But “ten” what? Morning? Night? She pulled the curtain away from the window and regretted it. It was dark out, but that didn’t mean anything. The sky was an empty black nothingness. It lacked stars, or a sun, or clouds, or birds, or anything at all.
This was the Inversion. Some kind of fucked-up nether-realm where Harrow Faire hid itself to keep itself safe while it…digested seity. Or whatever. None of it made any sense to her, but she was still trying. She was going to take everything at face value. Or try to, anyway. She climbed out of the bed and stretched.
There was no pain. Nothing. No twinge in her hips, no sting or ache in her back. She flexed her arms over her head and bent backward. And kept going. It felt like there was nothing stopping her from just folding in half the wrong way around. She stopped herself before she fell over and shook her head. Contortionist. That’s what I am now. I just have to figure out what that means.
With a sigh, she walked into the bathroom. It was small, but efficient. It had everything she could need, just packed into a tiny spot. The shower was standing-only, which was the only part of it that was disappointing. She loved to take hot baths from time to time.
But the hot shower was more than enough for her this morning. She found shampoo and conditioner. The bottles were old and unlabeled, but she almost thought she recognized their scent. Like they were something she had owned a long time ago.
More proof of the symbiotic relationship the Faire had with its Family. They drew in the crowds that it fed on. And, in turn, it kept the Family happy. And she was one of them now. And therefore…the Faire was going to try to keep her as content as possible. She supposed it could be worse. It could be torturing her and tormenting everyone for its own sick amusement.
Gifting her off-brand conditioner was the least weird thing it could probably be doing.
She finished, toweled off, and got dressed. In the closet, she found an array of clothing that she once more didn’t recognize, but was close enough to be something she would have picked from a rack for herself.
Throwing her damp hair into a ponytail, she put on a black tank top, jeans, and Converse, and slung on a light gray linen coat. It wasn’t cold, per se. It didn’t feel like anything at all. She put on a little makeup and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
Rested. Healthy. Things she hadn’t looked in a long time. Gone were the bags under her eyes that she thought she would have for the rest of her life. She felt good. She felt…weirdly in shape. She looked down at herself and shook her head. It was as though nothing and everything had changed.
She was herself. But she also wasn’t.
It had broken her into a million tiny pieces and put her back together. The same, but different. The same…but part of Harrow Faire.
Becoming a monster could be worse. I don’t have scales or a tail or anything weird.
Yet.
She laughed sadly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fuck.” That was all she could think of to say to herself in this situation.
Coffee.
That was what she needed, even if it was ten at night and not ten in the morning. Going to the kitchenette, she found everything she needed to brew a pot of glorious black manna from Heaven. As she was pouring herself a cup, there was a knock on the door.
She walked over and ran down the list of people she expected it to be. Simon was on the top of the list, although the knock was too quiet for him. And he’d probably just stroll in without warning.
Turk, maybe? It could be Amanda or Donna, the Aerialist and the Flyer. They both seemed friendly enough. Also solidly on the list were Aaron and Jack.
As she opened the door, she was shocked to find that it was none of those. It was a man whose age she still couldn’t judge, on account of all the face paint. Or, if Simon were to be believed, it wasn’t even face paint. Simon claimed that the visage of a skull on the man’s face was permanent. “Oh. Hi, Clown.”
He smiled and waved at her, the toothy grin of the white skull splitting wide to show his real teeth underneath. Green, scraggly hair jutted out from his head in a ring, like a cliché clown’s wig. She wasn’t sure if it was real either.
“Good morning. Or…evening?” she said and looked up at the void that was the sky overhead. It still felt like it was just out of reach, and she tried not to focus on it. It had given her vertigo once already.
Clown gestured, a haphazard pantomime of someone waking up in the morning and stretching with a loud yawn. It seemed he could make noises, but not words.
“Morning, then.” She smiled. “I’m still wrapping my head around all this. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
He shook his head with a hand pressed to his chest, clearly saying, “No, but thank you.” He waved her down the stairs and started walking away a few steps and gestured for her to follow.
When Simon dragged her around the Faire, it was terrifying and irritating. But Clown was looking at her with such hope, such happiness, that it felt more like a child leading her downstairs on Christmas morning to see what St. Nick had left for them.
How could she say no?
But she was bringing her damn coffee. She shut the door to her boxcar and followed him. She’d ask where they were going, but…well, he was mute. Or a mime. Or whatever. She sipped the hot liquid and instantly felt better. It was amazing how comforting coffee had become to her.
He nudged her arm, pointed at her, then flashed a thumbs up. His expression was puzzled.
“Am I okay?” When he nodded eagerly, clearly pleased she figured out his charades easily enough, she shrugged a little and thought it over. “I guess so. Yeah. I mean, I’ve been eaten by an evil, eldritch circus. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. But it could be worse. I guess the company isn’t so bad.” She poked him in the arm.
He fanned his face comically, making her laugh. After a moment, he pointed at her, made a heart with his hands, then with a sneer, wiggled his fingers in the air out in front of him.
It was a perfect impersonation of Simon. She laughed hard, feeling like they were gossiping children in high school all over again. She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s up with him. Or us. I won’t deny there’s a mutual attraction, I guess.”
Clown made a gagging face, then shrugged, as if to say he disapproved but there was nothing he could do about it.
She smiled a little. “I know. I know. He’s a jackass. But he’s also been considerate to me. Compassionate.”
He scoffed loudly.
She laughed again. “I’ll rephrase. He’s as compassionate as he can be. It helps that he feels my pain, so he has a personal interest in making it go away.”
Clown nodded and, shrugging, shoved his hands into his oversized pockets. It was clear he disapproved of whatever she and Simon had going on, but he wasn’t going to do anything to stop her.
“I’ll be careful. I don’t trust him. But I won’t deny that there’s something between us.” She sipped her coffee. “Even if it’s just physical.”
Clown reached out his hands in front of him and squeezed a pair of invisible boobs with a loud “Ha-Honk!”
She howled in laughter and shoved him, nearly knocking him over. “You’re horrible!”
Clown was laughing, too, hopping around, dodging her swipes at him. When she gave up trying to smack him, he fell in step next to her. He looked contented. Happy.