House of Clowns (HUNT Trilogy #1)

14. FOURTEEN

FOURTEEN

JOKER

I wasn't into performances. I'd always been behind the scenes, doing my job and not needing the limelight, but when Rocco dangled a few extra euros in front of me, I saw it as a sign. With that money, I could finally get something for Chiara—something real, not just some rose pilfered out of some vendor's cart.

As I stepped into the circus tent, a wave of laughter and hushed whispers rose from the crowd. People came to brush shoulders with danger, to teeter at the edge of the bizarre, but none of these people wanted to be the clown. Just to get close enough to look.

Who would willingly want this life? But my answer, as twisted as it felt, was me . Not because I want to, but sometimes, when the world sees you as a freak, that is all there is to be. At least clowns have the cover of a painted face, a mask to hide the chaos beneath.

The multitude saw the face—thought they knew it all from one look. But clowns, real ones, keep secrets darker than anybody would have thought possible. We're human, too. We can break and hide, and get shattered like anyone else.

Already inside the tent, Hypno waited in the wings, casually leaning with an air of dark mystery that became his signature. A wild green wig poked out from under a crooked purple top hat, the kind of look that just seemed meant for nightmares. He'd made Ruby cover his face in thick white makeup, his brows erased to make room for thin green lines above his eyes, and he wore purple contacts that masked any true expression.

His teeth, crooked and yellowed, peeked out between a greasy sheen on his lips, and each cheek wore a twisted spiral in black and white paint as a jigsaw cutout came to life.

Everything about Hypno was a mystery I'd never been interested in trying to explain. He carried with him a flute, saying something about how music hypnotized people, rhythm opening doors to the mind. I'd always thought he was talking hot air, but I was about to find out for myself tonight. Ruby pulled back the curtain for me and ushered me into the tableau they created.

She was dressed like Chiara, but in black, some dark mirror of her elegance. Maybe she wanted to play the part of the clever spade—sharp, quick, and evasive—but with Hypno, it was hard to see her as unlucky. Yet she burrowed close to his side, loyal, as she tied herself willingly to his chaotic star.

"Hey, Rio," Ruby's voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze flicking from me to Hypno. She moved to sit beside him; her eyes were black as coal, brimming with curiosity. "I heard you're in the next act."

"He is," Hypno said, his grin twisting as he smothered a giggle behind his hand. "Our dear Rio will be riding a tiger."

"Yeah, right," I muttered, eyeing him suspiciously. "So what do I have to do?"

"Nothing." He smiled. "Just relax and make your mind… run wild."

I raised an eyebrow. "Rocco said it needs to be blank."

"Rocco said, she said—" Hypno waved a hand dismissively as he drew near, his purple eyes glinting. "Who cares?"

"I do." I stepped in, my voice low. "You mess with me, psycho , and I'm gonna make sure you get what's coming."

Hypno chuckled, retreating with his hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, big guy ."

"You two are up," Ruby said, yanking open the curtain.

I gestured for Hypno to lead the way, and his purple suit cut a bright swath through the gloom as we stepped down onto the sand-covered floor. The lights flared, beams of white-hot brightness striking my face, momentarily blinding me. We were standing at the heart of the circus, a ring surrounded by row upon row of eager faces—faces that loomed, laughing, staring, voices blending into a chaotic hum.

Hypno laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, digging his fingers in as he urged me down to sit. Then he raised his arms to the crowd.

"Welcome to Circo del Destino! " he roared, and the crowd erupted into applause. He bowed floridly, gesturing to two other performers who led in a pair of tigers on heavy chains. The huge cats padded closer, their growls humming in the air.

"Tonight," Hypno continued, his tone bending into an evil singsong, "we'll make this clown…" he stopped, letting the audience laughter wash over him, "into a JOKER."

He circled me slowly and approached the tigers, his hand brushing against one's coarse fur as he passed. "I will hypnotize him to believe he is born in the wild, raised amongst these great beasts, so that he can approach them…ride them, even!"

The crowd let out a gasp, murmuring in half-shocked, half-fascinated awe.

"What else would you like to see?" he called out, leaning toward the crowd, a devilish grin plastered across his face.

A voice from the stands shouted, "Put his arm in the tiger's mouth!"

Another added, "Make him jump with the tiger through fire!"

Then a third, still laughing darkly: "Let the tiger eat him! One less clown in the world!"

Laughter poured from the stands, a jarring, fractured noise.

Hypno raised a hand, laughing along. "Alright, alright! Let's get this over with!"

He strode over to me, then knelt, his eyes sparkling with promises left unsaid. He pulled his flute from his pocket and leaned in close. "Think of something—someone—that ties you to this place," he said, his voice low and soothing, "then something that will set you free."

I nodded, my jaw clenched.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, his hand pressing over them as I did. "Listen to my voice… and on the count of one …" his voice dropped lower, wrapping around me like a shroud, " two …" I felt him stand, the faint shuffle of his feet the only sound in the silence, " three …"

The flute began to play, a haunting, eerie tune, circling me, dragging my thoughts into a tight spiral. The tune wrapped itself around me, tugging at my mind until everything went black.

And in that darkness, she arrived.

Chiara.

My Ace of Hearts.

She stood there, her red dress blood-red in the dim light, her skin soft as porcelain, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders, dancing as she moved toward me. She smiled, her eyes holding onto me, and I felt the tug of her presence, anchoring me. She whispered, her voice soft as silk, "You are the Joker now, born in the wild, far from the crowd."

I didn't want to let go. If she was what tied me here, then I was happy to stay bound to her forever.

Her voice drifted into my mind again, more softly this time, coaxing: "Walk to the tiger… so close… closer… closer."

My body moved in a strange, uncharacteristic calm; every step was pulled toward the very "white noise" of Hypno's flute, each sound absorbed by the grit of the sand beneath my shoes.

The tigers loomed ahead, their breaths hot against my skin, their roars vibrating in my chest; yet, I felt no fear, only a strange stillness. My hand lifted of its own accord, and my fingers stroked in gentle motions beneath the tiger's mouth. The great beast leaned its huge head against my chest, its weight a real anchor yet surreal.

"He likes you," her voice whispered to my mind, soft coaxing. "Now… put your palm in his mouth."

I took my hand closer and felt the tiger's coarse breath against my fingers, as its jaws opened to expose a set of sharp teeth shining in his mouth. But just as I started to push my hand inside, something yanked me back. Laughter swirled around me, jeering, mirthless, but I paid no heed, the tug of the flute drew me back toward the tiger. The rhythm swirled around me, luring me forward until, without warning, I found myself lying against the tiger's side, my body flung upon its fur.

The softness pressed into me, so soft, so soothing. As though I'd melted into it. My arms and legs—even they were weightless, suspended at lullaby stage through the music.

Then her voice cut in again, soft, warm: "Come back to me."

I wrenched myself from the tiger in a sudden jerk and half-stumbled backward toward the center chair in the ring. The notes of the flute softened, now fading as her voice set in, counting in a lumbering rhythm: "One… two… three." A loud, shrill clap of hands, like the crackling of thunder, verged on the darkness.

But even in that black, I still felt her, an ache gnawing inside me that needed to see her face. I struggled, pushing against the pull until I saw her again. This time, she was deep within a forest; her red dress was the only color in the dark woods, and her movements were frantic as if she were running, wounded, and vulnerable.

My voice was raw, desperate, as I tried to call out, but she couldn't hear. The dream spiraled into an endless nightmare, her form slipping from me with every taut moment that passed.

Applause.

I blinked, and she was standing there, near the edges of the tribunes, her face streaked with tears, eyes wide and shining. I reached for her, only to feel her slip away once more. The murmur busted through the crowd, with voices rough and taunting.

"Just throw him to the tiger!" someone said, answered by an eruption of laughter.

Suddenly, my head had written another whole scene of my escape, running far from all this madness. Instead, the face hovering inches off mine belonged to Hypno; his eyes aglow with a sick pleasure as he leaned over me, giggling.

His voice was sickly sweet, almost whispered, and full of malice. "Deep down we go, clown… deep down."