opportunity.”
“I suppose. I guess I just wish I wasn’t tied to a post again.” She paused. “And you didn’t plan shit, Simon.”
“I did too.”
“Liar.” She turned her head and tried to glare at him, but she could barely see him. “You had no idea Duncan was here!”
“I was going to find someone for you to kill.” He sniffed dismissively. “The Faire just beat me to it.” She heard a clunk that sounded like metal. “I wish they didn’t lock my hands in this stupid box again.”
“What?”
“Louis made it a long time ago. Do you think I’ve been a plague upon Harrow Faire for a hundred and thirty-five years and they wouldn’t have come up with a way to neutralize my power? Please.”
“Huh.” She had never really thought about it. She leaned her head against the post. “So, we go through this trial, I make my case…and then the Family votes?”
“I highly doubt it’ll get that far. Once you tell them Mr. Harrow has never occupied box twenty-one, and that the moldy loaf of over-proofed bread in a top hat has been calling the shots this whole time, they’ll revolt. There’ll be panic, anger, dissidence, a fight will break out…and we’ll have the chance you need to kill him. It’s perfect. It’s exactly as I planned it.”
She sighed. She knew he was making this up as he went, but there wasn’t any point in arguing with him. When motion caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, she looked over to see Simon’s shadow up on the wall near them, wringing his clawed hands. “Oh, hi, sweetheart.” She smiled. “I’m okay for now.”
The shadow frowned and reached out to her. But no matter how hard he tried, she knew they couldn’t touch. Not here, at any rate. He looked so sad and forlorn that it broke her heart.
“I know. I don’t like this either.” She tried to reassure him, even if she didn’t feel any better herself. “But it’ll be okay. It’ll all work out.”
“Don’t lie to him. It’s cruel. He doesn’t know any better, since he has the intelligence of a steamed rutabaga. And, for the last time, stop encouraging him.” Simon pulled on the ropes again, which tightened them around her chest.
She grunted in pain. “Ow, knock it off.”
“I had an itch.”
For some reason, his indignant response made her laugh. She hung her head and shut her eyes. Here she was, tied to a post with Simon Waite. The Puppeteer, and the insane demon she had fallen in love with.
She was about to stand trial in front of a bunch of semi-undead, semi-immortal circus freaks for destroying the seity of the man she had once loved and who had raped her. And who had been about to rape her friend.
Or at least, had been about to rape a person who wasn’t really her friend anymore, because Harrow Faire had eaten everything that was “Cora Glass” and removed her from the rest of reality.
Oh, and now she had to figure out how to destroy Ringmaster in order to survive.
In a dark, sick, and sadistic way, it was pretty funny.
So she laughed.
The ropes shifted as Simon moved behind her. “Have you lost your mind? If so, I can give you some pointers. It’s not so bad once you get used to the invisible frogs.”
She laughed harder. She was somewhat sure he was joking about the frogs, but only somewhat. She tilted her head against the post and shut her eyes. “Simon?”
“Yes, cupcake?”
“Thanks for making me laugh.”
“Aw, shucks.” They fell into silence for a long moment before he spoke up. “My shadow sends you his regards. There. Now, will you please be silent, you yammering, glorified ink blot?”
Cora chuckled. “I love you, too, Simon’s shadow. Thank you.”
“He never said that.”
“Yes, he did. I know he did.” She managed to nudge Simon in the back with her elbow. “You’re just being a shithead about it.”
He went quiet for a long time. When he finally broke the silence, the humor had left his voice. So had the annoyance. “Why do you love him, Cora?”
She paused. She knew the question he was really asking. Why do you love me? The two of them were the same man, just pieces of one whole. His shadow was his pain, separated from his mind to protect him from the weight of it all. She twisted as far as she could go and wished she could see his face. But somehow, not looking at him made it