“Ah hell, baby,” said Althacazur, cackling. “They can all just burn. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll close the circus and send all of you back to Lucifer—you included, Cecile.” He spun toward Lara, his heels squeaking. “Then I’ll let you and Esmé duke it out. You’ll be dead in a day.” He turned dramatically. “More fodder for Lucifer.”
“Father.” It was Cecile, her voice sharp. “No! You can’t send them back. That would be cruel. You commuted their sentences, promising them that they could stay here for eternity. They all did as you asked.” She snorted. “Now it seems that you don’t want to be bothered with the burden of us all.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry, Lara. I didn’t realize he was bringing you here to trick you into taking over the circus.”
“You helped me bring her here,” said Althacazur. “Surely you knew.”
“You never said.” Cecile’s brows furrowed.
“And you, my dear, never asked.”
“Can I just speak for a moment?” Lara folded her hands in front of her, trying to compose herself. Beyond furious, she’d had it with this ridiculous world, this crazy story, and this nutty man. “I’ve listened to your story. I’ve watched the circus, which is lovely, by the way. I’ve gone on these fucked-up rides and eaten shit pops—a taste that I will never, ever get over. But to be clear, the only reason I came here is because you promised me that I’d find out what happened to my fiancé. And now I know the truth.” Lara’s voice broke and she paced. “He’s dead.” The word was like a razor, hard for her to utter.
Everyone watched her intently. Wiping mascara from her hands, she steeled herself and looked at Althacazur. “Now that I know what happened to him, I’d just like to go home.”
Althacazur seemed oblivious and put his hands on his hips. He walked in a circle around Lara, his fury palpable. “I show you what is, perhaps, my greatest masterpiece. I offer you the universe—this fucking perfect circus—and you don’t want it?” His voice mocked her and rose until the entire arena rumbled. “I’ve told you all your life: The boy wasn’t the point. It was the circus. Always the circus. I gave you the information on the boy to lure you here to gaze upon your destiny.”
Lara thought he was wrong. The mortal boy was the point. Todd mattered, just as Juno Wagner had mattered to him, once. Lara looked around to find them all staring at her. She’d forgotten that they all could read her mind. Aloud she said, “Shit.”
Althacazur’s face twisted in fury. Tisdale put his hand up to stop him from something, but he slapped the little monkey away and retreated to sink into the velvet chair. “What have I done to make this one so stupid? I tried with her, oh how I tried with this one. I made her the perfect weapon to bring my Esmé home and take over.” He sat on the throne, spittle sprouting from his lips as he pointed to Lara. She feared he was going into a fit. “Why are my offspring such failures? I went to that dump of a place where this one lives and spent time with her. Poor Margot was mad.” He pointed to Margot, who looked down. “Audrey’s a bore. I’d so hoped that this would be the one worthy of the circus and able to contain Esmé.” He sat sulking like a child, yet Lara could see the terror in Tisdale’s face. He pointed to Lara. “You know, Esmé should win; she has my ambition. In thirty years, Lara, when you have a daughter, the love of her life will be Esmé’s next victim. And you’ll have no one but yourself to blame.” He turned in his chair after giving Lara a final look of disgust. “Go back to your dreary home. Cecile, Tis… get her out of my sight, before I kill her.”
“Father.” Cecile crouched down beside him, her fingers resting on the arm of the chair. “You have to understand that this was terrible news to her. You mustn’t be so angry at a poor human. Please.”
Lara could see him soften, his face relaxing. Cecile reminded him so much of Juno. Lara could see it now, the loss that registered on his face each time he looked at his daughter. This was the real source of Cecile’s power with him.
“We haven’t really shown her the circus. You can’t blame her. She hasn’t performed in it, felt it in her blood. She doesn’t know what it can do.”
He was leaning over on the chair, but a slow smile formed on his lips. “We really haven’t shown her, have we?” He clapped his hands and jumped to his feet. “Start from the top.” He softened and motioned for Lara to join him back in the center.
Lara was trying to process the evil vision of him she’d just had with the man who was now parading around like a 1970s rock star mixed with a little Lord Byron, so she approached him cautiously. “I just want to go—”
But Cecile shot her a warning look.
The orchestra began to play Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King” again. Two bearded ladies rushed in with costumes and sheets. They shrouded Lara with the sheet, then quickly ripped off her dress. One of them held a costume with a sequined pink bodice, gold beading, and a matching fringe skirt. This was the leotard that Cecile had described—her signature costume. As they spun Lara, the bodice molded around her and sewed itself as the orchestra began to pluck faster at the frenzied conclusion to the song.
“Oh good. It fits.” Althacazur seemed pleased.
Two men dressed in gold-and-pink-striped long leotards met her and pointed to the ladder that had appeared from the ceiling.
“You want me to crawl up there?”
Althacazur nodded, clapping enthusiastically. He looked down at Tisdale, who began to mirror his master’s clapping. He pushed her
