The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) Read Free Page B

jugglers.
    Melody whirls
past me, and I follow her and the line of performers out into the night. The
moment I’m out of the tent, the air seems to drop ten degrees, sending lines of
goose bumps over my arms. Melody and the others are already gathered near the
backstage tent. It’s a small, pavilion-style thing that looks like it should be
holding a barbeque rather than a bunch of props and costumes. I wander back
toward her. I’ve seen the juggling act enough to have it memorized. And
besides, my cotton candy won’t miss me.
    As I’m
walking around the side of the tent, I catch the faintest hint of movement
under the bleachers. The bottom of the tent sidewall has been pulled up to
allow for more ventilation, and clambering among the wires and discarded
popcorn boxes is a girl dressed all in black. The kid is watching the show from
between the audience’s feet, completely hidden from the crowd. I’m about to
duck under and drag her out — she probably thought she could just get a free
show — when she turns her head and I see the familiar green eyes that never
fail to give me the chills. Lilith, Mab’s right-hand man. Well, girl. She
doesn’t look older than twelve. She’s short, with curly black hair, green eyes,
and a roundness to her face that makes her look cherubic and somewhat lost.
I’ve never seen her doing anything in the show, either in the ring or behind
the scenes. Hell, I practically never see her period. But wherever she is, Mab
isn’t too far away. The one time I saw them together, Mab practically petted
Lilith’s head like a kitten.
    She glances
back at me and smiles a grin of pure childlike delight, then goes back to
watching the show. That’s when I notice another small movement as her cat, Poe,
slinks around his master’s feet. The tabby curls up around Lilith’s ankles and
watches me with calm yellow eyes. I shiver and turn away, quickly making my way
toward the backstage tent. When I reach Melody, she’s already halfway into her
next costume. Her blushing makeup and enormous Marie Antoinette pink wig make
her look like some fetishistic baby doll. The pinstripe suit isn’t helping
much, either. I wonder how long it will take me to get used to seeing her in
costume — the contrast between pink Lolita and refined hippie is still jarring.
    “Hey, Viv,”
she says as I approach. “Gonna watch the new act?”
    “Of course,”
I say. “Got nothing else to do.”
    I pause as
Kingston walks over. He’s got his cape in one hand, magic wand in the other.
He’s in sequined trousers and shiny shoes…and nothing else. My eyes catch on
the single drip of sweat slowly edging down his chest toward his
aggravatingly perfect abs. The head of his feathered-serpent tattoo is angled
down one pec. The rest of its body curls over his shoulder and behind his back,
its tail twisting over one hip and disappearing into his trousers. My face
is up here, I can nearly hear him say, and I tear my eyes back toward
Melody, praying neither of them caught it. He’s a magician, and magicians
aren’t supposed to look like heavily inked Calvin Klein models. They’re
supposed to be, like, old and wrinkled and wear funny clothing. It’s not fair.
    “How’s it
going?” he asks, tossing the cape down on a crate beside him before helping
Melody get her other arm into her tux. I’m still refusing to stare at him, but
my eyes keep lingering on places they shouldn’t. He has those lines at his
hips, the come fuck me lines, I seem to remember someone calling them.
Yeah, Mel would have my head.
    “I’m all
right,” I say, trying to keep my voice detached.
    The two of
them move like they came out of the same womb. Melody said she’s only been here
for five years, but they move in such sync that I’d have expected longer. Just
watching them makes the guilt squirm in my gut. Kingston is with her; I
shouldn’t be staring at him like a fangirl. But it’s not like he’s making it
any easier. God made shirts for a