The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

without sticking my foot in something.

“Did you run into Mab last night?”

I can’t help but jerk my head to look at her. She’s still not looking at me, though, and her voice is light.

“I only ask because I saw her enter Alligator Alley a few moments before you. It’s quite rare that she makes an appearance backstage. Especially with company. That man she was with…perhaps she found another plaything.”

Of course Penelope would have seen Mab and the man go backstage. I do my best to look completely unfazed. Disinterested.

“Didn’t see her,” I lie, and pray I’m getting better at it.

For a horrifying moment, I envision Lilith saying that she and I were hiding out under one of the trailers, spying on Mab, but she doesn’t seem to be paying us any attention.

“Hmm, well, they didn’t come out the same way either. They must have found something worth exploring.” She giggles to herself, and I lean back against the seat. I close my eyes. Just let me sleep. I really couldn’t care less if Penelope thinks Mab was screwing dangerous-looking Scandinavians.

“I’ve been wondering,” she says, after I’ve had just enough time to drift. “The terms of your contract, what are they?”

I sigh. Force myself awake. There’s no point trying anymore; Penelope wants company. And she certainly won’t get any juicy stories out of Lilith.

“I don’t know,” I say as I watch the road signs fly past.

“You don’t know?” she asks. There’s an incredulous note in her voice I don’t like.

“I don’t remember,” I say. “All I remember is signing the contract.”

“Interesting,” she says, almost a purr. “Remembering one’s contract is often a part of the contract itself, lest people forget why they joined on in the first place. I wonder if she had Kingston — ” Then she catches herself, though the slip seems far from unintentional, and switches subject. “No matter. The past is the past, after all.”

Lilith stirs beside me, making it impossible for me to concentrate on this new piece of information.

“Kingston. Kingston is pretty. King, king, king of hearts.” Her words are quiet, barely a whisper to her cat.

“He is pretty,” I say. Lilith is nearly a teenager, but I feel like I’m talking to a baby. “But I think he and Mel are a thing.”

Penelope laughs, then, which sounds horribly loud in the cab. When she finally gets herself under control, she throws me a glance and a devious smile.

“Oh, my dear,” she says, “I think not. Melody is, well. Melody plays for the other team, if you know what I mean.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Melody’s gay?”

“You didn’t realize?” she says. “Your brain must be more addled than I expected. Haven’t you noticed how she looks at you? No, Kingston and Melody are not a thing. He hasn’t been in a serious relationship for at least a dozen years. Trust me, I know everything in this company.”

If it wasn’t 7 a.m., and if I didn’t feel like my head was stuffed with cotton candy, I would have laughed. Melody’s gay. And Kingston is single. Which means I’m in the clear. I have been all along. I don’t know if it’s relief flooding through me, but I definitely feel better than I have since falling for him. Then the other half of Penelope’s statement tries to crash through my sleep-deprived mind. A dozen years? Is that some sort of joke? I don’t say anything, though. My feelings for Kingston are something I refuse to let her know about. Lilith is still humming Kingston’s name under her breath, singing it like some nursery song to Poe.

“Don’t tell me you have a thing for him?” Penelope says, looking over at me with an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t — ”

Lilith pipes up then, “Kingston is pretty. I like Kingston. He understands. He burns, too.”

Penelope continues on like Lilith’s not even there.

“Well?” she asks. “Don’t lie. I’m ever so good at picking out lies.”

And I’m ever so shit at lying.

“I guess…yeah,” I say. So much for keeping my cards hidden. Lilith looks at me. One eye twitches, and her expression doesn’t look so blank. “I think he’s nice,” I continue, though under Lilith’s gaze it comes out more as a question.

“Kingston is nice,” Lilith says, and her voice is a dangerous whisper, a frighteningly sane contrast. “Kingston is nice to me, and Kingston is mine.”

I stare at her a moment and then her face glazes over again, and she’s stroking Poe and humming under her breath once more.

Penelope casts me a glance. “Looks like someone’s got a crush.”

I can tell she’s not just talking about Lilith. I lean back against the window and close my eyes, wishing I’d shut up ten minutes ago.

* * *

“Well then,” Mab said, standing in one feline-smooth motion. It was only then that I realized she had changed clothes completely without me noticing, sometime between meeting me outside and coming in here. She was now in an elegant black lace dress, a burgundy bra and panties showing through the sheer fabric. I felt the heat in my cheeks rise at this — she’s probably old enough to be my mother, which she made an easy fact to forget — and looked at the walls. She continued speaking as if she weren’t wearing something almost too scandalous for Victoria’s Secret.

“Now that your terms are settled, I’ll show you around the company. You’ll find that we are a very warm, open community here.” She swept around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready?”

She helped me to my feet and opened the door to the trailer. It was still pouring outside, but the moment she stepped out there was a large lacy umbrella in her hand, the type you’d expect to see Morticia holding in the Addams Family. She held it out for me, and when I stepped out into the rain, the door shut behind us on its own accord.

She led me around the trailers, pointing out who lived where and what the daily schedule was like, when to wake up for breakfast, and when my turn for washing pots would be. The exact memory was hazy; sometimes, when I thought back, I remembered blood on the knees of my jeans. Other times, I just remember them being ragged.

“And this,” she said, leading me to a small tent pitched up next to what she called the pie cart, “is Kingston. Consider him your tutor, if you will.”

“Vivienne,” Kingston said, and I was too entranced by everything to realize he already knew my name. His eyes were deep brown, the color of coffee, and there was something about the way his lip curved in the corner that made it look like he was on the verge of a joke. He was stunning. “It’s nice to meet you. Mab said you’d be joining us soon.”

I remember glancing back to Mab, who was smiling but had a look in her eyes that said, quite clearly, no more.

Kingston cleared his throat and took my hand. His touch was warm. He was in jeans and a worn Icelandic-style sweater, and there was a thick paperback on the table next to him. I tried to smile, but my heart was still racing from whatever it was that came before this. His touch wasn’t helping any, either.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

For the first time in a long time, I actually meant it.

* * *

A few miles pass us by, and I’m starting to feel more awake. The caravan of trucks stops at a gas station around nine, and we all get out, stretch our legs, and head straight for the Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee and sugar. Kingston’s in there with Mel. They both look like they’re coming off some bad trip, with dark circles under their eyes and a shake to their hands as they hold their coffee cups. In the fluorescent lighting, their skin looks like paper. The high from Penelope’s revelation wears off. Here I was, thinking I’d run in and do something brave and