The Ringmaster (Harrow Faire #4) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,30

he had dropped her through a hole into…wherever this was. A memory, an alternate dimension, or a vision. It didn’t really matter. He—it—was an enormous, sentient, cosmic monster. Pretty sure one trip down a hole wasn’t a big deal to it. “There is no Mr. Harrow…is there?”

“That isn’t quite true.” Clown looked at the sky. It was beautiful and blue, with birds swirling overhead and diving low to catch the bugs that were likely hovering over the lake. “I am Mr. Harrow. Boxcar twenty-one has always belonged to me.”

“Then who wrote the creepy poem in the paper?”

“Hm? That was Clown, before he forgot his real name.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh! I remembered his name, finally. It took me a while. I had to dig really deep to get it. But everything he ever was is now part of me, and so it was there. It was just under a lot of other crap.” He chuckled. “His name was Lazarus. Lazarus Harrow.”

“Before? Wait…what? Clown was also Mr. Harrow? You just said you were Mr. Harrow.”

Clown smiled at her. The pitying and patient smile of a parent trying to explain to a child how the world works. “From time to time, my keepers will take the last name Harrow to signify their connection to me. Their…rank. It’s a silly tradition. There was a Lady Harrow before Clown.”

She stared at him flatly. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t understand.

“I know, I know. Lazarus is a silly name.” He shook his head. “Too on the nose. But he was born in the 13th century, so what do you want?” He chuckled. “It’s better than ‘Clown,’ at least. You can call me Lazarus now, if you want.” He smiled hopefully. “Or Laz. I’ve never had a nickname before.”

She rubbed her hand over her face. “You’re going to have to explain this to me. Slowly.”

He took in a breath, held it, and let it out in a long rush. “Well. When he was a young man, he came across a gypsy encampment in what is now Italy. Lazarus was hungry—starving to death—and we welcomed him in. He thought it was too good to be true. It was. There was an old woman there, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. He felt a searing pain…and the deed was done. Sound familiar?”

“Yeah.”

“That woman was Lady Harrow. Lady Harrow was in command of the creature you know as Harrow Faire. This place.” He gestured behind him at the tents and the people. “Us. Me. When he finally stopped screaming, and when he accepted who he was…Lady Harrow passed the burden on to Lazarus. The same burden he passed on to you.” He poked her in the arm.

“Yeah. Fuck you for that, by the way.”

He laughed. His eyes sparkled with humor, and she knew he didn’t take it personally. “I know. It’s cruel. Lazarus had a choice. Lady Harrow came to him and asked if he would take over the role of playing the human caretaker for the creature that kept them alive. He said yes. Who wouldn’t want to be in command of such an ancient and terrible power?”

“Me. For one.”

He scoffed. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll like it. The problem is you only have half the link. You have the connection to me, but not the power. The other half…was stolen from Lazarus.”

“By whom?”

“Let me tell the story in order.” He patted her knee. “We traveled Europe and northern Africa with my troupe as we ticked off the years, going from place to place, feeding on seity as we went. We never stayed in one place for too long. It was a good way to live. But I wanted to see this new world. These Americas. So, we traveled.”

“The Faire…you were the ship I saw?”

“Exactly!” He laughed. “Simon is wrong to call you slow-witted.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes and looked out at the lake. “So…then what?”

“I traveled up and down the coast. It was lovely. I came here, to this lake, and I liked it so much I thought perhaps I might stay. There were plenty of locals to meet, and to feed from. Even one human’s worth of seity can keep me going for years. I wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet for a time.” He smiled dreamily. But slowly it faded. “Then he came.”

“Who?”

“You know him as Turk. Back then, we knew him as Murad Atan. A royal from the mysterious Ottoman empire.” Clown—Lazarus—snorted and wiggled his fingers like