Page 30 of House of Clowns

I tiptoed through the quiet house and up to the shared room, my heart still fluttering from the look he'd left me with.

As I opened the bedroom door, a hush greeted me, the room empty and quiet. I lingered for a moment, savoring the peace, but a twinge of reluctance held me back as I walked toward the shower. I could still trace the faint warmth from his touch, and I almost hated the thought of washing it away. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the stream of cold water; its chill bit right into my skin, bringing both a feeling of relief and an ache to my bruises.

The cold numbed the bruises, a raw pain from the blows I'd taken and hadn't yet healed. I remained under the water, my mind drifting, slackening my body against the numbing stream.

I finally wrapped myself in a towel and walked back into the dark room, the chill still clinging to me. I sat on the edge of my bed and let out a soft sigh, my lips softening into a smile as memories of the night danced around me. I wanted to hold onto it, make it stay with me just a little longer. But I knew how ethereal good moments could get.

My eyes had finally fallen upon the small nightstand, and notebook that I left inside. It was one of those indecisive moments when curiosity was mingled with silent dread churning at the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to know more about Rocco, my real father.

I clung desperately to the hope that he was different from this man I knew as"Dad"now, that somewhere out there was a man who would have treated me like a daughter, and not a tool or a slave. I felt at that particular moment a pang of envy for Thalia, whose family was perfect in my eyes, full of love and understanding that always eluded me.

Finally, I reached out, lifting the notebook into my lap, the leather cool against my hands. There was a strange symbol etched onto the cover—a star entwined with horns—something I'd never really noticed before. Taking a deep breath, I opened it, letting the pages fall to a random entry. A dated page stared back at me.

Date: 23rd May, 1993

Yesterday they initiated me down in the basement of the House of Clowns. I was only twenty-four, looking for a place to belong, a family. But this family came with a debt to be paid, one I hadn't counted on—in blood.

They called themselves "the Crows," their heads springing from the highest order of the city, the sort of people one would expect to find at charity galas, not veiled rituals.

When they took off their masks, I got a cold shock. There was the city's mayor, the local priest, and heads of two of the wealthiest families. The Crows weren't just a group; it was a cult draped as a secret society. Membership was extended with a single black rose left at your door, marked only with the word: "Circle."

I thought that was some sort of sick joke. Then they came for me. They peppered me with questions until my head spun, and I had to make the choice: sacrifice myself or join them. So I did, hardly comprehending the gravity of what I was getting myself into. They hadn't selected me for ambition or skill; they choseme because my father was dying, and they needed someone to watch over the House of Clowns.

"Pray, obey, and, when called upon, provide." These were the rules, the commands etched upon the fabric of our existence.

My best friends, Alessandro and Lotta, were also a part of them. They were two of those few people who, unlike me, thought the rituals were something to be enjoyed. They'd feed on the innocent, suck them dry in some twisted ritual, and in return, they'd take baths of money and power. They claimed it was an offering to their God. I didn't believe any of this, but that makes me good for them—a scapegoat.

A legend has come to haunt their history: of a woman, Mary of the Crows, who married the high priest and, for the salvation of her people, gave herself as a sacrifice. They burned her alive. Her story was to become their guiding dark star, their devotion, and their bloodlust, search for their chosen one.

Oddly enough, I hated them in the beginning; with time, I was pulled deeper until I became one of them. I brought in new members with me and initiated the unsuspecting into our House of Clowns. Then the police began asking questions, and we needed fresh bodies to keep the Circle shrouded. Like a virus, we spread across La Maddalena, infecting it with secrets.

Then Ariane started to dream—terrible dreams of every soul brought to the House of Clowns, of every life stolen by our rituals. She wrote down each name, each sacrifice, as if an epitaph. And when she told Lotta Romanov, it was as if she had signed her fate. They were both targets, watched by the ever-reaching eyes of the Circle.

I did all in my power to protect her, even if it meant losing her forever.

I slammed the notebook shut, my hand clamping tight over my mouth, the sting of my fingernails digging into my cheeks as I muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The words barely escaped, but they pulsed in my mind, a frantic rhythm echoing through me. I hadn't realized just how twisted this story could get, how it might contort all I thought I knew about my life.

The creaky footsteps echoed down the corridor and I made myself move, pushing the notebook under the mattress just as the door opened. I closed my eyes, willing my thumping heart to let go, but this whirlwind of questions and shadows would not let me alone. Flashes swam in the darkness: my mother falling, water closing over her head, the sensation of drowning seeping into my dreams. This is the end.Was her life, her end, a part of this secret, too? What part of all this was real?

"Psst, she's sleeping," Dhalia whispered to Ruby, soft in a way I hadn't heard before. "Come."

It creaked as they settled together, and in the silence, I caught the muffled sound of Ruby's sigh against her, a low hum that made the room feel smaller still.

The closeness—the quiet urgency in the way they touched each other—filled the space with something warm yet not mine to see. That kind of love doesn't need explaining. Some things about people can catch you off guard: surprises in who they are or what they're capable of. But then there were those rare, undeniable connections—two souls drawn together, a kind of love that didn't have to be spoken to be understood. It was the kind of love—a sane one, maybe someday I could even hope for.

EIGHTEEN

ACE

Shaking hands awoke me, and Dhalia's face was written all over with worry combined with urgency. "Did you see where Ruby went?"

"No," I mumbled, struggling to pull myself from the brink of sleep.

"I can't find her anywhere," she whispered, her throat tight. "I have to speak with her.

"Shouldn't we just go see the manager?" I suggested, rubbing my eyes.

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