The Immortal Circus: Act Two by A. R. Kahler Read Free Book Online

coined the phrase.
    “Why do people want out of their contracts?” I ask. Not that I blame
them. The more I learn about mine, the more I’m thinking I should have read the
fine print a little more carefully.
    “Well, a lot of them …” Sara bites her lip. Melody picks up her slack.
    “A lot of them, the Shifters especially, feel like they were set up.”
    “Set up?” I ask. Melody nods gravely and starts walking again.
    “Yep,” she says. “Woke up to find themselves surrounded by dead relatives
with blood on their hands, or on the run from the cops with a gun in their
pocket and no memory of shooting up the Burger King. That sort of thing.”
    “That’s …” but I can’t say “ridiculous,” because it’s not.
    “That’s not the strange part,” Sara says. “Most of them have some latent
powers.”
    “Like?” I ask.
    Sara looks around. We’ve long passed the main drag—we’re in a residential
area now, one devoid of life save for a dog chained in the front yard of a
pristine white house.
    “Like this,” she says. She cups her hands in front of her and blows into
her palms. A small flame appears and ripples there; when she stops blowing, the
flame winks out.
    “You’re a witch?” I ask. Because it looks remarkably similar to
Kingston’s magic.
    “No,” Sara says. “I’m a firebreather. I can summon flames. Never knew I
could, until Mab showed me how.”
    I furrow my eyebrows.
    “And you’re all like this? The new performers? Violent pasts and magic
powers?”
    Sara nods.
    “Then what’s your story?” I ask Sara, right before realizing it’s
probably beyond rude.
    Sara tilts her head down and examines the pavement as she walks.
    “The Burger King thing wasn’t a metaphor,” she says sadly.
    “Anyway,” Melody says, intervening before I start feeling any more
awkward than I already do. “The stories are pretty uniform, and the new
performers are beginning to think they were set up. Unsurprisingly, they aren’t
very happy about it.”
    “I can’t blame them,” I say.
    But I can’t really blame Mab either. Not in the light of the truth that’s
dawning. No wonder Kingston was so nonchalant about the approaching battle.
    Mab’s not just waiting for Oberon to come. Her troupe is more than just a
bunch of mortal murderers.
    We’re magical, the lot of us, and we’re just waiting for a reason to
fight.
*
    Later
that night, during intermission, I’m back in my booth waiting for clients to
show. Though if I’m going to be entirely honest with myself, I’m really just
hoping Sheena will appear.
    Which she does.
    Her eyes are wild when she comes into my tent, the beaded curtain
clacking behind her like a death rattle. Despite the fact that her glance is
darting around the room, the rest of her is perfectly composed. She walks over
to the table and slides a folded slip of paper to me.
    “He’s watching,” she says in a whisper. “He knows I’ve delivered my
message. Read that. When I’m …” she takes a deep breath.
    “What are you talking about?” I ask. I reach out to take her hand, but
she pulls away. “Is it,”—I lower my voice—“is it Oberon?”
    She nods.
    “I have to go.” She turns to leave and pauses at the curtain.
    “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t
have known.”
    Then she leaves.
    Outside, I hear the jugglers calling out that the next act is about to
start. I open the slip of paper. The words are scrawled in purple pen.
    Don’t let him take you. You were his prisoner once; do not fall under
his rule again.
    I glance up from the page and feel that old sensation, the fear of fight
or flight. The feeling of being hunted. Goose bumps wrap across my skin. I
refold the note and put it into my Tarot pouch. Then I get up and go to the
back of the main tent to watch the show. I need a distraction, and I don’t want
to be alone right now. Not now. Not ever.
    As expected, Sheena is nowhere to be seen.
*
    Back