A couple troupers pass us to grab more stuff and load it up. Cliff and I head to the far RV that’s parked near the dumpsters where there’s a lone streetlamp several feet away that keeps flickering off and on.
We put our stuff inside the RV, shoving it in as far as it will go on the side, careful to leave space in the middle since someone will have to lie there to sleep.
“What’s up?” I ask, dusting off my hands from the stray glitter that always seems to be stuck everywhere.
Cliff looks around, but I shake my head. “No one else is outside right now,” I assure him.
“Good.” Grabbing my arm, he starts hurrying us away, dragging me alongside him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, frowning as my feet hurry to keep up with him as he walks us away from the vehicles.
He doesn’t answer me. He just continues to walk briskly, past the blinking street lamp, and only stopping once we reach the dumpster. I look down, noticing with a tilt of my confused head that my backpack is sitting there in the dirt. “What...”
He cuts me off by picking it up and handing it to me. “Now’s your chance, Jetta. You need to get out of here.”
I rear back like confusion just bitch-slapped me in the face as I take the strap in my hand. “What are you talking about?”
“Your collar. Did you feel it?” he asks in a rush, his eyes boring into me like he somehow expects me to catch up with all the thoughts he has going on in his head. Frowning, I instinctively reach up to touch the band of metal around my neck.
“My collar...” My voice trails off as I feel the metal beneath my fingertips. Metal that’s usually cold and...heavier. Did it get lighter?
My mind instantly trips backward to the fight. Now that I’m thinking about it, I had felt something. But I was so engrossed in the fight that I didn’t pay it any attention.
“What did you do?” I ask warily. I know he had something to do with this. It’s right there, on his handsome face.
“He was supposed to get it off,” Cliff says, his blue eyes locked onto the collar. “But he assured me that the tracking is gone. It’s all he could do in that amount of time, but it’s enough for now. Enough for you to get away.”
I blink at him, my head shaking of its own volition, like I can bat away the craziness from sinking into my mind. “Are you saying that someone broke my collar?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replies before raising his hands up to grip my arms. “There’s no time, Jetta. You have to leave now.”
Disbelief gets knocked aside, barreled over by surging anger as I shove out of his hold. “Are you insane? Kaazu will catch me in a heartbeat!”
Cliff shakes his head and opens his mouth, only to snap it shut when a group of our troupers comes out to load more stuff into the RVs. He holds a finger up to his lips, reminding me to be quiet, as if I’d be dumb enough to make a noise. I glare at him until they go back in, door slamming behind them.
“Do you trust me?”
My teeth grind. “Don’t fucking ask me that, Heathcliff.”
“Your tracker is broken. He won’t find you. Not if you get far away. But you have to go now.” His face is pleading, his usually smooth, beautiful face holding anxious anguish. “Please, Jetta.”
“It’s really broken?” I ask dubiously.
He nods. “Yes.”
“Okay. Then let’s go.”
I grab his hand and start hurrying away, only for him to stop me. “No, Jetta. I can’t go with you. My collar is intact.”
I gape at him. “What the fuck are you saying?” I hiss. “Why?”
He hesitates, like he’s deciding which words to tell me. Lies or truth. “There wasn’t enough time to break both collars.”
He went for the lie.
“Bullshit. You’re not telling me everything.”
He gives me a grin, the one he gives all the females in the audience when he’s drawing them in with his charm and good looks. “And keep a secret from you? Never,” he replies, eyes dancing with forced mirth.
Normally, I’d laugh. It’s an inside joke of sorts. Maybe it’s the nature of the life we lead, but even though we’ve been with the same Canes for years as our troupe travels from performance to performance, every one of us bathes in bluffs and chews on secrets. Master Kaazu prefers it that way. He cultivates it, even.
You’d think a small group like us would all get together, side with each other, decide we’re tired of Master Kaazu’s shit. But no one trusts anyone, and we’re constantly pitted against each other, so friendships never form.
When I don’t smirk or let out a stiff laugh, Cliff sighs, the fake smile falling off his own face as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Jetta, you’re wasting time. Please don’t fight me on this. You have to go.”
“We’re supposed to go together. That’s what we always said. For years, Cliff. We promised each other that we’d find a way to get out together.”
“I’ll catch up,” he insists. “Go now, and I’ll find you.”
Another lie.
I rear back and punch him in the arm. “Fuck you, Cliff. This was never the deal.”
So many emotions war inside of me. Hurt. Worry. Shock. A flicker of hope. Massive guilt. “If you ask me to leave you, then don’t fucking lie. Promise me right now that you really will find a way to catch up with me.”
We stare at each other in the shadows with a cold, disinterested moon high above us.
“I promise.”
Lie.
My lips thin. His curve up into a soft smile. We both know he’s not telling the truth, and my heart is breaking, right here, behind this stinking dumpster and broken street light.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t ask me to go without you, goddammit.” Tears fill my eyes and well up, making my whole world go as blurry and distorted as Cliff is.
His hands come up to gently grasp my arms. “I’m not asking, Jetta. I’m begging.”
A soundless sob escapes my throat, and I shake my head. I can’t do this. I just can’t. Not without him.
Cliff knows what I’m thinking, because he always knows. “Listen to me. You’re strong. You’re fierce. You can survive anything,” he tells me quickly. “You can do this.”
I shake my head and open my mouth to argue again, but he stops me, shaking me by the arms to get my attention. “Remember when Kaazu decided to change your aesthetic?”
I blink at him, wetness clumping my lashes together as I try to keep up with his train of thought. “My hair. My...tattoos,” I say gruffly.
“That’s right. He brought in those four vamps to tattoo your arms, your back, your legs—all at the same time. You were fifteen,” he reminds me, the memory jabbing me almost as much as those needles had. “That was the first time I ever saw you cry. They kept you on that table for hours. But you were tough. You handled it. And you didn’t even let Kaazu see you sweat. You stared him down like you didn’t feel a thing—like you didn’t care that he was marking your body without your permission.”
“Stop,” I tell him. “This is different and you know it.”