The Puppeteer (Harrow Faire, #2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

There are different ways that a consciousness, once gnawed and riddled with holes, might come to adapt to such a state of being. Consider three men with this dilemma, if you will. The first man may seek to repair the damage—replace the eaten portions and shore up the foundations. This man is pragmatic, but shortsighted. He treats the symptoms, but not the cause. The second may seek to exterminate the infestation—to seek the illness at the root and rip it out. This man is wise, but must need act quickly before the house collapses around him. The third man merely laughs—he accepts his new state of being and does nothing to repair his home. He declares himself King of the Ants, lifts up hammer and sledge, and tears the remaining walls apart with his own two hands. You might think that man the fool. You might think him a harmless, laughing lunatic. It is a mistake that leads to ruin. For that man is the most dangerous of them all.

“Don’t call me names, you overdressed crimson pimp. I’m well past my limit, and I’m done taking shit from somebody who looks like they fell out of the bargain bin at a Halloween outlet.”

“Would it help if I said I’d like to do dark and sinful sexual acts to you, as well?” She groaned. “Was I not supposed to say that?”

She had probably already been suckered in by the sweet smile and handsome features of the Rigger, just like every other girl who wandered through the park. He was tanned, buff, kind, gentle, and sane. Just about everything Simon wasn’t.

“I wanted to turn you into a doll because I want you, Cora. I wanted to keep you. I shot you because I want you to accept what you are now. My crimes are covetous, but they don’t come from malice or spite.” “What about terrorizing me?” “Okay, that part I do for fun.”

He chuckled quietly, a rumble in his chest. “I lied.” They sat in silence for a long time before he spoke up again. “When I wanted you in my lap, I wasn’t expecting this was how you’d wind up there.” “Go fuck yourself with a corn dog.” “Sounds squishy. But I suppose if you’re into that, I’m willing to try anything once.”

“I know that look.” Simon brushed himself off as he stood. “That’s the look of someone staring at the empty void and wondering if they should just jump into it. But I know what will fix it.” “What?” She shot him an incredulous look as she handed him back his pocket square. He folded it deftly into a complicated pattern and tucked it back into his breast pocket. He smiled effortlessly, like he always did. “Ice cream, of course!”

“Fantastic! I win again, as usual.” He smiled up at the sky. If he were a bird, his feathers would be puffed up. He looked so damn proud of himself. She shoved him, and he staggered away for a step before coming back, still grinning in triumph. “Fine. But you don’t have to always look so fucking smug about it.” “I suppose, then, that when we finally fuck, I’ll have to be careful to not look smug about that, too.” He lowered his head to her like he was going to try to steal a kiss. She hit him upside the head. Hard.

Walking into Simon’s tent gave Cora the chills. The red and black stripes that seemed made for him made her feel like she was sticking her head into the maw of a monster. She couldn’t decide if he was harmless or dangerous. He’s both. Which is impossible. But here he is, and that’s the problem.

“You’re upset that you don’t despise me?” “Very.” “You’re a piece of work, Simon Waite.” He snickered. “Write that on my tombstone.”

“I think I might like you a little, Cora. I certainly want you. But I did not expect to enjoy you.” “Liar.” He huffed a laugh. “Maybe.”

“Afraid you might lose your mind like me? Become a madwoman like the Great and Terrible Simon? Yes. I was always a little…eh…fractured. The Faire only finished the job. We are chosen for the roles we take because we are close to the aspect we represent. The role of the Puppeteer is to represent sin, temptation, wickedness, and fear. I am both the chains of bondage and the joy of breaking them. I was a bit of a hedonist before I came here. And on the verge of being a lunatic.” “And what am I supposed to be?” “The Contortionist is…” He chuckled. “As far away from me as one can get, perhaps. New beginnings, creativity, and spontaneity. Bravery. Hope.”

She was dangerous. Worse than he was. Because if she controlled him—any part of him—what did that make her? If I am a god in this place and I kneel at her feet, what is she?

“I’m proud of you, cupcake. Standing up to me like that…If they see you unafraid to face me down, no one will mess with you. I’m not upset. Dress me down all you want in public, because someday soon you’ll let me dress you down in private.”

“Wrong. Sure.” He let his hands drift down to rest idly on her thighs. “I think that’s the least wrong thing I’ve done all day, cupcake.”

“She’s coming to me! Oh, please don’t tell me this is the beginning of some terrible love triangle. How utterly boring. Jackie, this isn’t a triangle. It’s an exclamation point. And you’re the dot.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” “That explains why you dislike me so much.” “I dislike you because you’re an asshole, Simon.” He chuckled. “One begets the other, doesn’t it?”

“If he’s your subconscious, does that mean subconsciously you want to molest me?” “I consciously want to molest you, darling. I thought I had made that quite obvious. But you’ve also made it painfully clear how unrequited it is. Metaphorically and literally.” It’s more requited than I’m ever gonna admit.

He chuckled. “Probably not. How is the outside world? Still crippled with xenophobia, tribalistic racism, sexism, homophobia, war, and disease?” “Pretty much. But now we have the internet that lets us hate all sorts of fun, new, and interesting people. Oh, and watch lots of stupid cat videos.”

She shook her head. They sat in silence for a long time. “I don’t know what this is between us, Simon.” “I can tell you what I want it to be. It mostly involves you hanging from strings. Naked.”

“A lot of guys would pretend they were after more than just a quick fuck if they thought it got them what they wanted.” Murmuring into his beer, she almost missed what he said. “Who said I was going to make it quick?”

He carefully took them in his and lowered them back to her lap. He leaned down and placed a kiss against her fingers. “We have the Faire. Out there are nineteen people who care about you. That want you to be happy, and part of the Family. And here, kneeling at your feet like a fool, is someone who has come to value you highly enough to refuse the idea of turning you into one of his dolls. Twice. That is no small feat.”

He rested his forehead against hers and stroked her cheek with his thumb. They stayed like that for a long time before she found the nerve to whisper her fears to him. “I feel so alone.” “You are anything but. You’re tired, you’re overwrought, and you’re caught in a nightmare. But tomorrow, you will wake from this fear. Don’t think of this place as a gilded cage. Think of it as the freedom to be who you were meant to be, free of pain and a world that sought to break you down.”