Page 30 of Chaos Carnival (Cirque de Sanguine #2)
Chapter 29: Labyrinth of Lies
Tess
The strands whispered and danced as I made my way through the abandoned fairgrounds. Everything felt wrong here—the air too thick, the shadows too deep, as if reality itself was rotting from the inside out. But the chords liked it. They sang twisted songs about fear and power and things that lurked in dark places, their melody harmonizing with my transformation.
Construction equipment sat idle, half-assembled tents looming like sleeping giants. The big top was already up, its striped surface writhing with shadows that shouldn't exist in broad daylight. The webs showed me echoes of what would happen here—screams and blood and transformation—and I found myself swaying to the rhythm of future horrors, each vision more stunning than the last. The air rippled like a fever dream, showing me the carnival as it would be: a feeding ground for nightmares.
“Pretty, isn't it?”
I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. But there was no one there. Just the wind playing tricks, or maybe the threads playing tricks. It was getting harder to tell the difference.
I kept walking, drawn deeper into the maze of partially constructed attractions. Each step felt like moving through honey, the universe bending and warping around me. The chords were getting excited now, whispering faster, showing me flashes of possible futures that made my head spin.
Something was different about this place. The magic here wasn't just dark, it was hungry. I could taste it on my tongue, bitter and metallic like old pennies. Like blood.
A raven watched me from atop a half-built ticket booth, its eyes too intelligent to be natural. “You shouldn't be here,” it seemed to say, though its beak never moved.
Movement rippled through the half-constructed carnival. The wooden bones of a Ferris wheel creaked, though no wind stirred the oppressive air. From the corner of my eye, children darted between stacks of lumber, their laughter echoing strangely before they vanished like smoke.
A woman in a faded dress from another era stumbled past, clutching her throat as darkness writhed around her like hungry eels. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, and shadows poured down her throat, filling her cavity. She dissolved into nothing, leaving behind only the acrid taste of terror.
In the same spot, a carnival worker hammered nails into fresh planks, each strike echoing through multiple dimensions until time itself began to bleed. The sound of boots crunching gravel snapped me back to the present.
Ivan.
I leaned against cold metal, trying to slow my breathing as his heavy footsteps drew closer. The wraithshade's energy made the air thick, syrupy with malevolence. Dark tendrils reached around corners, tasting the air like serpents' tongues, leaving trails of decay in their wake. Each tendril carried whispers of ancient hunger, promises of endless suffering that made the currents dance with delight.
I laughed, a quiet and breathy sound.
Slipping behind a half-built carousel, my shoes stayed silent on sawdust. Twisted metal horses cast strange shadows, their painted eyes following my movement. One of them winked.
The webs pulled me left just as Ivan's shadow fell where I'd been standing.
It was amusing to me, cavorting with death, for some reason. The strands knew the steps, showed me where to move, when to hide.
But Ivan was hunting now, moving with predatory grace as he stalked between the attractions. The wraithshade's hunger pressed to my skin like ice.
I ducked behind a stack of lumber just as his heavy boots came into view. This was exciting, like dancing with an apex predator, knowing one misstep meant death. The threads wove patterns of possible endings around me—some beautiful, some terrible, all fascinating. I could taste his frustration as he stalked past my hiding spot, his anger like burnt sugar and fresh blood.
My heart pounded but glee bubbled up in my throat, mad and musical. I clamped my hand over my mouth, but too late.
The footsteps paused.
“Come out, come out,” Ivan's voice rasped, closer now, his words leaving trails of ink in the air.
I slipped behind a carnival game booth as he turned, the weavings’ merciless choreography showing me exactly where to move, to stay just beyond death's grasp. They painted his movements in crimson and umbra, each potential future branching like veins of despair.
Another sound escaped me, high and broken. The lines found this hilarious—the mighty Ivan, stumbling around while his prey danced just beyond his reach, each near-miss making them sing with dark delight.
“I know you're here, little girl,” he called out, his voice an uncanny echo. “I can smell your magic.” The wraithshade's essence leaked from his words like tar.
He was getting closer, drawn by the sound of my laughter. The wraithshade's hunger pressed to my senses like teeth, making the filaments sing with dark anticipation. They showed me countless ways this could end—most in blood, all in beauty.
My feet carried me across the uneven ground, the threads showing me where to step, each footfall landing in spaces between seconds. Such pretty tendrils, all twisted up like licorice ropes, like bloody ribbons, like nooses made of starlight. This place needed me. It sang songs of transformation and terror and beautiful broken things, and oh, how I wanted to sing along.
I slipped into a dark tent that tasted of rust and forgotten screams, filled with shadowy equipment that seemed to breathe. The musty air whispered secrets, and oh, the streams loved secrets. They showed me what this place could be—a temple of controlled chaos, a sanctuary of sacred fear, where nightmares could dance and feed my handsome savage seraphim. Not Ivan's crude harvest. No no no. This belonged in our hands, where we could shape terror into art.
The ravens know, I thought giddily as heavy footsteps approached, each step making the air ripple like disturbed water. The ravens always know. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from laughing, tasting copper-bright blood that made the streams dance faster, weaving patterns of prophecy and destruction.
Ivan's massive silhouette filled the doorway, bringing with it a wave of ancient hunger. The wraithshade's energy made everything taste like dirt and rust and dying stars, like the space between heartbeats. “I can feel you in here, little girl,” he growled, his voice carrying echoes of every scream he'd ever harvested.
But the webs showed me everything—past, present, future all tangled together like Christmas lights made of barbed wire. Three steps left—he hasn't taken them yet, but he will, he will… he will—so I glided right, around a cabinet that smelled like old dreams and fresh graves. He would look behind those boxes next—hasn't yet but soon so soon—so I circled wide, keeping a shrouded mirror between us that reflected things that hadn't happened yet.
Then the universe hiccupped.
A ripple in the pattern. The strands screamed a warning that tasted like shattered glass, but too late—Ivan's hand closed around my arm, yanking me back against his massive chest. My heart stuttered, then slammed against my ribs so hard I thought they might crack. This wasn't possible. The filaments said left, he was supposed to go left, but he went right instead, tearing through the fabric of what should be. My mouth went desert dry as ice spread through my veins. How did he—
“Got you,” he growled in my ear, his breath hot on my skin like hellfire. My legs turned to water, muscle memory of a thousand threats making me small again, making me his again. The wraithshade's energy writhed around us, making the threads writhe and twist in distress, their song turning to screams that only I could hear.
He dragged me toward another tent, and heat bloomed outward from my core, spreading like wildfire through my limbs. My fingers curled into claws at my sides.
After everything I'd become, everything I'd survived...
The webs were back now, dancing with malevolent glee as they showed me everything that was coming. The cage with its cruel bars singing songs of captivity, each note tasting like screams and rusted metal. My teeth ground together as I saw his rough hands on my skin, making me scream while he fed on my fear like a gourmand at a feast. I could taste my own tears, salt and copper and terror, though they hadn't fallen yet—but oh, how they would flow, flow, flow like silver rivers in moonlight.
“No no no,” I lilted, watching the future unfold like origami shadows made of razor blades. Something wild and dark unfurled inside me, a madness born of the threads themselves. “The ravens won't like this. The webs don't want this. You're not supposed to have this place, it's not for you, it's for them, my dazzling damaged angels who drink darkness like wine...”
But he just laughed, the sound as dark as caverns, as ancient as buried sins, as he carried me toward my cage-that-would-be. The threads showed me exactly how much it would hurt, painting masterpieces of agony in colors that shouldn't exist.
“You saw what I would do, didn't you?” Ivan's voice dripped with amusement as he shoved me toward the cage, each word leaving stains on my skin. “But you couldn't see what I didn't plan. When I just... reacted.” The wraithshade's hunger purred around his words like a satisfied predator.
I kept my eyes focused on the filaments dancing in the air, refusing to look at him. They showed me what came next—the pain, the fear, the helplessness. All written in strands of ink and blood, a story told in bruises and broken screams.
And wasn't it beautiful, in its monstrous way?
He laughed, the sound making the threads twist and writhe like dying snakes. “Still so predictable, Tess. Always thinking you're more clever than you are.” The cage door creaked open with the sound of condemned souls. “Always thinking you can outsmart me.”
His hands were rough as he pushed me inside, leaving fingerprints of obsidian and malice on my skin. The bars sang with cruel alchemy, making my jaws ache and my bones vibrate with the wrong frequencies. The streams showed me how they would burn when I touched them, how they would drain me until I was empty, hollow, a perfect vessel for fear.
“I have a few matters to attend to,” Ivan said, locking the door with a sound like breaking bones and shattered promises. “Then we can get... reacquainted. It's been too long.”
The wraithshade's hunger crowded my skin like a lover's poisoned kiss as he turned away, leaving me alone with the webs and their whispers of what was to come, each prophecy more deliciously horrific than the last.
The chords showed me how it would end. And how it would begin. I wrapped my fingers around the cold bars, watching the threads weave stories of blood and transformation through the air like spider silk made of screams. This place would become a temple of screams and shadows, a cathedral built from busted dreams and harvested fears. The lines showed me everything. Blood would christen these grounds, would feed the hungry earth beneath the tents until it grew fat on suffering.
A sound caught in my throat, half sob and half mad joy, tasting of copper and summer dreams. It was never meant to be like this. Me in a cage, him thinking he had won. Him in a cage—me thinking we had won. It was always meant to be, but it was exactly as it should be. The strands had known all along, had woven this moment from the fabric of fate itself.
Ivan didn't understand. I was already broken, shattered and remade by magic older than fear itself. My madness was my armor now, my fractured mind a kaleidoscope of harrowing possibilities. It was inevitable, written in the ribbons like poetry made of nightmares.