Page 12 of Ringmaster
And now that I’m all grown up, there might be another reason people flock from towns far and wide to watch the show. I smile. Women love a dangerous man, and I’m danger with a capital D. Of course, I’m uninterested in anything they could offer me. My heart belongs to another, no matter how forbidden a love spell I’m under. I can feel it deep in my soul—I love her like a pulsing ache that grows more intense the longer we stay apart. I’ve always thought that Mercy was mine—until the Ringmaster revealed the truth. But even now, I still look for her at every show. She’s the one my body craves. When I stare out at the sea of faces, hers is the one grounding me. My whole world isanchored to her. She’s everything I know, and everything I’ve ever wanted. Fate is cruel. Even knowing she’s not mine, I can’t resist the way my magic hums for her.
My hair whips across my face as I shake my head, needing to focus. There’s no time for love, and I have to stop allowing myself to fantasize about it. Every day, it’s harder and harder to ignore the calling from within. I want to break my curse, but I want to revel in the feel of Mercy in my arms even more. Her body, nestled against mine, a fit so perfect it feels like we were made for each other. I think back to a few days ago, when Mercy wrapped her arms around me, finding safety and solitude there. Foolish girl. If only she knew the darkness lurking deep inside of me, slowly consuming my entire being.
Suddenly, I’m ripped from my thoughts. A man stumbles across the sidewalk, colliding with me. He reeks of alcohol, probably coming from the tavern. The stench reminds me of Mercy’s father, and a tether inside of me snaps.
“Watch where you’re going, circus scum,” the man spits, shoving my shoulders.
I grit my teeth, fighting back the urge to snap his neck and leave him on the streets for someone else to find.
“My apologies, sir,” I say, scanning for witnesses, gauging whether this will be public or private.
This is what I get for daydreaming. I should have been paying better attention, or stepped aside. Maybe I wanted to collidewith him. Maybe some part of me wanted this outlet. I eye the drunk man glaring at me.
He’s a well-dressed businessman. A man as wealthy as him would never admit fault. Typical reaction to bumping into me—someone who should be his worst nightmare. But despite how their women pine for me, traveling from all over the continent to lay eyes on the lion tamer, I’m still considered a lowlife. Heathen. Circus scum. If only the people of this town knew my true identity, then they might fear me. Instead, they scoff, as this gentleman does now. His lip curls in disgust as his eyes sweep over my finely tailored clothes.
“Go back to the flea-infested stables where you belong, boy. How dare you assault me like this? You’re lucky I don’t get the law involved. You and your sort—yer all the same,” he slurs, lashing out with words sharp enough to pierce steel.
My fingers tighten around the glass vial in my pocket, forming a fist. This might turn into one of those wrong place, wrong time, wrong words scenarios. I feel the cold creeping over me as the darkness begins to settle in my eyes. Anger coils inside of me like a viper, ready to strike at any moment, as I suck in a deep breath, clinging to control. Biting my tongue, I fight to keep it from uttering a reply. Not here. Not now. Not in broad daylight.
He spits at me. “Dumb and arrogant. Did you hear me, boy, or are you too stupid to understand what I’ve told you?”
My fingers flex with agitation. Bodies are piling up already—would another really matter? I glance around. The street isempty. This choice is mine to make. I weigh the options silently in my head. The alley waits, only a few footsteps away. The Ringmaster wouldn’t complain about an extra indulgence. An unexpected dessert. Indecisively, I pull my ornate pocket watch—a family heirloom—from my pocket once more. Time will be the deciding factor.
A sinister smile spreads across my face. So it shall be. I release the vial of swirling black essence and fumble wordlessly for an empty one. The man doesn’t notice. He only sways back and forth in place. Pretending to leave, I wait until my back is to him before I unleash a terrifying, wicked, low laugh. It escapes my lips, permeating all around us. Closing my eyes, I invite the blackness to consume me. When I turn back, grinning, sharp white teeth protrude from my gums.
“Today seems to be your lucky day, sir.” My voice is thick and heavy, weighted with dark magic.
The man huffs, raising his hand, expecting me to flinch. But I don’t move. I simply stand there, my ebony-black eyes glare at the man. Finally, he meets my stony gaze, and fear flickers across his face as he realizes he won’t survive this encounter.
“What the…” the man gasps, stumbling back a few steps.
I languish in his fear. It seeps from his pores, filling the air around us with its intoxicating aroma. I breathe it in, savoring every inhale, allowing it to fully fill my nostrils. I clear the space between us quickly, holding my next victim in a deadly staring match. He doesn’t realize what I’m about to do to him.He doesn’t even flinch as I sidestep him and spin, his back to me now. I reach for my blade, then—fast as lightning—I slide the glowing black dagger smoothly across the stranger’s throat, watching as it slices into his fair skin, melting it away like butter. The man gurgles and gasps, not expecting the deadly assault. I watch as the crimson liquid spills out, and drag him into the alley where I hold the vial, collecting the murky liquid drop by drop until it’s filled to the brim. It glimmers with streaks of black swirling around against the contrasting deep red. I replace the cap, pocketing the vial.
The remainder will be my reward—my dessert. A congratulatory gift for the number of snatchers no longer lurking in the town. Finder’s keepers, after all. I bring my mouth down to the gash, my jaw expanding to accommodate the wound. There are so many dead bodies piling up across the village, but this will be the first one authorities find nearly drained of blood, and with no coagulated puddle in sight. The warm liquid fills me with eerie delight as I savor the dark bits and pieces of the victim’s soul while they slide endlessly down my throat.
When I’ve finished, I pull a handkerchief from inside my coat pocket and dab lightly at the corners of my mouth. Then I cautiously glance in both directions to ensure I am still alone before stepping back onto the main street and continuing my walk back to the big top, jauntily enjoying the delightfulness of my reward.
Once I step over the property line, I feel the magic bind to me, reverberating through my body. Quickly, I make my way to the Ringmaster’s office. It’s empty, of course—he’s likely running around, making sure everything is in order for the show. I stepbehind a smaller wall near the desk and push the portrait of a bearded lady to one side. Behind it, I spin the combination to the safe and carefully set the vial of pure black liquid inside, before crossing the room to examine my reflection in a nearby mirror. I appear even more irresistible than usual—the effects of soul-sucking. Tonight’s show will go well. My personality is amplified from my hunting. I smirk at the monster in the glass staring back at me and set off to dress for my appearance in the circus ring later tonight.
Chapter 9
Mercy
I’m not sure if the butterflies fluttering around my stomach are from excitement or anxiousness. In an unusual turn of events, my father brought home three tickets to the circus tonight. At first, I thought it was strange. My father forbade me from seeing Azrael and generally hates the circus. He also never wants to venture out in public as a family, because it requires him to be on his best behavior—something I wholeheartedly believe he’s incapable of. But apparently, these tickets are a reward for his promotion at the factory. More power and more money to spend on alcohol are not what he needs.
Any other time, I’d be excited to go to the circus, but now the trip is overshadowed with a melancholy-filled dread. It feels like something could snap at any moment—a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. There are countless reasons things might go wrong tonight. And if Azrael spots me… my thoughts spiral into the worst possibilities. Until a shudder rips through me, tearing me away from them.
Eyes squeezed shut, I take a deep breath and run my hands down my dress to smooth it out. Instead of imagining the worst, I will myself to picture him—splendid and magnificent, confidence rolling off his body as he stands in the center ring. At least I’ll get to see him. I just have to keep him from noticing me.
I take one last look at myself in the full-length mirror, my mind still spinning with thoughts of Azrael. Even as we step out the front door and make our way down the long, winding road to where the circus looms on the edge of town, I can’t stop obsessing over him.
The evening breeze is soft and warm with spring, sweet notes of budding flowers fill my nostrils. It dares me to spin around joyfully. I’m wearing a knee-length dress perfect for twirling, a matching sweater, and a lovely pair of lace gloves. My father insisted we dress in our best clothing so he can pretend we aren’t poor—that he doesn’t drink away his paydays from the factory. It might be one of the few things the two of us ever agree on: just because we’re poor doesn’t mean we have to dress like it in public. My imagination carries me away as I wonder what it might be like to have an endless supply of money.
“Hurry, move along. I want to walk about and tour the sideshows before the main event begins,” Father grumbles.
I skip along a little faster, careful not to splatter dirt on my best dress. The closer we get to the circus gates, the stronger the smell of popcorn and fried foods becomes. I eye my mother warily as she walks briskly so as not to fall too far behind. I already know she’s not happy about the extra laundry. It’s just like him to only worry about his own wants and needs.
Still, I hurry along silently, fearful of the inevitable snap that might sour his seemingly good mood. Despite his complaints and growls that we’ll be late, we still manage to reach the circus gates with plenty of time to wander.
