Movement No. 5
Tempest
Until today, I had only seen Hel’s Carnival once before.
I was a little girl, so youthful, some light still left in me.
I remember asking my nanny for cotton candy, and her obliging.
The cast of performers were different then, though some of them are still here.
It makes me curious about everyone’s stories, what caused individuals to come and go, why things changed.
Not curious enough to actually ask, though.
Princess. That’s what Yasmeena called me, yet here I am, being escorted by two members of my pack, walking me up to the gates of the carnival with an iron-clad grip.
I feel more like a prisoner.
Hanging on poles overhead are signs advertising different shows and performers. The Scorpion and The Butterfly immediately catch my eye, the painted fabric flapping in the wind, directly across from one another.
There’s another face I recognize—The Stallion—holding a bow and arrow. My memory takes me back to watching a much younger version of her ride a helhorse through the crowd, nocking her bow and striking every target.
Gregory and Sampson finally let go of me, and I turn to say goodbye to my father. He growls at me.
To anyone outside of our pack, it is just that. A growl. But lupion understand one another. The pitch and timbre work like vowels and consonants, creating our very own language.
Wait for further instructions. You must kill him.
I nod in understanding. Retribution has been a long time in the making.
Goosebumps rise on the flesh of my arm, and I turn back to Governor Raph, Draven Orzath, and Yasmeena, waiting for me inside the metal gates. I walk past the threshold and into their possession.
This entire situation makes me fume with rage. I’m supposed to be training and making preparations for my eventual takeover, but instead I’m a fucking marriage pawn. An object to be used.
My life was always going to belong to Pack Escalus in some capacity; this was a given, but being a part of Hel’s Carnival was never something I imagined for myself, even if it’s only temporary.
I don’t know what it’s like to be a part of something so different, or how I’m expected to behave.
It’s especially difficult knowing some of these people have no idea about what happened to Tyrus, while others are directly responsible for it.
Everyone might ignore me or hate me—or worse. What if they all are actually nice to me and then feel betrayed once I get my final orders from Father?
Only time will tell.
Walking through the carnival, the scent of buttered popcorn and cotton candy permeates the air.
There is a demon child holding onto his mother’s pant leg, excitedly waiting to ride the Ferris wheel, and I wonder what it feels like to be full of joy.
To have a mother who loves you and will take you to fun places.
Governor Raph continues leading us down a path past a carousel and a few stands with games and colorful plush prizes. A young hybrid—probably on a date—knocks over the final glass bottle, and his partner jumps up and down with glee.
The absolute happiness radiating from everywhere I turn only exemplifies how out of place I feel. I am the clouds on an otherwise sunny day; the weed in a field of daffodils.
We turn a corner and enter through a second gate, the energy here a lot more charged. There are no rides or performances happening, no audience to see us, and the mood instantly shifts, all the smiles dissolving off everyone’s faces.
Everyone but Raph, who doesn’t seem to notice.
We pass an incredibly large tent and enter another slightly smaller one standing behind it.
“Everyone, please, take a seat,” Governor Raph says.
I sit between Gemma and Yasmeena, and the others follow suit.
“I thought we already went over the details of this arrangement with my Alpha and the others,” I say.
“We did. This meeting is about the specifics of your stay in Hel’s Carnival,” Draven clarifies.
He props his legs up onto the long table, making it abundantly clear what role he plays here.
He might not be king or governor, but he’s at least prince of this circus.
“You will have an escort with you at all times.”
“At all times?” The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the uncomfortable silence lingering after my question.
There’s another few beats before the small one with strange eyes speaks up.
“You’ll shower and use the bathroom alone, but other than that, yes.
” Her scleras are black, but her irises are gold, and I recognize her.
She’s a member of The Devil’s Masquerade, and she was there the night I met Yasmeena.
Is this a joke? Is my life a fucking joke?
I worked at a bar. Hel, The Cathedral is my bar.
It’s busy and buzzing with beings, but when three o’clock hits each morning, I get to go home to my quiet den.
With the exception of days spent where I’m forced to shadow Fenris, I’ve spent most of my life in the quiet.
My other pack members supported me, but they also knew me well enough to give me the space I needed.
The thoughts in my head are loud enough. I don’t need to be babysat by someone who is a part of the organization that took my cousin’s life.
“It’s nothing personal; we just don’t know you enough to trust you yet,” Gemma explains, and I roll my eyes. They seemed to get cozy with this human pretty fast, from what I can remember of seeing them two years ago.
“You can roll your eyes like an insolent child all you want, but we protect our own.” Yasmeena’s nostrils flare as she stares at me, and I can see in her eyes that she’s lost something.
I’m sure they all have, but her wounds are still open, or for whatever reason she still feels the need to guard everything close to her chest. That’s not my problem, though.
“Where am I going to sleep?” My jaw hurts from how hard I’m clenching.
“With Yasmeena,” Draven and Raph say in tandem. Yasmeena’s eyes drop to the ground.
I am desperate to find another solution. “Why can’t I have my own tent? Or share with someone else?”
“You’ll be sleeping in separate beds, but this is a marketing campaign. We have to make it appear as real as possible,” Gemma explains. She bats those big brown eyes of hers, and even if she wasn’t the only human I’ve ever met, I’d think she’s the prettiest one.
“Plus, there could be spies anywhere.” Draven takes his feet off the table.
Well, at least they don’t realize I’m kind of a spy. Or maybe they do, and that’s exactly why I’m not allowed to be alone.
“Doesn’t everyone here know we’re not really engaged?” I ask, and everyone shakes their head.
“Obviously we know, and so does my brother, Khalid,” Yasmeena starts, but Draven butts in.
“Robyn and Aida are the only other carnies outside of The Devil’s Masquerade who are fully aware of the situation. Rowan and Quinn will be suspicious, but won’t outright get into Yasmeena’s business,” he explains.
“Taryn and Leo do not know, and neither do the children.” Raph’s deep blue eyes look into mine.
Draven turns to Yasmeena, cocking his head to the side. “What about Lilian?”
“She’s like my best friend, Draven. She knows,” Yasmeena says, and he nods.
“Essentially, unless you’re alone together or with a limited number of us, you’re to act in love. Painfully, disgustingly in love,” he says, the most evil smirk gracing his mouth.
Gemma’s hands go up. “Ignore him. You can act… regular in love.”
I don’t know what that means or where to even begin. “I’ve never been in love.” The words fall from my lips before I can reel them back.
“Neither have I, so we can suck at this together,” Yasmeena replies, and the tiniest pang of relief fills my chest, before I remember once again who she is and what she’s done.
“Anything else I need to know, or any more rules to follow?”
Raph smiles. “While you’re here, you work for me just like everyone else. You and Yasmeena will practice an act together for The Sinner’s Circus. You’ll do your aerial silks during the daytime, but we’ll give you a few weeks to practice before making you perform for an audience.”
That’s not unreasonable, but everything makes me want to cry or scream or throw up. All three, actually. This overwhelming feeling consumes me, taking over every molecule of my body.
“Alright,” I say, because it’s all I have left in me.
“Absinthe has been very excitedly working on a project for the two of you, can we head over to her workshop?” Gemma says as she stands. Everyone else gets up, Raph and the hybrid exiting the room, but Draven lingers protectively. “Goodbye, Scorpion.”
He kisses the top of her head and crosses through the doorway.
We continue down the dirt-lined path until we reach a small tent. There’s a warmth coming from within, and I follow cautiously as Gemma leads us inside.
A half-demon I can only assume is Absinthe is standing in front of a jewelry welder and a clamp holding a metal ring. She lifts up her face mask and places the blowtorch on the table. “I’m working on the second ring now, but you can see the other one in its little case.”
We walk over to where she’s pointing, and it might be the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen.
There are two oval gemstones nestled next to one another, equal in proportion.
One is a light, bright blue that’s almost green, the other a golden topaz.
I look up at Yasmeena and it dawns on me.
They’re our eyes. It’s as if our heads were resting against each other’s, our eyes almost touching. If this engagement wasn’t a sham, the sentiment would be beautiful. And that’s exactly the point. This is excellent marketing—this half-demon has outdone herself.
“It’s interesting,” I say aloud, and Yasmeena nods.
“I think it’s ethereal,” Gemma says, holding up her hand. “Absinthe made mine as well.” The ring on her finger is a bright, ruby red. It’s heart-shaped, a crown-like halo surrounding the gemstone. “We’ve got a show tonight, we should start getting ready.”
Exiting the workshop, Yasmeena and I walk towards her tent in silence. She shows me inside, and it’s nicer than I expected. It’s not over-the-top, but there’s a vanity and some pieces of furniture.
There’s a small bed with my suitcase leaning against it, the worn teal leather out of place against the blacks, whites, and browns of the fabrics and wood that fill the room.
“I’m going to go get changed,” she says, and looks back at me. “I’ll see you later.”
Surprise ripples through me, followed by the reminder that this felion isn’t my friend. She is part of the organization that killed Tyrus, and she is actively working against the lupion people. No matter how considerate she might behave, she is not kind.
“This isn’t going to hurt too bad,” the tattoo artist says.
My tank top is rolled up to expose the bottom of my spine, and I feel like an exhibit at a museum as my Alpha and the others stand over me.
“And even if it does hurt, you will not cry,” my father says, his tone stern. “Alphas and seconds aren’t allowed to cry.”
The needle is loud and I swear I can feel the vibrations before they reach my skin as the artist tattoos the first drop of atra into my skin. It’s a strange, magical sensation.
I’m feeling the tattoo needle, feeling his gloved hand against my back, sure, but what I mostly feel is this euphoric high. Part pain, part tingling, he is literally infecting me with magic that will live in my body, becoming one with me.
It feels like ice, which is perfect given the rune I chose. I know we can’t decide how effective the atra is, but I hope the magic in me is strong. Stronger than my father’s, and stronger than the demons and half-demons we face.
“It’s a shame you were so weak,” my father says, staring at the tattoo. “But now you will be stronger.”
I want to be the strongest second to ever live, and serve my cousin well.
My eyes flutter open, and I realize it was all a dream.
No, not just a dream. A memory. It’s how I got my magic. I may not always agree with my father’s decisions, but this one was wise.
The felion is asleep in the bed beside mine, and I try not to notice the warm vanilla scent she gives off, or the way she quietly mumbles.
She’s so beautiful, it’s a shame she’s such a nuisance.