Rachel Vincent - Spectacle

In this riveting sequel to New York Times bestselling author Rachel Vincent’s acclaimed novel Menagerie, Delilah Marlow will discover that there is no crueler cage than the confines of the human mind...

When their coup of Metzger’s Menagerie is discovered, Delilah and her fellow cryptids find their newly won freedom brutally stripped away as they are sold into The Savage Spectacle, a private collection of “exotic wildlife.” Specializing in ruthless cryptid cage matches, safari-style creature hunts and living party favors, the Spectacle’s owner, Willem Vandekamp, caters to the forbidden fetishes of the wealthy and powerful. At the Spectacle, any wish can be granted—for the right price.

But Vandekamp’s closely guarded client list isn’t the only secret being kept at the Spectacle. Beneath the beauty and brutality of life in the collection lie much darker truths, and no one is more determined than Delilah to strip the masks from the human monsters and drag all dark things into the light.

Praise for Menagerie

“Well-paced, readable and imaginative.”

—New York Times on Menagerie

“A dark tale of exploited and abused others, expertly told by Vincent.”

—Library Journal, starred review

“Vincent summons bold and vivid imagery with her writing.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“As depicted by Vincent, Delilah is magnificent in her defiance of injustice, and the well-wrought background for her world sets the stage for her future adventures in this captivating new fantasy series.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Vincent creates a fantastic world that is destined to pique your curiosity... As Delilah Marlow slowly uncovers a side of herself that she never knew existed, you’ll sympathize with her...desperate to see her succeed.”

—RT Book Reviews

“The promising opener in a new series...a fast-paced story of vengeance and justice.”

—The Roanoke Times

“Amazing world-building and a captivating cast of characters. My new favorite Rachel Vincent book.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Kelley Armstrong

Also by

New York Times bestselling author

Rachel Vincent and MIRA Books

The Menagerie Series

MENAGERIE

The Shifters

STRAY

ROGUE

PRIDE

PREY

SHIFT

ALPHA

Unbound

BLOOD BOUND

SHADOW BOUND

OATH BOUND

For more titles by Rachel Vincent, visit her website at rachelvincent.com.

Spectacle

Rachel Vincent

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This is for everyone who followed me down the dark and twisted tunnel that is Menagerie.

Welcome back.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Booklist

Title Page

Dedication

Part One: Démasqué

Prologue

First Quote

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Second Quote

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Third Quote

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Fourth Quote

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part Two: Menagerie

Chapter 20

Fifth Quote

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Sixth Quote

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Seventh Quote

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Eighth Quote

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Ninth Quote

Chapter 33

Tenth Quote

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Acknowledgments

Extract

Copyright

Part One

Démasqué

Twenty-seven years ago

A scream broke through the surface of Tabitha’s dreams like an oar slicing through calm water, and she sat straight up in bed, still half-submerged in that other world. Heart pounding, she slid one small hand beneath her mattress, grasping for the handle of the knife her mother had hidden there.

Just in case.

Because if there were another reaping, parents could not be trusted. Children would have to protect themselves.

Tabitha’s fingers found the blade of the knife instead, and the cut was a sharp, immediate pain. The clarity of the sting—not muddled like blunt blows that left bruises—drew her thoughts into focus and vanquished the fog of sleep. She sucked on the cut without truly noticing the familiar, coppery taste of blood. Then she slid off the bed and lifted her thin mattress, bedding and all, and seized the knife the proper way.

Just like her mother had shown her.

Another scream sliced through the night, startling crickets and cicadas into silence, and Tabitha whirled toward the source of the sound. The open window over her nightstand.

She pushed the sheer curtain aside and bent to stare through the gap beneath the old, cloudy glass and the flaking windowsill.

Candlelight flickered in the barn.

Tabitha straightened her pale green nightgown, covering an old bruise on her leg, then headed for the hall clutching the knife. No one knew what a second reaping would look like, but Tabitha knew where to stab. Her mother had shown her which soft bits of flesh would be most vulnerable to her blade, should he come into her room at night, and Tabitha remembered every lesson.

What she did not remember was that the first lesson had come three years ago, almost a year before the reaping.

In the hall, Tabitha passed the bathroom and peeked into Isabelle’s room on her way toward the stairs. Isabelle’s bed was empty. Her sheet was thrown back and her slippers were missing.

Tabitha took the stairs one at a time, flinching with every creak of the wooden treads. Downstairs, her parents’ bedroom door stood open. Their bed was empty too.

Barefoot, her stomach pitching with fear and dread, Tabitha pushed open the back door and descended three porch steps. The grass felt prickly against her bare feet, but the backyard was peppered with smooth patches of soft dirt. When she was halfway across the yard, another scream froze her in place. Her fist clenched around the knife handle.

But then she exhaled slowly and pushed forward. That wasn’t her mother’s scream. It was just Isabelle’s.

Over the past two years, she had heard Isabelle cry a lot from her room down the hall. She’d heard Isabelle pray and beg in the middle of the night. But the screaming was new. Was that why Tabitha’s mother slept with earplugs? Had she known there would eventually be screaming?

Tabitha pushed open the barn door. The horses looked nervous, shuffling in their stalls and tossing their manes. Her father stood in the center aisle, clutching a thick-bottomed glass. In the light flickering from a candle stuck to the top of the nearest stall with melted wax, she could see that the glass was empty, but for a single melting ice cube.

The front stall was supposed to be empty too.

“Tabitha?” Her father’s gaze struggled to focus as he stared at her, and she knew that was not his first glass of the night.

At the mention of her daughter’s name, Tabitha’s mother popped up from the nearest stall like Jack from his box. Her clear gaze was focused and hard. “Go back to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Let her stay,” Tabitha’s father said. “Nine is old enough to know how the world works.”

Neither of them mentioned the knife their daughter held.

Tabitha’s mother frowned, then sank onto her knees in the stall again. Her father waved her forward, and when she hesitated two feet away, he slapped one rough hand onto her shoulder and pulled her closer, positioning her in front of the open stall.