part of his orchestra. That he would not sacrifice his own morals.
Ringmaster snarled and kicked a tin bucket hard enough to send it sailing down the dirt path, clattering and rolling to a stop some fifty feet away. No matter how he had argued, no matter how he had pleaded his case, Maksim refused.
What good were morals when they did not serve the bigger picture?
What good was a small act of righteousness when it aided a larger act of evil?
Maksim failed to understand how, sometimes, lesser evils must be committed in the name of achieving a grander victory. There was no world in which only pure deeds resulted in the vanquishing of monsters. One could not fight the darkness without touching it. Sacrifices must be made.
But it didn’t matter.
Maestro still refused to help. Turk would not waste his time speaking to Bertha or Rudy. It would be pointless. But now he had no way of stopping Cora. There was no way to contain her. He was out of options.
Yes, he could petition the others to stand on his side of the line during the ridiculous “vote.” But what if she refused to honor her half of the bargain if she lost? He didn’t trust Cora. He didn’t like leaving his flank unprotected. He certainly didn’t like leaving things to chance.
He was out of options.
He was cornered.
Turning, he slammed his fist through a fifth wooden crate. The wood splintered and fractured under the impact. He went to pull his hand out. It was stuck. Snarling, he yanked, and the wood that had caved inward dug hard into his wrist and the back of his hand.
He began to swear in every language he knew. And there were quite a few.
“I honestly am going to side with the box on this one.”
The voice behind him ran his blood cold. He finally managed to remove his arm from the box, but not without cutting himself up in the process. It would heal. He whirled to face the intruder who had come up behind him.
Grinning manically in the midday sun, the other man looked out of place. Creatures like him belonged in dark places. Shadowy halls and corners. Here, he looked as though someone had cut him out of a nightmare and stuck him onto the beautiful late September morning like a caricature of himself.
Turk sighed heavily. “What do you want, Puppeteer?”
“I mean, that box really didn’t do anything to warrant such violent behavior.” Simon shrugged. “Although I suppose you’re notorious for that kind of thing, aren’t you? Punishing those who don’t deserve it?” He strolled to one of the crates still left intact and sat casually on the lid. “I came to talk, Ringmaster.”
“Why do I not believe you?”
Puppeteer chuckled. “Because you aren’t a fool. But no, this time I really do not plan on starting a brawl. I know quite well that you can beat me in a fair fight. And I’ve already given up the element of surprise, haven’t I?”
He had a point. Turk hated it when Simon made sense. It always warned of danger. “What do you want to talk about?”
“The end of our world as we know it.” He took his sunglasses off his face, examined them, and, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, began to clean the lenses. Those terrible eyes of his flicked up from the task to focus on him.
Turk grimaced. He did every time that he saw Simon’s eyes. They were as monstrous as the man beneath. And the fact that Cora claimed to love him betrayed everything Turk, or anyone else, should ever need to know about the Contortionist’s true nature.
His look of repulsion only widened Simon’s smug smile. “I would like to make one thing very clear, Ringmaster…I am only out for my own ends. Now, and forever, I come first in all things as far as I’m concerned.” He placed his glasses back on his face and pushed them up the bridge of his nose with his ring finger. “I’m sure you’re well aware of this fact.”
“It’s always been more than a little obvious.”
“Good. Then you will understand why I’m here. I do not like to gamble with my life, fat man. I do not want to place my continued existence in the hands of anyone. Not you—not Harrow Faire—not even Cora.”
Ringmaster tilted his head curiously. He studied the Puppeteer in silence for a long time. Pulling his collar just a little looser, his bowtie already hanging around his neck, he moved to