The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

“I know,” I say again. “I remember him. Senchan. The Summer Court.” I take another shuddering breath as I try to think back without losing it — either the memory or my lunch. “I know Lilith killed him. I saw what Lilith is.”

Mab smiles.

“I find that highly unlikely,” she says. “But pray tell, what, exactly, did Lilith do?”

“She burned him. There was fire. A lot of fire. Lilith burned Senchan alive. And all the fey in the fields. She killed them all.”

Something flickers across Mab’s eyes, but it’s gone in an instant.

“That is quite a statement,” she says. “Especially since you seem to be the only one who saw such a thing.”

That’s when reality dawns on me, the memory of Kingston not quite meeting my gaze when I woke up with snake venom coursing through my veins and dueling memories in my head. He knew. Worse, he knew that I was supposed to be in the dark. He lied.

“You had him erase the memory,” I whisper. “From everyone.”

“Apparently not,” Mab says. She eases her boots off the table and leans in closer to me, fingers laced together under her chin. “You seem to remember everything. Which is especially odd since — if we are to be completely honest now — you were passed out in his trailer when the incident took place.”

“I…” I try to remember. She’s right. I know I’d been in Kingston’s trailer. I remember the blood trailing down his neck. I remember him shaking. And I remember Lilith, the two of us swearing to kill Senchan. Taking her hand… “I had a vision,” I say. The words taste strange on my tongue, almost tingling as I speak.

“That,” she says, “is impossible.”

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because. Your contract expressly forbids your visions to manifest. That’s why you joined us in the first place.”

I sit there in silence as she studies my face. Visions? I’m supposed to have visions? What happened to just being normal? Mortal? Or was that just a lie, too?

What am I?

“What are you talking about?” I finally ask.

“Well,” she says. She leans back and snaps her fingers. “I suppose that now the cat’s out of the bag.” From the bookshelf behind her, a massive volume slips down and glides over to the desk. It flutters open in front of her. My name is at the top of the page, beneath the words Official Contract.

Her finger slides down to one of the bullet points.

“Paragraph 1C,” she says. “As part of her agreement, Vivienne Warfield shall have no recollection of her powers, past, present, or future, unless deemed necessary by Queen Mab or…”

She pauses.

“That isn’t right.”

She looks up at me and her eyes are blazing.

“You’ve been in my office.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve changed your contract.”

“What? I — ”

“You are lucky I still have use for you,” she whispers. Her voice is poison in the air. It fills me with fear and magic. “Otherwise, I would make you beg for mercy. What else have you done?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Get out,” she says. “And stay out of my sight until I call on you.”

I don’t move.

“Out!” she shouts. The entire room shakes at this, a minor earthquake, and the chair I’m in whips around and topples me to my knees. I stand. I don’t hesitate. I reach for the door and jump out into the sunlight, Mab’s rage a claw sinking deep into my skin.

Chapter Fifteen: Guilt By Association

My first impulse is to run. Not just away from Mab’s wrath, but out of the circus altogether. The moment the idea crosses my mind, however, I feel something like iron clamp around my lungs. I stagger and fall to my knees, desperately trying to choke down air. My lungs burn, my eyes fill with stars. Then the idea floats away, and so, too, does the constriction in my chest. I gasp as oxygen floods me. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the blue, blue sky, breathing in deep lungfuls of oxygen.

“Let me guess,” he says. A shadow falls over me, and I peer back to see Kingston standing there with his hands in his pockets. “You thought about dodging your contract.”

My fists clench at my sides. I turn over and jump to my feet so I’m facing him eye to eye.

“Contracts?” I say, my voice barely holding in all the rage and fear now cycling through me. “You want to talk about contracts?”

He takes a half step back.

“Whoa, easy tiger. I don’t know what Mab said but — ”

“I know,” I say. “You don’t have to lie anymore. I know you know about me. My visions. Lilith. Senchan. I know everything was just an elaborate lie.”

The moment I say it, I wish I could take it back. Because I know there’s more to the lie than just messing with my memory. That part I’m somewhat okay with — if I signed up for it, at least I had some say in the matter. It’s the things I can’t change, the things I didn’t agree to. Kingston pretending to care, toying with me. Melody pretending we were friends. Everyone in this godforsaken troupe pretending to be a family when we were all just watching our own backs. It’s all broken down now, shattering to the ground in fragments I’ll never be able to recover. No one cared. The only reason Kingston pretended he wanted me to stay was because Mab still needed me. Not because he liked me. Because I was useful. The thought makes my blood boil.

Kingston’s usual smirk drops.

“She told you?” he says. “What did she say?”

“I think you know,” I say. My words tremble and I can barely contain the anger that wants to spill through. “You’ve been fucking with my memory. You made me forget Lilith and the fire. You’ve been messing around in my head!” The last bit comes out as a yell, the words echoing around the empty site. I half expect Mab to come out and escort me off the premises, but she doesn’t. No one comes.

Kingston holds up his hands.

“I only did what you told me to,” he says.

“I never asked for you to erase my memory.”

“You did,” he says. “I was there, when you signed your contract. When we laid out every single term and condition, you wanted it all gone — your past, your visions, all of it. You begged me to take them away. I was there holding your fucking hand.”

“No,” I say. His words open a floodgate.

I shake my head, try to force out the new memories flooding in. Kingston, standing beside me at the desk, one hand on my shoulder. Are you sure about this? It wasn’t Mab who asked, it was Kingston. I put a hand to my head. The vision flickers in and out, fighting with the old memory, trying to fill in holes I hadn’t realized were there in the first place. There’s a ringing in my ears like a train coming down the tracks. And I’m pinned to the rails, waiting for it to strike and blow my mind to bits.

“So you don’t remember everything,” he whispers.

“Shut up,” I say, because every word is another memory, another lie to cover another lie.

“I was the one who found you, Vivienne.”

I drop to my knees and try to drown out the images, but I can’t, I can’t: Kingston walks down the street while I’m sobbing in an alley. He walks in, his clothes soaked but he’s still gorgeous with his faded jeans and deep