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“She wakes,” he announces despite it only being the two of us in the tent. “How do you feel, habibti?”
“I . . .” I take stock of my body, shifting my arms and legs and realizing I can move more. “Better,” I answer. “I feel better.”
“Good. It’s been over a week now. We were starting to get worried.”
“A week?” I gasp, moving to sit up. “How has it been a week?”
He frowns and tilts his head to the side. “Do you not know how time works?”
“No. I do. I just . . . It doesn’t feel as if it’s been a week,” I say feebly, grimacing. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Where are we exactly?”
He grins, and it changes his face from stern to downright beautiful. Despite not recognizing him, he feels . . . familiar. When he reaches for a pair of wooden crutches off to the side, I get a good look at his arm and the spade tattoos there. A memory surfaces, one of that arm cradling me gently as they broke me free of my cage. He whispered words in a different language in my ear, words I didn’t understand but knew were sweet. I blink and stare up at him.
“You were the one who carried me out,” I whisper.
He pauses, his dark brown eyes flashing with pleasure. “You remember me?”
“How could I not? You saved me. You all did.”
His expression softens. “Yes, habibti. We did.”
Now that I can see his face, I realize just how handsome he is. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and muscular in a way that speaks of hard work and heavy lifting. His face is square, thick, and strong, with a defined jaw and cheekbones. His skin is tan, better suited to someone who lives in a desert rather than the Midwest. There is a small, black spade tattoo beneath his eye, and I can see hints of others at the edge of his shirt, though I can’t figure out what they are while covered. His black hair is short and slicked back in the style many men favor, but it’s his eyes that capture me. They are bright in the way that whiskey is, an amber color that almost looks unnatural. This man is also beautiful in a way a cobra would be. Despite his smile, I feel like he could strike at any moment.
He holds the crutches out toward me and then sets them against the bed. “Come. I’ll show you where we are and explain everything. Dr. Louie said you shouldn’t be walking on that leg yet, so we got you these. I’ll help you up.”
“What do I call you?” I ask as I shift. “I’m Ember.”
He nods as he moves to help me. “I go by Spade here.”
It takes barely any effort for him to help me out of bed. As strong as he is, he practically scoops me up and drops me on one leg before shoving the crutches up under my arms. He shows me how to use them before he gestures for me to follow him out of the tent. It takes some getting used to, but after a few unsteady hops, I manage to get outside.
My jaw drops as soon as I do.
It’s nighttime, but it’s in no way dark. Bright lights surround me—string lights between tents, spotlights sweeping through the sky, and flashing lights farther in.
“The circus,” I rasp as I spy the red and white striped big top over the smaller tents. “I’m at the circus.”
“Not just any circus,” Spade answers with a mischievous smile. “This is Cirque Obscurum.”
My mind fills with memories of me as a little girl, running through these tents and finding my way to the fortune teller. She’d given me the card I held when I thought I’d die. They said I called them. The fortune teller mentioned that the cirque would come if I needed it, but that shouldn’t be possible, right?
Yet here I am. Now, though, I am no longer that naive little girl dreaming of fanciful things and different worlds I read about in books. I’m all grown up, and I no longer believe in fairy tales. There has to be a catch. No one does such things for free. No one expects nothing in return for help.
“Why exactly am I here?” I ask, my voice hard.
I glance up at Spade as he stands beside me. His own smile is gone, replaced by deep contemplation.
“You called us, habibti,” he replies, his eyes flashing like a wild animal’s. “Your call was so strong, it nearly choked us.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmur. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“You will,” he answers, looking over my head. “Diamond will explain everything. He’s coming this way now.”
I spin clumsily on my crutches, following his gaze, and meet eyes as familiar to me as this place is. I used to dream of those eyes as a child, of the boy I saw briefly at the circus. He’s no longer a boy though. His eyes are hard and dangerous and so dark, they reflect all the yellow lights around us. I thought Spade’s were dark, but I was wrong. This man’s are as dark as the depths of hell. They belong to someone who danced in the darkness his entire life and reveled in it.
My god, he’s beautiful.
With a jawline and cheekbones that could only be sculpted by a master artist and those black pools in his eyes, he could easily be mistaken for a masterpiece in a museum. His hair is just as dark, part of it tousled like it had been styled at one point but he ran his hands through it too many times. His brows are thick and strong, and there’s a wrinkle between them as if he wears the weight of the world on his shoulders. Gold glitters on his ears, piercings that reflect the lights above. His features are tied together by full lips that would be too feminine on other men, but somehow make him more masculine. A small, black diamond tattoo sits beneath his right eye, his moniker inked on skin. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe him.
