Cora Glass. Savory and sweet. And all his to consume.
He had not expected to want to kiss her. He did not make a habit of dallying with others—not like his fellows and so-called compatriots. They played their games, either with each other or the patrons. He kept to himself. Oh, now and again, a sweet treat would wander close and be brave enough to play with him for a night. Never twice.
Madness. It did not make for repeated bedfellows.
Placing a hand to his chest and striking the other out from him as though he had a dance partner, he twirled along with the waltz he was whistling. Oh, yes. He was excited, without a doubt.
His impromptu desire to dance ended rather abruptly as he smashed into someone. Someone who didn’t budge at the impact. Someone Simon did not have to stoop to meet eye-to-eye. He glowered. “Hello, Ringmaster.”
“Puppeteer.” Ringmaster greeted him with nothing but distaste and firm dislike in his mouth. The big man was already glaring sternly at him as though he were a petulant child. “Hernandez is gone.”
“Yes, and? He’s been a ghost for years.” Simon waved dismissively and went to step around the giant oaf in his bad clothes. Ringmaster was having none of it and grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him back. Simon scowled back but knew better than to pick a fight.
One did not pick a fight with Ringmaster and win. He knew from experience. He still had an ache in his ankles some nights from those years dangling in the tower. But that didn’t stop him from being indignant about having been restrained. Tugging his arm free, he smoothed out the rumpled line of his red suit. “You were angry when I made him into one of my dolls at his request. Now you are mad at me for freeing him from that state of being—also at his request. Am I to be strung up again for following the wishes of a tortured soul?”
“You freed him because he asked?” Ringmaster was still glaring at Simon from under his ridiculous top hat. His long mustache was hideous. Really, Simon hated everything about the man. “Why do I not believe you?”
“I don’t lie! When have I ever done that? Even once.”
Ringmaster snorted.
“Now, don’t be catty, you overbaked loaf of bread.” Simon pointed at him. “I manipulate, surely. But lie? Never.” Simon pushed the glasses up his nose with the press of his ring finger on the bridge. “I am insulted. Now, if you’ve come to bother me about Hernandez, he’s now well and truly dead. The matter is already quite settled.” He moved to walk away but was yanked back by his upper arm. Again. He sighed. “What do you want?”
“Leave the girl alone.”
Simon froze. How does he know? “What girl?” He tried to act innocent. He suspected it failed miserably.
“Barker and Bearded Lady came to speak to me.”
Simon swore. “Rat fink bastards.”
Ringmaster rolled his eyes. “Leave her alone. You are not allowed to make another puppet.”
“It’s been thirty-eight years!” He was whining. He knew he was. But he didn’t care. He ran his hands through his hair, slicking the stray strands away from his face. It was rather unruly at the best of times. “Thirty-eight years. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“No.”
“The girl is suffering. She’s in pain. You want to curse her to a mortal life like that?” Simon folded his arms across his chest, playing the lofty one. “How cruel of you, Ringmaster. How utterly demonic, to let her languish in agony when I can cure her pain.”
“No one would take your offer if they knew what price they’d pay when they did.” Ringmaster stepped toward him, trying to intimidate him.
Simon held his ground…for a moment or two. He took a step back, but let a fiendish smile spread over his face. “That’s where you’re wrong, fat man. They all knew. Every single one of them looked at what they would become and took my hand all the same. Even your precious Hernandez. And she will, too.”
“No, Simon.”
“Why do you care? You never cared before. I preyed on them for decades—nearly a century—before you ever tried to stop me! You didn’t care until it was one of our own, so why care about a mortal girl now?” Simon tried to keep his temper down, but it was hard. He knew he was already shouting. He always felt as though he were chasing at the back end of a runaway carriage. His temper was always out of control. It went the way of his sanity, he supposed.
“You lost the right to feed on mortals when you took Hernandez. You never attack one of the Family. Ever. I put up with your random…spats of violence because I know you are not fully in control of your faculties.” Ringmaster flicked his hands across the brass buttons of his green and black striped tailcoat dismissively. “But after that, after attacking the Family, you lost your rights. You will leave her alone.”
“Don’t pity me,” Simon snarled. “And don’t deny her the right to make her own mistakes. If she wishes to come to me—and she will—then that is her choice. You, who always rants and raves about how people must make their own decisions! You do not funnel everyone who comes here through the Dark Path because you want them to know what they give away. But you’ll deny her the freedom to choose? Why?”
Ringmaster sighed heavily, and Simon watched as his argument worked. There was no better way to convince a righteous man to do the unrighteous thing than by using his own words against him. “Do you really think you can show her what she’ll become, and convince her to join you?”
Simon flashed his best, most predatory smile. Even Ringmaster’s eyes glittered in uncertainty. It was a honed skill, grinning like he could. It helped he did it all the time. “Oh, yes…I do.”
“You will not take her against her will?”
“No.” Simon stuck his hand out to Ringmaster. “We have a deal, then? I can have her if I can convince her to come to me.”
Ringmaster’s jaw ticked as he clenched it in anger and annoyance. “Fine.” He turned away without shaking Simon’s hand. “But you will never touch one of our own again, Simon. Ever.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He cackled.
“If you break your word…you might just.”
The threat killed Simon’s laughter. Something that angered him nearly as much as the words themselves. He wrinkled his nose and growled. He very much did hate that man. Turning on his heel, he struck off in another direction, once more wanting privacy. His excitement was dead in his chest, and he needed to go clean up the mess that the former Contortionist had made.
His excitement was dead.
Right until he saw her.
There she was. Cora. His interesting quarry had returned to the Faire despite all her strong words to the contrary! Walking next to that skinny little creature who had been thoroughly—extremely thoroughly—enjoying Strongman’s company.
Heh. “Company.” That’s what they’re calling it now, eh, Simon?
Such a curious thing she was from the outside. She would be vibrant and alive, if not for the sadness that draped over her like a shroud, hiding her true colors. She was fiery, she was feisty, and she had a mouth on her that entertained him greatly, when she was brave enough to use it.
And, oh, she was beautiful.