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I summon a flock of ravens that circle the tent, their shadowy forms merging and separating into complex patterns. The crowd follows their movements, mesmerized, allowing me a moment to breathe, to push back the memories, to ignore the black-framed mirror.

The circular mirror calls to me, as if they all want to torment me today. It shows Kenan’s first appearance in my life. His dark hair, long and loose as he slipped into my tent, thinking to rob the mysterious illusionist. His hand was rummaging through trunks and props in the same trunks Emerson found this morning.

“Take anything of value, if you can discern what has true worth.”

The words had been amusement, most don’t realize what actually has power here, and it’s not the trinkets he was after. Then, as life would have it, he had a white ticket. That stupid ticket that I was to mark. I felt it humming in the pocket of his leather pants, and with a snap of my fingers it was between them. When I took it from him, something passed between us, and I knew he was going to change everything. The way his green eyes bore into mine, both irritation and wonder swimming in them. I wanted him. I wanted him to want me. By the end of the night, he did steal something, and it was more precious than he could have found in the trunks. It’s been his ever since.

A child in the audience squeals with delight as I transform the ravens into a cascade of stars that rain down upon them, dissolving just before touching skin. I continue the routine, barely giving it much thought as my power ripples around me.

The diamond-shaped mirror to my right pulses with a more recent memory — last night, Emerson between us, her body arched in pleasure. The three of us connected in a way I hadn’t experienced in my entire life. It wasn’t just our bodies, but our souls ... at least it would have been, if Kenan and I still had ours. I feel a flush of heat at the memory of her lips on mine, Kenan’s hands guiding us both. For one perfect moment, the curse felt lighter, as if their love was the answer to everything dark inside me.

“For the final illusion,” I announce, drawing the crowd’s attention, and my own, away from that memory. “I require a volunteer.”

This is how I used to capture them long ago, before we had Kenan’s act. I was the one who would confuse, distract, make the stealing of souls look like a trick that others couldn’t replicate. I scan the faces, seeking the right mark — someone The Carnival might want to keep. Old habits die hard. My eyes settle on a young woman with curious eyes and an open heart. A golden thread seems to pulse towards her, and she reminds me of Emerson.

“You.” I point, and the crowd parts away, creating a path for her to approach me.

As she steps forward, the tent entrance opens, and I sense his presence before I see him. The Ringmaster stands there, his tall figure casting an impossibly long shadow across the floor. The audience, oblivious to the danger that lurks within the tent now, keeps their attention on me.

“Tobias,” he says, his voice carrying only to my ears. Projection, just as I taught him. “A word when you’ve finished.”

My stomach clenches. I know that tone. The mirrors around me tremble in response to my fear, showing fractured images of past punishments, of bargains struck and broken.

I force a smile for my audience. “It seems we have an unexpected guest,” I say smoothly. “Perhaps we should show him some true illusions.”

I raise my hands, summoning the most spectacular display I can manage — not just to impress the crowd, but to remind The Ringmaster of my value, of why he’s kept me for centuries, and the power I hold.

The air crackles with energy as I weave light and shadow together, pulling threads of reality apart and restitching them before the audience’s eyes. The tent ceiling seems to dissolve, revealing a night sky filled with impossible constellations that spiral and dance. Then I touch the volunteer, and we disappear. I shouldn’t have done it ... taking another mortal through the mirror, but it’s just to go to the other side of the tent instead of completely away as my act once was.

The Ringmaster’s eyes narrow, that familiar cold calculation evident in his gaze. He steps further into the tent, his presence causing the candles to flicker in unison. The mirrors reflect not his current form, but the man he once was.

When the final illusion concludes and the crowd files out, he remains. His gloved fingers … gloves that match mine … tap against a cane, the rhythm of a countdown I’ve learned to dread.

“Impressive as always old friend,” he says, the endearment carrying not a single note of warmth. “Though your talents could still be better utilized elsewhere.”

I busy myself with arranging my cards and other trinkets, avoiding his gaze. “I serve as I should.”

“Do you?” He moves closer, each step deliberate. “Because I recall a certain arrangement we made. A favor granted that keeps you safely tucked away in this little tent, away from the Big Top.”

My hands still. The memory surfaces unbidden — Joshua’s face streaked with tears, the wind rising. Later, when The Carnival had changed and he wore The Ringmaster’s mask, I begged for one concession. Just once in all these years I have fallen to my knees and begged. Since then, he knows exactly how to play me.

“You promised,” I say quietly.

“I promised you wouldn’t have to perform in the Big Top,” he corrects, circling me like a predator. “That you could hide away in your illusions, only taking the ticket so that I’m aware that they are here – rather than participate and watch your lover slowly crack from having to be the one to capture them instead of you. Which he does every time.”

The mirrors pulse with my anxiety, showing fractured images of the Big Top’s interior, the ritual circle, the souls we’ve taken over centuries. The way Kenan had begged to end his life when he realized what he was going to do, and the way I was a coward and couldn’t watch him suffer, knowing I couldn’t stop it.

“I’ve kept my end of our bargain,” I say, straightening my spine. “Stayed away from Kenan and taken the tickets.”

“Hmm ...” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Bargains have conditions, Tobias, and a little rose-colored flower told me you’ve complicated matters by having both ... attachments ... in your bed last night.”

My throat tightens. “You said to prepare her for what the Patrons will do. We are. I didn’t choose to be her guardian with Kenan, that was your magic. This Carnival, right?” I shouldn’t provoke him, but as I said earlier, old habits die hard.

“So you have done your duty then? Prepared her for the Patrons, is that so?” He laughs, “Broke her like she’ll need to be ... if that’s true, perhaps I should test that theory in my own tent. I’ve been wondering what she would feel like wrapped around my cock.”

I step toward him, feeling power surge beneath my skin — power I rarely tap into fully, power that terrifies me. The mirrors vibrate, and just for a moment, The Ringmaster’s confident expression falters.

“Stay away from her,” I warn, my voice low and dangerous.