The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) by A. R. Kahler Page A

that’s not where
the tail was last time. I push myself up to sit, which just makes my head swim
even more.
    “What time is
it? How long have I been out?”
    “A full day,”
Kingston says softly. “We’re already at the next site.”
    “No way,” I
say, sinking back down onto the bed. “Shit.”
    “The show’s
in an hour,” Melody says. She slips something into my hand. “But Mab’s giving
you the night off.”
    I look at the
ticket stub in my hand. Cirque des Immortels is in swirling black ink on
the front of the dusty purple card stock, my seat number and row are on the
back. VIP seating, nice.
    “She doesn’t
ever give people the night off,” Melody says, nodding to the ticket in my hand.
“Let alone reward them for it. She must be impressed.”
    She and
Kingston share a look.
    “You’re sure you can’t remember anything?” he asks.
    “I wish,” I
say. The absence of memory sears.

    Melody leaves
a few minutes later, when a particularly strong coughing fit sends her out the
door in search of tea and honey. Kingston stares after her with a look on his
face that tells me he feels he should follow. He doesn’t, though. And after a
moment of looking at the door, he turns back to me.
    “That was
brave,” he says. He’s leaning against my desk, almost in arm’s reach. The scent
of his musky cologne fills the trailer. I realize that, for the first time,
we’re alone in a room together. The thought makes my heart beat faster. He
smiles, and it’s not the usual sarcastic grin. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
    I don’t know
what to say to that, so I let out a half-chuckle, and look down at the
admissions ticket.
    I hear him
shift, and then he’s standing next to the bed. Next to me. I don’t look up. I
know if I do I’ll be tempted to say or do something I’d regret later.
    He puts his
hand on my shoulder. The ticket stops spinning in my hands but my pulse speeds
up. What would Mel say if she knew we were alone like this? I can’t hurt her,
not after all the kindness she’s shown me. But after what he said yesterday, a
large part of me is holding on to the hope that they aren’t a thing.
    “You surprise
me,” he says. I look up at him.
    “Is that a
good thing?” I counter. I’d probably fuck things up if I said anything remotely
serious or tried to be smooth. But there’s something in his eyes, something in
our closeness that makes me want to reach out and touch him, even if every part
of me knows it’s a horrible idea. I can’t stop telling myself that he’s looking
at me differently than the way he’s looked at Mel. I try to convince myself
it’s just from fainting.
    “I’m not sure
yet,” he says. He studies me like he’s actually trying to figure me out. No
one’s looked at me that intensely since I started here. The silence between us
grows, and I don’t want to do anything to make it end. He looks at me and I
look at him and his hand is still on my shoulder. His touch makes my skin
tingle. He bites his lower lip.
    If this were a
movie, I think this must be the part where tragedy and heroism bring us
together and we make a really stupid decision. One of us has a moment of
weakness, forgets the relationship-thing due to overwhelming passion, and then
it’s nothing but lips and discarded clothes and murmurs of love —
    Kingston
shakes his head and steps back.
    “I better get
going,” he says. “Wouldn’t want any rumors about us, you know.” He winks and
heads to the door. Before stepping through, he turns back and gives me the grin
I’m starting to love. “And, Viv, I know my act is good, but try not to faint
before intermission.” He chuckles and leaves me sitting there.
    He’s just
toying with you, I try to convince myself. But my body’s not listening. I
stare at the door for a while and feel the after-trace of his hand on my
shoulder. I tell myself that there are more important things to think about,
like finding the killer and keeping Kingston and Mel safe,