Page 9 of Slay Me

“But there are hundreds of people there!”

“Yes,” he replies. “And most of them will likely not try to abduct you.”

I stop in my tracks. “You’re mocking me.”

He turns to face me. “I assure you, I am not.”

“I’m not a project.”

He laughs now, though there is no humor in it. “I assure you, Fury, I’ve no interest in fixing you.”

Fury.Very few people have ever referred to me by the type of supernatural I am. Most refuse to mention it since my powers are practically non-existent. “Then why the hell are you making me come with you?”

The Ringmaster moves in closer. “I rather enjoyed your costume the other day. And since you never leave, I cannot imagine you have many other fabric options. I’m not even entirely sure how you got your hands on what was needed to make that one.”

“Curtains. And Fiona.”

He grins. “Just how much curtain do you have left?”

“Not enough.”

“Precisely why we are going out.”

I continue to stare at him. “You want me to make another costume?”

“For our evenings, yes.”

He turns to continue walking, but I continue staring at the back of his head as he moves farther away. The bastard could have told me he was taking me on a coffee date, and it would have shocked me far less. I never expected him to like it enough that he’d want me to repeat the project on something else.

It took me weeks to sew that. Evenings when I labored over the needle and fabric, agonizing over the design and whether or not I was making a huge mistake.

“Catch up,” he calls back. “I cannot easily protect you if I cannot reach you.”

* * *

The market is bustling.As busy as I remember it was the last time I was here—which was almost fifteen years ago.

Before Ernesto—I force the thought out of my mind. Given that the current company can tell when I’m thinking of him, it’s likely not in my best interests to repeat what happened last night.

So, I step in closer, the sleeve of my sweatshirt brushing against his arm.

“D!” Someone calls out.

I turn as an older woman rushes forward, carrying an armful of colorful fabric in her hand. Who the hell is D?

She stops right in front of us.

“Frida, just the woman I was coming to find.”

“D?” I question, looking up to the Ringmaster. “That’s your name?”

“For those I consider friends, yes. You have not yet earned that title.” The warning is clear as he shifts his attention back to the older woman.

“You come for fabrics, yes?”

“I do. Care to show me what you have?”

“This way.” She turns and rushes back through the crowd. I move directly behind the Ringmaster, remaining in the wake he creates as people move out of his way. Most everyone we pass looks his way. Some whisper and point. Others stare in silent fascination of the man they see each and every night in the center of the ring.

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