Page 6 of The Circus

That one works. She doesn’t stop limping, but she does hiss, “What? Are you saying you’re going to murder me?”

My biting grin is quick to flourish, but she doesn’t see, too focused on the path now. If only she knew.

“Nah,” I say lightly. “You’re far too fun to pester.”

She must roll her eyes, but it’s difficult to see from my vantage point, our height difference remarkable. It reminds me of that Shakespeare line all the girls quote: ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ None of them actually know the play, though, and none are fierce like Eden. Circumstance has made her hate the world, and I want to know just how deep those wounds go.

“You’ve never bothered me before now, so quit while you’re ahead.”

“A mistake I’m greatly regretting at the present.”

She glances up at me, intrigue swirling on her confused face for a moment before it vanishes, replaced by stony obstinance.

“Regret it somewhere else.”

I smirk.

“And leave you out here all alone, defenseless and wounded? Not very chivalrous of me.”

“Don’t you know chivalry is dead?” she grits out, her limping becoming more and more prominent with each slow, measured step forward. Calling her metaphorical bluff, I swoop down and scoop her into my arms like a bride, her weight as inconsequential as a feather. Like a wild cat in a burlap sack, she struggles against me.

Our eyes catch, and she stills, anger making her lips purse and her nose crinkle cutely. “Stop fighting me, Eden.”

Her brows pucker, and for a fraction of a second, she obeys my command and relaxes in my arms, and those damnable voices rejoice in sick pleasure. Forcing her to do anything would bring me nothing but ecstasy.

She blushes demurely, turning her face away to glare down the path.

“We need to get back before class ends,” she mutters, relinquishing. My smile is tempered this time. “You can put me down, though. I’m too heavy.”

Now, I roll my eyes. “Don’t fish for compliments. It’s not classy.”

“I’m not!” she barks, elbowing me in the chest as she attempts to roll out of my grasp.

“Goddamn, Eden,” I laugh. “It was a fucking joke! Pipe down and enjoy the ride.”

“Just hurry back,” she says quietly, something awfully close to tears mingling in her tone. Silently, I obey.

Because as much as I desire to control Eden Marie Clemm, I know without a doubt that from today forward, it’s really her who will control me. And I’m oddly okay with that.

FOUR

TEDDY

The old brickbuilding before me is nothing special. All of the windows are shuttered and opaque with age and grime, the one entrance on the street nothing more than a dented metal door. To the right is an alley, and to the left, the building extends and morphs into other seedy businesses. An adult toy shop. A strip club. A dive bar with a flickering neon sign that says ‘Joe’s Place.’

I check the address Dick scribbled on a piece of paper again. Elm street. How ironic. It’s nearly five in the evening, the bus ride from Prep to this shithole taking that long. It’s here I am resigned to whittle my life away for the foreseeable future. Whatever is behind those doors isn’t good. Dick is hellbent on punishing me for existing, and so with a heavy sigh, I jog across the empty street and pound my fist against the cool metal.

As sunny as today was, and as warm as holding Eden made me feel, it’s all vanquished in the threat of this unknown monster. The only upside I’ve seen so far is that this would be a prime location to pluck nasty, deserving victims from the streets. It’s close to the water, so carving them up and dumping their bloody bits into the Puget Sound would be a breeze.

The door creaks on rusted hinges, depthless darkness greeting me through the crack that slowly widens, revealing a skeletal face devoid of emotion. His eyes are sunken deep into his skull, his cheekbones prominent, his head bald. Ringing those searching, gray eyes is charcoal liner, the older man reminiscent of a washed up rockstar.

“You must be Teddy,” he says, voice rough from decades of smoking, a faint London accent nestled there.

Turning to glance over my shoulder, I look back at him with a smirk. “The one and only.”

My smile fades when he gives no reaction in return, his expression as still as a corpse, adding to the entire vibe of him.

“I give it six months,” he rattles, opening the door another crack wider for me to slip through. I slink into the darkness, the reverberating thud of metal against stone shaking my frame. We stand in that never ending darkness at the top of a set of stairs as my eyes adjust. To the right, a wall, and the left, an empty, dimly lit hallway. Slivers of pale sunlight streak through those grimy windows, millions of dust motes floating past.

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