The Ringmaster (Harrow Faire #4) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,28
not a few weeks ago—is now in love with me? After everything I’ve done?” He glanced out at the carnage and muttered, “I suppose that might change now.” He shrugged. “Oh, well.”
“No. It’s not funny at all.”
“Now you’re sulking.” He rolled his eyes. “Get off your high horse. You are not some moral saint. We were a few years away from accidentally starting some manner of blood cult.” He snickered. “I’m a little disappointed we never got the chance, actually.” He nudged a severed arm on the ground with his foot. It might have belonged to Maxim the Conductor. Or maybe it was Louis’s. He wasn’t sure. “However, this is fun.”
“They’re all going to be very mad at you now.”
“Oh, most certainly. I’ll suffer for this in a few hours when they all wake up.” He put his sunglasses back on his face. “No matter.”
“Aren’t you worried about Cora?” His shadow wrung his talons nervously. “We should go after her.”
“If I do, and these vermin begin to wake up, what then? They’ll follow me to her. No. Better she has her chance to speak to Mr. Harrow undisturbed.” He cringed. “As much as it pains me, I should be the one speaking to him…not her. But the very Faire itself seems to have taken a shine to her from the moment she stepped in here.”
“But I’m worried.”
“Then go and leave me in peace.” He gestured with his hand to shoo the shadow away. “I’m happier without your constant yapping, anyway.”
His shadow frowned harder, glared, then obediently slunk into the darkness. Simon knew his reflection wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity to be near Cora.
What an odd situation in which he found himself. He scratched at his chest over his heart. He knew Cora was upset—he could feel it—but there was little to be done about it at the moment. But the rest of what he felt itching away in his ribcage was more problematic.
He didn’t understand what it was. Or why it was there. But he knew who to blame for it.
“I ripped out my pain at the root. I tore it out and threw it away. Is it like a weed? Do I have to do it again? I don’t want two shadows to annoy me.” He growled. “Pernicious, irritating thing. Go away!” He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling of the tent.
Huh.
Some blood had made it all the way up there.
He snickered.
Today really was a good day.
His humor faded after a long moment. He knew what he could do to solve the issue—he could give up Cora. But she still had a piece of his seity buried inside her, and he still very much wanted it back.
And he’d had the chance to turn her into one of his dolls twice since then, and both times he had found himself unable to do so. He shut his eyes and sighed.
Why did these things always have to happen to him?
His life had been simple. Easy. Quiet. Then she arrived and upended the table with all his precariously balanced cards and destroyed all his careful planning. But the idea of giving her up stung worse than the ache she caused inside his heart. He was covetous. Greedy. He didn’t want to surrender anything of his. And her, least of all.
He scratched at his chest again.
It didn’t mean he couldn’t hate every waking second of it.
“She’s gone!”
Simon jolted at the sudden screaming inside his head. He looked at the wildly-flailing shadow by his feet. “Excuse me?”
“Gone! She’s gone. Gone!”
“She can’t be gone. Look again.” He plunked his head back. “She can’t leave the Faire. None of us can.”
“I can feel her, just like you can. I followed her. But then it—she—the link vanished. Can you sense her?”
He paused. He had been so caught up in his own very well-deserved self-pity, that he hadn’t noticed the ache in his heart had been cut in half. His portion remained. But hers was gone. He shot to his feet. “I…” He shut his eyes and focused. He could always sense Cora. It was the unfortunate side-effect of being her Sponsor.
Nothing.
He snarled in sudden rage and stormed from the tent. In record time, he made it to boxcar twenty-one and began pounding on the door. “Harrow! What have you done? Harrow!”
Silence. Nothing. The lights were off. He kept slamming his fists on the door, screaming and hollering. He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t give up!