Chapter 8

Eight

I'm so exhausted I can't even lift my head. I come to every now and then, escaping the darkness that waits to claim me, my eyes opening only to find scenes that don't make sense. The first time, I stare up at a masked face with a spade etched into the plastic. He looks down at me where I'm cradled in his arms. The seat beneath us jostles like we're in a car, and pain shoots through me, knocking me out again. The next time I wake up, it's to flashing bright lights and loud circus music. I get maybe three seconds to take things in before my body gives into the darkness again. I don't know where they've taken me, but I can hardly fight them. They saved me. They freed me. At this point, I trust them more than I trust myself.

The air around me is warm and thick with the scent of incense when I wake for the final time. I'm still weak, my body refusing to listen to my commands, but I'm coherent enough to realize I'm lying in a bed and that there's the unmistakable canvas of a tent above me rather than the plain ceiling in my bedroom. I shift, trying to raise my body, but before I can, a woman appears at my bedside, filling my vision as I nearly collapse from shock.

"You," I whisper, staring at her familiar face.

"Me," she replies with a smile as she starts to fuss around me. "Welcome home, little one."

She's older now, her face wrinkled and showing her age, but it's her. I know it is. She's the one I saw all those years ago, who seems to haunt my dreams even now. Her eyes are still the same milky white, but she sees everything as she watches me with a knowing look.

"I don't understand," I say, my voice still hoarse from everything I went through tonight—yesterday? I don't know how much time has passed.

She nods in understanding. "You will, but I won't be the one to explain it to you. The boys will be in soon, and they will tell you everything you need to know. In the meantime, how do you feel?"

I take stock of my body, realizing that my wounds are bandaged tightly. My leg is in a cast and propped up on pillows, and I'm clean, no longer covered in blood or wearing my ripped clothing. Instead, I'm in some sort of long slip.

"Like I was stomped on by an elephant," I answer, wincing with my honesty. "Who patched me up?"

"That would be Dr. Louie. He used to be a war medic," she says as she starts to straighten the blankets, making sure I'm covered. "Don't worry though. I cleaned and dressed you. I burned your clothing. I hope you don't mind."

I shake my head and immediately wince when it makes my skull ache. "Of course not. Will the doctor be in soon so I can thank him?"

"I'm sure he'll be by," she hedges. "But you should rest now. You don't have nearly enough healing sleep under your belt."

Frowning, I settle down in bed. "How long have I been out?"

"Four days," she replies.

I flinch. "Four days?" I repeat. "It's been four days since . . ."

I'd been about to say since I escaped or Roger met his match, but I clamp my lips shut. I don't know how much I should say here.

The woman laughs. "There are no secrets here, little one. We all know about the monster who did this to you." Her expression darkens. "We also know you could not kill him despite it." She tilts her head. "It's best if you embrace the darkness here, Ember. Any light you seek will only be found within yourself."

"What about?—"

"Enough questions," she chastises. "Sleep, rest, and heal. You will find out more later."

As if she willed it so, my eyes slide shut, and I sleep once more.

When I open my eyes next, the old fortune teller is gone and in her place is a man. As my vision clears, I get a good look at him, and I shrink deeper into my pillows, afraid and also not, which is an odd feeling. My instant fear is due to the sheer size of him, not because he feels menacing. When I groggily look up at him, the corner of his pouty lips curls up.

"She wakes," he announces despite it only being the two of us in the tent. "How do you feel, habibti?"

"I . . ." I take stock of my body, shifting my arms and legs and realizing I can move more. "Better," I answer. "I feel better."

"Good. It's been over a week now. We were starting to get worried."

"A week?" I gasp, moving to sit up. "How has it been a week?"

He frowns and tilts his head to the side. "Do you not know how time works?"

"No. I do. I just . . . It doesn't feel as if it's been a week," I say feebly, grimacing. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Where are we exactly?"

He grins, and it changes his face from stern to downright beautiful. Despite not recognizing him, he feels . . . familiar. When he reaches for a pair of wooden crutches off to the side, I get a good look at his arm and the spade tattoos there. A memory surfaces, one of that arm cradling me gently as they broke me free of my cage. He whispered words in a different language in my ear, words I didn't understand but knew were sweet. I blink and stare up at him.

"You were the one who carried me out," I whisper.

He pauses, his dark brown eyes flashing with pleasure. "You remember me?"

"How could I not? You saved me. You all did."

His expression softens. "Yes, habibti. We did."

Now that I can see his face, I realize just how handsome he is. He's tall, broad shouldered, and muscular in a way that speaks of hard work and heavy lifting. His face is square, thick, and strong, with a defined jaw and cheekbones. His skin is tan, better suited to someone who lives in a desert rather than the Midwest. There is a small, black spade tattoo beneath his eye, and I can see hints of others at the edge of his shirt, though I can't figure out what they are while covered. His black hair is short and slicked back in the style many men favor, but it's his eyes that capture me. They are bright in the way that whiskey is, an amber color that almost looks unnatural. This man is also beautiful in a way a cobra would be. Despite his smile, I feel like he could strike at any moment.

He holds the crutches out toward me and then sets them against the bed. "Come. I'll show you where we are and explain everything. Dr. Louie said you shouldn't be walking on that leg yet, so we got you these. I'll help you up."

"What do I call you?" I ask as I shift. "I'm Ember."

He nods as he moves to help me. "I go by Spade here."

It takes barely any effort for him to help me out of bed. As strong as he is, he practically scoops me up and drops me on one leg before shoving the crutches up under my arms. He shows me how to use them before he gestures for me to follow him out of the tent. It takes some getting used to, but after a few unsteady hops, I manage to get outside.

My jaw drops as soon as I do.

It's nighttime, but it's in no way dark. Bright lights surround me—string lights between tents, spotlights sweeping through the sky, and flashing lights farther in.

"The circus," I rasp as I spy the red and white striped big top over the smaller tents. "I'm at the circus."

"Not just any circus," Spade answers with a mischievous smile. "This is Cirque Obscurum."

My mind fills with memories of me as a little girl, running through these tents and finding my way to the fortune teller. She'd given me the card I held when I thought I'd die. They said I called them. The fortune teller mentioned that the cirque would come if I needed it, but that shouldn't be possible, right?

Yet here I am. Now, though, I am no longer that naive little girl dreaming of fanciful things and different worlds I read about in books. I'm all grown up, and I no longer believe in fairy tales. There has to be a catch. No one does such things for free. No one expects nothing in return for help.

"Why exactly am I here?" I ask, my voice hard.

I glance up at Spade as he stands beside me. His own smile is gone, replaced by deep contemplation.

"You called us, habibti," he replies, his eyes flashing like a wild animal's. "Your call was so strong, it nearly choked us."

"I don't understand," I murmur. "I don't understand any of this."

"You will," he answers, looking over my head. "Diamond will explain everything. He's coming this way now."

I spin clumsily on my crutches, following his gaze, and meet eyes as familiar to me as this place is. I used to dream of those eyes as a child, of the boy I saw briefly at the circus. He's no longer a boy though. His eyes are hard and dangerous and so dark, they reflect all the yellow lights around us. I thought Spade's were dark, but I was wrong. This man's are as dark as the depths of hell. They belong to someone who danced in the darkness his entire life and reveled in it.

My god, he's beautiful.

With a jawline and cheekbones that could only be sculpted by a master artist and those black pools in his eyes, he could easily be mistaken for a masterpiece in a museum. His hair is just as dark, part of it tousled like it had been styled at one point but he ran his hands through it too many times. His brows are thick and strong, and there's a wrinkle between them as if he wears the weight of the world on his shoulders. Gold glitters on his ears, piercings that reflect the lights above. His features are tied together by full lips that would be too feminine on other men, but somehow make him more masculine. A small, black diamond tattoo sits beneath his right eye, his moniker inked on skin. Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe him.

"Ember," he says by way of greeting in a voice thick with honey. "I heard you were awake."

I blink up at him. "You remember me?"

He frowns and glances at Spade as if to ask if I'm still ill. "Of course I remember you. We brought you here a week ago. We've all checked on you while you recovered."

My heart falls. He doesn't remember me. Not as a child. I suppose I look nothing like my old self, like the child who was able to dance between the circus tents with a carefree freedom I never had as an adult. Still, some small part of me hoped I made as much of an impact on him as he made on me, but that's silly. I was one of thousands he's probably seen, and I'm not nearly that special.

I straighten my back and face him, taking in his sharp jawline and strong nose. "Spade tells me you can explain why I'm here." I gesture between us, barely balancing on the crutches. Spade steadies me when I start to go down, but neither comment on it. "Go on then," I encourage. "Explain."

Diamond glances from me to Spade and back again, his dark eyes absorbing the lights into their depths. Amusement flickers on his lips before he shrugs. "Very well. You have a choice to make."

"A choice?" I repeat.

He nods and takes a step closer, invading my space. "To leave this place and never return, never speak of it again, or . . ."

"Or what?" I prompt when he doesn't continue.

His head tilts to the side, and he reaches up to cup my chin. I let him, not wanting to fight this man, and I'm glad I don't when the rough texture of his fingers touches my chin and tilts it up, warming me. He holds me there, his eyes piercing mine.

"Or you can stay here and swear your soul to Cirque Obscurum," he finishes. "You will belong to her, and she will belong to you, and you will never know what it feels like to be caged again."

My heart beats loudly in my ears. "Never?" I ask, hope in my chest.

"Never," he repeats and then grins. "Unless it's part of your act, that is."

Spade leans in. "You don't have to decide now. You can?—"

"I'm staying," I interrupt, glancing at him but ultimately focusing on Diamond. It's an instantaneous reaction, something deep inside me answering without even letting me think. "I choose to stay."

Diamond grins and presses his forehead against mine. His scent of smoke and coconut surrounds me, and I nearly swallow my tongue as he hums.

"The only proper choice, darkling," he purrs. "I'll see you at three a.m. for the ceremony."

He leaves me there standing with Spade, breathless and aching despite my injuries. When he's gone, his words sink in.

"Wait. Ceremony?"