The Immortal Circus: Final Act (Cirque des Immortels) (12 page)

Things click in the molasses of my mind. Things that make my gut churn.

“Kingston is dead,” I whisper. It almost sounds like a question.

“My dear,” she replies, a smile on her wicked lips. “This is the Immortal Circus. For those in my employ, death is merely an illusion.”

“What are you saying?” I ask. “Kingston’s still alive? How is that possible? I saw him die. I drank his fucking blood!”

She dismisses it all with a wave of her hand.

“
Immortal
doesn’t mean always
alive
,” she says coolly. “It simply means we cannot
die.
There is a distinct difference.”

But I don’t hear anything she’s saying. The world around me goes dark; my knees slam on the stone floor, but I don’t really feel it—I’m not even there. I’m back in the cell in Oberon’s dungeons, watching Oberon slit Kingston’s throat. I’m there, feeling Kingston’s warm blood spill across my hands. Feeling Melody tip the vial of his blood down my throat. There are tears in my eyes, and I don’t know if they’re memory or immediate, but the ache in my heart is all too real.
I saw him die. I saw him die because of me.

But it’s not just that; it’s all the rest—everything he said before he was killed, the admission that he had magically manipulated my feelings at first, the promise that his love for me was never an illusion.
Death is merely an illusion.
Was anything in this show for real?

“When you’re quite finished,” Mab says. Her words clear the memory from my mind, but reality doesn’t sink back in—my world is tinged the color of blood and rage.

“You knew,” I say. My hands are trembling with hatred and power. Stars form at the corners of my vision. “You knew he was alive. All this time you knew he was alive, and you didn’t fucking tell me?” The last part comes out as a scream and
oh God, Austin.
I press my palms over my eyes and try to block it out, all of it—the love for Austin, the love for Kingston. Austin, who at any time could be killed. Kingston, who is apparently still alive.

“To be fair,” Mab says, “you never asked. I’m surprised it never occurred to you. Immortality is, after all, written into all of your contracts. It’s the biggest perk of the job.”

And she’s right, she’s right—I’m so
stupid—
but I can’t focus on that, not through the rage that’s pouring through my veins. Not through the light trying to shatter from my palms.

I take a deep, shuddering breath. I want to kill her. I want to rip her apart.

But I can’t. And she knows it. My contract forbids it.

She steps up beside me and places a hand on my shoulder. Her grip is ice and iron, as binding as the words I signed my name to.

“You must pull yourself together, Vivienne,” she says. “It’s time for you to step up to the plate.”

Another deep breath. Another vain attempt at calming the screams ricocheting through my brain.

“What are you talking about?”

She kneels in front of me, then, and whispers in my ear.

“In the beginning, I thought we could use your gifts to manipulate Kassia into overthrowing Oberon. But he has changed the game, and now your powers alone are not enough. We need Kingston’s magic to end the demons. You must enter the Summer Kingdom and bring back Kingston’s remains. Then we can revive him.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat at the thought.

“His remains? What the hell do you mean
his remains?”

“Exactly what I said,” she replies. “His body is still whole, or partially so. I believe Oberon has put him on display somehow, a testament to his coming victory. He always did like his trophies.
Men.
”

“How do you know?” I ask. Because I remember the cell Kingston was locked in, and I remember the beast in the pen beside it. The chimera. How does she know Oberon didn’t just feed Kingston to the monster?

The thought makes me gag.

“Because,” she says. “He told me.”

And then she pulls back the sleeve of her long silk dress.

There, spiraling across her porcelain skin in fading grey ink, is a tattoo I never thought I’d see again. Especially not on her. It’s a long, twining feathered serpent. Kingston’s magical familiar.

“Zal,” I whisper.

The tattoo winks.

I pass out.

When I wake up, I’m back in Mab’s icy realm. I’m lying on a giant bed with black satin sheets and onyx columns rising up from each corner, their points supporting more black satin laced with frost. I stare up at the striated canopy for a while, trying to let my thoughts settle.
Kingston is still alive. He’s still alive, and he’s waiting for me to find him.

But that brings two more thoughts to light that I just can’t bear to imagine.
Kingston and I might still have a future.
And:
What does this mean for Austin?
One man traveled across the country to find me. I have to travel through hell to find the other. I want to convince myself that I’m over Kingston, that there was too much deceit and manipulation, but that’s all a lie. Knowing he’s out there means there’s a chance to make amends, there’s still a chance to have our future and our castle in the far reaches of Faerie, a kingdom of our own.

But Austin…Austin was my rock, my everything. Kingston is glitz and glamour; Austin is comfort and strength. I can’t just denounce that. Not after everything he’s been through for me. Because of me. How can I love them both equally but for completely different reasons?

I have to save Kingston to end the demons. But Austin was the only one who helped fight my personal demons. He was the only one who truly seemed to care.

The rustle of silk makes me look over. Mab sits on a leather armchair beside a fireplace filled with silent, sky-blue flames. Snow drifts against the fireplace and in the corners of the room, but even though I’m not under the covers, I’m not frozen solid. Bookshelves line the walls behind her and a small table sits to her right, a decanter of dark liquid and a half-filled crystal port glass atop it. Mab isn’t looking at me; she stares into the flames with a pensive expression on her face. I can almost imagine her reliving Lilith’s capture. I can almost imagine she’s as torn about all of this as I am. If I didn’t still hate her for keeping Kingston a secret, I might feel a shard of empathy. As it is, a large part of me just wants to smash that decanter across her face.

“How long was I out?” I ask. I keep my voice civil. I know full well what happened the last time I tried to hurt Mab. Who knows what other terrible contractual nuances are laced throughout my terms?

“Not long,” she says. She traces one finger idly over the rim of the port glass. “I had William bring you back here. I suppose it has been a taxing twenty-four hours for you.”

I don’t say anything to that. Is she actually showing some sort of concern for my well-being? Maybe I’m still passed out.

“What do I do now?” I ask. I push myself up slowly—the moment I move, the room spins, and I have to brace myself against the pillowed headboard to keep from tipping. “How long until I have to be back for the show?”

Her free hand casually brushes the question aside. “You’ll emerge at dawn in the mortal world no matter how long you stay here. The true difficulty will lie in whether you emerge alone or with Kingston.”

Just hearing his name opens Pandora’s box within my chest. Try as I might, I can’t close it. A part of me doesn’t want to; the ache weighs me down, reminds me that I’m not daydreaming. It reminds me that a part of me—enchanted or not—still loves him. The rest of me feels sick at the thought.
Austin, Austin, what about Austin?

“I suggest you focus on the important things,” Mab says. She turns her attention to me, gives her glass of wine or blood a swirl and takes a sip. “Your love for these men is merely a sideshow; if you fail to bring back Kingston, you won’t have a future with either of them.” Her eyes narrow on mine, snaring my thoughts and stopping the questions of Kingston and Austin in their tracks. “You can debate your emotions later. Right now, you need to prepare for war.”

Her words are like a battle drum in my ears. It’s not a vision, but in my mind’s eye I can see the world in flames as demons peel themselves from the earth. I’ve had this vision before, dreamt it many times. Everything burning.

And that’s when I realize: this was the end I was trying to protect Claire from. This is the war I wanted to spare her.

I killed her to keep her safe from what’s coming tomorrow morning.

“Do we even have a chance?” I ask. My mouth tastes like it’s already filled with ash.

“A dangerous question,” she says. “Whatever do you mean?”

“The visions,” I say. “All this time, I’ve had visions of the world ending. It’s why I came to you. Everyone burns. Everyone dies. This isn’t just a war between you and Oberon, is it? This involves the mortal world as well. And we don’t stand a chance. The demons are going to take over.”

Mab ruminates over her glass for a moment, her eyes not leaving mine.

“I was wondering when you would figure that out,” she says. Another pause, another appraising moment. “Yes, your visions showed you the future. But it is not a definite future. Not exactly. It’s merely the most accurate future, the one that will probably happen if life continues to unfold as it currently is. That said, at any point we may make a choice that changes that future. Clearly, you just haven’t made it yet.”

“How did you know?” I ask. “How did you know what my visions even were? I thought no one had access to them.”

“You never told me the specifics of your visions when you signed on, but I learned much when you had them locked away.” She flourishes her free hand. There, in her palm, is an emerald ring, the stone set in a band of blackened silver.

I’ve never seen the ring before in my life. But I know, without a doubt, what it is.

“That’s where you hid my memories,” I say. Just looking at the ring makes my mind and heart stir.

“Yes,” she says. She tosses it over to me. I snare it and hold the emerald up to the light; like Kassia’s ruby, cracks fissure through the stone, an unearthly light seeping through. “As you can see, recent events have jeopardized the stability of the stone. Poor William, he actually offered to flagellate himself out of shame. If only the blame were that simple—it’s not the craftsmanship that is failing, but the magic that binds it.”

She gives me a look that tells me she knows Kingston allowed loopholes in my memory. The look tells me that there’s nothing secret between us, not anymore.

“Your visions are not just flashes of power—with every crack in that stone, another memory returns to you. And those visions are accurate; if the demons attack and overpower my army—you included—they will indeed take over the mortal realm. Oberon is tired of dealing in the shadows. As I said earlier, the shadows are
my
realm, and I think he grows weary of seeking human attention in vain. He wants to rule in the mortal realm. He wants to be king of all.”

I can see it all in the cracks of the stone; firelight dances along the seams, shapes flickering and destroying, figures marching off to war.…I shake my head and look up to Mab.

“You said I needed to claim my powers. Are those in here, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “That stone merely holds your memories. No, it took a stronger magic to keep your power in check. Much like Lilith, we needed a living host to serve as a vessel. A host who could keep your powers under magical lock and key at all times.”

She gives me a smile. My blood runs colder than snow.

“Kingston,” I whisper.

“Bingo.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” I say. “You were able to tap into my powers before. How, if Kingston hid them?”

She swirls her wine and takes another drink. The more I stare at it, the more convinced I am that it is, in fact, blood.

“Intricacies of wording,” she finally says. “I’ve had a very long time to perfect the phrasing of contracts. Yes, your powers were hidden within Kingston. And yes, you yourself are unable to tap into them—save for glitches here and there. No magic is perfect, after all. But I specifically worded it so you could only wield your powers if I gave you express permission. Line thirteen, as I’m sure you remember.”

I gasp when she says it, but this time—unlike the last time she uttered those words, when Oberos was attacking—no light shoots from my hands. My powers don’t come back in force. There’s a slight tingle, sure, but that might just be from the cold.

“What happened? Why didn’t my powers release?”

“I changed your contract,” she says.

“What? Why?”

“Because, having line thirteen in your terms was a bomb waiting to go off. And it almost did. If someone had gone in and rewritten your terms, anyone could have unleashed your powers. Think of how easy it would have been for Oberon to use you against me.”

“Then how
do
I get them back?”

She chuckles. “Not so fast, love. First, you bring me Kingston. Then, when I know you won’t go turncoat, I’ll tell you how to come into your own.”

She doesn’t give me any chance to interrogate. Instead, she sips the last gulp from her glass and stands, saying that time is of the essence. So I do what I always seem to do when Mab’s taking charge: I shut up, don’t ask questions, and follow her lead. Before I hop off the bed, however, I slide the ring on my finger. It fits perfectly. I may not be able to reach those memories just yet, but having them this close makes me feel a little more complete. The strange part is just how unusual that feeling actually is.

“You’re going to have to undergo this alone, I’m afraid,” she says, guiding me down the winding corridor outside the bedroom. Even more snow drifts in the corners, though the torches here burn with regular flames. For some reason, that just makes the icy hall feel colder. “I can’t spare any of my subjects, not right now. Who knows when Oberon will send those demons against me again?”

She doesn’t speak like she’s facing the end of the world. She talks like she’s worrying about missing out on a Black Friday sale.

“So how the hell am I supposed to sneak in and grab Kingston? It’s not like I can carry him all the way through the Wildness on my own.”

She sweeps down a side hallway, this one making a slow spiral down.

“Oh ye of little faith,” she says, which sounds particularly strange coming from her lips, seeing as she’s pretty much the antithesis of anything saintly. But she doesn’t expand upon it, and I don’t ask. She, too, works in mysterious ways. Usually unpleasant, but definitely mysterious.

There’s a wooden door at the end of the hall; it’s covered in runes, much like the one in the jeweler’s workshop. Mab places her hand on the doorframe and gives it a caress. Runes flash into life under her fingertips, flaring out like lightning, and then the door slides into the wall on silent rollers.

She slinks inside and I follow. The room within is vast and oppressive, the ceiling vaulted like the catacombs. Low shelves fill the room in perfect rows, each one lit by dangling chandeliers that cast everything in a pallid green glow. Unlike the rest of the kingdom, there’s no snow or ice down here. No, the room is perfectly preserved—no dust, no cobwebs, no sign that time has passed.

It’s hard to take it all in. The place is like an oddities museum; every shelf is covered in skulls and vials, arcane books and taxidermic creatures. A golden sarcophagus stands beside a stuffed dragon, its red scales glittering in the light of the candle-filled Hand of Glory next to it. There’s nothing outwardly organized about the place, though it does ring with some unknown logic.

Mab heads down an aisle and gestures to a rack of swords as she passes.

“Normally, I would equip you with a weapon, but as you’ve neither innate skill nor time to develop it, such a blade would be more burden than boon.”

I remember when Mel rescued me from Summer, the sound of pursuit as we escaped. There were creatures in the Wildness, I knew, that would kill just for the fun of it. And that’s nothing compared to the Fey lurking in Oberon’s kingdom.

“So you expect me to go in there without a weapon?” I ask. “That’s suicide.”

“Not at all,” she replies, ducking down a side corridor. “You yourself are the only weapon you need.”

“But you said my powers are locked away.”

She halts in front of a shelf covered in vials of all colors.

“Nuances,” she says. She reaches for a flask filled with purple liquid. “Another aspect of your contract I’m surprised you haven’t grasped: your powers are locked away unless your life is in immediate danger. Think of it as a safeguard to your immortality clause.” She smiles as she hands me the vial. I don’t take it.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Chimera blood,” she says. I raise an eyebrow, and she continues. “Really, Vivienne. It’s one of the oldest, most potent forms of glamour there is. Faeries may use magic to enchant appearances, but chimera blood is inherently magical. Whoever drinks it becomes whatever they wish for a short period of time. It’s what Melody gave you when she rescued you.”

I take the vial and slide it into my pocket.

“What about Kingston?” I ask. “It’s not like I can just get his corpse to drink this.”

I feel a little sick the moment I say it, but it’s the truth.

“Patience,” she says. She grabs a small black canister from the shelf. “This is dried chimera blood. It works much the same way as its potable cousin, though you merely sprinkle this on the subject and project your will upon it—it will become whatever shape the caster intends. Be warned, however: there’s only enough powder in here for him. It takes ages for chimera blood to dry. It’s almost as valuable as Dream.”

“You’ve come up with everything,” I say.
Almost like you were planning on this.

She shrugs. “It is always useful to have a backup for your backup. Show business has taught me that much, at least. It’s why I always keep spare eyeliner handy.”

“So how do I get in?” I ask. I glance around, wondering if maybe there’s an enchanted map or portal or something.

“You walk,” she says simply. She notices my expression. “What? Did you expect I could just magically transport you there? Please. This isn’t Harry Potter. There should be enough glamour in those vials to get you in and get you out. No more, no less. This is a recession, after all.”

I shake my head. “You know what I mean. I have no idea where Summer even is. How do I find it? Hell, if I even manage to get inside, how do I know where to find Kingston? He could be anywhere.”

“He could indeed,” she says smoothly. “Luckily for you, you’ll have a guide.”

She holds out her arm. Zal’s feathery head appears from the cuff of her sleeve and slides down into her palm, but it doesn’t stop there. The tattoo bleeds from her skin, coalescing in the air before her hand into a glowing, golden apparition. The feathered serpent unwinds itself above her palm, twining in and out of itself like a living Möbius strip. Sparks or scales flutter down from its body; the quiet hiss reminds me of cinders falling on snow.

“Zal is linked to Kingston’s consciousness,” she says. “In fact, one might say that he is, at least partially, the embodiment of Kingston’s thoughts. It’s one of the perks of having a familiar—you can be in more than one place at a time. Even in death.”

Although she sounds pleased with herself, all I can do is stare at the familiar with a sick knot of dread in my stomach. There are so many questions—if Zal was out there, why didn’t he come to me? Why didn’t Kingston try to let me know he was alive? Or was that all a part of Mab’s plan, too, some twisted way of punishing me for trying to usurp her?

But that’s only part of the panic rearing its head at the sight of Zal. The last time I touched that golden serpent, I was linked to Kingston’s mind. I could hear his thoughts. I could speak to him.

Will I have that ability once Zal touches my skin? If the miniature Quetzalcoatl melds into me, will I always be in touch with Kingston?

Again, Mab seems to read my mind. Her voice cuts through my panic, but it doesn’t necessarily negate it.

“Kingston’s spirit may still be alive,” she says, “but he is far from active. His state is close to a coma. Zal will be able to guide you to him, and perhaps here and there Kingston’s soul will flutter into consciousness enough to form a sentence or two. But for the most part, your boyfriend is still a memory.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say by instinct. Then I bite my tongue.
I don’t know what we are or were, not anymore.

She shrugs. “You two can deal with the formalities later. In the meantime, I need you to invite Zal in. We don’t have all day.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs. “He needs your permission. He can’t just become a part of you without your offering.”

“Oh,” I say. I look to the serpent, whose pearly eyes are now fixed on mine. “Sure.”

It must be enough of an invite, because Zal glides over to me a moment later. My heart races as I watch the familiar move. It feels like a slow panic attack, a train coming down the tracks aimed straight for my chest.

I don’t know if I can do this,
I want to say. But Mab’s right: this isn’t about me and Kingston. This is bigger. Whatever love we had, whatever mess our relationship currently is, it’s all insignificant in light of what’s coming. So I take a deep breath and hold out my arm and let the familiar take root.

Zal’s touch is delicate at first, the barest brush of feathers, the hint of static and breath. It nuzzles my wrist with its toothy mouth like a kitten. Then it presses into my skin, and the pleasant brush becomes a burn. I scream and clasp my forearm with my free hand as Zal digs into me. I’ve never had a tattoo, but I imagine that’s what this feels like, only exponentially worse. As the familiar transfers to my skin, inking its way across my flesh, I’m overcome by the sensation of burning, the stabbing pain of a thousand blunt needles drilling into my skin. The process is slow. So slow. Zal inches up my arm and every millimeter is agony.

And then, after what seems like forever, the pain is gone.

I glance down to my bare arm, to the faded grey tattoo that blurs against my skin. Zal continues to move around, but I no longer feel him. It’s as if he’s trying to find a comfortable spot to settle into.

I take a deep breath and try to calm my frantic pulse.

I look at Mab. I open my mouth to say something, probably,
That wasn’t so bad.

Then I hear his voice.

“Who…who…? Vivienne? Is that you?”

I fall to my knees, my hands to my chest.

“Kingston,” I whisper.

But he’s gone. I know that, somehow; it’s a physical knowledge, like knowing someone’s left a darkened room.

I look up to Mab. She stares down at me with a mix of curiosity on her face and the slightest tinge of concern.

“I…” I begin.

But I don’t know what to say.
I can’t handle this? I don’t know what to think about him? I hate him? I miss him?

“You will get used to it,” she says. Her voice tells me I don’t have a choice—whatever concern there was moments ago vanishes under the intensity of our predicament. “And it will be over soon enough.”

She doesn’t lean over to help me to my feet. Her final words send a chill down my spine.
It will be over soon enough.
If my visions of burning are anything to go by, it will be over very, very soon. And none of us are going to get out of it alive.
The end is nigh. The end is so fucking nigh.

“Gather yourself,” she says. Her words snap me from the memory of charred flesh, cement me in the ice of the moment. “You have everything you need to begin your journey. It’s time to be off.”

Mab leads me through the twisting corridors of her castle. There are so many turns and hidden doors I can’t keep track of where we’re going or where we’ve been. Not that I’m trying. I can’t stop myself from glancing down at the tattoo now settled across my forearm. I keep waiting for it to move, for Kingston’s voice to shatter me again. But there’s nothing—no burn when I rub the ink, no phantom presence. The tattoo is just an old tattoo, one that badly needs a touch-up.

I’ve completely lost track of time when we finally step out into fresh air. I glance back toward the door we stepped through and find it doesn’t exist—all that’s there is a pile of stones overrun with tangled black thorns. The walls of the castle looming up behind us are at least a hundred feet away.

I look to Mab, who stares out at the forest beyond like an elegant Valkyrie surveying the battlefield.

“As you know,” she says without looking at me, “the Wildness beyond has little regard for the Kingdoms. In my realm, you are protected under my name. Out there, admitting affiliation to either Kingdom is signing your own death warrant. I recommend you keep to the shadows and do your best to stay out of sight. Speak to no one, stop for nothing. And try not to follow the music.”

“The what?”

“You will surely find out,” she says. Somehow, she manages to make hearing music ominous.

She turns to me then, and once more she has that terrifyingly serious cast to her face, a look that says she’s all too aware that the world is coming to an end, and that I’m somehow the only one who can prevent it.

Maybe.

“I don’t think I need to tell you just how much is riding on your shoulders,” she says. “And although I’d like to believe this will be a clean in-and-out expedition, I know Oberon will try to persuade you to join his team. You’ve seen what his demons will do to your race. You mustn’t believe his lies.” She pauses, her eyes flickering down. In that movement, in that moment, she looks unsure. Human. “I know you and I have had our fair share of differences,” she says slowly. Massive understatement. “But we are fighting for the same goal, you and I. We both want the same thing.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, because right now, with everything warring in my head, I find that hard to believe.

“Freedom,” she says.

It feels like the bottom of my stomach drops into the icy dirt below.

“What?” Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

She nods.

“I don’t wish to live under Oberon’s rule and neither do you. But if you do this, if you manage to defeat the demons and get Lilith back under control, I will consider your role within my troupe fulfilled.”

“You mean—”

“Yes. Do this task, and I will set you free.”