The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,48
had.
Burn it all down because there won’t be a tomorrow.
And Harrow Faire was nothing if not a circus. And so, it seemed, it decided to truly double down on its bid for the pot.
Who knew how many years Harrow Faire had left in the tank before the engine dried up? Turk had been so very close to success, only to have victory snatched from his fingers by the unwitting Contortionist.
Who knew if Harrow Faire was bluffing, or if they held a royal flush?
Who knew what kind of gimmick it would use to win? Was there more in store? Turk could hardly imagine a world where the Faire had another card hidden up its sleeve. Creating in Cora some manner of…monstrous hybrid was a fairly spectacular maneuver on its part. He had to tip his hat in respect to that kind of villainy.
But Turk would win. He would not accept a world where he lost.
I will not have to.
I will be dead if I do.
He laughed morbidly to himself as he walked inside the Maestro’s tent. He could hear music drifting from a piano. The man in question was sitting there at the keys, pressing them in a sequence before humming the melody and frantically scribbling down notes.
A world-famous composer.
Stricken from the record of humanity. As good as Beethoven, Mozart, and all the rest. Relegated to writing ditties for circus acts and hurdy-gurdy machines. It was insulting for a man of his brilliance.
And that was the only line of argument that Turk wagered he could use to win him over. He pulled his hat from his head and placed it against his chest, bowing low to the other man with a loud clearing of his throat.
“Monsieur Maestro. A word if I may?”
“I am very busy, Ringmaster.” Maksim scribbled more notes onto the page in front of him.
“Ah, I can see that. I am sorry for any offense. Normally, I wouldn’t trouble you when I know you are at work…but I fear I have a very pressing matter to discuss with you.”
“About the Contortionist and her rise to power?” Maestro scoffed. Maksim did love to refer to everyone by their titles and titles alone.
“Indeed.” Turk rose from his bow.
“And how do you think a lowly musician such as I could aid you in such catastrophic troubles as you’ve found yourself?” He placed his quill pen between his teeth. His fingers were stained with ink. He shuffled through a stack of papers on top of his piano, searching for a clean page of blank sheet music. Finding one, he placed it to the right of the still-damp page and began to work again, deftly adding a treble clef to the top row of thin lines.
“I think this ‘lowly musician’ at which I’m looking may be our only hope at overcoming this new danger.”
That caught Maksim’s attention. He turned on the bench, shooting him an incredulous and scrupulous glower. “Do not insult me after all these years, Ringmaster.”
“No insult intended. I speak the truth.” Turk paused. “I need your help in destroying the Contortionist.”
Cora woke up feeling like she had the chronic pain and exhaustion from her Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome back. She was sore. Worn out. And she wanted to take a vacation from her own body. Simon was still asleep, snoring quietly with his arm slung over her like she was a teddy bear. He really was adorable when he was sleeping.
Without the manic smile and sadistic glint in his inhuman eyes, he looked almost angelic. Like a sculpture that should be in a church somewhere. It reminded her of his shadow. Her heart ached, and she fought back tears again.
She was done crying.
Leaning down, she kissed his cheek gently at the corner of his lips. He let out a contented little noise and pulled her pillow into him, as if he thought it was her.
Seriously adorable.
Climbing out of bed, she changed. It was dark out—and a glance at the clock said it was six o’clock. Morning or evening, she didn’t know. It was late September, maybe the first week in October, and it would be getting darker earlier. It didn’t really matter to her whether it was morning or night. It was all the same to her.
Rain was pattering on the windows, the droplets running down the glass. She watched them fall for a long moment as they slowly merged from individual drops into a single sheet of liquid. Losing their individuality to become part of the whole.