Page 37 of House of Clowns

"Yeah?"

It was Rocco, his voice carrying that unmistakable tone of command. He wanted me in the basement, and from the sound of it, it wasn't a request.

TWENTY ONE

JOKER

I'd promised Rocco this was how it would finally end with the Circle, but in reality, I'd never really known his plan or my involvement in it. I left Chiara's room, padding silently down the stairs, with each descent, a painful jerk formed in my stomach, that little warning inside me that something was amiss. I didn't trust Rocco, not fully—never when I knew he used to be one of them. But he'd promised me freedom, a clean break from all this. Yet in killing Hypno, something inside me felt crack open—as if the act had set me free already.

Before I stretched the hall of the ground floor, the shadows long and spreading, while at its far end, the staircase led down to the basement.

I'd been down here before, through those tunnels that were concealed, but it had always been amid a haze of sleepwalking, the herding of the others down while they were half-conscious. They'd controlled every step I'd taken, choreographed every detail. Still, Rocco had told me he'd managed to close off the tunnels and trap them all in one place tonight, ready to bring an end to the Circle.

Candles flickered from thick pillars placed along the steps, black roses resting in glass vases beside them. Each step deeper down into the basement was darker and twisted than the previous. The murmurs guided me toward the larger chamber where prayers and sacrifices were held. I took a step back and took a moment, staring at the unsettling quiet.

Inside, Chiara sat cross-legged on the floor of the room, her body slouched in a chair, eyes closed, while her face was calm, yet unnaturally still. Around her, six people lay on mattresses, completely still, as if captured in some sort of deep, collective sleep. Dhalia and Rocco were standing next to the wall, faces strained, beads of sweat on their foreheads.

"What in the name of—?" I whispered, hurrying swiftly to Rocco's side.

He leaned in close, his voice barely above a murmur. "They're connected through their dreams. Chiara's in their minds, binding them together, tying up a forbidden knot so that they can't break free until she lets them out herself."

And in a split second, my chest was filled with cold dread, my mind snapping to old memories. "The last time someone tried that… they died, Rocco. This is insane!" I hurriedly went to Chiara, shaking her shoulders, with desperate hands against her stillness. "Chiara, baby, please… wake up."

Warm under my touch, yet she was stillness, like death. A part of her was here, yet somewhere else entirely. "You're fucking crazy," I snarled at Rocco, rage searing through me. "How could you do this to her?"

"She has a gift, all right," he said. His voice was hard; my anger didn't matter to him. "She trained for six months. If you hadn't killed Hypno, she'd be even safer."

I grabbed him, pushing him against the wall. "And who are those people? Do you at all know what kind of nightmares they are feeding her, what horrors they had buried in their minds?"

"They are within the Circle," Dhalia whispered in a white, thin voice. "She is driving them mad. When she's done with them, they'll be locked up in the madhouse."

A cold lump congested my throat, the weight of what was happening pressing down on me. Growing, gnawing fear screamed that this was wrong, that Chiara could be pulled in too deeply, trapped in their nightmares when there was no way back. I looked at her face—peaceful, breathing soft and steady—and yet the terror was unmistakable. This wasn't what I'd signed up for, not for her.

Suddenly, one of them began to have convulsions: his body started jerking ominously, and white foam began to flow from his mouth as his head jerked back as though in a trance gone horribly wrong.

"He's fighting it!" Dhalia yelled, fear lacing her tone. She fell on her knees beside him, putting her hands against his chest in a frantic bid to steady him. Then, her face hardened, and she pulled out a knife from her pocket.

And she leaned forward without another phrase, plunging it deep into his chest as the blade sank in. A spray of blood splattered on her face, staining the floor in thick, dark drops of the vital liquid.

His eyes closed, his body relaxed, and his breathing threw a puffy silence.

She reached up to his neck, feeling for a pulse. She looked up at us. "He's gone."

I turned to Rocco, anger flaring through me. "Who are these guys?"

Rocco's face screwed up in distaste, a flicker of fear reflected in his eyes. "The dead one is the mayor's son," he whispered, his voice taut with emotion. "Beside him is Thalia, Lotta's granddaughter. The redhead next to her? She's the daughter ofthe local priest. And they're all bound to the Circle, every bloody one of them."

"And how does Chiara get out of this dream?" My fists were clenched, ready to drive some sense into him if I had to.

Rocco's eyes darted around the area nervously. "We… we don't know. Last time it took a few minutes, but this is six people. It could take longer."

"Or we're losing her!" I snarled. "I'm going in."

"No!" He stepped in front of me, his hands up, desperation coloring his tone. "We need you for the end—to take them to Santa Maria."

"I don't care," I replied as I headed toward Chiara. "She needs me."

"No!" he yelled, reaching to stop me, but Dhalia was already working. She nudged the dead body off the mattress; his lifeless body slumped to the floor.

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