“What happened?” Donovan asks as I fight to get out of his arms.
“Ludo felt there was danger, or something. GET OFF HIM!” I yell at Max and Alexis, who are still struggling to pin Ludo.
The tussling men all fall still.
“Danger?” Cosmo asks. “What kind?”
“If you all will stop acting like idiots, maybe we can give Ludo a second to tell us?” I snap. “Now put me down!”
Donovan does as I ask, looking sheepish. I rush to Lu and help him to sit, giving Alexis and Max a dirty look at the same time.
“What the fuck is going on?” Alexis demands.
I turn my back on him. “Ludo? Are you OK?”
He doesn’t answer. I brush a hand over his shoulder and feel the tension in his muscles.
“Ludo? Hey, Lu?” I put my hand up to his face. He slowly looks at me. “Talk to me.”
—It’s…—
—The scent is pain— The look on his face almost makes my heart stop.
The woody, bitter scent?
I don’t know what the smell is, but apparently, it is incredibly significant to Ludo. I stare at him, desperate to help in some way, but he closes his eyes, shutting us all out.
“Alexis, do you know what this smell is?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around Ludo.
“Rosemary?” he suggests. “Eucalyptus?”
“No,” Cosmo says decisively. “It’s myrtle.”
Myrtle? “What does that signify?”
Cosmo shrugs. “It’s used in some ceremonies, I think.”
Damn it. The only thing I can think to do is take a look inside Ludo’s mind.
Forgive me.
—Bitter smoke, hot air, sweat. Hate the smell, it means it’s time. The metal around my wrist hurts the bruises. It doesn’t matter how many times I try, I can never slip my hand out. It’s time for the circus. Three days in a row. I can’t, I just can’t. How can I die? Too late, the ringmaster is here…
I see flashes of imagery.
Red walls, heavy curtains, men sitting in rows of chairs. There’s a smoking challis pouring out a fog of scent.
Myrtle.
Mirrors are everywhere. In the reflection, a tiny boy with pale hair is dragged onto the platform. Dragged by a chain. The chain is handcuffed to the boy’s slight wrists. He looks into the mirror with mismatched eyes; his reflected image shows a face filled with absolute desperation.
—Please no. I don’t want to, not any more…—Ringmaster circles my throat with his hand and begins to squeeze— “Who will start the bidding?” —can’t breathe. Cold eyes watching me. Always watching. Bitter smoke—a hand in the audience raises….no, no, not him.
Not him.
The smell of herbs remains in my nostrils as I blink out of Ludo’s hideous memories. My head pounds with the darkness that flooded from his mind.
My poor, poor giant. Gods.
