Page 19 of House of Clowns

"That's more like it."

I grinned, leaning in closer toward the mirror. With the brush red from where it had first kissed the pan, I painted a small circle on my nose, then pulled it in an uneven swipe over my lips. I looked… complete, like a puzzle that finally had all of its pieces put in. No mask could hide it. I wasn't running from the clown inside of me, not tonight.

I washed my hands, the water running crimson and black as I reached into the closet. My fingers stumbled across the fabric of a deep green shirt, smooth and cool against the chaos smeared across my face. I shrugged it on, let it fall across my shoulders, and slid my arms into the sleeves before fastening each button, leaving the top two open to breathe.

Next came the cherry-red blazer, and slipping it on, the picture in the mirror was… complete.

I turned and, with one backward glance, closed the door behind me. As soon as I got inside the hall, the faintest strains of music seeped through the walls—some sort of a circus tune wafted in, entangled with the unmistakable voice ofP! nkhalf mocking, half haunting. "This used to be a funhouse…" I muttered, shaking my head with a smile that felt anything but amused. I spun on my heel, letting my shoes slide across the polished wood as I hit the floor, a quick, smooth moonwalk that took me to the edge of the staircase.

I paused, one last breath, then threw myself down the stairs, letting each step thud beneath me, laughing when I hit the bottom.

Bart and Chico were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Bart with a radio sitting on his shoulder, cigarette drooping from his lips as he swayed to the beat, growling out the chorus, "Burn it down, down."

I landed beside them with a solid thud, and they erupted into giggles.

"Bene, sì?" Chico snickered, poking me in the gut with a playful punch. His attempt at an Italian accent was as clumsy as his grin was wide.

"Let's stick to English, huh?" I shot back, a laugh bubbling up despite myself.

Bart turned, blowing a cloud of smoke straight into my face. "Someone's a real bitch tonight."

Chico snorted, chiming in, "Yeah, must be 'cause he didn't get any."

I growled, "Go to hell," and pushed past them toward the door.

Behind me, Bart's voice dropped into a half-drunken whisper. "Then why was he dancing?"

I heard Chico's low reply just before their laughter exploded, "Can't a clown dance?"

I didn't break my stride but raised my hand in the air and flipped them off. The gesture was received; their laughter cut off and left the night still, full of the hum of carnival music.

I crossed the path in front of the house, feeling the pulse of the carnival before I saw the tents. Music, heavy and strange, wafted through the air, twisting around the scents of spun sugar and roasting peanuts in its curves. As I drew closer, lights flashed on the stands, each one packed with parents and their kids clutching candy apples or sugar canes, sticky hands reaching for more.

Pressing deeper into the crowd, I spotted Vitto and Gio, sending arcs of fire into the night, the flames twisting against the dark. A ring of kids watched, the firelight warming theirfaces. Not far off, clowns on stilts wove into the crowd, moving forward, their laughter shrill and unnerving. And just then, directly ahead, near the entrance to the house of mirrors, I saw Rocco. He was casually leaning on a cane, fanning himself with a handful of flyers, which he was distributing to the public while his eyes scanned the crowd until they finally rested on me.

When I reached him, I slid a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it as I settled in beside him. "What's with the crowd?" I asked, watching him hand another flyer to a young couple who looked back at us, amused and a little wary.

Rocco grinned, nodding at a stranger who took a flyer without breaking stride. "Our friends inThe Familyspread the word."

I dragged in, the smoke curling up between us. "Good thing?"

"The best," he chuckled, eyes glinting. "We need the cash."

"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. "Where do you need me tonight?"

His eyes strayed to the mirrored maze entrance now. "You're scaring people in there first. Then Hypno wants you in the big tent."

I groaned, flicking ash off the end of my cigarette. "No way am I letting that guy hypnotize me."

Rocco chuckled, his face not so much as twitching. "It wasn't a question, Rio. Besides, he's paying you."

"Alright," I scoffed. "How much?"

"Five hundred," he said, lips barely moving as he watched the crowd. "Plus tips."

"Five hundred?" I choked a little on my smoke. "Provided he doesn't make me cluck like a chicken or something."

Rocco finally cracked a smile, tapping his cane against the ground. "Nothing like that. Just needs you in the ring. With the tiger."

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