Page 1 of Pretty Poison
1
Wren
The noise of the crowd died away as the lights dimmed.
A single spotlight illuminated the centre of the ring, and Judge’s voice boomed through the big top. I tuned out his words, concentrating on my warmup in the wings, stretching and contorting my body as I prepared for my routine.
The crack of the ringmaster’s whip echoed around us, and the first notes of the music began—my cue to enter. As I crept into the ring, shadowed by the darkness, the spotlights overhead split, one sweeping to the left, the other to the right, following my and Amélie’s ascent up rope ladders on either side of the ring.
Amélie reached her platform a second before I did, stepping to the edge in one practiced, graceful movement. I stared across the chasm at her, my heart pounding with a combination of adrenaline and the knowledge that I got to share this withher. Beautiful, blonde, poised…everything I dreamed of but knew I could never have in reality. Here, though, in the ring, I could pretend.
For a moment, we just stood there, two figures in the darkness, separated by endless space and the collective heldbreaths of our spectators. Although Amélie’s eyes were hidden by her mask, I could see her red painted lips curve into a smile.
It was time. Gripping our respective bars, we launched ourselves into the darkness.
My breath caught in my throat as we swung towards each other. We’d done this so many times, but there was something about being in front of an audience that heightened everything.
On the fourth swing, we released our grip on the bars.
For a panicked, breathless second, I was falling, the darkness swallowing me. Then my hands connected with Amélie’s wrists. I silently thanked Vivienne for making us go through the routines over and over again, to the point where the movements were muscle memory. We hung there, suspended in the centre of the big top, illuminated by the spotlight, Amélie gripping my wrists as my body swung beneath her.
I kicked my legs up, pulling myself towards the bar that Amélie had just caught, wrapping my legs around it. Now we were both on the same trapeze, our bodies pressed close together, swinging across the big top. I inhaled the subtle scent of toffee apples as her hair brushed my cheek.
On the next swing, Amélie released her grip on the bar, letting me take her full weight as she fell backwards. I held her, my legs hooked securely over the bar, my hands locked around her wrists as she arched back, her glossy blonde waves flowing down towards the distant floor. When she swung herself back up, our faces coming within inches of each other, she shot me a bright, brilliant smile that made my pounding heart stutter, even as my own lips curved up in response.
We continued our routine, joined by the rest of the aerial troupe, gradually building towards the finale. As Vivienne, the head aerial artiste, began to ascend from the floor of the ring on the hoop, the rest of us descended around her using the aerial silks that had been concealed in the rig until we needed them.
I spiralled down the long, crimson ribbons of fabric to the floor, my hair flying around me as I wrapped and unwrapped myself. Across from me, Amélie did the same, her body moving in sensual, fluid lines that made my heart pound even harder.
Amélie’s fingers slid between mine as we lined up to take our bows, tossing her hair over her shoulder as Vivienne leapt from the hoop above our heads, executing a perfect somersault to land in front of the rest of the troupe. The crowd roared its approval, on their feet, cheers and applause echoing around the big top.
Here, with Amélie’s hand clasped in mine, my face covered by my mask, surrounded by members of the cirque, I belonged. I was safe. Protected.
My nightmares were banished to the darkness, and no one could ever touch me again.
2
Amélie
Iwatched from the edge of the ring as Wren ran through her warm-up routine. My heart rate increased as I took her in. Her sheaf of silky dark hair. Her wide, deep brown eyes, fringed by long, delicate lashes. Her pretty, pretty face dusted with faint freckles. Her soft mouth that curved into the sweetest smiles, especially when she didn’t think anyone was watching.
She was practicing her floor routine now, her body moving with a gracefulness that made my breath catch. Her plush lips were parted, her breaths coming faster as she pushed herself to complete the sequence of moves. She wore a black leotard and ballet shoes, her usual uniform when she practiced with the troupe. I tried not to stare at the long lines of her legs, at the way the leotard hugged her athletic frame, but I was only human.
I’d grown up in the cirque, surrounded by beautiful, intriguing people, and yet no one had ever caught my attention like she had. She’d caught it from the second I’d first seen her, almost two years ago, and held it effortlessly ever since.
Joining the other circus members in the circle marked out in the dirt, all of us masked and ready, I ran my gaze over the bound,gagged woman in the centre. With her mid-length brown hair and a sallow, lined face, anywhere between fifty and sixty in age, there was nothing remarkable about her. But there was a reason she was here.
Judge and Vivienne recounted the list of the woman’s crimes, ignoring her muffled cries and struggles. This woman was our Chosen tonight, and she was here to face up to everything she’d done. Lying, embezzling, falsifying reports. Neglecting and starving her charges. And worst of all, sustained abuse of the children she’d been entrusted to care for, to the point where a little boy we’d heard about on the grapevine had been teetering on the brink of death.
We got there too late to save him.
Nothing could shock me anymore. We’d seen some of the most depraved parts of humanity and meted out justice.
The macabre tradition of Choosing had begun with the cirque’s inception in the 1100s. The ritual had a long, bloody history, but those who were earmarked for death had all committed horrific atrocities, without consequence. When they came to the attention of the cirque…well. Was it morally right to enact our own justice? In the eyes of the world…no, but we were a voice for the voiceless. A reckoning where legal avenues had failed, time and time again. Judge, jury and executioner for the damned, to make sure they paid for their crimes.
But this time, it was different. Peeking out from behind Vivienne was a girl. Dirty, pale, all stringy brown hair and the hugest eyes I’d ever seen, she clung to Vivienne like she was the only thing tethering her to earth.
As the knife sliced into the woman’s throat, silencing her cries for good, her blood showering the earth in a deep, crimson arc, the girl gave a deep, shuddering sigh of utter relief and closed her eyes. A single tear trembled on her lashes, before it fell to the ground. My breath caught in my throat, and Iclenched my fists, ripping my gaze away in an attempt to avoid the sudden, shocking need to cross the circle and wrap her in my arms.
