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

there.
    I open the door.
    A broom closet stares back at me.
    My heart sinks and I slam the door shut, making the entire trailer rock. It's not like I expected her to be there, but I dunno, maybe she had sensed that something was wrong, that Lilith was acting up again. Maybe she would have wanted to check in—it was the day of Tapis Noir after all, and she hadn't been here for nearly a month.
    But no, no magical entry to the Winter Court, no office plucking itself out of the darkness. No skull and crystal sconces, no desk, no shelf of esoteric books. No Mab.
    I head over to the other door and yank it open. The overpowering scent of mothballs and dusty fabric billows out.
    This second door appeared the same day I inherited the show. Inside is a drag queen's paradise. If said drag queen is also into bondage.
    Corsets and leotards and thigh-high boots line each wall, while the clothes rack in the middle is taken up by feather boas and fishnets and spiked ringmaster coats. Every color, every style, from Tank Girl punk to glamorous diva. Even though there are more clothes in here than I'd ever expected to own, I know it is only a small selection of Mab's collection. These are her hand-me-downs. And somehow, magically, they are all in my size.
    Ironic, seeing as she's easily a head shorter than me and has tits the size of cantaloupes.
    I step inside and rummage through the racks. I settle on a glittery coat made up of emerald mirror shards, high-heeled boots that lace up to my thighs, and a black leather leotard with gold swirls over one shoulder. Maybe, years ago, I would have taken the time to admire myself, the transformation from ordinary Midwestern girl into limelight starlet. But there's no magic, no wonder. As I yank on a pair of fishnet stockings, all I can think about are my lines and the hours ticking away to Tapis Noir. A small voice in the back of my head asks how I'll decide whom to kill. Mortal blood will only last a short time—if I want to stave off the visions for a while, I need someone with magical proclivities. I can only hope Mel found a way to invite a Shifter or witch or someone else beyond the mundane Montanans.
    My stomach rumbles and my pulse quickens with the thought.
    The rest of me wants to vomit.
    I stare at myself in the vanity mirror after the coat is on. There's more makeup lined against the glass than I know what to do with—vials of foundation and eye shadow and body glitter, all of it neatly arranged with a meticulous hand. I start applying foundation like Mel showed me, then paint on my eyebrows and rouge my cheeks. I watch that quiet Midwestern girl suffocate into obscurity under layers of paint and deceit. When I'm done, I straighten my blonde hair and grab a whip from the pile on the side table. I don't put on any of the jewelry in Mab's brimming cabinet. Instead, I loop a simple obsidian pendant around my neck. Penelope's necklace, hewn from the walls of Mab's underground kingdom.
    I wrap my fingers around the cool stone and feel the static trickle of magic. But no visions consume me, no messages from Kingston reach across the boundary between life and death. It's nothing more than a relic of what I've lost. As I stare at the woman in the mirror—a figure who is confident and seductive and everything I am not—I need every reminder I can get. I'm still the girl Mab screwed over. I'm only playing her game until I get my revenge. And if playing dress up keeps me alive long enough to get back at her, I'll damn well do it.
    Outside the trailer, I hear one of the crew calling out places, and I push myself away from the vanity and stride over to the door. My heart is hammering—even after a few weeks of doing this, I'm still no more comfortable in the role than I was the first night.
    That, and because when the final curtain falls, I'm going to have to commit murder.
    I'm so distracted as I open the door that I almost miss the apparition floating outside it. When I see him, my breath catches