Page 44 of Chaos Carnival (Cirque de Sanguine #2)
Chapter 43: Sanguine Justice
Maverick
The aroma of buttered popcorn and cotton candy drifted through the tent, gradually souring as it mingled with the metallic tang of fresh blood. Outside, a calliope played cheerful melodies.
I stood in the crevices of the big top, watching as our carefully crafted spell drew them in. They came in ones and twos, predators thinking they were here to hunt. Their malevolence responded to the arcana woven through the circus grounds, leading them to their seats. Each of them radiated violence, their souls stained with acts that would make even demons pause.
“Creative,” Baphomet's voice purred from behind me. “Using their own corruption to lure them. Poetic even.”
I kept my gaze fixed on the gathering crowd. “Here to check on your sister?”
“Among other things.” He moved to stand beside me, his presence making my muscles clench. “Though I must say, this particular show wasn't what I expected.”
In the ring below, the Sisters of Shadow began their descent. Their bodies snaked in ways that went beyond Lilith's usual illusions, creating shapes that spoke to something primal in the human mind. The special audience members leaned forward, their expressions hungry, not realizing they were the prey tonight.
“The wards are set?” Stone materialized beside us, his voice low.
I nodded. “No one leaves until it's done. Lux has the perimeter.”
The Sisters' performance shifted, their shadows stretching toward each of the marked ones in the audience. Those touched by darkness saw their own victims in the shifting shapes. They moved in perfect synchronization, their dance becoming something older than time. Each gesture plucked at their targets' souls, like a poisonous dart.
“It's a dirty job but someone has to do it,” I said.
Baphomet's laugh held centuries of sin. “Keep telling yourself that, little seraph. But we both know you enjoy this.”
“Never said I didn't.”
Stone tensed beside us, but I remained still, watching as the first victims began to realize something was wrong. Their attempts to leave met invisible barriers, the panic feeding the spell that would end them.
The tent canvas rippled in the night wind, creating dancing shadows that merged with our own supernatural umbra. Each flutter of the fabric made the lanterns sway, their light catching on fresh spatters of red against the striped walls.
Volunteers from the audience were strapped to a spinning wheel, their struggling forms offering little resistance as the Sisters prepared them. Some fought the buckles, their eyes wild with fear, but it was too late. They were trapped, unable to escape what was coming.
Screams echoed through the big top, piercing the night as the wheel spun and the knives flew. Blood flew in macabre patterns, painting the air with red as the wheel turned, revealing new flesh for the blades.
I licked my lips, the heat of the magic surrounding us. The wheel never stopped turning, and the knives never ceased their infernal dance. There was nowhere to hide, no escape. My eyes locked with a bound man, his face contorted in terror, pleading for mercy.
Stone's hand gripped my shoulder, and his voice, tight with tension, cut through the sounds of torment. “We should get closer.”
The trash we had lured here thought they were coming to take part in some extreme, kinky show. Little did they know they were to become the main attraction.
I nodded, breaking eye contact with the man whose agony-filled screams now joined the ominous choir.
A gull's cry pierced the air from somewhere beyond the tent, the sound mixing with our victims' muffled screams. The carnival's bright lights filtered through the canvas, casting rainbow patterns that danced across gleaming blades and wet flesh.
They moved through the darkness, closing in on the wheel of death. The audience's screams and pleas now mingled with the moist rending of punctured flesh. The air was thick with the metallic odor of blood, and the sounds of agony reverberated, filling me with dark satisfaction.
“Lilith's touch is obvious here,” Baphomet mused, gesturing to the way shadows warped around the Sisters. “She always did have a flair for the dramatic. But...” He paused, head tilting. “This has your mate's signature all over it, too.”
The screams began in earnest now, but they didn't reach beyond the tent's boundaries.
“Quite spectacular, what the two can do together,” I mumbled, turning to face him
“And where is my sister's star pupil?” Baphomet's eyes gleamed with ancient fire.
“Ensuring the performance’s success.” I let my power slowly rise to match his. “This is her design, after all.”
We watched as Vera selected her prey, her choice speaking to her understanding of human cruelty. From the bustling crowd, a young man in his early twenties was chosen. His cries of terror blended with the excited shouts of those gathered.
Jeremy Walsh, a trust fund kid with more money than sense, had spent the last year indulging in his depraved desires. Every weekend, he hired prostitutes, using them as playthings, forcing drugs upon them, and fucking their bodies however he pleased until they were deflated dolls, busted and defeated.
Vera dragged him down, her eyes wild and hair whipping as if caught in an unseen wind. She forced him into a transparent box, her hands a blur as she manipulated his body to fit, bending and twisting him until he was folded like an impossible human origami.
As the box sealed shut, a new delicious horror began. Blades, thin and sharp, emerged from every surface, a toxic metallic forest. They inched forward with agonizing slowness, a bloodthirsty dance, each one seeking flesh. The man's screams turned hoarse, his body jerking with the effort to escape, but there was nowhere to go. The blades pressed closer, piercing skin, drawing blood. With each passing moment, the box filled with a grisly display of red, a testament to the dark Sisters' art.
The heavy canvas trapped everything inside—the heat, the screams, the thick copper scent of blood. But somehow the sugary sweetness of funnel cakes still permeated the air, making my stomach turn at the incongruous mixture. Above us, the tent pole creaked rhythmically, as if keeping time with the distant thrum of bass from the carnival rides.
And then, with a dramatic flourish, the box opened.
The moment was punctuated by the sudden, stark silence that followed. I could sense the crowd's reaction without seeing it — an eclectic mix of emotions that hung heavy in the air. Their gazes fixed on the man's body, now a punctured and bloody mess. Gasps of horror and delighted laughter mingled with the smatterings of applause. They still didn't know yet that their own gruesome fate was fast approaching.
Darkness deepened as the Sisters reached the culmination of their dance. The marked souls began to unravel, their corruption feeding back. It was justice and vengeance wrapped in beauty; death disguised as art. Art disguised as death.
Luna and Vera moved through the crowd, selecting their next victims with glee. They dragged audience members, yelling and fighting, into the ring and bound them tightly, gagging their mouths. My skin tingled at the sight.
The Sisters' movements were precise, almost loving in their brutality, as they secured each struggling form. The theater doors had been sealed, and now the air erupted with dark anticipation.
The unlucky souls were hung from a rotating carousel, their arms and legs bound and fastened to the spinning structure. As the ride began to turn, the bodies were flung outward, the centrifugal force stretching them taut. Their muffled screams resounded over the creaking of metal and rope, a symphony of terror that made my pulse quicken. The carousel picked up speed, transforming the suspended figures into blurred shadows against the dim theater lights. Their restraints pulled so tight that their tendons strained beneath their skin, muscles rigid with desperate resistance. Each rotation brought them closer to the moment we'd all been waiting for, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation.
Their screams became a symphony of terror, a soundtrack to the Sisters' dance. I watched, my alchemy thrumming within me like an electric current seeking ground, as the chosen ones spun faster and faster, their bodies becoming a blur of sacrifice. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the energy in the room built to a fever pitch, the air seeming to crackle. The performance was designed to terrify, each revolution bringing forth their chorus of agony.
Tess's hand too, was guiding this spectacle with the ancient magic that coursed through the chamber. The familiar tang of her spell work hung in the air, sharp and metallic.
As the carousel spun faster and faster, the bodies of the sacrifices twisted and contorted unnaturally, their limbs threatening to rip from their sockets at any moment. The audience, caught in the powerful centrifugal force, would feel the pull and stretch in their own bodies. A visceral and sinister sensation—Ivan’s idea, Tess's handiwork.
The panic and fear in the air was a tangible thing as the Sisters' chosen ones became a blur of flesh and blood, their screams now a high-pitched keening that sent shivers down the audience’s spines.
“She's become something…” Baphomet began as the bodies pulled apart, “more ancient than all of us.”
The tent grew still then, the Sisters floating back to the ground as their work completed.
No bodies remained, the spell had unmade them completely, erasing all evidence of their existence.
“Tell Lilith I'll be watching her progress with great interest,” Baphomet said, turning to leave. “And tell your mate... well.” His smile held secrets older than time. “She already knows what I would say.”
As he vanished, I looked at the now-empty tent, where only echoes remained of what had transpired. The performance was a success, elegant, efficient, and terrifying.
As we cleaned away the remnants of popcorn and candy wrappers, our tent echoed with phantom screams. The canvas had absorbed the night's activities, the way sugar and copper seemed permanently mixed in the air.
The regular show would begin soon, the tent filling with ordinary humans seeking manufactured thrills. None would know that real monsters had sat in their seats just hours before. None would suspect that their entertainment was built on foundations of darkness and sin.
I straightened my coat, preparing to play my role as ringmaster once more.