Page 10 of These Unhallowed Halls (Equinox Seasons Duet #2)
Internal alarm bells sounded, but this was the point of a circus: to defy gravity and logic. I was sure that an invisible wire could account for the trick. All of this—the circus and carnival outside—was rigged. Nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
“No! No, you mustn’t! I was only doing some peeping!”
A woman was led into the ring by a pair of clowns, their outfits so muted that the red hardly held any saturation at all.
It was strange for such a public event, but everything inside the tent felt just a bit off.
The grins stretched a bit too wide, the music was just a hair discordant, and the clothing wasn’t shiny and new or even trying to be.
“Is this part of the show?” Temps asked, and I looked over to see the worry on her face.
I had to assume it was, but I couldn’t blame her for being on edge. The woman was dressed in a similar clown’s outfit, but hers was a skirt and tall boots. What felt off were the tears that streaked her makeup, the acting feeling a bit too genuine.
“You will face the Butcher!” The Ring Leader called out, using his cane to draw attention to the massive wheel that was being rolled out and into the center of the ring. “Punishment and repentance for the snooper!”
The acts were typical circus fare, from the fire-breathing to the trapeze, but the way the performers were doing it was odd.
There was an undeniable edge to the words, almost…
religious. It was probably just a new gimmick to keep things interesting, but I had to admit that I wasn’t a fan of that particular spin on things.
I was also hardly an impartial judge, considering my past.
As we all watched, the woman was strapped to the wheel by her wrists, ankles, and waist. She didn’t struggle, not more than the act probably demanded, and I shrugged when Temps shot me a glance.
“I assume so. Though it does feel a little gruesome.”
“Maybe they’re just leaning into the spooky season thing,” Lizzie added. “I mean, scary carnivals and shit are like a Halloween staple.”
“That’s fair.” Temps wobbled her head in a roundabout nod, and the three of us turned back to the scene in front of us.
A larger figure stepped out of the shadows, and there was no doubt in my mind that this was The Butcher. He wore some of the traditional clown garb, including the makeup, which was streaky and sloppy, but he also had on a large butcher’s bib and a belt of large knives.
Lizzie gestured out at the man. “Okay, yeah, that’s some scary clown shit for sure.”
The Ring Leader pointed with his cane again, now standing on a large box off to the side. “The Butcher!”
Everyone cheered. This had to be the knife-throwing portion of the show, and no one else seemed particularly concerned.
I couldn’t sense a large number of witches gathered in the tent either.
A few sporadic pings here and there aside from the two near me.
If there had been, it was possible more of them would have been picking up on the strange energy of the circus, but as it was, it seemed like only the girls and I were on edge.
As The Butcher stepped up in front of the wheel, it began to spin, and the woman held there appeared to cry silently, leaning into the act. The demented-looking clown pulled a knife from his belt and lobbed it at the wheel. It landed perfectly between he spread legs of the woman with a loud thunk.
More cheers from the crowd as the man demonstrated his impressive aim, and I watched intently as he took out two more blades and did the same, landing these in the space between the woman’s arm and leg on either side of her.
“Pro eo qui nos corroboravit!”
“What the hell? What language is the Ring Leader even speaking?” Lizzie furrowed her brow, looking between me and Temps.
We both answered, “Latin.”
“Oh, well, shit. Can you tell what he’s saying?”
Temps looked to me, and I gestured for her to go ahead. “Something about for him who has given us power or something.”
“Empowered us, but yes.”
A crack of sparks shot off as The Butcher landed a knife right above the woman’s head, this strike sinking into the wood all the way up to the hilt of the blade.
“Haec tibi gratiarum actione tribuimus, certiores facti ut donis nostris in nomine tuo utamur!”
“And that one was?”
“He said it too fast,” Temps whispered, her brows knitted with obvious frustration.
“We give this unto you in thanks, with the conviction to use our gifts in your name.” I looked at Temps, then Lizzie, my jaw clenched as the tension built inside me. “As far as performances go, I’d say he’s laying it on real damn thick at this point.”
A loud thwack boomed through the tent, and I shot my attention to the show to see that this last blade had struck the woman in the chest right above her heart.
The crowd gasped, and the two clowns at the wheel quickly turned it around.
The pointed end of the blade stuck out from the wood, dripping red.
People began to scream and demand someone get help, but I was frozen in place as the wheel spun once more and the woman was nowhere in sight, no longer strapped to the wood.
Another crescendo of awed sounds emanated around us, and then an eruption of sparks from the center of the ring flashed, making me squint as the woman reappeared in the center, taking a bow with a massive grin on her face.
“Okay, damn. That was impressive as hell. I was worried there for a second.” Lizzie sighed, and I could actually hear her release her breath in a nervous chuckle.
“Yeah, me too,” Temps said softly.
But I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the woman who stood in the center, taking her bows. The Ring Leader had walked up to her, taking her hand and spinning her about, presenting her to the adoring audience.
She was taller.
It wasn’t much of a change, hardly noticeable, but this woman was just a tiny bit taller than the one who The Butcher’s blade had impaled. A part of the trick? I didn’t know, but it all felt…wrong.
“Thank you, our fantastic patrons! As we take this short intermission, we have exciting news! The winner of the backstage tour has ticket number 5691!”
From the ceiling of the tent, the trapeze artists swung down right above the man in one of the upper rows.
A spotlight shone down on him, and he got up with a smile, waving at the people around him.
The two trapeze performers reached for his hands, hovering him just an inch or two above the steps as they glided him down.
They all landed in front of the Ring Leader, and the crowd hooted and hollered as he was joyfully escorted toward the back of the tent.
“Remain seated or get yourself a snack! The performers will be back in just fifteen minutes!”
As the announcement ended over the loudspeaker, I moved to stand up. Whatever was going on here, I wanted a damn look at it. I didn’t trust this. Not one fucking bit, and—
“Ooh, if you’re getting popcorn, grab me some more. I demolished mine.” Lizzie held up her empty box of popcorn, the red and white striped cardboard wafting around that classic smell of butter and salt.
“I…” But I couldn’t think of what to say.
The girls didn’t have the same concern over this that I did, and if I left them here to investigate, I’d be leaving them unattended. If there was truly something sinister going on, I wasn’t about to risk their safety.
Dammit. I want a look behind that fucking curtain. I shot a glance back at where I’d seen the man and performers disappear before returning my attention to Lizzie.
“Umm, sure. I’ll be right back.”
Taking the box, I stepped out into the aisle, and as much as I hated it, I went out the front of the tent to get popcorn instead of following my gut instinct.
Still, maybe I was being ridiculous. PTSD came with hypervigilance and seeing enemies where there were none.
It could very well be that my mental health condition was getting the best of me.
Gods knew it wouldn’t be the first time.
The rest of the show passed by rather quickly, each act leaning into the macabre with a final farewell from the Ring Leader proclaiming that he was so thrilled we’d all stopped by to begin the nightly celebrations of “spooky season.”
Clearly, I had been overreacting.
“Holy crap, it’s so late.” Temps looked down at her phone before stuffing it back inside a small black purse in the same of a bat. “I’m going to fall asleep on my feet as we walk.”
“I would absolutely carry you, but I’m not that strong, and I’m not spraining another ankle.”
Lizzie eyed Temps before they both devolved into a fit of giggles. I hated how adorable I found it, slightly jealous of how carefree their twenties were compared to mine.
“I’d be happy to walk you back to the dorms.” They both shot up, eyebrows up to their hairlines as they gaped at me. “It’s late at night, dark, and you two would be a target for anyone with nefarious intent.”
Laughing, Lizzie hooked her arm through mine again, Temps walking around to my other side. “Offer accepted. I do not need to deal with a creep right now. Or ever.”
“Thank you, Professor. That’s really nice of you.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the swell of something unnameable in my chest. “Of course. Happy to help.”