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Forty-Seven
The stack of cards sits before me. I’ve read them a hundred times, and they still give me the same answer, so I read them again and again, but it never changes. I’m consumed by it, trying to draw a different conclusion, but it’s the same every single time.
Death. Fear. Something bad is coming.
I know it has to do with Roger. He made that very clear, but past the warning, I get nothing else from the cards. They remain steadfast and silent when I need them most. I need a different answer.
The cirque has become my home. I’m happy here in this place meant for freaks and outcasts. I’ve found where I belong. Some part of me knew that as a child. I was always obsessed with the circus, and when my father brought me to Cirque Obscurum when I was young, it felt right even then. I wish all the events between then and now didn’t occur, but I know it was necessary for me to become who I am. It was part of my journey, however sad it may be.
I can’t let Roger swoop in and take it away from me. I can’t let him take away my happiness again.
I reach forward and spread the deck out, hovering my hands over the cards once more, seeking clarification.
Hilda appears through the ten flaps. She left a while ago to fetch dinner, but I claimed I needed a few more minutes.
It’s been an hour.
Her eyes soften upon seeing me, but there’s strain at the corners too. We’ve both read the cards, but I’ve been obsessive about it. Still, it doesn’t change my need for a different answer.
“Ember,” she says, drawing my attention as I stare at the same card I’ve drawn a million times—death. When I look up at her with furrowed brows, she blows out a breath. “Child, we can’t force fate to our whim. We can only read it.”
“But I need . . . more. I need something else,” I croak, pulling another card—fear. My shoulders droop. “This is my home.”
“It’s home for all of us,” Hilda reminds me. “Don’t think that I don’t care just because I don’t draw the same answer repeatedly. I don’t wish death on anyone in this family, but it does occur.”
“But this time, it’ll be my fault,” I grit out. “I brought him here. I’m the reason he’s coming.”
Hilda pauses at my words, at the pain behind them, before she comes over and takes a seat beside me. When I go to shuffle the deck again, she covers my hand with hers, stopping me. I glance up at her, at the wisdom in her eyes.
“It is no more your fault than it is mine,” she says, shaking her head. “If we were all measured by other people’s darkness, then we would be in trouble indeed, no?” She pulls me into a hug. “Death may come, but we’ll face it when it does, Ember. You won’t be alone in that. You won’t face him alone.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until I sniffle and hug her back, feeling teardrops plop on her shoulder. The sobs rack my body so quickly, I can’t breathe, wrapping its tendrils around me. I let my fear spill out—fear that it’ll be someone I care about, that it’ll be one of my men.
“Don’t let it consume you,” she rasps, holding me tightly. “He has no claim on you, and when he comes, we’ll remind him of that.”
Even as Hilda comforts me, I realize that the new woman I am isn’t okay with her answer. Old Ember would have accepted it, but new Ember doesn’t want to wait. She wants to act.
But how?
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Iwatch as Ember sits in Dr. Louie’s tent, her pant leg rolled up as he prods her calf. It’s been months since she came in with broken bones, so beaten that it took a week just for her to be able to sit up in bed. Her husband did a number on her then, but he won’t get a chance to repeat his actions.
We should have killed him when we had the chance.
None of us will say it, though, not to Ember. She already recognizes the mistake for what it was. She was trying to be a good person, but sometimes, you can’t be when the demons come knocking. Sometimes, you have to battle darkness with darkness.
“It looks good,” Dr. Louie says as he turns her leg and bends her knee, testing it. “Everything is healing well.”
Ember sits forward with a grin. “Does this mean I’m fully cleared now?”
Dr. Louie taps her knee. “I suggest continuing your stretches and gaining your strength back, but otherwise, I don’t see why not. You’ve been doing well with putting muscle back on.”
Ember beams under Dr. Louie’s praise, and I don’t blame her. We all like to see Dr. Louie proud. He’s practically a father to us. The last time I was hurt, I was so overcome with emotion as he cared for me, I cried—not that I’ll ever tell anyone that. It just means that Dr. Louie is a special part of the cirque. He looks after every single person who comes through these tents, every member of our family. He tends to cuts and scrapes, illnesses, broken bones, and sour stomachs. He sees the worst of us, and I know it wears on him, so when he sees us healing, it heals a part of him too.
“How does it feel?” he asks Ember. He’s careful when he touches her, always asking permission first. He knows our girl as well as we do.
