Page 115 of Chasing Never
“I know,” I say.
And it seems as though my reaction, my answer, surprises him.
“I can do this,” I whisper. “I have endured far worse. This? This is nothing.”
And as I utter the words, they become true. Strength again imbues my limbs. And though my words do nothing to relieve the constriction in my chest, I know deep down that Peter cannot hurt me. I have hurt far too much in my past for this man to touch me in the present. I know too much, and that knowing does not make me weak. It makes me strong. Wise. Shrewd, even.
“We’ll find him afterward,” says Nolan.
“If he doesn’t find us first,” says Maddox.
Peter must have performed another trick, because the crowd bursts into a final applause of cheers as the ringmaster gives a bow and the entire room is doused in shadows.
When the light comes back on, the ring is empty.
The ringmaster and Peter are gone.
CHAPTER 51
We are filing out of the tent along with the rest of the crowd when a couple catches my eye. The man is tall, with dusty-blond hair and a swagger to his step, a gait that seems all too familiar. On his arm is a woman—the real reason my attention was snagged.
She sports an evening gown made of a pale green silk that reaches the floor, the fabric shimmering in the lamplight. Gorgeous as the gown is, that’s not what caught my attention. It’s her hair, golden and cropped short, just barely covering her ears.
The tips of them, in fact.
My heart leaps in my chest—Tink—but,upon second glance, it falls just as dramatically.
The more I look, the more I recognize what’s missing from this picture. This woman is certainly human. Even if she is fae and the cut of her hair is to mask as much, this woman is not Tink. The evidence, or rather, lack thereof, is on her back in the absence of anything resembling wings.
“What is it?” asks Nolan in my ear.
I turn to him, feel the scrape of his facial hair against my forehead.
“It’s nothing. I just thought I saw…” I glance back at the couple, but they are gone.
Once we’re outside the tent, we wind its circumference toward the back. The man who gave us the tip said that this was where the performers exited.
“Hey, you can’t be back here,” says a carny, but he clamps his mouth shut as soon as Nolan presses three gold coins into his hand.
As the carny whistles and walks away, we wait in the shadows outside the entrance, watching as the performers exit from the back. They look strange—strangely normal, that is—now that they’re not dressed up in their circus attire.
Well, that’s not the case for all of them.
Many of them one would never suspect of being touched by magic, as long as their ears were covered. Most of them you could pass by on the street without giving them a second glance.
It strikes me as odd, then, that they ended up at the carnival. I mostly would have considered this a last choice—a place for misfits. I can’t help but wonder if some of these people did not choose this life.
They’re not in cages, like the one Tink spent years in. But still. There’s something that seems off about this place.
The line of circus members departing the main tent dwindles, most of them having headed toward the smaller tents on the outskirts of the carnival, where I assume they sleep and rest.
“We should have stationed Maddox at the other entrance,” I say, worried now that Peter will have left without a trace for us to follow.
“No,” says Nolan. “He won’t miss an opportunity to see you.”
“Yes, but—” I’m interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind us, closer than they should be. The kind of footsteps that are meant to be heard.
“Yes, but I might sneak up behind you,” says a familiar voice.
