Page 15 of Ringmaster
The cool air breathes relief across my stinging eyes, snapping me out of my sulking. We’ve burst free from the chaos beneath the tent. Behind me, the flaps loom, threatening to swallow me whole, dragging me back into the nightmare I just escaped. Seeing Azrael smile at her—the way I foolishly thought he only smiled at me—breaks something inside me. I no longer care if he sees me. All I want to do is go home. I welcome the aching tug on my arm as we file toward the circus gates, passing the vendors calling out about souvenirs, popcorn and candy. Our adventurehas finally come to an end, and I know my mother and I are both relieved to be leaving without a single embarrassing incident.
No.My mouth forms the word without sound as I feel the familiar soft touch around my elbow. The resistance causes my intoxicated father to let go, flailing forward, tripping over his feet and narrowly missing a face-first tumble into the ground. I spin around, heart pounding.Let go,I mouth.
When my voice finally catches up with the rest of my body, I sob, “Stop. Don’t do this. Get out of here.”
My eyes plead with Azrael to turn and run, but he only looks at me, confused. Everything else happens in slow motion. He shakes his head, sliding his grip down my arm in an electrifying caress, pulling me into his embrace. I fall against his chest, pressing away from the very arms I crave. Like a flower resisting the sun, I fight his hold. And then Azrael does the absolute unimaginable.
He tilts my chin up to meet his sparkling blue eyes. I stare into their depths—deep like the sea and hypnotizing beneath the glow of the moon. I wish I could look away, but the spell is cast and my body zings for him.
“I’m sorry, Mercy. I was looking for you and then she stopped me. When I said no, and by the time I pushed past her, you were already moving in the opposite direction. I saw the hurt in your eyes, and I promise you, Mercy, there’s no one else.” He presses his lips to my forehead and whispers, “I want you, Mercy, but you don’t belong to me. There are things I can’t tell you, but Idon’t want to fight this anymore. I can’t. So if you’re going to be my undoing, then all I want is to crash and fall with you in my arms.”
His thumb strokes over my cheek in a tender show of emotion, and out of nowhere, he slips a marigold stem behind my ear. Then his lips brush over mine, and the entire world stops. Time freezes as my body sings in response to his kiss. A warm tingle erupts from head to toe, drowning me in a blissful wave. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in deeper. But then I remember… I’m not alone.
My father’s voice booms behind us, and Azrael pulls away like I’ve burned him. The warmth of the kiss vanishes in an instant, replaced by a chill that licks down my spine. Turmoil erupts. Azrael stumbles back, clutching his face. He wipes blood from his mouth onto the back of his hand. Screams and shouting swirl around me like a hurricane of panic. I wrap my arms around myself, scanning the crowd for my mother. In the distance, the pounding of footsteps can be heard.
“Take your hands off my daughter, you circus trash!” my father roars, swinging another blow at Azrael and catching him across the back of his shoulders.
A small yelp escapes my lips as I watch, terrified. My mind plays out a thousand different endings to this scenario, but none of them end well.
My father raises his fist again, but this time Azrael dodges, spinning and swinging a leg out to knock my father over. He falls, landing hard on his ass.
“How dare you! Abomination,” my father snarls.
“Father, no!… Stop! Please,” I cry, as my mother’s arms encircle me in a knowing embrace.
My mother struggles against me, trying to pull me away from the growing crowd, but even though I know it would be better to leave with her, I resist—struggling to break free from her.
My father notices. He zeroes in on me, eyes darting from my guilty face to Azrael’s. He glowers at me with a disappointed stare.
Everything happens so fast. Father raises his hand over his head, and the next thing I know, there’s a biting sting across the flesh of my cheek. I scream, falling to the ground, pressing the palm of my hand against the sting from his hit.
Through tear-streaked eyes, I watch Azrael explode. He moves unnaturally fast, blurring against the shadows, but it’s probably the swelling as my eye puffs up. My father raises his hand to strike me again, but Azrael grabs his wrist and throws him to the ground, landing a kick into his ribs that leaves him sputtering.
“Assault!” my father bellows, loudly attracting even more attention. “You all saw it! He laid hands on my daughter, thenattacked me! This circus is dangerous.” He jumps to his feet, ready to attack Azrael again.
My mother, knowing this will not end well, once again tries to drag me away, but it’s no use. I’m hysterical.
I look at Azrael, tears streaming down my face, and bottom lip quivering. He risked it all and now... well, now everything is going to change. A giant beast of a man, covered in thick brown hair from head to toe, has Azrael in a firm hold, keeping him from charging. The strongman from earlier—the one who bent steel with his bare hands—grabs Azrael’s other arm. Together they drag him out of view, leaving me to wonder if he’s more man or beast.
The marigold from my ear lies lifeless in the dirt, alone and uncrushed. Noticing my stare, my father walks over to where the marigold lays abandoned, looks me in the eyes, and stomps on the bloom—crushing it beneath his boot.
I try to scream, but my mother’s hand cups over my mouth, smothering the sound. Not a single noise escapes, and I finally crumble into her.
A forbidding crunch of dirt and gravel fills my ears, followed by stinging silence. I dare to look and see the Ringmaster standing like a bad omen, glaring at my father, who is still carrying on about how he was assaulted.
“Enough.” His assertive voice rings out over the crowd, booming and loud.
A hush falls over the circus grounds, quieter than anything I’ve ever known.
“Go home,” he says.
“All of you. Except you.” He points a long, bony finger at my father.
The crowd quickly disperses. Soon, the only ones left are our little family and the circus folk, slowly surrounding my father. The bearded lady holds a hammer used for nailing down railroad ties, swinging it in her left hand. She raises it to point at my father, then slams the head of it into her opposite hand while lifting her lip in a snarl. The hairy beast-man who dragged Azrael off moments ago now stands, chains wrapped around each massive fist. They clink as they kiss the dirt. Several dwarf-sized men cluster together with torches and menacing faces illuminated by the flames. One of the trapeze fliers kicks at the dirt, his show makeup smeared. He brandishes a medium-length dagger with a blackened metal blade. Beside him, a man whose gnarled hands end in hooked claws instead of fingers clutches a splintered plank of wood like he’s ready to bury it in flesh. Together they are menacing as they glare at my father, who is now trapped in the center of a circle with nowhere to escape.
“How many tickets did you purchase tonight?” the Ringmaster asks.
“Four,” my father lies.
