She decided not to argue with him about how she was never, ever, going to put on some stupid spangly outfit and perform with him or anyone else. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what the hell had happened to her. But the impossible things she’d seen and experienced were all adding up to too much.
He was sitting there, looking for all the world like a normal man, save for the freakish clothes and the bizarre eyes. He was just…talking to her. She had the sudden urge to reach out and toy with one of the wild strands of his dark hair, and she stamped the impulse dead as quickly as it arose.
“At least no one will miss me.” She furrowed her brow as she realized something. “Wait. Jack told me he came here to find his mother. If she was”—she cringed, not believing she was saying any of this—“taken by this place first, how’s that possible?”
“He’s an interesting exception to the rule. Jack came here with her when he was a child. Mr. Harrow marked him for collection at that point. Jack remembered his mother when no one else did, and so he came here to find her. He never left again. Quite the droll story, really. You’ll have to ask him for the details. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention.” Simon leaned back on his elbow, shifting to half-lie across her bed. He was so damn tall. He took up a good portion of the bed without trying. She didn’t like how at home he was making himself. But her weapon of choice was still laying on the counter across the room, and she had more desire to drink her beer than smash the bottle over his head.
And there was something strange about him. Something that made her feel…drawn to him. Like I have a piece of his personality stuck somewhere inside of me. “What part of you did I end up taking?”
“I have no clue. I don’t know what I’m missing in the same way you didn’t notice you had forgotten your favorite color until we pointed it out. It certainly wasn’t my charm or devilish charisma, that part is clear.” He smirked teasingly into the lip of his bottle.
They sat in silence for a long time. It was oddly comfortable. She hated that it felt…normal. She asked a question that had been bugging her for a while. “Why are your eyes all fucked up?”
“They are not fucked up. They’re a little strange, perhaps, but we all have our problems.” His jaw ticked. “If you hadn’t broken my glasses, you wouldn’t have to stare at them, so this is your fault.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“We are what we eat. And I eat a lot. And the more we take, the less human we become. Have you met Clown, yet?”
“The one with the skull paint on his face?”
Simon smiled knowingly. “That isn’t paint, Cora dear.”
She shivered. “I don’t…I don’t want to turn into anything like you two.”
He actually looked offended.
“Nothing personal.” She smiled faintly and sipped the beer. She felt the need to get a little drunk, but she wasn’t going to do anything of the sort with Simon around.
“If you don’t feed on the seity of those who come through our gates, you’ll fade away. And if you do, you take that piece of me with you. I can’t have that.” He grimaced. “I won’t turn into a shell of a man like Ludwig.”
“Amanda and Donna were telling me about him. How there isn’t much left.”
“He’s got all the personality of a brick at this point. He’s sponsored and lost too many. Including Hernandez. I’m afraid he doesn’t really like me.” Simon grinned wickedly. “Although hating me is not a difficult task.”
“I can’t imagine why. You just seem so lovable.”
“I know! This is what I keep telling people. But still, they persist.” He either missed her sarcasm or was playing along with it. At the gleam in his strange black-red-white eyes, she knew it was the latter. “I’m hungry. And I’ve died enough times to know that it works up an appetite. Come, darling. Let me finally give you a tour of Harrow Faire.” He popped up from the bed so quickly that she jolted in surprise. He was fast for someone so tall. He downed the rest of his beer, chucked the bottle into a trash can in a cabinet in the kitchenette, and started for the door all before she moved.
He turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to drag you along? You know I can.”
Disgruntled, she finally moved from her spot by the wall and finished her own beer. She threw it alongside his empty bottle with a clank. The last thing she wanted was to be tugged around on his freaky strings.
Freaky magic strings.
Magic is real.
She accepted it, but her mind still skipped over it like the needle on a scratched record.
There had to be a way to escape. Some way to give the Puppeteer his piece of “seity” back and let her return to her life. There had to be. She could finally admit that this place was what everyone said it was. But she didn’t have to accept the fact that she was stuck here.
“I need to find a way out of this, Simon.”
He reached out and ran his hand over her hair. She shivered at the unexpected touch as he curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her head to look up at him. He took a step closer to her, backing her against the wall. He lowered his face to hers, and for a moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to or not.
When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, but smooth like velvet. “You need to understand your cage before you can try to pick the lock.”
She fought the urge to grab the front of his coat and pull him closer. This is not okay.
His mis-colored eyes flicked to her lips, and she was certain he was going to close the distance between them. But instead, he tapped his finger on the end of her nose. “Boop.” The action made her jump, and her startled reaction spread a smile over his sharp features. “Step one, food. Step two, a tour. Step three remains up to you.”
Without anything else to do, she followed him out of the train car and shut the door behind her. He was already whistling to himself as he strolled along the path, his fingers tucked into his pants pockets.
I need to get out of here.
4
Simon looked down at Cora as she walked along next to him. He was happy she came along willingly for once. Not that he didn’t enjoy tugging her around on his strings—he would never, ever get sick of that—but this made for a lot less fussing.
Truth be told, he wasn’t angry that she had clobbered him with the frying pan. He was anything but, in fact. He was impressed. He was pleased. He hadn’t seen much personality out of her, besides being terrified for her life, and he was happy to see just a little bit of that fire come up to the surface.
He’d known exactly what she intended to do as soon as she pulled the slab of cast iron out of the pantry. He wanted to see if she had the gall to do it.
Better she be shouting and swinging her fists than hiding in a corner. It made his heart hurt less, at any rate. Not that he was happy about his shattered nose or glasses, but one was already mended and as for the other, he had duplicates.
She was such a pretty thing, with her smoky gray eyes. He couldn’t wait to see how she performed as the new Contortionist. He realized how eager he was to see her bent into strange shapes. He wanted to help put her there.