Алекс Калер - The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

“What’s going on?” I ask. I reach for the handle but then realize that Penelope isn’t moving. Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and in the green light of the dashboard, her face looks even more sallow than this morning. She doesn’t look terribly beautiful now.

“It’s him,” she whispers. “He’s here.”

I look back out, almost ask what she’s talking about. Then I see him.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the cleared plot. His hair is so blond it’s white, his skin is just as pale, and he’s in a sharp grey suit with lines like razors. It’s the man from the show, the man from the Summer Court.

And one of his arms is looped around Kingston’s chest, the tip of a dagger pressed to his throat.

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.