The Immortal Circus: Act Two Read Free

who did it yet?”
    She shrugs and reaches for the wine. I take another drink before handing
it back. Drinking helps calm the nerves, even when the subject isn’t the most
comforting.
    “You know Mab,” she says between sips, “if she does know anything,
she’s not saying. One thing’s for certain, though. It ain’t from within the
troupe.”
    “What makes you say that?” I ask. My heart both lifts and drops at that
statement. I’d been toying with the idea of mutinous performers ever since
Kingston left—maybe one of the newbies was drafted into a contract they really
weren’t happy with. I don’t think I’d like to see anyone in the show go postal.
    On the other hand, if it’s not from within the troupe, it means Mab was
right: It was the Summer Court. And war’s at hand. I think of the
visions, of the smoke and monsters, and have a sick sort of dread thinking
they’re related.
    “Well,” Mel says, interrupting my flashback. “Everyone was onstage for
the finale.”
    It’s such a simple statement that I feel like an idiot.
    “What about the Shifters?” I ask.
    She raises an eyebrow at me. The Shifters are the people currently
tearing down the tent. Shapeshifters. Just a little bit of genetic magic and
they’re able to lift the heaviest of pylons. Or turn themselves into dragons or
freaks, depending on their mood.
    “I already double-checked with them. It wasn’t their doing, but they’d
like to shake the hand of whoever did it.”
    “When did you start getting all cushy with the Shifters?” I ask. She
hands me the wine before I even reach for it.
    She shrugs again. “I like knowing all the newbies. Besides, the Shifters love to party.”
    Which is true. I’ve been to the Shifters’ bonfires. Lots of booze, lots
of laughter, and lots of lewd behavior. Definitely Melody’s scene.
    “Anyway,” she says. “I know it’s not them. Which begs the question: Who
hates Mab enough to set her effigy on fire? That’s the sort of wrath-incurring
shit you only read about in the Book of Revelation.”
    I take a long drink before answering.
    This is the hard part of Kingston’s memory magic. Not everyone remembers
the same things, and if they do, they remember them differently. In this case,
Melody believes the tent was set on fire accidentally, and that’s why we lost a
good number of the troupe. She doesn’t know the truth. Kingston, Mab, and I,
we’re the only ones who know that Lilith is more than just a lost little girl.
Lilith is actually a vessel for the demon Kassia, the demon who burned down the
tent and killed half the troupe.
    Okay, that might be an overstatement. Oberos, Prince of the Summer Court,
was stupid enough to try attacking us in an attempt to get at Kassia. Combined,
the two tore our show a new asshole.
    Oberos didn’t make it out of that battle. I still have nightmares of him
exploding into burning butterflies.
    Kassia came out victorious. In some fashion, at least: the little girl
Lilith is back, and apparently Kassia is once more safely locked inside. For
now. Again, the vision flashes through my mind. It makes my cold skin go
colder.
    “Earth to Viv,” Mel says. She pokes me in the ribs as she grabs the
bottle from my hand. “That was a question.”
    “Oh,” I say. I shake my head. Down at the pitch, one of the king
poles—the massive poles that hold up the canopy and all the high rigging—starts
to tilt toward the ground as the Shifters strike it.
    I want to tell her about the Summer Court. I want to tell her about the
danger that I know is looming on the horizon, the pending war I can feel in my
bones. But I can’t. I’ve tried. My contract forbids it.
    Which means I need to do what I’ve been doing too much of lately: lie.
    “I don’t know,” I finally say. “I’m sure Mab has a string of jealous
lovers out there. Maybe one of them decided to strike back.”
    This makes her laugh, as I’d hoped it would, and the momentary tension
dissolves. She hands over