Master Page 2

  “Oh.”

  “Look, Miss, enjoy the show, then get in your car and go home.” He gives me a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “Master Black isn’t the kind of man who can give you what you want.”

  The tone of his voice is just like my father’s when he tells me what to wear, or how I should style my hair. Or when he tells me to behave. Or when he punishes me. I can feel the anger rising up my throat like smoke. “Don’t assume you know what I want,” I hiss, my fists clenched by my side as I shrug off his touch.

  “You want an adventure, to escape—they all do,” he explains as he sits back down and carries on reading. “But he isn’t an escape, he’s a prison. Trust me, little girl, run. Run far away.”

  I wait until the final act and then try again. I can’t go back to Santa Clarita, to where my perfect life is waiting. I can’t pretend to be Delilah, the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect student anymore. It is killing me. Rotting me from the inside as I wither away and die in the ‘perfect’ world I was born into. When I’d seen the Carnaval five years ago with my parents, I had known then that this was my life. My father had lectured me on why these people—these freaks—were rejects, why God had punished them, but I felt like he was talking about me the whole time. I was a freak too, you just couldn’t see it unless you looked hard enough.

  “I just want to talk to him!” I virtually beg, I’d been asking for fifteen minutes already and getting nowhere.

  “Go home.” The man, who I now know is called Burt, repeats.

  I cross my arms and resist the urge to stomp my feet like a child. Five fucking years I’d waited for this, for him, and I couldn’t leave Santa Monica without seeing him. I couldn’t go home. “No, I’m not leaving. I need to speak to him.”

  “He doesn’t want to see you,” he says, his voice is firm even if his eyes soften as he watches me crumple. The cheers and almost deafening applause tells me that the act is over.

  “Did he say that?”

  Burt shakes his head. “He doesn’t want to see anyone after a show. That’s how he is, miserable bastard.”

  “No,” I groan. “I’ve been waiting…”

  “Five years,” a voice interrupts from the shadows. We both turn and watch as the tall lean figure of the Ringmaster steps forward into the light. His jacket is gone and his shirt is clinging to his body, damp with sweat as my eyes trace the outlines of his ink. His almond-shaped eyes watch me, narrowed as he takes in what feels like every detail of my face.

  “Ezra,” I breathe and ignore Burt’s titters as he turns back to his paper.

  He crosses his arms, mimicking my stance as he towers over me. “Why are you here, kid?”

  “I want to join the Carnaval. You said—”

  He lifts a hand to silence me. “You were too young then, and we don’t need you now. You still don’t belong here, Delilah.”

  His voice is husky, it’s not smooth or loud like when he’s in the Big Top, instead it’s like whispers moving over my skin. He leans against the gate post, gaze never leaving me as he waits.

  It feels like the air has been sucked out of my lungs, and I can’t find anything to say other than, “You remember my name.”

  “Of course, although you do look different.” He was talking about my dyed black hair and the lip ring. “Rebellious phase? I like it. You look more fuckable like this, less virginal.”

  I ignore his crass words. “Why won’t you let me stay?”

  He rolls his eyes and half-sings, “Oh why, why, why, Delilah…”

  “Cut the crap, you said that I could ask again when I was older.” I’m angry, and it’s because of the devil in front of me making promises he refused to keep.

  “You’ve asked, and I have said no.” He waves his hand around nonchalantly. “This is a sanctuary. A haven for those chewed up and spat out by the world, not a collection of angsty teens trying to show their mommy and daddy that they mean business. Now, leave.”

  “No. I’ll be back. Tomorrow and the night after. I’ll be back every night until you talk to me like an adult about this.” I point my finger at him, trying to rein in my rage. I wanted a haven. I needed somewhere to hide too.

  He raises a brow, eyes glinting darkly. “Do what you want.”

  Three

  Ezra

  I should have known that she’d come. I recognized her instantly, she was a little older, her hair was different, but the gleam in her eyes, that determined look, was exactly the same. Delilah was running from something, and I couldn’t save her. I refused to. The Carnaval was not a place to hide when life was hard, it was a last resort. It was the thin line between life and death, when there were no other options. It was all we had. Delilah had other options, other choices, and I wouldn’t let her throw away the opportunities that most of us here would kill for.

  I nod to Burt as I pass, knowing that he wouldn’t let her through, but I also knew that she’d be back. And I was going to have to come up with a plan to keep her away. I needed to scare her into going back to her happy, normal life.

  Groaning, I grab a bottle of whiskey from the main tent and make my way back to my trailer. Charlotte is waiting for me inside, her dress is torn and her nails are bloody from whatever fit she threw earlier, but she seems calmer now. Composed even. I missed the days when she was like this, now it was only fleeting glimpses into the woman she once was.

  “How was the show?” she asks in a small voice, not looking at me but staring straight ahead with her big, dark eyes. It’s like there’s something missing. Some days I feel like I’m drowning as I keep searching the depths of a cold lake just for a glimmer of the person she used to be. But it’s all just reflections on the surface now, my Lottie is gone.

  “It was good.” I swig straight from the bottle. “Large crowd.”

  A ghost of a smile crosses her face before fading. “Lots of tickets sold then.”

  I nod. I try not to say too much to Lottie, because I never know what will set off one of her moods, and I hate it when she hurts herself.

  “When will you let me perform again?” She stands and looks at herself in the mirror, she’s still beautiful, even if her face is scarred and her mouth droops a little. It’s the damage inside that means I can never trust her in the ring again, not after the last time. I can’t risk the Carnaval. She isn’t the only one who needs this place.

  “Lottie, we talked about this.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair before taking another gulp. “You aren’t...you can’t…”

  The fiery liquid burns as it slicks down my throat, but it doesn’t detract from the stabbing pain in my gut as Charlotte reaches out and touches her reflection.

  She sighs. “Am I broken, Ezra?”

  “We all are,” I whisper as she sits back next to me on the sofa and rests her head on my shoulder. She smells like lavender and soap, like Mother used to.

  And that’s why I won’t let Delilah into my world. There is no place for someone like her amongst the monsters that live in the shadows.

  Monsters like me.

  Delilah is true to her word the following night and the next and the one after that. Tonight, she waits by the gate with Burt, wearing a simple black gypsy dress with long sleeves, her hair tied up in a red bow. I ignore her calling my name as I exit the tent and growl at Yager as he shoots me a curious glance. I didn’t need any of these fuckers getting the wrong idea, the Carnaval was a family, yes, they protected you like a burly brother or an overprotective father, but it also meant they meddled like an interfering mother. Gossip mongers, the whole fucking lot of them. I spark up a cigarette, grab a bottle, and head back to my trailer—the same as I do most nights. Lottie is already asleep when I get back, which is a good thing. The last thing I needed was one of her episodes, I couldn’t cope today. It had been years, but I still couldn’t get through to her. It was like her mind was shattered, damaged beyond repair, and if I ever found the people responsible—I would make them pay. There are crueler fates than dea
th, life as a freak had taught me that.

  I can hear chanting carrying on the breeze in the cool night air, and I groan. The show had been good, and ticket sales were decent, but there were protesters outside the campsite this morning calling us freaks, abominations. It wasn’t like we’d never come up against that before, but there were days when my patience was not as strong as it should be. It wouldn’t surprise me if the old man from the supermarket was camped out on my doorstep with a sign, but either way, they were a headache I didn’t need.

  A sharp knock on my trailer door has me stirring from the couch. I’m tired, the others have been hazing a new freak in our camp, and I’ve been watching from the sidelines to make sure they don’t go too far, and the whiskey is making me lightheaded as I open the door a crack to find Alina standing outside. Her full red lips are twisted into a pout as she shoves her foot in the gap and forces my door open, dragging Delilah behind her. I’m painfully aware of how small my living quarters are with the three of us in here and Lottie sleeping, blissfully unaware, in the next room.

  “I believe this one is yours,” she says, bowing her head at me. It would be seen as a form of respect in anyone else, but with Alina, it’s how she tries to piss me off. “I found her lurking around in the cold outside my trailer.”

  Alina had a routine after each show, a ritual of sorts and her time was precious to her. The fact that she’d paused her activities to drag Delilah makes me wary. The ‘Circassian Beauty’ looks every inch the seductress as she raises a brow and looks Delilah over. It’s an appreciative glance, a dangerous one I recognize well, and I groan internally. The Carnaval would gobble up a girl like Delilah, consuming her whole and then spitting out the bones when it was done.

  “She’s not mine,” I growl. Why was she still here? Why hadn’t she gone home?

  Alina isn’t convinced, and I don’t blame her. They all probably know about her waiting at the gates and calling my name every day by now. Burt has the biggest mouth going, and I make a mental note to dock his pay.

  “You should look after your pets, Ezra,” Alina teases as she pushes Delilah forward. We say nothing as Delilah stumbles and falls to her knees before me.

  “She can’t stay here.” I lock eyes with Alina, and it’s like a showdown of sorts. Except my word was law, sometimes she forgot who the master was here. I nod to the door behind me, explaining, “Lottie.”

  I am responsible for everyone on this campsite and everyone who works for me, but Charlotte will always be my main priority. She is my everything. And she needs me in a way that the others don't. They know this, they respect this and keep her safe from outsiders, it’s an unspoken rule of joining the Carnaval, and I won’t tolerate disobedience.

  Alina looks reluctant as she seethes, “Fine, she can stay with me tonight, but she gets her own tent tomorrow.”

  We had no spare trailers this late into our tour, only heavy-duty canvas tents that we brought with us in case the weather turned and we needed more space when we weren’t performing.

  “So, I can stay?” Delilah whispers hopefully, clutching her rucksack. The way her face lights up just reenforces the fact that she cannot be here. We would extinguish that light without a second thought. We would destroy her. It’s the only way we know how to survive.

  “No,” I snarl, before lighting up another cigarette.

  “Yes,” Alina contradicts me, her smile sickly sweet as she helps the girl back to her feet. “The Carnaval turns no one away.”

  She’s reminding me of the words I use when I welcome new freaks into our family, but Delilah isn’t a freak. She’s practically a child, a runaway, and that’s not the same thing. Find a circus for that shit, not a freak show.

  “You don’t belong here, and if you’re not going to leave on your own—I will make you,” I warn, my voice low. “You stay at your own risk, Delilah.”

  The girl nods, still at my feet like a devotee of some sort, and I can’t deny that there is something appealing about the way she bows her head in reverence. But I am no benevolent God, and if she stays, she would do well to remember that.

  “Delilah,” Alina croons, “That’s such a beautiful name. Come, let’s get some rest, and tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  As she guides Delilah out of my trailer with more grace than she showed earlier, she looks over her shoulder and winks at me. The pit of my stomach drops, and I know that I’m going to regret whatever comes next. If they thought Delilah was my weakness, something they could exploit, then they were wrong. She was a thorn in my side, nothing more.

  Four

  Delilah

  The campsite is quiet the next morning, which Alina tells me is normal as they are creatures of the night, staying up late after the show to drink, gamble, and socialize. She takes me around, showing me which tents are used for what, giving me a tour of the Big Top tent, and on our way back, I’m introduced to Wren. His fuzzy toffee fur covers almost every inch of his body, and I can see why he’s called ‘Dog Boy’. I reach my hand out to touch but stop myself before making contact, something I think he appreciates as he gives me a sad look. My chest tightens, being touched without permission is something I understand all too well. I pull the sleeves of my dress down, a habit I developed a few years ago.

  When lunchtime rolls around, Alina brings me to the food tent, and I sit quietly at the table while she gets us both a bowl of soup. Maia, the ‘Human Fairy’ takes a seat opposite me, her delicate wings making me shiver. Were they actual flesh? Whatever it was, it was almost translucent stretched across its frame, and I winced along with her every time she moved. She was beautifully fragile. She introduces me to Crispin, the ‘Human Pincushion’, and his mute partner, Needles. I try not to stare as I look at all his piercings and the holes in his skin. Beau and Nox join us, the Siamese twins, and while Nox is welcoming, Beau barely even looks my way. Wren sits on one side of me, while Alina takes her place on the other.

  It feels...strange. But in a good way. I don’t have many friends back home and sitting here while they talk, laugh, and ask me millions of questions is a welcome change.

  I know when Ezra enters the tent because the atmosphere shifts, and it’s like the air is being dragged out of my lungs. He’s deep in discussion with ‘The Man Who Can’t Feel’, Yager, as he ignores my presence and takes a seat on the other side of the tent.

  It takes me a while, but finally, I build up the courage to ask about something that’s been bothering me.

  “Who’s Lottie?” I try to say casually as I dunk my bread into the murky-looking soup in front of me. Even though he’s sitting across the tent, surrounded by people, I can feel his eyes burning into my skin like hot pokers, fresh from the flames. He’s finally noticed me. There is no escaping Ezra.

  “She’s his sister,” Crispin replies, glancing over his shoulder to the Ringmaster. Needles shifts in her seat beside him, looking uncomfortable, and I don’t miss the look they share.

  Maia leans in and whispers playfully, “I thought she was his wife?”

  I try not to choke with her words. She couldn’t be...could she? Did the Carnaval live by its own rules? Was that...normal here?

  “Maybe she’s both? Who fucking knows with Ezra,” Beau scoffs before he and Nox leave the table.

  There’s an uncomfortable feeling in the air, and I get the impression that they’re hiding something, but I get it, I’m new, a stranger, and as far as they’re concerned, I’m not one of them. I need to earn their trust if I want to fit in here.

  Crispin shrugs. “That man has more secrets than all of us combined, and we’re a pretty shady troupe.”

  I chuckle. “Why are you telling me this?” These are his friends, his Carnaval family. How bad is he if they’re warning me? Burt warned me too, but I can’t stay away. There’s something about Ezra that calls to me, I feel it in my bones. I just need to figure out what it is about him.

  Alina looks at me carefully, her perfectly arched eyebrow raised. “Because you
look at him with something more than curiosity, like he’s something you can fix.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but the words don’t come out.

  “Trust us, there’s no fixing Ezra Black.” Wren snorts as he finishes his food.

  “I don’t want to fix him...” I mumble, but it’s no use, the conversation has moved on.

  Ezra finally drags his dark eyes away from mine, giving me a side view of his horn. It dominates his forehead but does nothing to hide his good looks. I want him to show me the darkness. To consume me until there is nothing left. Ezra makes me feel alive, I knew it when I first saw him five years ago, and I know it now.

  I hate him. I want to shuck the skin off his beautiful face with the potato peeler that’s currently biting into my hand as I peel my millionth potato of the day. I asked to be here, but I didn’t realize I was asking to be a slave. I’d already spent three hours in town today with one of the riggers, Jerry, handing out flyers for tonight's performance. To say my body ached was an understatement, but I still had plenty of fight left. I glare at him as he walks to the Big Top tent to prepare for tonight’s performance, and the bastard just winks as he passes me by. He’s trying to push me out, make me regret my decision, but if he thinks this is going to work, then he has another thing coming.

  My phone vibrates, and I turn it off, it’s just my father. Again. I woke up to seven voicemails this morning, each one reminding me why I’d left. Each one cutting into me as his voice filled my ears. It wasn’t going to take him long to figure out where I was, not once he heard that the Carnaval des Ténèbres was in Santa Monica. I’d moved the car, so that would hopefully give me a few more days too until someone reported it as abandoned. I was twenty-one, and yet, I was being treated like a child.