As I lower myself down onto one of the chairs, she smiles again, and I’m distracted. This is going to be annoying.
“So, Sass has told me a little bit about what you did in Patience. As you know, Midnight Mayhem is very different from that.”
“What parts?” I ask, rudely interrupting her, but it is a chance that I won’t miss. I need to know what makes Midnight Mayhem different from Patience.
Perse leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table that separates us. “Well, for starters, we’re not into human, sex, or child trafficking, or the illegal activity of organ donors.”
“So you don’t do bidding?” I ask absently, turning to look out at the stage. “If not for that reason, then why?”
She pauses for a few seconds before answering. “It’s a long story, which I’m sure one day someone will explain to you. I’m pretty new to all of this too. Mixture of cultism, lineage, entertainment, power, money, power.”
“Hmm.” I roll my tongue over my lips while watching the other girls work on some of their acts. Saskia is taking out fire tools, and the others are playing with the aerial ropes that have dropped down from the ceiling. “What did Saskia tell you about me?” I finally drag my eyes back onto Perse.
Her cheeks flush a little before she leans comfortably into her chair. I can see she doesn’t want to seem intimidated by me, but I can understand why they are. Essentially, I should want all of these people dead. They think because they killed my father that I would hate them.
They’re wrong. I won’t tell them that, though. It’ll be more fun to watch them figure it out on their own.
“Well, she said you were the ringmistress, which is perfect because we just lost ours—” Her voice fades out. She was fond of their old one. Cute. Very cute. It must be nice to feel that way about other people, or not. I can almost imagine it being annoying. Her face pales a little. “I have to tell you right now that your ‘tricks’ can’t happen here.”
“Ahh,” I teased, smirking at her. “So she told you everything.”
“The Sorcerer of Death? Yes, we are aware.”
I watch as her body language shifts. Between sitting up straight, to fidgeting with her fingers, down to the downcast expression marred into her face. She’s uncomfortable.
“Can I ask you something?” Her head tilts, and she observes me slowly, almost too carefully.
“Sure.”
I reach for my bottle of water on the table, screwing off the plastic lid and bringing the tip to my mouth. I have a feeling whatever she’s about to ask me, I will have to think carefully about my answer. Being told I’m a ring woman? Easy. Being told I’m the ringmistress who is nicknamed The Sorcerer of Death because the “magic tricks” I would perform always resulted in… well, death? That’s something else. But there are things that I cannot, no, will not share with her. I don’t care enough about anything or anyone to lie to them or use my position to manipulate anything, but some things—I won’t share, or one person, I should say. She is who I will protect, but that’s not out of love or feelings. It’s out of respect.
“Was there a reason why you chose your victims? Or was it at random? And why were they always men?”
She should have stopped at the first question.
“Both of those questions are tricky, but how about this.” I tighten the lid of my water bottle and rest it on top of my thighs. “I won’t kill anyone during my acts here.”
“Really, thank you so much for agreeing…” Perse deadpans, her face tightening.
I smile. “If—” I interrupt, and her glare deepens. I hitch my thumb over my shoulder to the young girl I saw pushing a makeup trolley. “I get to wear the clown makeup.”
“That’s usually just for The Brothers…”
“Huh,” I muse out loud. “Then I guess they’ll have to get used to me wearing it, too.”
She crosses her arms in front of herself. “It’s my job to keep these people safe.”
“Persephone, no offense—” My lips curl in a sinister smirk. “But this is Midnight Mayhem. I’m pretty sure they can take care of themselves.”
Her mouth tightens, nostrils flaring. She doesn’t like me much. She probably thinks I’m a monster. “Fine, are you done? Will you play nice?”
I widen my eyes, palming my chest. “I’m offended. I was always going to play nice.”
Her fingers squeeze the armrests as she pushes up from her chair. “Such a lovely chat, Lilith.” Her toneless reply only makes me chuckle as she disappears down the aisle and through the main entrance doors.
“I’m sure it was, P. I’m sure it was.”
There isn’t enough lilac in this wardrobe for this tent. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not complaining, I hate the color purple—even more so pink—but their theme is black and purple, yet all they have in here are either loud colors like red and orange, or dark and moody colors like black and maroon. I flick through the hangers. “Nope. Nope. Nope.” I’m thankful that whoever filled my closet with clothes on the RV was obviously not the same one who chose the costumes for the show.