Read Online The Immortal Circus: Act Two by A. R. Kahler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A. R. Kahler
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And she’s never had those hidden memories come
back to say she used to love them.
“You’re right,” I say. There’s no use arguing. I signed away
my memories for a reason. But now that they’re resurfacing, I can’t help but
want to know more. It’s like finding a piece to a jigsaw puzzle you forgot you
had; the desire to complete the picture is suddenly overwhelming.
That’s when she takes another sip and I notice the faint,
fresh bruises on her wrists.
“Mel,” I say carefully. “What are those?”
She blushes a deeper red.
“Handcuffs,” she confesses. She smiles wickedly. “They’re
Sara’s. Want to borrow them? Might do wonders for you and Kingston.”
“What would?” Kingston asks.
His timing, as always, is impeccable.
“Handcuffs,” Melody chirrups happily. I look back at
Kingston, who’s maybe a foot behind me and still in his pajamas. Which is to
say, shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Zal is stretched from the back of one
wrist to the other, the serpent’s body a faint gray blur under the thin fabric.
Kingston has a bemused half-grin on his face. He also isn’t fully meeting my
gaze.
“I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing,” Kingston
says. He steps over and grabs his own mug. He stands close to me, so close
without actually touching that my skin almost aches to reach for him. I shake
my head. I’m not going to be that girl.
For her part, Mel acts oblivious to the way Kingston edges
around me.
“Turns out I’m into a lot more than I expected,” she says.
“Sara’s very good at being persuasive.”
“I shudder for your neighbors,” Kingston says.
Mel’s grin widens.
“About that,” she says.
“What?” Kingston says.
“Well, remember when I was sick and Mab dropped by?”
“I do,” Kingston says, “but you shouldn’t.”
Mel shrugs. “Word travels. Anyway, I’m assuming she cast
some sort of buffer spell or something, because my room’s a veritable bunker.
No one can hear anything.” The blush comes back, but her smile hides it
well. “It’s come in handy. If you ever need to borrow the room, let me know.”
Kingston shakes his head. He’s smiling, but it seems
somewhat forced. Clearly, he’s not happy with Mel remembering that part of her
past. How does he keep track of what everyone’s supposed to remember? Does he have
some sort of magical witchy memory? Or does he have a diary somewhere, filled
with everyone else’s history?
“Speaking of,” Mel says. She looks between the two of us. “I
should probably go … you know, set her free.”
My eyes widen. “She’s still in there?”
Mel shrugs again. “She likes it. Kinky aerialists.”
“You saucy little minx,” Kingston says.
Melody chuckles and turns to go. As she walks off, she calls
out. “You can borrow them after me!”
This time, it’s me who blushes.
Kingston turns and begins to walk off. I follow at his side.
He glances to me once, then dips his eyes back to the grass at his feet. We’re
heading toward the big top.
“So,” I say. “Where were you this morning?”
His free hand runs through his hair.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
It sounds like an easy out, but I don’t press it. He pulls
back the violet curtain for me, and we step into the cool interior of the tent.
It smells of earth and vinyl, a strange combination that I know only exists in
spaces like this. I can practically feel the old dreams drifting in the
stagnant air, waiting for the Wheel to turn them into faerie food. This is the
nexus of the Dream Trade: this tent is how Mab feeds her kingdom.
Kingston walks to the ring curb and sits down, facing center
ring. I sit next to him. With all the empty bleachers behind us, it feels like
we’re performing for ghosts. It’s only when we’re inside that I realize just
how much the sunlight was killing my eyes. The headache had been getting worse,
but in here it seems to ease up a bit.
“I’m not
back to say she used to love them.
“You’re right,” I say. There’s no use arguing. I signed away
my memories for a reason. But now that they’re resurfacing, I can’t help but
want to know more. It’s like finding a piece to a jigsaw puzzle you forgot you
had; the desire to complete the picture is suddenly overwhelming.
That’s when she takes another sip and I notice the faint,
fresh bruises on her wrists.
“Mel,” I say carefully. “What are those?”
She blushes a deeper red.
“Handcuffs,” she confesses. She smiles wickedly. “They’re
Sara’s. Want to borrow them? Might do wonders for you and Kingston.”
“What would?” Kingston asks.
His timing, as always, is impeccable.
“Handcuffs,” Melody chirrups happily. I look back at
Kingston, who’s maybe a foot behind me and still in his pajamas. Which is to
say, shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Zal is stretched from the back of one
wrist to the other, the serpent’s body a faint gray blur under the thin fabric.
Kingston has a bemused half-grin on his face. He also isn’t fully meeting my
gaze.
“I didn’t think you were into that sort of thing,” Kingston
says. He steps over and grabs his own mug. He stands close to me, so close
without actually touching that my skin almost aches to reach for him. I shake
my head. I’m not going to be that girl.
For her part, Mel acts oblivious to the way Kingston edges
around me.
“Turns out I’m into a lot more than I expected,” she says.
“Sara’s very good at being persuasive.”
“I shudder for your neighbors,” Kingston says.
Mel’s grin widens.
“About that,” she says.
“What?” Kingston says.
“Well, remember when I was sick and Mab dropped by?”
“I do,” Kingston says, “but you shouldn’t.”
Mel shrugs. “Word travels. Anyway, I’m assuming she cast
some sort of buffer spell or something, because my room’s a veritable bunker.
No one can hear anything.” The blush comes back, but her smile hides it
well. “It’s come in handy. If you ever need to borrow the room, let me know.”
Kingston shakes his head. He’s smiling, but it seems
somewhat forced. Clearly, he’s not happy with Mel remembering that part of her
past. How does he keep track of what everyone’s supposed to remember? Does he have
some sort of magical witchy memory? Or does he have a diary somewhere, filled
with everyone else’s history?
“Speaking of,” Mel says. She looks between the two of us. “I
should probably go … you know, set her free.”
My eyes widen. “She’s still in there?”
Mel shrugs again. “She likes it. Kinky aerialists.”
“You saucy little minx,” Kingston says.
Melody chuckles and turns to go. As she walks off, she calls
out. “You can borrow them after me!”
This time, it’s me who blushes.
Kingston turns and begins to walk off. I follow at his side.
He glances to me once, then dips his eyes back to the grass at his feet. We’re
heading toward the big top.
“So,” I say. “Where were you this morning?”
His free hand runs through his hair.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
It sounds like an easy out, but I don’t press it. He pulls
back the violet curtain for me, and we step into the cool interior of the tent.
It smells of earth and vinyl, a strange combination that I know only exists in
spaces like this. I can practically feel the old dreams drifting in the
stagnant air, waiting for the Wheel to turn them into faerie food. This is the
nexus of the Dream Trade: this tent is how Mab feeds her kingdom.
Kingston walks to the ring curb and sits down, facing center
ring. I sit next to him. With all the empty bleachers behind us, it feels like
we’re performing for ghosts. It’s only when we’re inside that I realize just
how much the sunlight was killing my eyes. The headache had been getting worse,
but in here it seems to ease up a bit.
“I’m not
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