Rick were smiling and laughing as they walked by with coils of rope and metal bars that must be trapezes.
It was showtime.
In more ways than one.
Everyone seemed like they knew what they had to do. Jack walked by holding a can of paint and a rolled-up sign. She knew it probably advertised the “Grand Reopening” of the Faire. She had seen that sign once before.
She slowly walked up beside Simon and reached for his hand. He looked down at her with an arched eyebrow. She leaned in close to him. “I’m not ready for this…”
“Which part?”
“Any of it. I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, for starters, you’re going to want to go to Elena and get a costume rush-ordered. I bet she can cobble something together for you by tonight.”
“I still never agreed to perform tonight.”
“But it’s now a ‘maybe,’ and not the hard ‘no’ it was seconds ago?” He grinned. “That means I’m winning, and that means it’ll be a yes within the hour.”
“I—no—” she stammered. “But—”
A third voice interrupted her. “Oh, come, now, you’re a natural. You’ll be a hit.”
She looked at Turk and smiled nervously. She fought the urge to hide behind Simon again. “Um. Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He smiled back. There was a firmness in his eyes. She was a threat to him, and they both knew it. “How are you, Cora?”
“I’m…um. Not ready.” She chewed her lip. She always did that when she was nervous, ever since she was a kid, and she knew it was a terrible habit. “Do I…really have to perform?”
“Yes,” Simon replied quickly.
“No.” Turk chuckled and shook his head. “No matter what Simon says, you don’t. Hernandez went twenty years without taking the stage. I hope you’ll consider performing. You’ll attract quite the crowd. Besides, I really do think you’ll love it.”
Cora looked off into the bustling action of everyone heading out into the Faire. They all looked so excited, like it was Christmas morning. Everyone was smiling.
What was the point in fighting it?
With a long, pained groan, she lowered her head. “Fine. I’ll perform.”
Simon cackled in victory. “Grand! Let’s take you to Elena, then. Let you pick out an outfit while she makes you something custom.”
“Can I talk to you first, please, Cora?” Turk motioned his head toward his boxcar. “If you don’t mind.”
Simon moved to stand between them. “You will not harm her, you overbaked—”
“I am not planning on doing a single thing to her, Puppeteer.” Ringmaster stood his ground, glowering at the other man. “If I meant her harm, I would have the honor to say it. I don’t. I wish to talk. I wish to show her something. And I will do it alone.”
Simon snarled, his shoulders lifting to his ears. Cora stepped around him again. “Simon. It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you—”
“Simon…Please.” She turned to him, putting her back to Turk, and put her hand on the Puppeteer’s chest. She smiled up at him reassuringly. “I trust his word. If he isn’t going to hurt me, then he isn’t going to hurt me. I’ll meet you at Elena’s tent in half an hour. If I’m not there by then, then rip this place to shreds.”
Simon grimaced, baring his teeth, and with one last long, low growl, he tugged on his coat and stormed away. “Twenty minutes, Turk. Twenty. Or I will make windchimes from the body parts of all the Family members I’m going to slaughter and welcome the mortal patrons to a new kind of Harrow Faire.”
Cora watched him walk away and sighed. “He’s such a melodramatic asshole.”
Turk grunted from behind her. “It’s worse because he means it.”
“Well, we better get started.” She shrugged and turned to look up at the big man. “You aren’t going to change your mind and kill me now, are you?”
He smiled down at her gently. “I can’t kill people. Only you can. I can’t even change you like some could. Come.” He gestured for her to follow him as he walked to his boxcar. It was painted with the same matching gold numbers on the door, this time a four.
“What’s with the numbers, anyway? I never did ask.”
“At some point in the Faire’s existence, it became enamored of the idea of the tarot. I think it swallowed too many gypsies.” He smirked at her over his shoulder as he unlocked his door and swung it open. He had to duck his head to fit under the frame. “We are allegories to the cards of the greater arcana.”
“I wish