Page 1 of Dangerous Allure
Chapter One
Clara
Steam billows from the hood of my old car, curling into the night air like ghosts escaping a crypt. I slam my hands on the steering wheel, frustration and exhaustion flooding my veins. Tears streak down my face, hot and bitter. The desolation of the rural country road stretches out before me, an endless ribbon of darkness. The faint glow of the distant circus is the only thing that breaks the oppressive black.
I step out of the car, my boots crunching on the gravel. The cold air hits me, but it does nothing to cool the fiery storm inside. I kick the tire, the impact jarring up my leg but offering no real solace.
“Damn it!” My voice echoes, swallowed quickly by the surrounding emptiness.
I sit on the hood, my sobs the only sound in the night. They come in waves, each one dragging me deeper into despair. The argument with my roommate, the draining day at work—it’s all too much. And now this. The car breaking down feels like the universe’s cruel joke.
Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me, sudden and unexpected. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I spinaround, eyes wide, to see a figure emerging from the shadows. He’s illuminated by the soft, ethereal glow of the circus lights in the distance.
“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is calm, soothing, a balm on my frayed nerves.
He steps closer, and I see him clearly. He’s dressed in a slightly disheveled costume, a mix of theatrical flair and practical wear. His dark hair falls in loose waves, and his eyes—there’s something mesmerizing about them, like they hold secrets. I suck in a breath, suddenly feeling at a loss for oxygen.
“I… I’m fine,” I manage to say, though my voice betrays me with its shakiness.
He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to me. “Here.”
I hesitate, the need for comfort warring with my instinct to keep my distance. But I take it, wiping my tears away. The fabric is soft, and it smells faintly of something sweet and exotic.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“I’m Marcus,” he says, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I saw you from the circus grounds. Thought you might need some help.”
“Clara,” I reply, my name feeling foreign on my tongue in this strange, intimate moment. “My car broke down. I was on my way home from a shift at the diner, but…”
Marcus nods, his expression understanding. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “It’s been one thing after another. And drunk customers donottip well. And now this.” I gesture to the car, the symbol of my frustration.
“Well, Clara, how about we get you to some place warm and figure things out from there?” He glances towards the circus, the lights twinkling like stars. “The circus isn’t far. You can relax there for a bit.”
I should refuse. I should insist on calling for a tow truck, on getting home as soon as possible, I can hardly afford a tank of gas these days much less a tow. But there’s something about Marcus, something that makes me want to follow him. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me, like he really sees me. Or maybe it’s the allure of the circus, a place where magic feels real. My parents always made a point of taking me to the Misfit Cabaret every autumn when they came to town, and without much else to do in our little slice of Ohio, the circus became my favorite time of year.
“Okay,” I finally agree, my voice firmer this time.
We start walking down the road, the night air crisp around us. The sounds of the circus grow louder with each step—music, laughter, the hum of life. It’s a stark contrast to the lonely silence of the road and the belligerent customers at the diner.
Marcus talks as we walk, his voice a soothing rhythm. He tells me about the circus, its long history, the way it moves from town to town like a wandering spirit. He talks about his role as an illusionist, the tricks he performs, the joy he brings to the audience and how the laughter andoohsandawwsmake him feel alive like nothing else.
I listen, the cadence of his words calming the turmoil inside me. For a while, I forget about my problems, lost in the stories he weaves. But as we get closer to the circus, the reality of my situation seeps back in.
“I had a fight with my roommate before work,” I admit, the words heavy. “And the diner… the diner was hell today. Everything just feels like it’s falling apart.”
Marcus glances at me, his eyes soft with understanding. “Sometimes life feels that way,” he says. “Like the whole world is conspiring against you.”
“Exactly.” I exhale, the weight of my confession lifting slightly. “And then there’s this other thing… I’m an empath. Ifeel everything. Everyone’s emotions. It’s… so overwhelming on the best days and unbearable on the worst ones.”
His steps falter for a moment, and he looks at me with new intensity. “An empath? That’s a rare gift.”
“Gift?” I scoff, the bitterness returning. “It feels more like a curse.”
Marcus stops walking, turning to face me. “It’s a powerful thing, feeling what others feel. But it’s also a heavy burden. You’re not alone in this, Clara. You don’t have to carry it by yourself.”
His words touch something deep inside me, a place I’ve kept hidden for so long. I meet his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of hope.
