stupid like kissing Kingston without so much as a hello. But they both look like they’re five steps from the grave. Not the time for large acts of desperation.
“You guys look like shit,” I say as I walk up to them. “You feeling okay?”
“What do you think?” Kingston says.
He starts to leave, and Melody and I follow. We sit on a concrete bench out front, one overlooking the highway and the sun that’s already burning through the haze of traffic. Kingston fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a pack of unmarked cigarettes. He takes one out and brings it to his lips, cups the other hand around it like he has a lighter, though I know it’s just a feint. The smoke that curls out smells like cinnamon and brimstone. His eyes practically flutter with happiness, though he still looks bone tired. We watch the rest of the troupe mill around for a while. Lilith’s near the dog park, doing somersaults in the grass while Poe stretches in the sun. When no one says anything, I speak up.
“I saw something last night.” There’s no one around, and Mab’s still in her black Jag E-Type, but I’m whispering nonetheless. I don’t care what Penelope was trying to hint at; these two are my only friends. “I tried to tell you after the act. But there was a guy in the crowd. Blond, seemed pissed off at everything.” I look at Kingston but he’s concentrating on his cigarette. He just doesn’t want to admit he should have listened. “After you found Mab, she came out and took him backstage.”
“So that’s what you were doing,” Melody says. I stare at her. “What? I was talking with Heath last night. He said you came in looking for Mab.”
“Yeah, well, I found her. She and this guy, they were talking out back. Something about some treaty being broken.”
“They’re always looking for some reason to shut us down,” Kingston finally says.
“Who?”
“The Summer Court. Only other time we had to pack up like last night was ’83. Mab was raging for weeks.”
’83. So maybe Penelope wasn’t joking about his love life. I can’t help but stare at him and try to figure out if even his twenty-four-year-old body is one of his illusions. It’s not something I have brain power to think about. Melody nods and takes another nibble from her doughnut. She’s hunched over herself, elbows on knees, brown hair falling over her eyes. Give her some emaciated ribs and she’d easily pass for a junkie.
“But why?” I ask. “We’re just a circus.”
Kingston laughs and Mel chuckles, which once more turns into a hack she tries to hide behind a drink of coffee.
“
I raise an eyebrow. “What else would it be? We travel around the country in a blue and grey tent, putting on shows. Sounds like a circus to me.”
“Viv,” Melody says when her coughing fit’s over. “We’re talking about Queen Mab here. The Faerie Queen of legend, ruler of the Winter Court. You really think she just gave up ruling an entire kingdom to wander the mortal world and put on a show?”
I shrug. “Everyone gets bored, right?”
Mel shakes her head and shares a what-an-idiot look with Kingston. Then she looks back at me with a grin on her face.
“Time for a lesson in supply and demand,” she says. “What do faeries live on?”
“I dunno. Honey?”
Kingston laughs again and continues where Melody left off.
“Not quite. Faeries live off
“I…”
“Right,” he says. “You don’t know. Faerie tales are like seeds.” He waves a hand, and the smoke trailing from his cigarette curls into itself, forms a tight little nut-shape floating in the air. “We tell them to kids because it makes their imaginations run wild with thoughts of magic and the supernatural.” The smoke-seed breaks open, tendrils sprouting wildly like vines. “Those thoughts feed the fey. Without them, they die.”
I interrupt him. “What happened before humans?”
“I’ve never asked,” Kingston says, an eyebrow raised. “The point is,” he continues, the tree of smoke-vines before him beginning to fade and wilt, “over time, faerie tales started to lose their ability to inspire. Kids believed them, but adults stopped. Technology overtook the story.” The smoke fades out entirely, blown away in a gust of wind. “The stories weren’t enough. So, Mab decided to be proactive. A more in-your-face approach.”
“She made us,” I say.
“She made us,” Kingston continues. “We spark people’s imaginations, get adults dreaming of the impossible. And those dreams, all those hopes and fantasies, they feed the fey.”
Melody spreads her arms wide. “We are the lunch ladies of the faerie world. The Dream Traders.”
She chuckles and coughs again, which stifles the humor of her statement.
“Okay, I’ll buy it,” I say. “But if that’s the case, why would the Summer Court want us to stop?”
Kingston gets an evil grin and takes one last, long drag on his cigarette, then flicks it to the curb. It turns into a moth and flutters away before ever hitting the concrete.
“Because,” he says, “if you hadn’t noticed, Mab’s a woman of business. All those dreams we procure, all that magical faerie food? It’s reserved. All for the Winter Court. Which, of course, means Summer is hungry. And pissed.”
“Can’t they make their own damn show?” I say.
“Come on,” Kingston says. “Faeries are proud. The Summer King would never stoop to imitating his enemy.”
“Besides,” Mel says, “The name
We reach the new site a few hours later, in some town whose name I missed in between napping. It’s on a beach, I get that much. The trucks park a few hundred yards from the shoreline in what looks like an old soccer field. I jump out of the cab and stretch my legs. Poe slinks beside me and vanishes under the truck; Lilith slides out behind him.
“Lilith,” I say, quietly, once the door is shut. “What did Mab say to you last night? After you left?” She’s looking at me with a blank expression on her face. “You know,” I continue, “after she met with the bad man. We were hiding under the truck.” I crouch down to emphasize the point. She smiles, and I try to smile too. Her smile quickly fades.
“You’re mean,” she says. The sober tone is back. “You help me, make me think you’re my friend. But you want to take him from me. You’re bad. Bad. Just like bad man.”
Then she turns and runs off, cartwheeling toward the tide. I watch her go with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Just looking at her brings the scent of brimstone back to my nostrils. That, and the fact that when I looked into those green eyes, a part of me felt like I should be screaming.
Chapter Seven: Bye Bye Baby
The tent gets set up that night. I half-expect Mab to come out and demand that Kingston magic the tent back to standing, but much to my surprise — and Kingston’s, apparently — he’s been given the night off. Melody, Kingston and I sit on the beach and watch the moon rise over the water while behind us, lit by giant floodlights that turn everything the color of bone, the tent rises like a monstrous skeleton. The sound of the waves is accented with thuds and clangs and curses from the tent crew as they work their graveyard shift.
