there
exchanging theories. I know that not one of them has a clue about what’s
actually going on behind the scenes. The old recruits were magically forced to
forget what happened in the massacre three months ago. The newbies were hired
on after their predecessors were killed in the Summer Court’s attack. I’m one
of the few who remembers the tragedy. And today, like most days, I wish I could
bring myself to forget.
Stupid fucking contracts.
“Not exactly how I thought we’d close the show,” says a voice behind me.
I don’t turn around, but I do feel my shoulders lose a little bit of the
tension they’ve been holding. I lean back against the speaker’s chest as his
arms instinctively wind around my waist.
“Yeah, well, Mab’s good at defying expectations,” I say. He chuckles.
Kingston smells like musk and cinnamon, a mix that’s become almost more
comforting than his embraces in the past few months. Almost. The magician is
very good with his hands.
“Mab’s pissed,” I say.
“I’m surprised,” he replies. He sighs and pulls me tighter. “Did she say
anything to you?”
A few months ago, it would have surprised me that he asked. But now I
know I’m one of the inner circle. Mab didn’t make Kingston erase my memory.
Maybe because, like the last few times he’d tried, it would have been doomed to
fail. Or maybe because I’d proven myself ready to know more. Either way, it was
starting to feel like Kingston, Mab, and I were the only three who really knew
the truth behind this show. In any other situation, that would have made me feel
important or special. Now it was just one more reason to feel like I was
isolated from the rest of the troupe.
“Oberon’s declaring war,” I say. “And in a very passive-aggressive way,
Mab was trying to see if I was the culprit.”
Kingston squeezes me and nuzzles his face in my ash-blonde hair.
“Oberon’s always declaring war,” he murmurs. “And you know you were never
really a suspect.”
I shrug. Yeah, I know. Last time around, when it was performers and not
effigies who were showing up dead, Mab made it very clear that I was suspect
numero uno. After all, I was new in the troupe; no one knew anything about me;
and I had the fantastic perk of not knowing much about me either. But it had
all been a ploy to trap the real culprit. Poor Penelope. It’s hard to hate her;
she just wanted to be free. And I know that one day I might get just as fed up
with the show as she did. Hopefully I never get to her point of desperation,
though. Hiring the Summer Court to murder the troupe seems a bit over the top.
I may not know much about my contract, but I do know the rules of its
termination. Either I stay on for eternity, or I serve my purpose to Mab and
walk away without a second glance.
If only I knew what that purpose was.
Kingston turns me around. Our stage magician is a stunning sight. He
looks like he should be playing guitar in some rock band, not touring with a
bunch of circus freaks and doing parlor tricks. His hair is black and shaggy,
his jaw covered in what seems to be an eternal five o’clock shadow. It’s
getting cooler now that the summer is almost over, and tonight he’s wearing a
leather jacket over his usual faded shirt and frayed jeans. The head of his
gray tattoo curls up his neck. The feathered serpent gives me a toothy grin.
“You’ve got to get this out of your head, Viv. It’s not your fault.”
I look down at his dusty Converse. It’s easy for him to say. He’s not the
one who’s been having the nightmares, the visions. He doesn’t wake up feeling
like there’s something terribly wrong. He doesn’t have his sight shift while
cleaning dishes, doesn’t smell the scent of burning blood …. Kingston knows
what his powers are. I still have no clue what happened the day the Summer Fey
attacked, when my hands glowed white and I was somehow able to take down not
only the fey but the demon Kassia as well.
Kingston also
exchanging theories. I know that not one of them has a clue about what’s
actually going on behind the scenes. The old recruits were magically forced to
forget what happened in the massacre three months ago. The newbies were hired
on after their predecessors were killed in the Summer Court’s attack. I’m one
of the few who remembers the tragedy. And today, like most days, I wish I could
bring myself to forget.
Stupid fucking contracts.
“Not exactly how I thought we’d close the show,” says a voice behind me.
I don’t turn around, but I do feel my shoulders lose a little bit of the
tension they’ve been holding. I lean back against the speaker’s chest as his
arms instinctively wind around my waist.
“Yeah, well, Mab’s good at defying expectations,” I say. He chuckles.
Kingston smells like musk and cinnamon, a mix that’s become almost more
comforting than his embraces in the past few months. Almost. The magician is
very good with his hands.
“Mab’s pissed,” I say.
“I’m surprised,” he replies. He sighs and pulls me tighter. “Did she say
anything to you?”
A few months ago, it would have surprised me that he asked. But now I
know I’m one of the inner circle. Mab didn’t make Kingston erase my memory.
Maybe because, like the last few times he’d tried, it would have been doomed to
fail. Or maybe because I’d proven myself ready to know more. Either way, it was
starting to feel like Kingston, Mab, and I were the only three who really knew
the truth behind this show. In any other situation, that would have made me feel
important or special. Now it was just one more reason to feel like I was
isolated from the rest of the troupe.
“Oberon’s declaring war,” I say. “And in a very passive-aggressive way,
Mab was trying to see if I was the culprit.”
Kingston squeezes me and nuzzles his face in my ash-blonde hair.
“Oberon’s always declaring war,” he murmurs. “And you know you were never
really a suspect.”
I shrug. Yeah, I know. Last time around, when it was performers and not
effigies who were showing up dead, Mab made it very clear that I was suspect
numero uno. After all, I was new in the troupe; no one knew anything about me;
and I had the fantastic perk of not knowing much about me either. But it had
all been a ploy to trap the real culprit. Poor Penelope. It’s hard to hate her;
she just wanted to be free. And I know that one day I might get just as fed up
with the show as she did. Hopefully I never get to her point of desperation,
though. Hiring the Summer Court to murder the troupe seems a bit over the top.
I may not know much about my contract, but I do know the rules of its
termination. Either I stay on for eternity, or I serve my purpose to Mab and
walk away without a second glance.
If only I knew what that purpose was.
Kingston turns me around. Our stage magician is a stunning sight. He
looks like he should be playing guitar in some rock band, not touring with a
bunch of circus freaks and doing parlor tricks. His hair is black and shaggy,
his jaw covered in what seems to be an eternal five o’clock shadow. It’s
getting cooler now that the summer is almost over, and tonight he’s wearing a
leather jacket over his usual faded shirt and frayed jeans. The head of his
gray tattoo curls up his neck. The feathered serpent gives me a toothy grin.
“You’ve got to get this out of your head, Viv. It’s not your fault.”
I look down at his dusty Converse. It’s easy for him to say. He’s not the
one who’s been having the nightmares, the visions. He doesn’t wake up feeling
like there’s something terribly wrong. He doesn’t have his sight shift while
cleaning dishes, doesn’t smell the scent of burning blood …. Kingston knows
what his powers are. I still have no clue what happened the day the Summer Fey
attacked, when my hands glowed white and I was somehow able to take down not
only the fey but the demon Kassia as well.
Kingston also
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