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The last thing I see is their eyes — blue and green staring at me — then the darkness swallows me whole.

Chapter 10

The weight of the body is nothing compared to the weight of my sins, but I bear them both without question. And I always will. Kenan and I carry her through the twisted pathways of The Carnival. Kenan holds her legs while I support her shoulders. An awkward arrangement, simply because when one of us tried to help her … well, the other would disagree regarding how to handle her. So now the compromise is that both of us help. Stubborn just as he has always been. Her head lolls against my chest as we move in tense silence.

“In here,” I direct, nodding toward the small room behind my tent of mirrors. It’s sparse but clean — a large bed, a single table with a basin of water, a lone chair. The closest thing to a sanctuary this cursed place offers me.

We lay her down gently on the bed. Her dark hair fans out against the pillow, the dark shade so much like her sister’s it makes my chest ache. Emerson’s skin is still hot where the brand touched her, and I can feel the residual magic pulsing beneath her flesh — the marker that called her to us – and the brand that will make her true self come out. Binding her soul to The Carnival. To us.

“You know this is your fault,” Kenan says finally, his voice low and accusatory. “You took the ticket.”

I don’t respond immediately, watching the way she curls onto the bed and the soft, sweet moans she makes as she does.

“I know.” I admit, pulling the covers over Emerson.

Kenan’s jaw tightens as he pushes a strand of dark hair away from her face. “You knew who she was the moment she walked in, didn’t you?” His stark tone is not a question; he’s been here too long for that. He knows the rules, the methods. He knows how The Carnival works … how I work.

“Yes.”

We leave the room and back into my “tent of fuckery” as Kenan calls it. I stride to the basin of water — scrubbing my face free of the diamonds I painted around my eyes like chains. Beneath it all, I’m still just the same as I always was before I bound my soul to this foul carnival — Tobias. Not The Illusionist. Just Tobias.

I have the same tall, lithe frame. My eyes are the same blue, my jaw just as sharp. But a wicked darkness took hold long ago, as did the markings.

“You could have turned her away,” his carefully controlled voice says from behind me, “sent her back through the gate before she crossed the threshold.”

I soak the cloth again, but this time I walk back into her small room and place it gently on her branded arm. She flinches in her sleep. “The Carnival chooses who it wants, Kenan.” I did try, though, in the only way I could.

Kenan runs a hand through his dark hair, messing it further ... the same hair I’ve run my hands through so many times. “Don’t give me that mystical bullshit Tobias. You picked her. You marked her the moment she gave you the white ticket … The Carnival may choose who gets the tickets, but you exposed that she actually showed up. You let them know.”

The accusation stings because it’s true. I did mark her ticket, just as I did her sister years ago. I just didn’t realize how it would make me feel after Emerson left me alone in that tent. I didn’t realize how she’d make me feel.

“I had to,” I say quietly, watching her face. “She would have kept searching otherwise. Year after year, place after place. She wouldn’t have let it go, I could tell. She’s not like some of the others that have come with the same questions – she wouldn’t give up. A stubborn one. The Ringmaster doesn’t like those who question.” Perhaps he loves them, because it makes them more likely to stay.

I turn to look at Kenan and can see the conflict in his eyes, the same conflict that is there every seven years. He’s always understood what The Carnival was, what his role was … but he never accepted it. Not like I did. But this time he’s fighting it more than before.

“She’ll hate us when she learns the truth,” he says, looking down at Emerson’s sleeping form.

I adjust her pillow and grab a bandage from the side table, something we all keep in our rooms because we never know what sacrifices The Carnival requires. “She’ll hate me more.”

When Evelyn found The Carnival, I recognized the same spark that runs inside Emerson. The dormant magic and the indefinable quality that makes someone just a little too perfect for the world. Even though Kenan would never believe me, I told Evelyn to run as well ... as I’ve told so many others. Walking the line between what’s expected of me and what I feel. When I showed Emerson the mirrors, I hoped it would scare her enough — make her think I’m a creep — so that she would run with her tail tucked. I usually don’t do that for those with the white ticket. Instead, I take it, show a few illusions, and call it a day. With Emerson though, I tried. I really did. But unlike her sister, who stayed for curiosity, Emerson stayed because she is stubborn. Determined. Beautiful.

I notice Kenan watching me as I bandage Emerson’s forearm. His green eyes follow every movement, searching my face at the same time for answers that I no longer have. His fury is burrowing deep inside him and soon, he’ll explode. Good.

“You’re an absolute bastard, you know that?” He hisses behind me, and I hear the unmistakable sound of his knife unsheathing.

There it is. That anger.

Instead of trying to cool it. I encourage it. “I did what needed to be done.” I turn towards him. “Because we all know exactly what I do.”

He lunges at me, pressing a blade against my throat. The cold metal bites into my skin, but I remain still, meeting his green eyes with my own. “You could have done something.” He pants at me, a faint mint scent on his breath.

“What did you want me to do? Save her?” I laugh softly. “Like you tried to? That little knife trick on stage? Very subtle by the way.”

He needs this, this anger, to fester out and make someone pay. His jaw clenches, and the knife presses deeper. A trickle of warmth slides down my neck. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s made me bleed.

“Remember the first time we met?” I ask, my voice low. “You had the same look in your eyes.” I will always try to make sure his anger is toward me instead of someone else. The pressure on the knife eases slightly. His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling readily.

“Of course, it was the first time I stepped foot in The Carnival,” he says, the knife still at my throat. “Shortly after fucking Rosie.”