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

here, in the dirt. I don’t remember why it feels
like everything’s been torn apart.
    “What happened?” I whisper. Everything is a blur, but some
recognition is scratching its way to the surface. And it wants to be let out
very, very badly.
    “Shh,” he whispers. He leans over and kisses my forehead.
His lips tingle with warm electricity. My panic subsides, just a little, under
that kiss. The touch makes me feel safe.
    I push myself up onto my elbows and look around. We’re on
the promenade; the entrance to the pitch is in front of us, the giant neon sign
unlit. Behind us, the tent perches like a beast, its bowels glowing with a
faint light. There isn’t anyone around. I have no idea what time it is. Why the
hell am I on the promenade so late?
    “Why are we out here?” I ask.
    “I didn’t want to move you,” Kingston says. “You weren’t out
long—don’t worry. Mab cleared the crowd pretty fast.”
    The crowd … there was a crowd. Because of the body.
    “Sheena,” I whisper. That part of my memory crackles through
the darkness, but it feels incomplete. There’s something else. Something worse.
Something swaddled beneath the comfort of Kingston’s touch. But what could have
been worse than Sheena’s bruised body just beyond the pitch?
    He nods grimly. “I thought we were done losing troupe members,”
he mutters. It’s the first time he’s mentioned any doubt about Mab’s ability to
handle our situation. It’s not emboldening.
    “What happened to her …?” I can’t bring myself to say “body”
or “corpse,” so I let the question hang.
    “Mab disposed of it,” he says. I remember the other
disposals, the puffs of magic and glitter. I wonder what color Sheena’s ashes
were.
    Silence stretches between us then. Kingston’s looking at me
with his eyebrows furrowed, his lips slightly parted as though he’s on the
verge of asking a question he can’t stomach voicing. I’ve seen him torn before,
but this is different. This makes my chest constrict; for some reason, I don’t
want him to say anything either.
    “What?” I finally ask. Because that nagging feeling burns in
the back of my mind, and it won’t let go.
    “Is that … is that all you remember?” he asks. “About
tonight? Just Sheena?”
    I’m about to say that yes, that’s all I remember, but then
my vision gives a little twitch, and it’s no longer Kingston hovering over me,
but a boy with tan skin and blue eyes and slicked back hair. A boy whose name
feels lost on my tongue.
    “There was a guy,” I say. I look left and right, as though
maybe he were still standing somewhere not too far off. But the promenade is
deserted. Just Kingston and me, surrounded by dirt and starlight. “He said … he
said he knew me.” There’s more … there’s more, but it won’t come. It’s
scratching and screaming, but its cries are muffled.
    “There was,” Kingston says. “What do you remember about
him?” I’ve never heard his words this careful, this guarded. As though at any
moment I’ll pull out a gun and shoot him unless he talks me down properly.
    I bring a hand to my head and squeeze my eyes shut and try
to remember. I summon the guy’s face, the football-jock features. His voice,
surprised, worried, and relieved all at once. And then I remember. It doesn’t
dawn on me; it crashes down like a sledgehammer, explodes across my senses and
makes my heart scream.
    “Austin.” I mutter, opening my eyes. “His name was Austin.
And he said he was my boyfriend.”
    “Shit,” Kingston says. He dips his head and runs his hands
though his hair, his shoulders hunching over. “Shit shit shit.”
    “What?” I ask. I don’t know what to think or how to feel,
but a thousand emotions flutter within me like burning butterflies, and I don’t
know which will still be alive when they land and which will turn to ash.
    “You’re not supposed to know that,” he finally says, his
words muffled by the hand he’s dragged over his