The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

ruffles its feathers.

“The moment I saw him, I knew he was my familiar. It just clicked. He’s been with me ever since.” He glances at me and his grin widens. “You can pet him, if you want. He doesn’t bite.”

It’s stupid how much I trust Kingston. I reach out and pet the thing without hesitation. It feels like warm static beneath my fingertips, just the barest amount of solidity.

“He’s beautiful,” I say, because there’s really not much else to say when looking at something that probably descended from a god. “Why do you keep him as...why is he your tattoo?”

Kingston shrugs. “Keeps him nearby. A familiar is an animal extension of a witch’s soul, so it made sense. Besides, people tend to stare when he's out.”

I look from the golden creature to the space on Kingston’s chest where it usually resides.

“I think people stare no matter what,” I say. The words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them. My face immediately heats up in a violent blush. Thankfully, he just laughs while I desperately try to change the subject.

“Why are you out here?” I ask again, because I know in my gut he hasn’t really answered.

Kingston looks down and kicks the sand at his feet like a little boy.

“When I practice…it’s the only time I feel like I have any control over all this anymore. You know?”

I nod. I do know. It’s the same reason I’m out here, the same reason my tired body refuses to give in and sleep. Someone we care about is in danger and there’s nothing — nothing — we can do about it.

Kingston stares at me. Not in a quizzical way, and not in a joking way. He’s looking at me like he knows precisely what I’m doing on the beach. Like that’s throwing him for a loop. I’m suddenly all too aware of my pulse and how it’s speeding up. What a first kiss this would be, standing on the beach and bathed in the light of his godly familiar. He catches the current and takes a half step toward me. My heart sticks in my throat. His heat is unbearable, the scent of his cologne fills me as he leans in.

It begins to rain.

And I’m not talking a romantic drizzle, I’m talking about a full-on downpour, like God decided to fuck with me and turn the tap on full blast. Kingston’s head shoots up and Zal starts writhing around above his head again. I am soaked to the bone in seconds. When Kingston speaks, I can barely hear him through the din. He looks disappointed and also a little embarrassed.

“We should get you inside,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. His touch is hot. I can practically hear the rain sizzling off his skin. “Don’t want you getting pneumonia.”

I bite my tongue. Go figure. Go fucking figure. But I’m not about to act desperate. Not now, not when his familiar’s watching like an expectant house cat.

“Right,” I say.

We don’t say anything else as he guides me back up to the trailers, but his hand doesn’t stray from my arm, not until we get back to my bunk and he opens the door. Once I’m inside, he snaps his fingers. I’m dry immediately.

I can’t really describe how he looks, standing on the bottom step of my trailer, his hair dripping rivers down his soaked body, and every inch of him glowing in Zal’s golden light. One hand is on the door frame, like he’s trying to hold himself up. Or back. I’m not sure which. And I want nothing more than to lean over and kiss him goodnight, but I don’t.

“Goodnight,” I say.

“Goodnight,” he replies.

Then he raps his hand on the frame once and steps down. I close the door before I can change my mind about the whole kissing thing. A part of me hopes that he’ll knock. I even wait by the door a few breaths, just in case.

He doesn’t.

* * *

I stay in my bunk ’til one, when the chapiteau is dark and everyone is definitely fast asleep. I’m still antsy after seeing Kingston, and my head is ringing with his words. It makes me feel like I have some control over all this. I may not have any magic or a divine familiar, but I’m not about to sit around and wait. No, I’m not going to be that person anymore. When my watch beeps at one, I don my raincoat and head to the pie cart to pour myself a mug of lukewarm coffee. I sit under the canopy of the dining area and watch the trailers. I try not to shiver and try not to look suspicious in case anyone braves the weather to use the Porta-Potties on the edge of the field. No one does. I’m alone for the first cup, and then the second. Kingston’s trailer is dark, and I have no doubt he’s asleep after our earlier encounter.

I check my watch. One thirty. I pull the raincoat tighter and head out, wandering over to the sparse woods on the other side of the trailers. I crouch the entire time, but no one’s out. I find a place among the undergrowth where I’m pretty certain I can blend in with the tree trunk behind me, and I watch. Melody’s trailer is right in front of me. I wasn’t just being overzealous when I told Kingston I’d protect them. I keep my word.

I sit and I wait. I don’t know what I expected when I psyched myself into guard duty, but it wasn’t the reality of getting soaked to the bone and having pine cones digging into my ass. I shiver, but I don’t move. I watch Melody’s door and it’s only when I check my watch and see that only twenty-three minutes have gone by that I start to wonder if this is even necessary. If Kingston suspected something, he’d be on guard and would have enchanted or hexed the door to make it impenetrable or something like that. Hell, maybe Zal was patrolling the woods right now, if he could do such a thing. Kingston was right; if Mab couldn’t protect us — and if I didn’t trust Kingston’s magic — what chance did I have? Still, as uncomfortable as it is, I feel better sitting out here in the rain with the owls. At least I’m thinking that I’m doing more than I would if I were back in my warm, cozy trailer. I shove the thought away and try to shift my weight off whatever twig is getting a little too personal with my personal space. The rain pours. The trailers stay dark. Nothing happens.

I’m about to call it a night at 1:59 when something crosses my path. My heart leaps into my throat, but I keep quiet. A moment later, I realize it’s not a person or Zal or a wandering faerie. It’s Poe. The cat curls up at my feet and I reach out to stroke it. Its fur tingles like static under my touch.

“Lilith,” I hiss into the rain. “Where are you?”

I can barely hear my own voice over the sound of water falling through the trees, but something above me snaps and I jerk my head to the branches above. There’s a shadow moving around up there, though I can’t really make it out. She says nothing, but I can tell it’s Lilith. The figure waves, and I wonder if I’ve been forgiven for liking Kingston, or if she’s forgotten entirely. At least we have the same idea of whom to protect. I settle back down and keep watch.

Time ticks by and the only things that move are the rain and Poe shifting around in front of me. The cat starts shying away from my touch, so I stop trying, keeping my hands shoved in my pockets to stay warm, and wishing either something would happen or the sun would rise so I could go to bed. I check my watch again. 2:43.

Poe stirs, stretches, and wanders off.

Something behind me rustles, and I assume it’s just the cat chasing a waterlogged mouse. Then I hear voices, and my breath catches.

I turn, very, very slowly, and sink even deeper to the forest floor. I try to blend in with the undergrowth that I’m now thanking rather than cursing for making this entire stay uncomfortable as hell.

I can’t see anything, not in the darkness. And through the rain, I can’t make out distinct voices. Just words. I try to edge closer, every inch of my skin on fire with adrenaline. Someone’s definitely out there, someone trying to remain hidden. I sneak closer, down an all fours, my stomach grazing the ground as I crawl. Then I stop, because I can hear them now, two voices. One of them, I’m sure, is the blond guy, but the other? Wherever she is, I hope Lilith’s getting a better view than I.

“…can’t back out now,” the man’s voice hisses. I can just imagine him, the shadow of him, standing only a few feet away. “You know what’s at stake. The Dream Trade must stop.”

The response is whispered, a mumble I can barely make out.

“Had enough?” the man says. “Too much blood on your hands?”

Another pause, and it sounds like someone’s crying their words out. If I could get closer…

“No,” the man says. “The next phase will happen, with or without your help.”