The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,58

dear Maestro went poorly. I doubt Rudy or Bertha would be any more receptive to your scheme. I am the only one willing to lower myself to such wicked deeds.”

Turk swore and shut his eyes, rubbing his hand over his goatee. He really, really hated it when Simon made sense. And like every sadistic predator, the Puppeteer knew when he had his prey boxed in with no escape.

What was another hundred years or two if it meant he could rid the world of the monster for the next hundred thousand? His war would either end with Cora Glass in failure, or it would end the day Simon Waite eventually gave up what was left of his seity to the void.

“Now, there’s no telling what will happen to Cora’s link to Harrow Faire when she dies. The gift that Clown had been given—to drain seity from others at will.” Simon chuckled. “I do hope it goes to me.” And like the flick of a switch, his expression darkened. “It should have been mine from the start.”

“You’re jealous of her.”

“Of course I am!” Simon’s lip curled in anger and disgust. “Why would the Faire choose her? If it wanted to live, it should have picked me!”

“For what it’s worth, I’m very glad it didn’t.” Turk huffed a single laugh. “I’d be long dead.”

“Precisely.”

Turk looked off into the park. It was still late morning, and the gates were not open yet. Soon, October would be upon them, and Harrow Faire would decorate for Halloween. It was rare that the park was “topside” during the fall, but when it was, it was something to behold. Rudy’s more unique monsters were allowed to go on display, and Bertha’s freaks wandered the park freely.

And the patrons came in droves, unaware that the monsters that terrorized them were not tricks of illusions and mechanics. That they were very real—as was the danger they posed.

Monsters and demons. Hungry creatures that fed on more than meat and blood.

And here he stood, on the precipice of making a deal with an imp to kill the devil. A small sin committed in the name of the greater good. His soul was already forfeit. He would not visit the realm of the Prophet when he ceased to be. He had known that long ago.

What was one more act of cruelty?

But still, he couldn’t help but sympathize with Cora. It was one thing to be betrayed by Family—Jack, Amanda, and himself—but it was another thing to be stabbed in the back by the person she loved.

Cora Glass didn’t choose any of this. Not to become the Contortionist. Not to become the link to Harrow Faire. Not even to become whatever abomination she was now. Turk understood, and in fact empathized, with every choice she had made. Even consorting with Simon. She had been lonely, afraid, desperate for affection and friendship. Simon was nothing if skilled at making deals with those starved for options.

Case in point.

Turk nodded once. Weakly. He felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulders as if Allah himself had placed bricks upon him. Perhaps he had. He deserved it. “Very well, Puppeteer. You have yourself a deal.”

“Fantastic!” Simon slapped his thighs with both palms and stood. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “I nearly forgot. There is just one other thing. You see…you know you can trust me, upstanding citizen that I am.” He grinned. “But how do I know I can trust you?”

“What?” Turk shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Of the two of us, I’m the one who keeps his word.”

“Oh, fat man, I always keep my word. You just don’t tend to like what I say. But that is neither here nor there.” Simon waved dismissively again. “No, Turk. I know you. I know your kind. The ones who will break any vow, shatter any friendship, sacrifice any semblance of honor in the name of the so-called ‘greater good.’”

Turk tried not to take offense at the sarcastic air quotes Simon placed around those last two words.

“You’ll turn on me the second Cora is dealt with. You’ll starve the Faire to death and end us all. You hate me. You always have. Promises to me from you are worth less than used popsicle sticks.” Simon tilted his head back slightly, watching Ringmaster down the length of his nose. “Look me in the face and tell me I’m wrong.”

Ringmaster really, really, really hated it when Simon was right. His jaw twitched. “I give you my vow. I