The Immortal Circus: Act Two (5 page)

Kingston looks down. I wish he would say something romantic
like
I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.
But he can’t. He’s lied
more times than I can count. The fact that he had to under contract only makes
the fact a little more bearable.
What between us is even real?

“What are we going to do?” he asks.

“I want you to come here and sit down. I want you to tell me
about him.”

His eyes shoot up. There’s no imagining the wounded look
splashed across his face like a bloodstain.

“Austin?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. I sit down on the bed and wait for him to join
me. He hesitates, then finally moves over and sits down. The space between us
is only inches, but it feels like miles.

“I don’t know anything about him,” he says.

“But you saw him. You must have told him something to make
him go away.”

Kingston nods, slowly.

“Kingston, what am I supposed to do if he comes back? What
if someone else from my family drops in and says hello? What then? I can’t go
around wondering if everyone I see is someone I’ve forgotten I know.”

“That won’t happen,” he says. “
This
shouldn’t have
happened.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because when you signed your contract, you asked to
disappear. That meant changing more than just your memory.”

My brows furrow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, my magic had to cast a wider net.”

“You made everyone forget me,” I whisper.

“There’s only one way to disappear,” he says. “You have to
have never existed in the first place.”

And suddenly I remember sitting in Penelope’s trailer one
sunny afternoon, filing tickets and receipts and returns, and searching for my
name online. Vivienne Warfield. Nothing turned up. No email, no Facebook, no
nothing. No one shared my name. There was no trace of me. Ever. How had I
managed to forget that? Just thinking about it makes fresh nausea roll over me.
Why did I want to vanish so entirely?

I’ve felt lost before. I’ve felt lonely. But I’ve never felt
this alone. I’ve never felt like I’ve been plucked from the world and set
aside—the isolation, the emptiness, they crush me like a vise.

“So how did he remember me?” I ask, trying to keep myself
from falling under the waves of memory. “If you made him forget me, how did he
know who I was?”

Kingston shakes his head.

“I don’t know. It should be—“

“Impossible,” I finish. “Just like everything that happened
before.”

He looks at me, then.

“Exactly,” he says.

A beat passes, and it feels like I’m falling, like my
carefully constructed world of glitz and distraction is crumbling through my
fingers.

“Kingston, what’s going on?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says. He leans over and buries his head
against my neck, nuzzles my collar. “We’re falling apart, Viv. I feel like I’m
the only thing keeping us together. And not even that’s enough anymore.”

I don’t want to know if he’s talking about the show in
general or about us.

I wake up at seven to the tinny beep of my bunk neighbor’s
alarm. The screeching pierces the thin walls of the double-wide. And seeing as
Arietta is an aerialist and enjoys getting in her morning Sun Salutations, I
never get to sleep in. For some reason, the night’s dreams nag at me, but I
can’t remember anything about them beyond the extreme sensation of needing to
shower or wash my hands. My head is buzzing, slightly, but I brush it off as my
pressing need for caffeine.

I roll over and reach out, and that’s when I notice Kingston
isn’t there.

My eyes shoot open and look around the trailer, but it’s not
like this is a game of
Where’s Waldo—
there’s nowhere for him to hide
.
Kingston’s gone. I never felt him leave in the night. It’s not like him to just
up and go without at least giving me a kiss goodbye—he’s always been sappily
romantic like that. My heart beats an uneasy cadence. Kingston left, and it
somehow feels like my fault.

I force myself out of bed and get dressed, then walk outside
just in time to see Arietta step from her bunk with a yoga mat under her arm
and a sleepy smile on her face. The girl’s got talent, but anyone who can wake
up at seven with a smile is labeled a freak in my book. And in this show,
that’s saying something. I give her a slight nod that she returns with a
broader smile. My focus has already shifted to the back lot.

Our trailers are set up in parallel lines at this site, so
I’m facing the door to the opposite bunk. No one’s walking back and forth in
the alley between the double-wides except Arietta as she heads toward the
baseball diamond. The air smells faintly of bacon and cut grass, and I head
over to the one place I can expect to find Kingston—or anyone else—at this time
of day: the pie cart.

The little kitchen trailer is set up a few yards away from
the bunk trailers. It looks like one of those food trucks you’d see selling
crappy Mexican food in a big city, but this trailer is painted with flowers and
is heavily decorated with dangling wind chimes and Tibetan flags. So yeah, more
like a food cart selling organic granola and kombucha. There’s a pavilion-style
tent set up beside it, with a few empty benches under the awning. One of the
tables is already laden with fruit and rolls and a couple silver canisters of
heaven—fresh coffee.

But other than a few Shifters yawning beside the coffee
dispensers, the dining area is empty. So much for finding Kingston.

I head over to the cart and grab a plastic mug from the
rack. I can’t help but notice that the Shifters—two that I don’t recognize, not
that that means much among people who can and do change their shape like
Harajuku girls change their hair colors—immediately go even quieter the moment
I’m near. Sara’s words wiggle through my tired and already stressed mind:
They
see you as Mab’s henchmen.

“Morning,” I say as I pour sugar into the mug.

They grunt in response. I raise an eyebrow. The guy has a
shaved head and steel spikes jutting from his lower lip. The girl is about half
a head taller than baldie, with acid-pink hair and a splash of stars inked
across her right temple.

“I’m Vivienne,” I say. I hold out a hand. They want to be
awkward? I will
make
this shit awkward. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“Michelle,” says the girl. She speaks her name like she’s
wielding a blunt object at my face.

“Craig,” says the guy.

Neither takes my hand. I keep it there for what I hope to
hell is an awkward slow five seconds.
One Mississippi …

“How are you guys settling in?” I do my best to keep my
voice cheerful, which, as anyone who knows me would quickly attest, is a sure
sign I’m acting, especially so early in the day.

Craig shrugs. Michelle looks away.

“Fine, I guess,” Michelle says. “We should get going. Some
of the stakes on the west end need adjusting.”

“Have a lovely day!” I call out to their backs. And then,
when they’ve disappeared around the corner of the tent, “Fucking assholes.”

Today is not a day I want to be screwed with or vilified or
any of that shit. Today I just want to find Kingston and have him apologize and
maybe have some makeup sex so we can go back to the way things were. None of
this evading the subject. None of this treating me like I’m radioactive. It’s
not my fault he’s feeling guilty about erasing my memory. It’s not
my
fault I can’t remember the men of my past. Okay, maybe it is sort of my fault
if I put it in my contract, but I’m not responsible for the fallout. The
growing ache in my head isn’t making any of it better, either.

I don’t realize I’m shaking until Mel comes up beside me and
puts a hand on my arm.

“You okay, sweetie?” she asks.

I glance at her. She’s in a loose T-shirt that almost covers
the tiny pink shorts sticking out underneath. Her hair is all mussed, and her
smudged eyeliner tells me she’s just woken up.

“I’m …” I sigh. I don’t want to lie to my only friend, but I
don’t know how much she knows about my contract. And 7 a.m. isn’t any time to
try and explain it away. “Boy troubles,” I say. It’s the truth. Sort of.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Has he done something?” she asks quietly. Normally, I’d
expect her to make a joke or try to play things off, but her voice is deadly
serious. “If he’s done anything to hurt you or …”

I shake my head.

“Nothing like that,” I say. “It’s just …” Another sigh. God,
saying anything in this troupe is impossible anymore. “It’s my contract. The
whole ‘forgetting my past’ thing. Turns out I had a boyfriend.”

“Not surprising,” Mel says. She turns to grab some coffee,
now that it’s clear Kingston’s not being a dick. “I’d date you.”

“Thanks,” I say with a small laugh. “But … Mel, he showed up
yesterday. He knew me. And I didn’t know him.”

That gets her attention.

“I thought they couldn’t …?” she begins. And with that
little slip, I realize she’s known that part of my contract all along. She
actually blushes a little with her admission. Under normal circumstances, I’d
be upset she was hiding that from me. But it kind of pales in comparison to
what I’m keeping from her. “What happened?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Kingston told him to go away or something.” I
run a hand through my hair.
Actually, what
did
Kingston say to him? I
never found out—does Austin still remember me?
“But now things are awkward.
I don’t even
remember
this guy. What if I still have feelings for him,
underneath all the layers of contract?”

Mel bites her lip and is silent for a long while.

“I’m not really Miss Good Relationship Advice,” she allows.
“But what can you do? You don’t remember the guy, and even if you did, you’re
bound to the show now. Chances are you forgot about him for a reason, and
chances are even better that you’ll never see him again. So who cares? He’s
just a ghost from your past.” She pauses to take a sip of her coffee.
“Kingston’s real. He’s here right now. And he’s in love with you. Do you really
want to throw that away for a guy you can’t remember?”

She’s got a point, but she’s also not in my shoes. She still
knows the majority of her past. 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 going to continue like this,” I say. I’m not going
to wait for him to grow a pair. I’ve been through too much to put up with this.
“If you want to start ignoring me, fine. But at least man up and admit it.”

He sighs into his coffee and puts one hand on my thigh.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I don’t want to ignore you. It’s
just …” He looks at me then, and his brown eyes seem lost. “I’m waiting for you
to wake up and remember you care about him more. That you miss him or that you
regret leaving him.”

His hand actually trembles. The coffee in his cup ripples.

I want to tell him that won’t happen. After all, Melody was
right: I’m part of the show now. I’m here for life. Even if I did have feelings
for Austin, it wouldn’t mean anything. I couldn’t go after him even if I wanted
to.

But that doesn’t promise anything. Because if I do wake up
some morning with forgotten longing, I’ll have two choices: I remember and suck
it up and say nothing and suffer, or I ask Kingston to erase it, and he lives
with the knowledge that I needed him to make me forget I loved someone else.

Being in my shoes sucks, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to
be in his either.

“Do you know anything about him?” I ask.

Kingston shakes his head. “I didn’t even know he existed.
When I erased you from the world, it was a mass-effect sort of spell. One
casting and you were supposed to be plucked from the minds of everyone who knew
you. It’s not my favorite spell, but Mab forces me to use it every once in a
while, when her performers are on the run.” He pauses and looks into his
coffee. “I’ve never had someone break through it before.”

“So what did you say to him?” I ask. “To make him leave. Did
you pluck me from his mind again?”

“No,” he says. “I just told him you weren’t feeling well. It
was weird. He looked like he was sleepwalking. When Mab showed up and asked him
to leave, he asked who you were and if you were going to be okay.”

For some reason, that’s a stab in the gut. I know I don’t
remember him, but … a small part of me was hoping that he was still out there,
thinking of me. Even though I locked it away, it was comforting to think that I
still had a lifeline to my past.

“I’m sorry, Viv,” he says. He squeezes my thigh. “For all of
this.”

“It’s not important,” I say. Even though a part of me is
screaming that it
is
important, that I shouldn’t let myself forget
again. My head swims a little, and the ache in my temples throbs. “We’ve got
bigger things to worry about.”

“Like what?” comes a voice from the bleachers. My heart
drops into my stomach.