.”

He pulls the covers back over my leg and gives me a no-nonsense sort of stare.

“Who’s Senchan? You must have hallucinated. You got out of the truck and were bitten by a rattlesnake. Then you started convulsing and passed out. Everyone saw it.” There’s a finality to his words that make the room stop spinning. Only I know that’s not what happened. I think I know that’s not what happened… Right?

“But...” My thoughts are racing, burning like wildfire. “The fire. Lilith.” My head throbs. “Lilith set everything on fire.”

“Lilith’s just a little girl,” Kingston says. “I’m the only one with any real magic in this troupe. There was a fire, yes. But that was the bonfire the Shifters had last night — some embers set part of the field on fire. I put it out.”

“But — “

“You passed out, Vivienne. I’ve never seen someone have such a bad reaction to snake venom.” He bites his lip and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he’s looking out the window.

“Last night was a shit show,” he says, finally. “But what you’re talking about never happened.”

“I saw you,” I say. I push myself up even though it hurts like hell. That inner fire is back. I know it wasn’t a hallucination. He had been held captive. I fought for him. I saw it. “He had a knife to your throat. You were bleeding and helpless because he took your magic.”

Kingston leans in close and lifts his chin to the ceiling. His skin is perfectly smooth.

“See?” he says. “No blood, no cut.” He looks down at me and tries to smile. It’s almost successful, too, but there’s a waver in his eyes, an uncertainty. He’s lying. “I wasn’t in danger,” he says. “But it’s kind of cute that you think I could have been. Did you save me? In your dream?”

He’s close, oh, so close, but right now, I just want to smack him. I lie back down instead and stare up at the ceiling. When I close my eyes, my memories sift around. I still remember him in the headlights, his face pale and terrified. I still remember Mab confronting Senchan, and I remember meeting Lilith in Kingston’s trailer. Taking her hand. I swear I remember it, even though it’s blurring around the edges, fading the more I hold it up for examination.

And there’s another memory, a shadow of doubt. I remember the sharp pain in my ankle as I walked to join the troupe at the bonfire. I remember the pain, the nausea and spasms, as the world spun and fell away. I squeeze my eyes tighter and bring a hand to my forehead, try to block out the images. What I saw — Senchan, Kingston, Lilith — had to have been real. It had to. So why is the rattle of the snake I stepped on just as real? Why is that pain just as sharp?

“You need to sleep,” Kingston says. I don’t open my eyes, but I hear him stand. He puts a hand on the side of my face. His touch is still cool, even if there’s no real magic in it now. I can feel his fingertips shaking. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Then he leaves, the door clicking quietly shut behind him.

I’m not okay. Not even close to okay. I’m on another fucking planet from okay. But for the first time in a long time, I’m beginning to doubt if he’d be able to make it better.

He’s lying. But why? Why would he lie to me?

I thought he was on my side.

Now I’m wondering if that was the biggest lie of all.

I don’t sleep.

I have this terrible feeling that the moment I close my eyes, the truth — my truth — will fade away like a dream. It’s easy to believe I made it all up. The pain in my ankle is real enough, and the more I let it, the more the memory of being bitten becomes tangible. I just don’t want it to be real. The memory of the confrontation is taking on the same hazy feel as everything else in my past. So I keep my eyes open and watch a few bands of sunlight slide down the wall of my room. I consider standing up, but the bite burns like acid. I don’t move except to get more comfortable. I try not to think of having to pee.

The door opens a few hours after Kingston’s departure, when the sun is turning the inside of my bunk pink. I glance up, both hoping and not hoping it’s him. Instead, it’s Penelope. I sink back down into the mattress and try not to frown.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. Her voice is barely a whisper.

“Better,” I say, which is true. Physically, at least. My head doesn’t hurt nearly as much and the ankle is just a throb. I’m still holding the memory of Kingston in danger like a sanity anchor. I can’t let it go. I can’t let myself believe I’m delusional. Sanity is about the only thing I have going for me anymore, and even that's not saying much.

She walks over to the desk beside my bed and sets a tray down. There’s a steaming bowl, a mug, and a few thick slices of bread. The sight of it makes me want to gag. How can they expect me to do something as normal as eat when everything in my life is spinning upside down?

“A simple meal,” she says, noticing my glance. “We don’t want to add any more poisons to your system.”

“Thanks,” I say. I force myself into sitting up and she places the tray in my lap. I pick up the spoon but don’t start eating. The scent makes me nauseated. She’s still standing there, watching.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

I open my mouth, almost tell her the truth, that I feel like my brain’s been put through a blender and the people I trust are out to get me. I don’t. Never trust the gossip queen. High school taught me that.

I think.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just…beat.”

She nods. “Well, I’m just glad you’re all right. If you need anything, my trailer’s parked right across from yours.”

I laugh weakly. “So I’m still under your watch?”

“Yes,” she says. “So it would seem. Get better soon. I know Richard and Vanessa were hoping to up your training this site.”

“Right,” I say. “That.” I’ve completely lost track of the days. Is it tomorrow I’m meant to be onstage? Or sometime after?

Penelope doesn’t say anything. She just looks me over one more time, opens her mouth like she wants to ask another question. Then she turns and leaves.

I can’t remember the last time I ate, but there’s no way in hell I can stomach anything right now. I put the tray on the desk and curl back up under the covers. I’m not going to fall into that trap, the idea that things could start to return to normal. When I close my eyes, I don’t really care if sleep comes. Maybe this whole thing — juggling included — would be better off as a dream.

I’m woken up by Kingston the next morning. He knocks on my door and steps inside without waiting for my answer. The sight of him washes away whatever nothing I’d been dreaming, and makes me panic for a moment, wondering who’s just been killed. Thankfully, he’s smiling as he walks in, a tray of food in his hands. He looks entirely casual — in gym shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Zal is wrapped around his bicep, its body hidden around Kingston’s back.

“Sleep well?” he asks as he nudges aside my uneaten dinner and sets his tray down.

“Yeah.”

“How’s the ankle?”

I stretch my foot under the covers. No pain. When I pull the sheets back, there’s only the slightest of red marks to show I’d be been bitten.

“Excellent,” he says. He sits down in my chair and puts his bare feet up on my bed. “Looks like you’ll be ready for practice in no time.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” I say. I reach for the coffee, which is already making my room smell like a caffeinated heaven.

“I talked with Mab,” he says. The declaration comes out of the blue, makes me pause before taking a sip. I don’t say anything. “She won’t let me help you with juggling.”

“Why not?” It’s not like I enjoyed the idea of Kingston prodding around in my mind, but it was better than being thrown out.

“She said it’s cheating and against your contract. No magical shortcuts.”

“That might have been nice to know.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. His tone isn’t even remotely convincing. There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, he sounds tentative. “As for yesterday…”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I can’t expect your enchantments to ward off snakes as well. There’s no need to apologize.”

He smiles at me. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “You had me worried for a bit there.”

An uneasy silence threatens to come between us, so I pick the first question out of my mind I can think of.

“How’s Mel?” I ask.

“Better. Much better. She’s out of bed today.”

“That’s good,” I say.

What had I been worried about earlier? I look at him and feel a distant sense of betrayal I can’t quite place. Why would I feel that about him? He’s the one taking care of us, all of us. Still, the usual butterflies are out of place. Something just feels off. I try to place it, but the idea doesn’t come, so I just pick up my spoon and start to eat.

He leaves a few minutes later, after inspecting my ankle and throwing a little more magic my way. I should be fine to walk around, he says. Just watch where I step. The door closes behind him and I eat my cereal. Every once in a while, I stare down at my ankle to make sure it’s still there. The puffiness is gone, and there’s only a tiny pink scar from the bite marks.

Every time I look at it, something in the back of my mind stirs, some wisp of fire and pain. Then I look away, and the memory vanishes.

I leave the trailer shortly after breakfast, when it’s clear putting weight on my foot won’t make it fall off and my bladder can’t take another moment’s hesitation. There’s barely even a limp as I head to the Porta-Potty at the edge of the field. The sun is high and the sky is clear. All around us are sweeping cornfields that vanish into the blue haze of the horizon. It’s already sweltering, and the inside of the Porta-Potty is exactly what you’d expect from a small box of excrement sitting in the blazing sun. If Mab had ever mentioned the outdoor toilets when I signed on, the harsh reality must not have sunk in at the time.

I pause on the return trip, feeling infinitely lighter, and stare out at the tent and the trailers spread before me. There aren’t that many people about — a few performers are lying on their backs on lawn chairs, others are taking shelter under the canopy by the pie cart. Penelope is nowhere to be seen, which makes me wonder if maybe I’m no longer such a threat after being felled by a snake. Everyone else must either be inside or in town, wherever that is. The ground beneath my feet is grey, and when I bend down to inspect it, I realize it’s ash. That’s when I notice the char marks on some of the corn, the blackened stalks and crispy husks. The bonfire. We were lucky the tent wasn’t set up when the blaze went off. I’d heard enough horror stories of old tents going up in flames. After the rip in the tent, we didn’t need any more disasters.

The thought makes me wonder if Mab’s already gotten the side wall replaced. I head over to the tent to inspect. Sure enough, every one of the grey and blue panels is intact. Whoever she got to fix it must have worked pretty damn fast.

“Looking for something?”

I turn around and see Melody standing there. She’s in shorts and a loose shirt with a tree sprawling across the front. Her brown hair is messy and her eyes are still shadowed. But she looks better. Thin, but better.

“It lives,” I say, grinning. Seeing her up and about makes me feel like maybe things are finally on the upswing.

She smiles as well and walks the few steps over to me, looping an arm over my shoulders. “I could say the same for you,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone foam at the mouth before.”

I wince and look down at my ankle. “I was foaming?”

“Like a rabid dog,” she says. “Still, that Kingston’s a miracle worker.”

I nod. “How about you?” I ask. “How are you feeling?”

“Meh,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. We start walking toward the pie cart. “Still feel like I’ve been run over by a truck a few hundred times, but it’s better than before.”

She pours herself a cup of water from one of the Gatorade containers when we hit the pie cart, offering me one as well.

“Any plans for the day?” she asks, sitting back on a wooden table still littered with a few bowls of half-eaten cereal.

“Juggling practice,” I say. The words feel like a death sentence. “What about you?”

Her grin widens. “There’s a swimming hole nearby. An honest-to-God swimming hole with rope swings and tetanus and everything. I think a couple of us are heading over after lunch.”

“That sounds amazing.”

She nods. “Don’t tell Kingston I’m going, though. He’d probably say I’m not well enough. I say, however, the promise of gorgeous girls in bikinis is cure enough for me.” She raises her glass in mock toast and takes a drink.

“Yeah, well, at least one of us should get some action.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile going wicked.

“Not like that,” I say. “I mean…you know what I mean.”

“Who is it?” she teases. She looks around conspiratorially and leans in. “C’mon, love, you can tell me. Let me guess. Uma.”

“Who?”

She sighs. “Not Uma, then. How long have you been with us? She’s the Shifter with all the piercings.”

The name’s familiar, but I can’t place it. She must have read something in my blank expression. “Oh, come on, I know you’ve seen her. She said you dropped into her tent a few nights back. You know,” — she raises her hands to her chest and cups her hands, “piercings everywhere. And I mean, everywhere.”

Then I remember Uma. I blush at the memory of seeing her onstage swaying like a belly dancer to the sounds of violin and shivering metal. What had I been doing there? I was looking for something…

“Ah, now she remembers. Pierced nipples usually jog the mind.” She chuckles to herself, and I punch her on the shoulder.

“Bitch. No, not Uma. I don’t swing that way.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” she says. Her voice sobers. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for Kingston.”

I don’t answer right away, which makes her jump off the table and spin on the ground, one hand covering her mouth to hold back the laughter.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Please, please not him. He’s like my brother.” She looks at me and sees I’m not smiling. If anything, my face has gotten redder.

“Seriously?” she says. Her grin drops.

“I know,” I say. “I don’t have a chance in hell, do I?”

She runs a hand through her hair.

“Not really,” she finally says.

“Comforting,” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be giving me friendly advice?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “And here it is: don’t date within the circus.”

“That’s it? That’s your good advice?”

She holds up her hands.

“That’s my honest advice. Think of it this way: what did you do when you broke up with your past boyfriends?”

“I…” — then I realize, I don’t remember any past boyfriends. I know they should be there, but the idea’s just…blank. She doesn’t seem to notice the stutter in my memory.

“You move on,” she continues. “You stop calling or texting or whatever you do, and you see other people like a normal girl. You can’t do that here.”

She gestures around.

“You fuck up a relationship in here and you’re stuck with an angry ex for the rest of your contract. And trust me, Kingston isn’t someone you want pissed off at you for a few dozen years.”

“Why would I be pissed?” Kingston says from behind. I nearly jump. How long was he standing there?

“Speak of the devil,” I mumble. Clearly, even getting bitten by a rattlesnake wasn’t enough to clear my shitty karma. I try to visualize my face not being red and turn around. I know it doesn’t work. “We were just talking about you.”

“I thought I felt my ears ringing,” he says. Apparently, he doesn’t care to know what we were saying. He walks over to Melody and puts a hand on her face, uses a thumb to lift an eyelid. “Shit,” he whispers.

“What?” we both ask. My heart immediately drops.

“Still nothing in there.”

“Ha ha,” Mel says, swatting his hand away. “Nice to see you too, dickhead.”

Kingston turns to me. “Feeling better?”

I nod and take a drink of water. If he was listening in, he didn’t catch much. I hope. God, do I hope.

“Good,” he says. “Vanessa was asking after you. Apparently, you aren’t allowed dinner until you can manage eight three-ball passes in a row.”

“Fantastic,” I say. “I’ll just start gorging myself now, lest I starve for the next few days.”

Kingston reaches over to a bowl and snatches a few pieces of cereal.

“Better start practicing now,” he says, and tosses them in a high arc toward me. They ignite in midair, flaring into three soft, red juggling balls. I manage to catch one. The others fall to the ground. Melody chuckles.

Some part of me can’t help but feel like this is all forced, though I have no clue where the notion's coming from. Kingston seems too casual, Melody too quirky. Something is going on, something that neither of them wants to admit. Either that, or I'm getting paranoid.

One of the balls rolls under a table, so I bend down to grab it. That’s when I see Poe curled up beside a bench leg. The ball is right next to him. He stirs as I reach out, opening one eye and then rolling up to stretch before limping away.

There’s a miniature white cast on his front paw. Memory burns, but then Kingston taps me on the ass with his foot. I stand and chuck one of the balls at him, missing by a mile. I’m smiling, but I can feel it slip. Something digs in the back of my head, something pulling itself up to consciousness. It smells of brimstone and fear.

Chapter Fourteen: Gimme More

When the rest of the troupe leaves for the watering hole — Melody as well, since Kingston saw some benefit in her getting out for a bit — I sit inside the main tent, legs crossed, with a pile of juggling balls beside me. It’s a bit cooler in the chapiteau, and with the lights off, everything is a muted blue from the sun diffusing through the walls. The bleachers are empty and there’s a thin stream of light coming in from the back curtain. I can still practically feel the ghosts of crowds past. Being in here without an audience seems wrong, somehow, much emptier than it should be. I’ve got my MP3 player on to drown out the quiet, trying to keep a rhythm with the balls. One, two, three, catch, one, two, three, catch. I succeed every couple of songs. It’s easier to practice without anyone watching me, judging, or waiting for me to do it right. I even cheer when I manage three successful passes in a row. Then I drop one of the balls. It rolls away, toward the ring curb, where it’s stopped by Kingston’s foot.

I pull out one of my earplugs as he bends down to pick it up. A faint voice inside of me is saying I should feel strange right now. I should be holding something against him, but I can’t remember what. I let whatever grudge I had go. I just don’t have the energy for that sort of drama. Not when my job and everything else is on the line.

“That was good,” he says, rolling the ball around on his palm. I watch him for a moment as he moves his hand back and forth, twists it over and under, the ball seeming to hover in one spot as it rolls across his skin, then up his forearm. Zal is wrapped around his neck, the tip of his tail just protruding from Kingston’s shirtsleeve. After a few more moments of contact juggling, he pops the ball into the air and catches it. He winks when he sees my stare and slightly dropped jaw. “Years of practice,” is all he says.

He walks over and sits down next to me, then tosses me the ball.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.”

We sit there a moment, and I’m acutely aware of how close he is. Even in the heat, his presence feels cool, and his scent is sweat and spice, something exotic and dangerous and alluring, all in one. I can practically feel the static between us, my bare arm hardly an inch from his.

“Well,” I finally manage, picking up the balls and trying again. One, two, three — but the ball flies far and I miss the last catch. Taking my mind off juggling certainly doesn’t help my performance. “I guess, all things considered, I’m doing okay.”

“All things considered?” he asks.

I pick up one of the balls from the pile and try again.

“Well,” I say, making the first pass. “I was bitten by a snake, I’m a million miles from home, and, oh, yeah, three people have died in the last week, and no one knows who did it, so naturally Mab suspects me. On top of that, if I don’t learn how to juggle by the next site, I’m on the street. Again.”

Kingston nudges me, which makes me fail the catch.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says.

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, I’d say there’s more than enough drama outside of myself.”

“Welcome to circus life,” he says. “Never a dull day.”

“You don’t seem to care if I stay or not,” I say. The words grate against my pride, but I can’t help but voice them.

“You know that’s not true,” he says.

I put down the balls and look at him. He’s looking at me, a slight smile on his lips. Is it just my imagination, or is he looking at me differently? It’s almost as if he’s looking at me like he knows I have some sort of secret. Like I’m worth noticing for more than comic relief.

The words I want to say sound childish in my head, but I don’t care. I’m tired of not knowing.

“Why?” Why do you care? Why is this happening? Why does everyone seem to be against me? Why am I suspected of murder? A thousand other questions are also left unasked. But I know he can’t or won’t answer.

He looks away.

“I know it’s hard,” he says. “The first couple weeks. The troupe’s been together for years and we’re cliquey as fuck. But that doesn’t mean people don’t care about you.”

People like you? I want to ask.

“I highly doubt anyone else in the troupe has had the same welcome. Being suspected of murder isn’t exactly friendly.”

He looks at me.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“What?”

“That Mab suspects you.”

I throw up my hands and can’t help but laugh. “What are you talking about? Of course she does. Why else would she say she suspects me? Why else would she put me under house arrest and threaten to kick me out of the troupe if I don’t learn how to juggle? She hates me. And what if she’s right? What if I did do it? I can’t remember my past! What if I’m blacking out the memory of killing everyone as well?”

It’s a thought I wouldn’t let myself entertain before, one that shakes the very core of who I think I am. What if I really am the killer? Like one of those Russian sleeper cells, just awaiting activation.

Kingston shakes his head.

“You’re not the murderer. I wouldn’t believe that for a second. Do you really think Mab — cunning as she is — would put her cards on the table like that?”

I don’t say anything. I haven’t been here long enough to have even the slightest idea of what Mab would do. And I have a feeling that that wouldn’t change even if I stayed here another thousand years. Which might be a very strong possibility.

“She’s using you,” he finally says. His voice is flat, like he’s not entirely pleased with it himself. “You’re a diversion.”

“A diversion?”

“Of course. If she places the blame on you, the real killer might think they’re off the hook. They’ll get messy.”

“Yeah, well, they only have a couple days left. After that, I won’t be around to play scapegoat.”

“I won’t let her kick you out,” Kingston says. There’s a promise in the way he says it. As much as I want to laugh it off, I don’t doubt for a minute he’s telling the truth. I’ve seen him go head-to-head with Mab. He could hold his weight. But could he hold his ground while defending me?

“Why?” I ask again.

He doesn’t answer. For a moment, all I can do is stare at him, wonder if he’s really willing to be my knight in shining armor or if he's just being macho. The desire to reach out and touch him slugs me in the chest, but I hold back. There's still that inkling that I should be royally pissed at him.

“Have you ever killed someone?” I ask.

He leans back. “Why the hell would you ask me that?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t burn me alive if I ever tried to kiss you.”

“Funny,” he says, and he picks up one of the balls, starts rolling it around in his palm again. Smooth, I think. There goes that moment.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Neither of us says anything for what feels like the longest while. But he isn’t standing up to leave. Maybe I didn’t fuck it up entirely. Maybe he’s just making sure I meant it.

“I take it that’s a no on the kiss, then?” I finally say. I try to keep my voice light, but — to continue his metaphor — now that my cards are on the table, I feel horribly exposed. Besides, isn’t this supposed to be his role? Shouldn’t he be the one trying to win over me?

“I’m too old for you,” he says. The statement is fast and well practiced, so smooth it doesn’t sound genuine. It also isn’t an answer.

“You don’t look like it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Mab’s magic for you. All glitz and glamour. Nothing real.” The bitterness in his voice is overpowering.

“So,” I say. “How long do I have to wait?”

“Until?”

“Until I’m old enough for it not to be so creepy.”

He actually laughs at this, an outburst that sounds like half a sob. He looks at me.

“You’re serious?”

I nod. I’m not smiling. It’s the most honest I’ve been with him since signing on to this venture.

“I’m three hundred and forty-one.”

The numbers drop like guillotines, but he doesn’t look away from me as he says them. Clearly, he’s judging my response. I try to keep my face composed, and my response is as witty as I can make it.

“You don’t look a day over two hundred,” I say. “Must be all the popcorn.”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling nonetheless. Again, he looks at me like I’m amusing. But there’s something else behind it. Surprise?

“What did you do?” I ask. “Why did you join?” Most of our performers were in a bind, Mab had said. What could Kingston have done?

“Well,” he says. “I used to live in Salem.”

“Oh.”

He takes a deep breath and stares off at something past the bleachers. “Yeah. Oh. A little over three hundred years ago, I was being burned at the stake. I’d accidentally lit someone’s pig on fire, which sounds much funnier in hindsight. At the time, when I didn’t realize I actually was the type of person all the menfolk were burning, it freaked the shit out of me. I was found out, given a trial befitting the times, and found guilty.

“So there I am, bound to a pole in the town square, getting called every possible name for a bastard heathen. I was crying because I knew I was guilty and going to hell, but I didn’t want to die. But that doesn’t really mean anything to them, you know? Anyway, Mab must have been watching for some time, because a minute or two after they lit the kindling — bitch let me roast for what seemed like eternity — everything just…stopped.”

He pauses and looks at me, clearly making sure I’m still following along. I am. Either he’s a good storyteller or I’ve got a vivid imagination: I can practically smell the wood smoke.

“I mean, it’s like being in a movie. Everything’s on pause. I still remember there was a rotten tomato hovering like a foot away from my face. And then she appears out of nowhere in a puff of black smoke. Didn’t look anything like she does now. She was in her PVC boots and mohawk phase, even had a British flag as a belly shirt. Think Tank Girl but infinitely more badass. Certainly made the right impression.”

I let the image of Mab dressed as a true punk seep in. It’s quite at odds with her current glamorous self.

“She offered me a job then and there. Work for her and she’d not only set me free, she’d let me get revenge and teach me how to use my powers. I accepted, of course. I mean, it wasn’t much of a choice: burn an agonizingly slow death, or get out of jail free. At the time, I thought I was just hallucinating because after I’d agreed, everything started back up again. People were yelling, the tomato missed me by an inch. Then I realized the ropes on my hands were gone, and the fire didn’t seem so hot. That’s when the fire turned blue.

“Everyone started screaming and trying to run away, but there were demon eyes in the flames and I heard Mab’s voice in my head. This is your power. Do with it as thou wilt.”

“And?” I ask.

“And I killed them,” he says, tossing the ball into the air. “All five hundred and forty-three of them. Men, women, children. All burned, just like they would have done to me.”

I stare at him. My mouth is open, I’m sure, but I can’t close it. If he notices, he doesn’t pause to point it out.

“It wasn’t until later, of course, that Mab set out the actual terms of my contract.”

“Which was?”

“One year for every life lost. So, yeah, I’ve killed before. And I’m paying dearly for it. Circus freak for life,” he says with a sigh.

“I don’t remember any of that in the history books,” I say. Here I was, freaking out because I might have killed three people, and he’s killed hundreds. He doesn’t look like the type who’d have blood on his hands. But then I remember the way his eyes flashed when doing some of his more dangerous tricks. Not everything is as it seems. His words. He was definitely talking about himself.

He just shrugs. “Mab’s good at misdirection.” The look he gives me is loaded, but I’m too wrapped up in the idea of him fricasseeing small babies to let it sink in.

“Do you regret it?” I ask, shaking off the image. “Joining? Your contract?” In other words, killing all those people.

“Hell, no,” he says, standing. “I’d do it again.”

He tosses the ball into the air. At the top of its arc, it explodes in a burst of sparks and flutters away as a pearl-white moth.

“You don’t fuck with a witch,” he says. “Ever.”

With that, he strolls out of the tent, a slight, cocky bounce to his gait. I know I should be looking at him differently. He’s a killer. He’s here because he murdered a town. But then, I can’t say I’d have done much differently if the roles were reversed. Kill or be killed. Wasn’t that the most basic human instinct? Besides, it’s not exactly like I could crucify him for his past when I couldn’t even remember mine. He’s still the guy who promised to keep Mab from kicking me out, the guy who takes it upon himself to make sure Melody and everyone else is safe and happy. He’s still the guy I fell for at the start. I pick up the balls and then realize one thing: he never answered whether or not he’d kill me for trying to kiss him.

A couple songs later, I stand up and leave the tent, dropping the juggling balls in a props basket backstage. There’s no one around — no one at the pie cart, no one in lawn chairs outside of their trailers. Everyone must either be inside their air-conditioned bunks or out at the watering hole. Hopefully, Mel found some of the eye candy she was after. I wasn’t kidding; one of us deserved some action, and since I clearly wasn’t going to be getting any from Kingston for quite some time, it might as well be her. Was there even anyone else in the troupe who was gay? Or was her only hope at getting laid outsourcing?

As I head to the pie cart for water, a shape dodges in front of me, then another shadow close behind. Poe chasing a mouse.

The cat pauses in front of me and turns its yellow eyes up to mine, the rodent forgotten. His front paw is still in a cast. Something in my memories shifts.

“You can’t have him.”

I spin around.

Lilith’s standing behind me. She’s in a lacy white floral dress that makes her look like a doll, her head tilted to the side in that lost-bird manner she often has. There’s even a pink ribbon tied in her hair. The sight of her makes the air feel warmer, makes me take a half step back.

“What?” I ask. Poe slinks around from behind me and curls around Lilith’s feet. She bends down and picks the cat up, then stands and looks at me dead-on.

“You can’t have Kingston. He is too good for you. He is mine.” There’s nothing vapid in her voice. The contrast between her words and her appearance chills me to the bone. Not everything is what it seems here. Then what the hell is Lilith hiding?

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

Her eyes narrow.

“I won’t let you steal him away. I won’t let you do what the bad man did to him.”

“Bad man?”

“Bad man Senchan.”

Her words fill me with fire, and as her brown eyes turn red, my vision burns. Smoke fills my nostrils, screams and crackling as Lilith is there on the field, burning the man from the Summer Court. Burning the fields and the Summer Fey within. Lilith, flames looped around her in cords, flames of her fingers, fire and wrath, and Senchan burning and screaming and cracking apart with corn-husk skin. And then Mab’s there, covering Lilith in a hug, and the fires die down and she’s whispering. My baby, my baby, stop now, please.

I take a deep, shuddering breath. Bile rises in my gut. I drop to my knees and vomit, my hands clenching the ash-covered earth. Senchan, burning. Senchan, screaming. His ash is everywhere.

“What…what did you do?” I manage.

“Bad man,” Lilith says. There’s a smile in her words that twists my intestines. Pride. Sheer, contented pride. “Bad man gone.”

She kneels down at my side.

“You don’t look so well, Vivienne. You look weak. Kingston despises weak women. Which is why he will always choose me. Always.”

She puts Poe on the ground beside me, and together they run off, disappearing into the cornfield like the damned.

Mab opens her trailer door after the second pounding knock.

She’s in a black velvet-and-rhinestone blazer and velvet leggings. Her hair is bleached white today, and her green eyes spark at the sight of me. The air around her seems to shiver with shadows, but I stand my ground. Her trailer is completely dark; no candles, no walls, just shadow.

“Vivienne,” she says. “I thought I left you under Penelope’s watch?”

“I remember,” I say. The words come out as a croak. My throat is on fire and every breath is sandpaper and flame. There are two worlds battling in my head, and my body is splitting apart at the seams. “I know about Senchan. I remember.”

I don’t know how I expect her to react. Shock? Anger? Whatever it was, I wasn’t expecting her to smile and step back into the trailer.

“Come in,” she says. Her tone grows motherly in an instant. “Let’s talk.”

I step inside the trailer. The door closes behind me and all is black, black and empty, save for her hand on my back. Then a cool breeze blows past me, smelling of ice and dust, and a faint blue light flickers in the distance, then another. One by one, a host of candles blaze into life, their flames the blue of a summer sky. Her office materializes from the dark in tendrils of fog, wisps that solidify into an ancient wooden desk, four walls, two chairs, and a bookshelf that covers the entire back wall.

She guides me into the seat and settles herself in the plush velvet chair behind her desk. Memories of my first time in this very chair settle on my shoulders, but there’s no time to feel at home. Something is wrong, very wrong, and I’m not going to be kept in the dark any longer.

“So,” she says, leaning back to prop her stiletto boots on the desktop. “Talk.”

The words are tumbling around in my head but I can’t seem to pick one to start it all off.

“I know,” I say again. “I remember him. Senchan. The Summer Court.” I take another shuddering breath as I try to think back without losing it — either the memory or my lunch. “I know Lilith killed him. I saw what Lilith is.”

Mab smiles.

“I find that highly unlikely,” she says. “But pray tell, what, exactly, did Lilith do?”

“She burned him. There was fire. A lot of fire. Lilith burned Senchan alive. And all the fey in the fields. She killed them all.”

Something flickers across Mab’s eyes, but it’s gone in an instant.

“That is quite a statement,” she says. “Especially since you seem to be the only one who saw such a thing.”

That’s when reality dawns on me, the memory of Kingston not quite meeting my gaze when I woke up with snake venom coursing through my veins and dueling memories in my head. He knew. Worse, he knew that I was supposed to be in the dark. He lied.

“You had him erase the memory,” I whisper. “From everyone.”

“Apparently not,” Mab says. She eases her boots off the table and leans in closer to me, fingers laced together under her chin. “You seem to remember everything. Which is especially odd since — if we are to be completely honest now — you were passed out in his trailer when the incident took place.”

“I…” I try to remember. She’s right. I know I’d been in Kingston’s trailer. I remember the blood trailing down his neck. I remember him shaking. And I remember Lilith, the two of us swearing to kill Senchan. Taking her hand… “I had a vision,” I say. The words taste strange on my tongue, almost tingling as I speak.

“That,” she says, “is impossible.”

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because. Your contract expressly forbids your visions to manifest. That’s why you joined us in the first place.”

I sit there in silence as she studies my face. Visions? I’m supposed to have visions? What happened to just being normal? Mortal? Or was that just a lie, too?

What am I?

“What are you talking about?” I finally ask.

“Well,” she says. She leans back and snaps her fingers. “I suppose that now the cat’s out of the bag.” From the bookshelf behind her, a massive volume slips down and glides over to the desk. It flutters open in front of her. My name is at the top of the page, beneath the words Official Contract.

Her finger slides down to one of the bullet points.

“Paragraph 1C,” she says. “As part of her agreement, Vivienne Warfield shall have no recollection of her powers, past, present, or future, unless deemed necessary by Queen Mab or…”

She pauses.

“That isn’t right.”

She looks up at me and her eyes are blazing.

“You’ve been in my office.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve changed your contract.”

“What? I — ”

“You are lucky I still have use for you,” she whispers. Her voice is poison in the air. It fills me with fear and magic. “Otherwise, I would make you beg for mercy. What else have you done?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Get out,” she says. “And stay out of my sight until I call on you.”

I don’t move.

“Out!” she shouts. The entire room shakes at this, a minor earthquake, and the chair I’m in whips around and topples me to my knees. I stand. I don’t hesitate. I reach for the door and jump out into the sunlight, Mab’s rage a claw sinking deep into my skin.

Chapter Fifteen: Guilt By Association

My first impulse is to run. Not just away from Mab’s wrath, but out of the circus altogether. The moment the idea crosses my mind, however, I feel something like iron clamp around my lungs. I stagger and fall to my knees, desperately trying to choke down air. My lungs burn, my eyes fill with stars. Then the idea floats away, and so, too, does the constriction in my chest. I gasp as oxygen floods me. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the blue, blue sky, breathing in deep lungfuls of oxygen.

“Let me guess,” he says. A shadow falls over me, and I peer back to see Kingston standing there with his hands in his pockets. “You thought about dodging your contract.”

My fists clench at my sides. I turn over and jump to my feet so I’m facing him eye to eye.

“Contracts?” I say, my voice barely holding in all the rage and fear now cycling through me. “You want to talk about contracts?”

He takes a half step back.

“Whoa, easy tiger. I don’t know what Mab said but — ”

“I know,” I say. “You don’t have to lie anymore. I know you know about me. My visions. Lilith. Senchan. I know everything was just an elaborate lie.”

The moment I say it, I wish I could take it back. Because I know there’s more to the lie than just messing with my memory. That part I’m somewhat okay with — if I signed up for it, at least I had some say in the matter. It’s the things I can’t change, the things I didn’t agree to. Kingston pretending to care, toying with me. Melody pretending we were friends. Everyone in this godforsaken troupe pretending to be a family when we were all just watching our own backs. It’s all broken down now, shattering to the ground in fragments I’ll never be able to recover. No one cared. The only reason Kingston pretended he wanted me to stay was because Mab still needed me. Not because he liked me. Because I was useful. The thought makes my blood boil.

Kingston’s usual smirk drops.

“She told you?” he says. “What did she say?”

“I think you know,” I say. My words tremble and I can barely contain the anger that wants to spill through. “You’ve been fucking with my memory. You made me forget Lilith and the fire. You’ve been messing around in my head!” The last bit comes out as a yell, the words echoing around the empty site. I half expect Mab to come out and escort me off the premises, but she doesn’t. No one comes.

Kingston holds up his hands.

“I only did what you told me to,” he says.

“I never asked for you to erase my memory.”

“You did,” he says. “I was there, when you signed your contract. When we laid out every single term and condition, you wanted it all gone — your past, your visions, all of it. You begged me to take them away. I was there holding your fucking hand.”

“No,” I say. His words open a floodgate.

I shake my head, try to force out the new memories flooding in. Kingston, standing beside me at the desk, one hand on my shoulder. Are you sure about this? It wasn’t Mab who asked, it was Kingston. I put a hand to my head. The vision flickers in and out, fighting with the old memory, trying to fill in holes I hadn’t realized were there in the first place. There’s a ringing in my ears like a train coming down the tracks. And I’m pinned to the rails, waiting for it to strike and blow my mind to bits.

“So you don’t remember everything,” he whispers.

“Shut up,” I say, because every word is another memory, another lie to cover another lie.

“I was the one who found you, Vivienne.”

I drop to my knees and try to drown out the images, but I can’t, I can’t: Kingston walks down the street while I’m sobbing in an alley. He walks in, his clothes soaked but he’s still gorgeous with his faded jeans and deep brown eyes. When he sees me, he kneels down in the puddle beside me and asks my name, asks why I’m crying in an alley, and I can’t answer. He doesn’t wince at the blood on my jeans that turns the water pink, or the blood on my hands and in my hair. He puts a hand on the side of my temple and his touch is cool in a way that makes the pain feel better. His eyes go wide and he whispers, Oh.

“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “What…is this?”

“It’s what you wanted,” he says. He’s there at my side, I can tell. I can feel his shadow in the sun and his voice so much closer. “It’s what you asked for.”

“How much did you erase? Why would you change my memory, make me think I was bitten when it was Lilith who nearly killed everyone?”

“I had no say in that,” he says. “Lilith’s secret is written into everyone’s contract, except for mine. Mab decided it was safer that way. And I swear to you, I only erased the memories you wanted gone. I couldn’t change the fact that you wanted to forget all of them.”

“Why? Why would I ever want that?”

“Because of your visions. They drove you here. You wanted to forget.” His voice is soft, so soft. I curl in on myself and try to block out the burning in my head, the screams of memories fighting to the surface. I don’t want them. I don’t want the pain that’s clawing itself to consciousness. The train is closer, the rails shaking. But I don’t want to lose this truth, either — I don’t want to keep hiding from myself. Whatever the cost.

“What are they?” I whisper, the burning growing to a wildfire. “The visions? Why me?”

“It’s who you are; you get glimpses of what was, or what’s yet to come. Whatever you saw before coming here made you want to lock them away. But…you can’t hide from them forever. Not even my magic can change what you’re born with. I can only hold the power off.”

He gently puts a hand on my shoulder. I want to flinch but I can’t move. “Take a deep breath,” he says.

“Don’t,” I say. I want to. I want to fall into his arms and I want to trust him. I want all of this to go away, to forget it all because I was happier not knowing. But I can’t. I can’t go back to that. I can’t keep hiding, even though I wish I could.

“Trust me,” he says. I feel the first brush of magic easing the pain away…

“I said don’t!” I shove him aside and push myself up to standing. The fire in my head is raging and screaming and I want to rage and scream as well, I want to tear this all apart.

“You lied to me,” I growl, backing against the trailer like a cornered dog. “You lied to me all along. I fought for you. I wanted you, and you fucking lied!”

He’s standing now, hands raised in defeat. I expect someone to come around the corner and see what’s wrong, for someone to see what all the shouting’s about, but no one does. It’s just me and him and the inevitable breakdown.

“You knew all along,” I say. “You knew everything about me — my past, my contract — hell, you know more about me than even I do.”

His eyes are wide and his hands are dropping, and I know I’m hitting my mark, so I dig deeper. There’s too much pain in me, too much for one person. In that moment, I want nothing more than for him to feel it as well.

“How can you live with yourself?” I whisper. “Three hundred years of fucking everyone over, messing with their minds. How many people have you manipulated like that? How many people have you forced into loving you?”

And I’m sick with myself for saying it, but I can’t help it. I was fine knowing I’d run from my past, was fine thinking Mab knew more than I did. But I’m not okay with this, with knowing that Kingston had changed everything around in my head and had made me forget that he’d done it in the first place.

Worse, I hate knowing that I was most likely right. How could I trust my feelings for him when he had been playing in my head? How could I trust anything anymore? I close my eyes and squeeze my hands against my temples. The ringing won’t stop. I wish I could force it into him, make him see how it felt.

“I had no choice,” he whispers. His words barely cut through the din in my head. “You asked Mab to erase it, all of it. You signed the contract. I had to do it.”

“You didn’t have to lie about it.”

“About what?”

I want to sink into the side of the trailer, want to disappear entirely. The rage in my head is dying down, sinking back below the surface, but the ache is still there. I’m tired, so tired, and this feels like a fight I’ll never win.

“Liking me,” I manage.

There’s a long pause before he speaks.

“You think I lied about that?”

I don’t respond, don’t even move. The images in my head are still warring for control, still trying to piece themselves back into place.

That’s when I feel his hand on the side of my face. His touch is cool, tingling. It melts the pain away, even though I know he isn’t using any magic. It takes everything I have not to reach out and touch him as well, not to pull him close and lose myself in that touch. The rage allows me to keep that one small dignity intact.

“You’re right,” he says. My heart knots. He lied. He lied about everything. No one could love you. No one would want you to stay.

“I told you I didn’t need someone,” he continues. His hand traces my jaw and I want to break apart. “I played with you because you were cute and funny. But you fought for me when no one else would. No one does that around here.” He laughs softly to himself. I feel like I’m a yo-yo. Just that sad little laugh makes me want to hold him, even if it is all a lie, even if he was just using me. In the middle of all this crashing pain, the idea of comfort is intoxicating. I force the feelings down as he continues.

“You were my savior. When Senchan had me, you tried to save me when everyone else stood and watched the show. And then I had to erase that from your mind, too.” He sighs. “Do you know what that feels like? Knowing you tried to save my life and would never remember? That I’d never be able to repay you because you wouldn’t know of my debt?”

I can’t open my eyes. I know there are tears straining to come through but I won’t let it happen. I won’t. This is just a game, too. I did remember, and this is how you repaid me. I reach up and take his wrist, gently, and draw it away from my face. I don’t want to — no way in hell do I want to — but I refuse to be toyed with. I’m done being the fool.

“How do I know?” I whisper. “How do I know this isn’t another lie? How do I know this isn’t because you need me to do something for you?”

He sighs.

“I do need you,” he finally says. His words break apart the shell around me. “But not like that.”

Then his hands are once more on my face and I open my eyes to see his lips inches from mine. His brown eyes are like coffee, like mocha, and in that one glance, I know that he’s telling the truth. I can see the hurt and desire, and I reach up and thread my fingers through his long black hair. He closes his eyes and smiles and then his lips are on mine. The world melts away.

His kiss is soft and hard and tastes like cinnamon and need. His hand slides behind my head and my hands are reaching around his neck and I’m kissing back as all the fury and fear turns into something else, some great passion I can’t control. I pull him close and he leans in and every inch of my body is pulsing with heat and electricity and desire. The beast inside of me is roaring for a different reason. I could fall into this fire and burn forever.

“No.”

The word, that one word, and he tenses up. We both freeze. Then he pushes me away, wipes a hand across his mouth like that could make her unsee everything.

“Lilith,” he says.

But it’s not just Lilith. Penelope stands behind her, her hands on Lilith’s shoulders. Her expression is impossible to read, but Lilith’s is plain — rage and hurt. She looks at me, and I can’t help but flinch, remembering the fire that flew from her fingertips only nights before.

“You,” she says. “You’re as bad Senchan. You try to take him. You cannot take him. I love him.”

I take a deep breath and wait for the flames to come. I wait for her to kill me, to burn the whole world down. But she doesn’t. Her head drops when she’s done talking and then she runs off, hiding somewhere out of sight.

“Well,” Penelope says. “That was...unexpected.”

Kingston stands and takes a half step forward.

“You knew,” Kingston says. “You knew how she felt about me. Why would you do that to her?”

“I was merely bringing her back to Mab,” Penelope says, holding her hands up in defense. “She had run off. Again.” She turns her gaze to me. “And I have enough on my hands keeping this one out of trouble. Which is clearly not working.”

“You’re a heartless bitch,” Kingston says. Then he runs off in the direction Lilith went, calling her name.

Penelope looks at me.

“You were supposed to be practicing,” she says.

“I was.”

She sighs. “You mustn’t let your emotions get the best of you,” she says. “In this world, show any sign of weakness, and it will be turned against you.”

“What are you talking about?”

She smiles one of her sad, lost smiles. “Let’s just say, for people like you and me, love, freedom, happiness…well, unless we’re very specific from the beginning, they just aren’t in the contract.”

She turns and begins walking away. But as she goes, I catch her mumble something. It sounds like for now.

I close my eyes and slide against the trailer. I can still taste Kingston’s kiss on my lips, can still feel the tingle of his fingers in my pulse. Underneath it, though, is an anticipation, a sort of fear. The way Mab paused, the catch in her words. The sudden rage. Someone’s been messing with my contract.

Someone is targeting me.