The Immortal Circus: Act Two Read Online Free PDF Page A

“And Lilith … Lilith’s not all bad. She’s
just misunderstood.”
    I
laughed.
    “Are you
kidding me? Lilith tried to kill me. She’s fucking psychotic. What part of that
is misunderstood ?”
    Kingston
sighed and looked out toward the Shifters.
    “You’ve
been here long enough to know that nothing is how it appears.” He nodded to the
woman currently twisting herself into what looked like Björk,
swan dress and all. “We’ve all got more going on than what’s on the
surface.”
    I clamped
my jaw shut. I knew that tone of voice. The conversation was over.
    And
yeah, I knew very well that I couldn’t believe my eyes, not even regarding
myself. But that didn’t make his answer any less bullshit.
    There
was no way that just ignoring the time bomb that was Lilith would make it go
away, no way that I was misunderstanding a homicidal maniac in girl’s
clothing.
    I leaned
back on my elbows and watched the Shifters laugh and roll around in the sand.
At least with them, you knew you weren’t seeing the full picture. It was the
others—the ones who looked innocent or normal—that I had to keep my eye on.
    One of
these days, I would get a straight answer from Kingston.
    I just
hoped it was before Lilith decided to prove me right.
*
* *
    “I liked the new whip act,” I
say. We’re at the backstage tent, right before the final curtain. Kingston is
sitting on an empty steamer trunk, his cloak thrown over the back and a dove
fluttering on his outstretched hand. The moment I appear at his side, the bird
disappears in flash of yellow and a twirl of flame. I can’t help but think how
similar it looks to the way Penelope went up in smoke.
    “Thanks,”
he says. “Mab’s idea. Said she was getting tired of being onstage solely as a
sex object.”
    I chuckle.
“Really?”
    He grins up
at me and slides from the crate. “Well, not her words per se, but I know that’s
what she meant.”
    I feel like
there’s something I should be saying, something about my interaction with
Lilith during the show, but the panic has taken on a muted tone, like waking up
from a bad dream and slowly realizing it was all just in your head. Still, I
see Kingston and my intuition tells me there’s something significant on the
line. Something is amiss. I shrug off the foreboding and focus on the
performers running around backstage, readying themselves for the final bow. I
don’t want to be the drama queen.
    Melody
comes up from the front of house, a popcorn box in one hand and her enormous
pink wig in the other. She’s in her usual tight pinstripe suit, her face rouged
pink and baby-like. She tosses the box to me when she’s a few feet away, then
slides her Marie Antoinette monstrosity on her head, transforming her into some
twisted man’s dream of innocent objectification.
    “Evening,
ladies,” she says. “How’s it hanging?”
    “Just fine,
doll,” Kingston says. “How you feeling?”
    She nods
and looks distractedly across the backstage. I don’t know if she remembers
getting so sick when Penelope was on her rampage. I don’t even know if she
remembers Penelope because every time I’ve tried to say the name, the
word gets stuck in my throat and I feel like I’m choking. Still, I know without
a doubt that Kingston’s making sure Melody is protected.
    He had
tried explaining it to me, a few days after things had settled down. Something
about her being the perfect host for a magical tithe that kept the troupe
immortal and safe … so long as she aged and died in return. I’d asked him if
she had gotten sick because of the murders or if the murders were possible
because of her illness. He’d said there wasn’t any difference. When I asked for
clarification, he just shrugged and said that magic was tricky. And often
ruthless.
    I can’t
help but look at her differently, knowing all that. Knowing that this girl is
going to wither and die just so the troupe remains young and gorgeous and
healthy. She knows, I tell myself. At