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“Simon, stop. You’re hurting yourself.” “Suzanna, I’m sorry—” He clutched at her. “Don’t leave me—” She watched him in stunned silence as he hissed in a sharp breath through his nose. He slid back away from her like she was on fire and rocketed to his feet, leaving her kneeling there.
“You attacked me.” “That isn’t the answer to my question. And no, I didn’t attack you. I was flirting with you.” “You broke into my boxcar and snuck into my bed in my sleep. That isn’t flirting.” “To you.”
“You were having relations with my shadow in your sleep. I figured the invitation applied to the authentic product, not just the bad replica.” “I—that—how did you—” “Are you claiming he wasn’t there?” “He kissed me.”
“Who is Duncan?” “Who’s Suzanna?” He grimaced. “My fiancée. I would appreciate it if you did not tell the others about my…eh…lapse.” “Fuck you.” “That is precisely what I was trying to accomplish, believe it or not.”
“He held me down and raped me. He wouldn’t stop. I remember the pain. The next morning, I threw him out. I filed a report with the cops, but they said that because of the drinking, my story wasn’t reliable. Said I didn’t have ‘enough’ bruises to prove assault. He denied everything. A lot of our mutual friends took his side. He got away with it.”
“It’s kind of a strange world we live in where I would have no problem brutally murdering you, yet I am rather offended at the notion that you think I would stoop so low as to hurt you in that way.” He looked back at her. “That makes no sense. Society is rather odd, isn’t it?”
“Hm.” He took in a breath and let it out. “I don’t say this often. If ever. I hope you appreciate it, as you won’t likely ever hear it again. I’m sorry for scaring you.”
“Even monsters like me have to have some standards.”
She went to reach for the tray, but he pulled it out of her grasp. “Ah-ah, it comes with a price.” “Which is?” “Letting me in.” “Why?” “To talk.” She raised an eyebrow. “Just talk. I promise.” He smiled.
“I wasn’t aware you wanted to be friends.” “Well, I’d prefer to be passionate lovers, but after last night, I think we should start over at the beginning.”
“Have you let anyone touch you since Duncan?” She shot him a fiery glare and didn’t answer him. “That would be a ‘no,’ then.” He smirked. “Am I wrong?” “I’m going to stab you with my fork.”
“That is most definitely a ‘no.’ Don’t they say talking about trauma helps in the healing process?” “You know what helps me in the healing process? Stabbing you with this fork.”
“Why the sudden interest in my sex life? Want to change our mutual recent runs of celibacy?” She held out her fork in his direction. He leaned back in his chair with another laugh. “I had to try.”
“I think I know what part of your seity I stole.” “Oh?” He tilted closer eagerly. “Yeah. The part of you that liked to masturbate in the mirror. That’s why you’re interested in me.” She grinned at him. He had served her the perfect setup. His expression went to one of surprise, then amusement, and he sat back, howling in laughter. “Well played, Cora dear. Well played, indeed.”
“This…I don’t think you understand. This is…dangerous. This is incredibly dangerous.” “Dangerous?” “He doesn’t speak to anyone. Ever. Only to Ringmaster. He’s never written a note to anyone! Why you? Why now?”
She was a weapon. A beautiful, tiny, mouthy little weapon. And what a mouth she had on her.
Stupid tall bastard with his stupid long legs.
It was close to the top of one pile that she paused. It was a sketch of herself. He’d drawn her. No one had ever done that before. She picked up the piece of paper and found herself fascinated by it.
“I’d ask you to try to be nicer to me, but I’m pretty certain this is about as nice as you’re capable of being.” “Correct.”
Someone pounded on the door. “Simon, are you in there?” It was Ringmaster. “Go away. I’m having sex,” Simon shouted back. “No, he is not!” Cora scrambled for the door and threw it open. The tall Turk looked befuddled at best. “Why does everyone always want to ruin my fun?” The Puppeteer threw his hands up in frustration.
It was the Clown
I hate clowns
“Mr. Harrow wrote me a note last night.” Clown looked up, surprised, and put a hand over his mouth.
Maybe Clown is good, but I only trust Simon, so this seems like a bad idea
“I hate you. You realize that, right?” “Everyone hates me. That’s nothing new.”
“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.”
“Everything I’ve done since Mr. Harrow chose you to join us has been to help you.”
“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.”
The role of the Puppeteer is to represent sin, temptation, wickedness, and fear.
“The Contortionist is…” He chuckled. “As far away from me as one can get, perhaps. New beginnings, creativity, and spontaneity. Bravery. Hope.”
She wanted to slap him. And part of her wanted to kiss him. Or wish he’d do it for her.
“I shouldn’t be here. You’re trouble.” “That I am. That I very much am. But I think you like a bit of trouble, don’t you, Cora Glass?”
If she’d just let me have her, just the once, I could stop thinking about her.
But never, not once, did anything affect him like this. Like her. Like Cora.
If I am a god in this place and I kneel at her feet, what is she?
“Get your hand off her, Barker. Before I tear it off at the joint.”
“You don’t own me, and I’m not your property.” “You aren’t anyone’s property, Cora dear. Least of all his.”
“Did she really clock you in the face with a skillet?” “She did.”
Aaron’s arm. Torn off at the socket. She knew by what. Strings.
Aaron was screaming. Simon was laughing. That loud, maniacal laughter that gave her chills.
The string cinched tighter and tighter until his head just…popped off.
She had just watched Simon rip a man into tiny pieces. And nobody seemed to really care.
The Faire was going to either corrupt her or consume her.
She was afraid, yes. But it wasn’t all fear.
She felt his forehead rest against her. “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.” He placed a kiss against her cheek, just by her ear. Slow and sensual.
He gave her every chance to turn away. His lips ghosted over hers, and she held her breath. Then…he kissed her. Carefully at first, tentative, exploring. He broke away and waited for her to fight him. When she didn’t—when she couldn’t do anything at all except feel trapped like a fly in a web—he closed the embrace again, harder than before.
She had never been swept off her feet before. She didn’t know the meaning of the phrase. It was just over-romantic dribble. But she understood it now. Especially as he picked her up like she weighed nothing and sat her on the edge of the table, stepping between her knees to deepen the kiss. When she tried to pull back, he caught her face in his hands, cradling them in his palms, not letting her escape so easily.
He just killed a man. He just ripped him to pieces and laughed. Oh, God. Why am I holding on to him?
“I can’t.” He let out a thoughtful hum. “Too fast?” She nodded weakly. “And it’s wrong.”
“You’re not going to force me, are you?” “Never. Never, cupcake.” He rested his forehead against her temple again. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, though, Cora dear…nobody touches you but me. You can tell me no as many times as you want, every time I ask between now and when the sun burns out. But there’s a part of me there inside you. And if they defile you, they defile me, and we can’t have that.”
“I don’t belong to you. If I want to go off and fuck every single person in this god-forsaken Faire, it’s my right.” He tilted his head to the side slightly. “Oh, really?” “I don’t belong to you. Not now, not ever.” “We’ll see about that. Ta-ta for now, darling. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, promptly at two for another practice session.”
“Dearest Cora, I understand your concerns. I will free you of this place, but it will cost the lives of all the rest in my employ. I will be forced to start over. You have until tomorrow night at midnight to decide. Neither this offer, nor any other, will be extended again.
