Chapter 10

Ten

Club and Spade help me to a different tent, this one sitting farther back, nestled within the heart of the circus and surrounded by four others. I'm quiet, as are they, and for a moment, I just stare at the black tent. It's plain but large and in the shape of a heptagon. They release my arms, and I stumble, watching as they walk toward it.

"Your new home," one of them murmurs.

They part the material that forms the door, and I step within, glancing back at them as they drop it behind me, leaving me all alone. I turn forward, looking around at my new living space. It's emptier than the other tent I was in, as if waiting for me to fill it with my own things. There's a large double bed pushed against the back wall, framed by the black material of the tent, with mismatched pillows and blankets. The floor here is harder, although still covered by a bright carpet, but there seems to be flooring underneath. There's a wardrobe with a mirror on it and a huge, candle-filled light hanging from the ceiling, but not much else except a two-person table sitting in the middle of the tent with two chairs.

There's a black box on it, and I hop closer on my crutches, collapsing into a chair.

My head is spinning, and my emotions are muddled. A week ago, I was fighting for my life in an attic, and now, here I am, my soul given to a circus and four masked men claiming we are family. I can't help but wonder, despite my conviction, what I have gotten myself into.

Reaching across the scarred wood, I touch the box, my card clutched in my other hand. Taking a deep breath, I lift the lid. I made my choice, so now all I can do is accept it and keep moving forward. There's no point in looking backwards.

Ember is dead. They are right. I need a new name.

I'm not the same woman who begged for death in that attic. Here, I am reborn as something new, something unknown. Here, I can be whatever I want to be.

Within the box is a perfectly stacked pile of cards, and with hesitant fingers, I tip it, letting them spill across the table. My eyes catch on the joker for a moment. It's similar to the one I had before, glittering red. There are all the other suits as well, and when I flip them over, the backs have the traditional red and black diamonds, but there are words written there.

Tell me your nightmares.

I trace the raised wording on a random card before flipping it over. My heart skips a beat at the queen facing me. My fingers run over her cool, collected face, her mocking smile making one bloom on my lips. The power I feel within the card seems to echo a desire inside my heart. I want to be that strong. I want to be worthy of a name like that.

Then, I realize I can be.

Queen. I like it. They asked me to choose a name, and I have.

Diamond, Spade, Club, Heart, and Queen.

It seems they were right. Our fates are tied to the cards. We answer to them, and now, so do I.

Despite all the rest I received over the last week, I collapse into the bed and sleep more deeply than I have for years. The blank card remains clutched in my grip, as if I can't bear to part with it. When I wake, my head is filled with cotton. The day, the time, they escape me, and I struggle from the bed and onto my crutches. I glance down at the card in my hand and find it's no longer blank.

It's filled with the queen, and I can't help but smile. It seems the cirque approved of my choice.

Just then, my tent flaps part, and my head jerks up to see a man framed there. "You slept all day," he remarks. "You must have needed it, or at least the doctor said so. He checked on you while you were out. It's good you are up. Come, the performance is about to begin and I'm late. Very late. Diamond won't be happy, but the ladies always love my entrance." He grins, but I just keep staring.

This must be Heart, though I think a different name would suit him better. Maybe maniac.

His face is pale, and that's why the ink stands out so starkly against it. There's a heart under his left eye with a blood droplet falling from it. There's another tattoo under his other eye, a small, upside-down black cross. "Lover" is written in script above his left eyebrow, following the arch, and his bloodred lips have a spike piercing the lower one. I haven't seen many men with lip piercings. His eyes are bright blue, standing out vividly against his dark eyebrows and hair, which seem to shift colors as he moves. It's short and spiked on top at the moment, the flat sides exposing his ears, which have more piercings running down them. I glance back at his high, almost overly sharp face, and I spot the mole on his slightly crooked nose. He's tall and wearing nothing but some leather pants laced up the sides, flashing skin. His torso is bare, showcasing impressive muscles with deep abs and a V that makes me blush and look away quickly. More moles and freckles cover his arms and shoulders with additional tattoos scattered randomly about. There are too many to see and count.

I keep staring until his words sink in.

"Wait, performance?" I blurt.

"This is the cirque, after all," he teases as he backs into the darkness, leaving me staring after him.

I struggle out of my tent, heading where I think he must have gone. I can hear the cheers and chants from here, and I follow them, struggling through the tents to the big top. I can't believe I slept all day, but my body must have truly needed it. This is to be my home, though, so I need to pull my weight, and more than that, I'm curious.

It's been so many years since I was here, yet the same excitement fills me as I push into the big top and the magic it holds within.