XXIII
Morning came like a soft bruise; it's pale scattered light leaking through the curtains from the mirrors above. The manor sat in a cool quiet in that eerie way it always was when the guests were sleeping off their borrowed vitality. I sat up slowly, every part of me still humming faintly from the night before, from the hat man's hunger, from Mr. Vaude's too‑sharp interest, from the Madam's unreadable smile.
The whine of a horse woke me. I shook myself awake and splashed water on my face. I wiped down my body with cool water and a linen towel. I had to hurry this morning. There were too many plans to drag my feet. Waiting outside the manor door, as if it had been placed there by invisible hands, was a carriage.
Black lacquer. Silver trim. Curtains drawn. Horses that didn't breathe so much as pulse with faint spirit light. They had bridled and handled the semi-solid spirits of horses to pull the carriage.
I finished dressing quickly, but not in the suffocating layers they kept trying to put me in. I couldn't stand the weight of petticoats anymore; the rustle of heavy cloth that made me feel like a doll being moved from room to room caused physical pain as it pulled. I couldn't breathe in the stays and corsets. I could breathe so much easier in my own underwear and loose, breathable clothing. I needed to feel like myself again, or someone closer to my own century.
I pulled on a fitted top, soft and worn, then wrapped myself in a knit sweater Louise had left folded on the chair. The clasp she'd given me held the sides of the sweater collar together. I clipped on the two enamel strawberries connected by a delicate chain of leaves. It twinkled in the light as it held. It was sweet, almost childish, but it felt like protection. Like something from a world that wasn't broken, a simple symbol of friendship or luck. The pants were loose brown linen, a size or two too big, cinched only by a leather belt and a pair of brown suspenders that kept them from sliding right off my hips. They were comfortable and practical, convenient for running from monsters.
I caught my reflection in the mirror — not the haunted, shimmering version of me the guests saw, but something closer to human. Closer to grounded.
Outside, the carriage door opened on its own. Louise appeared at my side, quiet as a shadow. Her eyes flicked over my outfit, and for a moment her lips softened into something like pride.
"You look ready," she said.
"For what?" I asked.
She hesitated — a rare crack in her perfect composure.
"For whatever the Shadow Council wants with you today."
My stomach tightened.
"Mr. Vaude?" I asked.
"Perhaps," she said. "Or someone worse."
The horses stamped once, their hooves ringing like struck crystal.
Louise placed a hand on my arm, gentle but firm.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, "remember, your spirit is yours. They can't take it
unless you let them. Don't let yourself go so easily."
I swallowed hard and stepped toward the carriage.
The door closed behind me with a soft, final click.
The world outside shifted.
The Red Carousel ,or something even stranger, waited ahead.
The carriage lurched forward, and the world outside the window blurred into streaks of blue‑white light, the kind that only existed in the mirror world, the kind that hummed with the faint taste of soul energy. The mirrors above shimmered with their borrowed moonlight. The carriage cut through the fog like a gust of wind. I held the sweater clasp Louise gave me, the enamel strawberries warm against my fingers, and tried to steady my breathing.
When the carriage finally slowed, I felt it before I saw it.
A low, distant beat of music that vibrated through the bones of the world.
The door swung open on its own as we arrived.
And there it was.
The Red Carousel Circus. The sky above it was a swirling bruise of violet and teal, lit by drifting lanterns that floated without strings. The gray fog stood like a frame around the edge of the compound. I couldn't hear the tap of the hat man, or the bark of the dog. This was not part of his territory. Another monster probably ruled here. The circus grounds stretched out like a dream stitched together from a dozen broken realities , tents of impossible colors, banners that shimmered like oil on water, and a Ferris wheel that turned without spokes, each seat suspended in midair.
At the center of it all spun the Red Carousel.
It wasn't only a ride. It felt alive. It was amazing.
A towering ring of crimson mirrors rotated slowly, each panel glowing with the faint blue light of soul coins trapped inside. The reflections didn't match the world around us. They showed other places, other versions of the circus, other versions of me.
The music was wrong in a way that made my skin prickle. The carnival tune played loud and cacophonously, up and down like the Carousel animals. The souls at the opening gates moved forward at the same time as the music, cheerful and mournful in the same breath. Their souls seemed pressed together at the gate, fighting together to enter in a tide. Their grey eyes were bright, eyes hypnotized in the atmosphere and Red Carousel lights.
A figure stepped into view, arms spread wide. Mr. Vaude with his striped coat flared behind him like a stage curtain, his handlebar mustache curled to perfection, his grin bright enough to cut through the gloom.
"Welcome, my dear!" he called, voice booming with showman's charm. "Welcome to the Red Carousel Circus, where fortunes turn, souls spin, and every wager is a dance with destiny."
He clicked open his pocket watch. The glow inside was brighter here, as if the circus itself fed on it.
"Today," he said, "you are my honored guest."
I stepped down from the carriage, boots crunching on ground that looked like packed dirt but felt like glass beneath my feet.
The air tasted faintly of sugar and ozone.
Behind Vaude, performers drifted through the shadows. The acrobats with too many joints, clowns whose painted smiles didn't hide the hollowness in their eyes, beasts stitched from light and shadow twirled and danced on giant bouncing balls, blowing plumes of flames as they breathed fire.
Before it all, the Red Carousel turned, humming with the energy of a thousand trapped souls.
Vaude approached me, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "The circus only takes what you offer."
His grin sharpened wide enough to see one gold capped tooth.
"And you, my shining girl… you have so much to offer."
He extended his hand to show the way.
"Shall we begin the tour?"
The main circus tent rose before me like a living creature. It loomed with a towering structure of red‑and‑black stripes that shimmered as if breathing. Its canvas wasn't fabric at all but something closer to stretched shadow, rippling with faint blue veins of soul‑light. The entrance yawned open, a curtain of glowing beads clinking softly like whispering teeth. Inside, the air hit me first.
Warm. Sweet. Thick with the scent of cotton candy and buttery popcorn.
The kind of carnival aroma that should have felt comforting but here, it clung to the air like perfume masking something older, something hungry.
The interior was enormous, far larger than the tent's exterior suggested. Rows of seats spiraled upward into darkness, filled with dressed shades. Their translucent figures sat wearing the remnants of their former lives. Victorian coats sat beside flapper dresses and grey sweat suits.
Spirits in work uniforms flitted through the crowd, their forms incomplete, missing parts of their spectral bodies. All the workers' bodies flickered faintly, each one tethered by a thin thread of blue light to a glowing coin embedded in the collar of their clothing. They were indebted. Souls who owed the Shadow Council or Vaude were set to work.
Souls who had gambled too much at the Red Carousel gave up afterlives. They watched the ring with hollow, eager eyes.
I turned to Vaude, eyes wide, clapping my hands gently.
"Impressed?" he announced haughtily, "You ain't seen nothing yet."
In the center ring, spirit clowns performed with manic, weightless energy. Their faces were painted in impossible colors. Each masked in glowing greens, spectral blues, and their bodies flickered like candle flames. All unique, all somehow incomplete. An arm, a leg, half a body, all lost. They juggled orbs of soul‑light, each one pulsing with a trapped whisper. Their laughter echoed strangely, doubling back on itself like a sound heard in a dream.
One clown somersaulted through the air, leaving a trail of shimmering dust that smelled faintly of burnt sugar. Another pulled a string of glowing scarves from its own chest cavity, each scarf patterned with shifting faces.
The audience of shades applauded with hands that barely made a sound.
Then the ground trembled as the clowns exited the main ring and the next act moved in.
A low growl rolled through the tent, vibrating in my ribs.
From the far side of the ring emerged the ghostly animals. They seemed like dream creatures stitched from mist and memory. A translucent tiger with ribs made of moonlight. A bear whose fur drifted like smoke. A pack of wolves with eyes like dying stars. They moved with eerie grace, their paws never fully touching the ground.
At their head walked him. A bronzed muscular being with the head of a lion beat his chest and welcomed the crowd with a booming roar. His towering figure flexed muscles carved like stone and scarred with deep, glowing fissures. His body was humanoid, but his head was that of a massive lion. His ruffed mane flowed like black fire, eyes burning gold. Chains of spectral metal wrapped around his forearms, rattling with each step.
He carried no whip. He didn't need one.
The animals obeyed him with reverent fear.
He raised one clawed hand, and the ghost‑tiger leapt through a ring of blue flame that didn't burn, only whispered. The wolves formed a pyramid of shifting bodies. The bear balanced on a glowing sphere of condensed soul‑energy.
The crowd of shades leaned forward, hungry for spectacle.
The lion‑headed specter turned his gaze toward me for a moment, and I felt it like a physical weight. Not hostile. Not welcoming, curious. Just… knowing.
It was if he could see the tethered light inside me.
As if he recognized it.
Mr. Vaude's voice drifted to my side, warm and amused.
"Magnificent, aren't they? Every performer here has paid a price. Some willingly. Some… less so."
He tipped his hat toward the lion‑headed specter.
"And that one? He was once a king. Now he keeps the beasts in line."
The specter roared again to encourage the animal spirits during the act, a sound that shook the tent poles and made the soul‑coins embedded in the shades' collars flicker.
The show continued, dazzling and terrible.
And I realized, with a slow chill, that everything in this tent — every performer, every animal, every shade — was powered by the same thing:
Soul energy. And the circus was starving for more.