Page 15
“That was different. Go. Shoo,” I snap.
He laughs — a genuine sound that transforms his face before backing out with a mock bow. “As you wish, milady.”
Once alone, I peel off the tank top and pants that I wore yesterday. The bandage on my forearm is expertly wrapped, but I can still feel the raised skin beneath it, marked as a part of this place. The thought of everything sends shivers racing down my spine. Since I walked through the gate yesterday, I went from not having a single tattoo to a stamp that seems not to leave, and a brand. Awesome. Just awesome. From what I’m understanding, which, at this point, I’m thinking I need a shot of vodka to fully comprehend – the stamp was The Carnival marking me for the guardians, and the brand … bound? Binded? To whom? The Ringmaster?
Regardless, this buys me time to find Evelyn. To truly discover what happened, and I know that somewhere beneath the canopies of this fucked-up place … I’ll find her. Or at least the answers to what happened to her.
If I survive this with a half lucid thought, I will consider that a win.
The clothes fit perfectly and I smile as I stretch — the fabric moving with my body. Light and sturdy. As I look at myself in the mirror, I have to admit I look good in them. A place with a little bit of craziness, but nice clothes. A win is a win. When I step out, both men are waiting, and the way their eyes track over me makes my skin heat.
“Startin’ to look like you belong here, Kitten.” Kenan says, pushing off from the table he was sitting on. “Now, let’s see what you’re made of.”
We exit the tent into the blinding daylight. The Carnival looks more like it did last night after I escaped from The Big Top and was wandering around — less mysterious, more worn around the edges. Wow, that was just last night. People move between tents with purpose, carrying props, mending costumes, practicing small feats of skill — or perhaps magic? Smoke and mirrors, Emerson. Nothing more. I stick close to Tobias’s and Kenan’s sides, not wanting to get lost like I did last night.
“The Big Top is this way,” Tobias says, leading us down a path I swear I traveled last night. “For those not a part of The Carnival, officially or not, wearing that —” He motions to the dark ribbon still on my wrist, “the paths move so you can’t find a way out. You’ll get used to it. But keep that on until after the final performance, then you can take it off.”
As we walk, the woman with teal and purple hair and tattoos covering her arms passes us. I recognize her from the crowd last night, her eyes were the only ones that actually showed a kindness beneath them. I smile as she approaches.
“So it’s true.” She says, her gaze flickering to my bandaged arm, then to my wrist where the stamp is. “She decided to stay and was claimed by ... both of you?”
“I think it’s a ... miscommunication.” Tobias says.
The woman laughs. “The stamp never miscommunicates.” She extends her hand to me. “I’m Layla. Fire Dancer — soul stolen around 1953. Nice to meet you!”
I look at her with a questioning expression, but I’ll take all the friends I can get right now. She seems nice enough. “I’m Emerson,” I reply, shaking her hand.
“Good luck tonight,” she says with a wink. “These two are a handful when they are apart. Together?” She makes an explosive gesture with her fingers. “Combustible.”
Before I can ask what she means, Kenan’s hand finds my elbow, moving me along again, passing a man juggling what look like actual stars — tiny points of light that leave trails in the air.
“Felix,” Kenan explains, following my gaze. “Light manipulator. Useful for distractions.”
“Distractions?” I echo.
Tobias shoots Kenan a warning look. “Not her concern.”
When we arrive at The Big Top, I take a deep breath and walk into the unknown of whatever training might be in store for me today. I can only hope that somewhere along the way, I find Evelyn waiting for me.
Chapter 12
“First, illusions. Since The Carnival selected me, you should be decent in them. But that’s not always the case, last time someone was chosen … he sucked at them,” Tobias says, as I notice his eyes flick to Kenan, before opening a trunk and removing several small objects — balls, scarves, a deck of cards. “Illusion isn’t just about magic. It’s about misdirection, control, and understanding of what people will respond to or what they expect to see.”
So it is all fake.
He demonstrates a simple card trick, his long fingers moving with practiced ease. He flips up a card, showing the Ace of Spades, before placing it back into the middle of the deck. He clicks the top of it three times, turns over the first card, and it’s the Ace of Spades. “That one doesn’t require magic at all. We will get to that later,” he winks.
Well, so much for the “it’s all fake” idea.
He continues a few more before turning to me. “Your turn.”
I fumble through the first few attempts, dropping cards, and completely exposing the trick. Irritation is now flooding into me. If I can’t even do this, how will I be expected to do anything tonight for my supposed performance? Something tells me that I don’t want to be any more on The Ringmaster’s radar than I already am. So, I keep going. I gather the cards I’ve once again dropped and stand back up, blowing a strand of dark hair out of my face.
Tobias comes to stand behind me, his chest against my back, and my breath falters. He takes his hands, putting them over mine.
“Slower,” he murmurs, “feel the rhythm of it ... just embrace whatever might be circling inside of you. That’s the magic portion of it.”
His proximity makes it hard to concentrate, but gradually my movements become smoother — graceful even. The cards start to flow between my fingers, much slower than Tobias, but better than before. When he moves his hands to my hips, electricity shoots through me. His touch seems to burn through my clothes, and his thumbs press lightly against my hipbones.
