My hand comes out to her as she passes, the memory reminding me that I need to ask her. “Ash!” She pauses, turning back to me. God, she looks so much like P. “Your ace, are you going to tell us what that means yet?”
She shuffles her feet, waiting until Keres disappears into the sea of people. She sighs, folding her arms in front of herself. “I was in love with Klaus, King.” Her eyes soften around the edges. “He was my ace.”
“As in the game?” I ask, my eyebrow cocked.
She nods. “You know the old legend. Don’t pretend that you didn’t play a game of Sixers with her.” Her eyebrow cocks as though she already knows the answer.
Because she does. Because it’s the game we all play with new recruits and/or with each other.
“I did,” I answer. “But I didn’t know that the ace of spades was a thing?”
Her mouth splits into a half smile. “It’s just a myth, Kingston…” She turns and disappears. I’m left speechless. Part of the legend back in Kiznitch started with a specific deck of cards. They were essentially the same kind that you buy everywhere, only these were made for an illusionist. The face of the deck was black, with small little demon babies on them. They were creepy as fuck. The game of Sixers was originally a game that was created by Killian’s great-great-great, (and so on), grandfather. During the game, it was fine to be dealt the ace of spades, but if your opponent picked the card from your hand, then that girl or guy, would be either the reason you live or the reason you die. She would either be your blessing or your fuckin’ curse. In Ash’s view of things, I guess it was more of a curse, because now Klaus is dead. For me, I don’t know if I’ll ever know whether P will be my blessing or my curse. She’d be my blessing because I fucking need her, but she’d be my curse because I’d fucking die for her. But I mean, shit, it’s a myth. Everyone knows that it’s basically illusory, because if it was real, that would be magic, right? And magic isn’t real…
I sigh, sipping on my cool drink as Cartier prattles on beside me about the next tattoo she’s getting. Apparently, on her leg. She’s so much more beautiful than I remember, now sporting long, wavy teal-colored hair.
“I heard you and King caused a whole lot of trouble these past couple months.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I laugh. “Yes, we did. How about you? Why aren’t you in the show?”
She snorts, wiping her mouth. “You think my psycho brother would allow that? Seems he can be a dirty fuck, but I can’t.” I can’t help the laughter that explodes out my chest.
“A dirty fuck?”
She nods. “Yes. A dirty fuck.” She leans forward and takes the joint off Maya. “It isn’t really something I want to do either, and since my brother is filling the duty for the brotherhood, they don’t care too much about what I do.”
Maya takes it back. “Only who you do.”
Kyrin pulls out a seat beside Cartier. “Which is fuckin’ no one. Amiright?” He glares at his baby sister, and you can see the dark shadow shift slightly, accommodating her.
“Wrong!” She chuckles, taking a swig of her drink.
“I swear to fuck, Cartier, focus on your business.”
“I do!” she scolds, and watching their back and forth is amusing, right up until Keaton drops down beside me, his eyes on Cartier. The air shifts around us, and suddenly, I feel like I’m interfering on a very intimate moment.
Cartier’s eyes flutter, but then she plasters a fake smile. “Keats! How are you, my monster?”
Keaton’s jaw tenses, his eyes coming to mine. “You good?”
I nod, looking around the table. I watch as everyone slips into conversation. Laughter, arguing between siblings, Kill’s mom walking around half-naked and sitting out near the fire at the back. “Yeah,” I whisper, my eyes going straight for King. “I’m better than good.”
Killian jumps up on his chair, pressing his fingers between his lips and whistling out. Once everyone is silent, Killian grins, pulling Callan under his arm. “We’re going to play a little game of you hide and we seek!” The parents all roll their eyes, going back to what they were doing, but the younger generation who are here—I’ve noticed it’s not all—remain silent, waiting to hear more.
I groan, massaging my temples. King’s arm tightens around my waist, pulling me up from my chair. He bites down on my ear. “You owe me a fuckin’ dare.”
Shit.
I sat at the back, where the lights were dim, and the audience was quiet. Alone. Away. Behind the spotlight that shone on the cast. This would be my first show, but it would not be my last. Studying every single one of them and what they do.
I picked at my popcorn, the butter slipping down my throat, just as Delila Patrova made her way to the center of the ring. She wore a black and lilac ringmaster outfit and a fedora hat. It was almost as though she had not aged at all.
She brought the mic to her lips and smirked. “Welcome to Midnight Mayhem. We are not a circus, we are not a carnival, and the only thing that you should be afraid of losing tonight, is your sanity…” A creepy haunting melody started playing in the background as the spotlight dimmed to a deep red. Her smirk deepened as she backed up. Six shirtless men wearing dark denim jeans bared themselves, as seven women wearing white lace underwear and bleached fluffy wings came forward. I knew who they were. The six demons of Hell and the seven angels of Heaven. Seven aerials dropped from the roof and I watched in deep fascination as the angels climbed and twisted and flipped around through the silk. The demons chased them up the ropes as “Threats of Romance” by Marilyn Manson played tragically. We watched as every angel was captured by a demon. Slowly, each demon pulled out a Devil Stick and doused them in gas before lighting them on fire. The crowd gasped when one of the demon’s brought the flame to his angel’s wings, setting it ablaze. We watched as the wing slowly burned to a crisp, the angel’s screaming and howling above the music. One after another, the angels dropped to the ground, hunched over their legs, sobbing. It was almost heartbreaking to watch, if I had a heart. Their demon stood behind them, dripping in sweat. Their faces were painted red, their eyes as black as the midnight sky, and their mouths smudged with dark charcoal. The men danced hypnotically to the music with their Devil Sticks, until the music slowly morphed to “Heaven Upside Down” by Marilyn Manson. The angels slowly rose up, as if from the ashes, now wearing black lace panties and bras, with black leather collars latched around their throats. Each demon had an angel, with one demon having two. They grabbed onto a leash and clipped it to their angel’s collar, yanking her back. Each angel is fondled with fire, whips, and chains. The atmosphere is dark and spellbinding. The flashing red lights with the music. The sheer mesmeric feeling of the show already has me on edge. This is the first act, and I know that there are a lot of them throughout the night.
I was here to watch and absorb every single inch of the show Midnight Mayhem… and Kiznitch would never know that I existed in the back of the crowd. Watching. Waiting. Now is not my time, oh, but it will come, and when it does, I’ll be raising hell with my presence….