The Ringmaster (Harrow Faire #4) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,36

I would appreciate it.” Ringmaster walked away, dropping his whip on the table by the wall of the tent. “But I understand if it takes you time to feel safe enough to do so.”

“Thanks.” Cora looked down at Simon and gently ran a hand over his hair. It was sweaty and matted with blood, both his and everyone else’s. “You look like shit.”

“You’re so sweet to point that out.”

“Let’s get you in the shower.” She picked up the rest of his clothing from the ground, balled it up, and tucked it under her arm. She helped him carefully to his feet and draped his arm over her shoulder. He leaned on her heavily as they walked away.

“Have a wonderful night, everyone. This has been absolutely charming.” He grinned at the others as they passed. “Next time we want to play, however, I’d love a turn with the whip.”

“Oh, shut the hell up before I make you crawl back,” Cora grumbled at him. The comment made Jack and Aaron smile against what Simon suspected was their better instincts.

It wasn’t until they were a hundred paces away from Ringmaster’s tent that he spoke up. “You’ve become a wonderful little liar, Cora dear. I’m impressed.”

“Most of it wasn’t a lie.”

“Then where were you if you weren’t speaking to Mr. Harrow? You weren’t in the woods. I would have known if you were. You disappeared.”

“Can we talk about this when we’re in your boxcar and you’re not bleeding all over me?”

“Mmh, no. I think I’d rather know now, all things considered.” He grinned down at her, although it was still a bit weak from the pain. “And I thought you were into ‘kinky shit’?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you like it.” When she jabbed him in the ribs, he groaned. “Don’t do that. I think I might retch.”

“Then don’t run your mouth.”

“Unlikely to stop anytime soon.” He sighed. “You said you weren’t talking to Mr. Harrow. But you went to his boxcar and disappeared.”

Cora went quiet for a long time. She looked at the white tower that sat at the head of the fairgrounds. They were approaching the staff area, but it was always visible as it jutted up high above the rest of the tents and rides. Only the shut-down Ferris wheel was taller.

When she finally spoke, he almost tripped over his feet and landed sprawled into the dirt.

“I wasn’t speaking to Mr. Harrow…because Mr. Harrow doesn’t exist.”

***

Cora was in awe of Simon’s pain tolerance. He stood there in the shower while she carefully cleaned his wounds. Many of them were already healing. Come tomorrow, she knew they’d be gone without a trace. But it didn’t stop her from wanting to cry at the sight of him covered in crisscrossed whip marks. He twitched as she carefully ran the sponge along the edges. Once or twice, he hissed in pain.

But he never complained. He never told her to stop.

He had gone silent after she told him that Mr. Harrow wasn’t real. Or rather, that it was just another title. There wasn’t a man inside that boxcar—it was the Faire itself. She had explained it to him in a hushed whisper.

She had expected him to shout.

Cackle.

Rip her arms off with his strings.

Do anything.

Not go pale like he might pass out. He was pliable and silent as she brought him back to boxcar number fifteen and carefully helped him strip out of his pants again to put him in the shower, sitting on the small ledge that could serve as a bench. She stood just outside, using the showerhead’s hose attachment to help minimize the hot water flowing directly into his cuts. She washed his hair, doing her best to keep the soap out of his wounds.

When she was done, she carefully got him to his feet. She found a pair of his black pajama pants and eased him into them, keeping them low on his hips to avoid the cuts that edged close to his waist.

“Should I bandage them?”

He shook his head. “They’ll heal into the wounds…hurts worse later. Trust me.”

She nodded weakly and guided him to his bed. He sat on the edge before lying on his stomach with a long exhale. “Cora?”

“Yeah?” She sat beside him.

“Are you lying to me?”

“No. Absolutely not.” She reached for his hand and took it, lacing her fingers into his. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“You lied to Ringmaster.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You still lied.”

“You told me not to trust anyone until I know who my friends are. And I think