The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) Read Online Free PDF Page A

“This is no
place for nudity.” She grins. “Mask on at all times. Please.” She winks and
turns away. I reach up and tie the mask to my face.
    For a while I
just stand there, completely at a loss. This isn’t anything I’m used to. I seem
to be the only one, though. The white-masked punters are completely enthralled
by the music and scandal, drawn into a world I couldn’t have prepared myself to
be a part of. I watch as one man laughs amid a group of black-masked men and
women, completely oblivious to the fact that the performers are pulling his
clothes off one article at a time. A woman across from me reaches up and is
pulled onto one of the steel hoops, smiling as her heels fall into a punch bowl
with a clatter. And on the sofas…there’s much less clothing and much more
giggling and grinding. Even behind the mask, I can feel myself blushing.
    It’s not
until someone bumps into me from behind that I realize I’m still standing by
the tent’s entrance. Every time someone in a white mask comes in, someone in
black comes forward to pull them deeper. No one does that to me, probably
because I’m already in the black. I walk to one side of the tent and grab a
glass of red wine, watching the sin unfold and kind of wishing I’d taken
Kingston’s advice and stayed far, far away. I take a drink and hope the wine
will help me accomplish just that.
    A topless
woman with a white mask comes up to the wine table and reaches out, grabs the
front of my shirt, and pulls me closer.
    “Are you on
the menu too?” she whispers, her words slurred. How are these people already so
drunk?
    “Not
tonight,” I say.
    She
exaggerates a pout, but lets go and turns away. I take another drink of the
wine and try to sink back into the shadows. But everything in the tent is
shadow and candlelight and bass. There’s no getting away from it. After a few
more minutes of feeling like a horrible voyeur, I decide this really isn’t my
scene, that Kingston was right. This wasn’t for people like me, though I
have no idea how being mortal plays into it. I set the glass down and turn
away, head to the exit. Only there is no exit. I spin around and try to find
the black curtain, but it’s not there. Just purple and black walls.
    “Going
somewhere?” a man beside me asks, snagging my sleeve with a finger. He’s
wearing a black mask, but I’ve never seen him before. He’s tall, very tall, and
lithe. His eyes are shining blue behind his mask, and there’s a blue feather
boa around his bare shoulders. His muscular chest and stomach are covered in
intricate tattoos.
    A woman
slides up next to him, also in a black mask. She’s wearing a V-necked red dress
that dips dangerously below her navel. I focus on her eyes, which are warm
amber. If those tits are real, I’ll eat my wineglass.
    “She must be
new,” the Playboy model says. She reaches out and slides one sharp finger under
my chin. The man’s hand reaches up to my shoulder, though it doesn’t stay there
long. For some reason, I don’t have the will to push it away when his touch
slides toward my chest. They’re both so close I want to back away, but there’s
nowhere to go, and I have a feeling it would be worse than bad manners if I
did. I don’t move and try not to flinch as their touches grow bolder.
    “Mab told me
about you,” the woman continues, “her latest acquisition to this
menagerie. I’m quite surprised she let you in, considering…” but she doesn’t
say why, just smirks and steps back, scratching my skin in the process.
    I don’t rub
the spot, just keep focused on her eyes. The man’s hand has found its way to my
hip. His touch is colder than ice.
     “Come on,
Fritz. Let’s enjoy the party.” She puts an arm over his shoulder and he wraps
an arm around her waist, and then they’re sliding back into the crowd. The
tingle of his fingertips still clings to my skin like frostbite.
    I look
around. It hadn’t hit me how many people there were in the tent;