House of Clowns (HUNT Trilogy #1)

21. TWENTY ONE

TWENTY ONE

JOKER

I 'd promised Rocco this was how it would finally end with the Circle, but in reality, I'd never really known his plan or my involvement in it. I left Chiara's room, padding silently down the stairs, with each descent, a painful jerk formed in my stomach, that little warning inside me that something was amiss. I didn't trust Rocco, not fully—never when I knew he used to be one of them. But he'd promised me freedom, a clean break from all this. Yet in killing Hypno, something inside me felt crack open—as if the act had set me free already.

Before I stretched the hall of the ground floor, the shadows long and spreading, while at its far end, the staircase led down to the basement.

I'd been down here before, through those tunnels that were concealed, but it had always been amid a haze of sleepwalking, the herding of the others down while they were half-conscious. They'd controlled every step I'd taken, choreographed every detail. Still, Rocco had told me he'd managed to close off the tunnels and trap them all in one place tonight, ready to bring an end to the Circle.

Candles flickered from thick pillars placed along the steps, black roses resting in glass vases beside them. Each step deeper down into the basement was darker and twisted than the previous. The murmurs guided me toward the larger chamber where prayers and sacrifices were held. I took a step back and took a moment, staring at the unsettling quiet.

Inside, Chiara sat cross-legged on the floor of the room, her body slouched in a chair, eyes closed, while her face was calm, yet unnaturally still. Around her, six people lay on mattresses, completely still, as if captured in some sort of deep, collective sleep. Dhalia and Rocco were standing next to the wall, faces strained, beads of sweat on their foreheads.

"What in the name of—?" I whispered, hurrying swiftly to Rocco's side.

He leaned in close, his voice barely above a murmur. "They're connected through their dreams. Chiara's in their minds, binding them together, tying up a forbidden knot so that they can't break free until she lets them out herself."

And in a split second, my chest was filled with cold dread, my mind snapping to old memories. "The last time someone tried that… they died, Rocco. This is insane!" I hurriedly went to Chiara, shaking her shoulders, with desperate hands against her stillness. "Chiara, baby, please… wake up."

Warm under my touch, yet she was stillness, like death. A part of her was here, yet somewhere else entirely. "You're fucking crazy," I snarled at Rocco, rage searing through me. "How could you do this to her?"

"She has a gift, all right," he said. His voice was hard; my anger didn't matter to him. "She trained for six months. If you hadn't killed Hypno, she'd be even safer."

I grabbed him, pushing him against the wall. "And who are those people? Do you at all know what kind of nightmares they are feeding her, what horrors they had buried in their minds?"

"They are within the Circle," Dhalia whispered in a white, thin voice. "She is driving them mad. When she's done with them, they'll be locked up in the madhouse."

A cold lump congested my throat, the weight of what was happening pressing down on me. Growing, gnawing fear screamed that this was wrong, that Chiara could be pulled in too deeply, trapped in their nightmares when there was no way back. I looked at her face—peaceful, breathing soft and steady—and yet the terror was unmistakable. This wasn't what I'd signed up for, not for her.

Suddenly, one of them began to have convulsions: his body started jerking ominously, and white foam began to flow from his mouth as his head jerked back as though in a trance gone horribly wrong.

"He's fighting it!" Dhalia yelled, fear lacing her tone. She fell on her knees beside him, putting her hands against his chest in a frantic bid to steady him. Then, her face hardened, and she pulled out a knife from her pocket.

And she leaned forward without another phrase, plunging it deep into his chest as the blade sank in. A spray of blood splattered on her face, staining the floor in thick, dark drops of the vital liquid.

His eyes closed, his body relaxed, and his breathing threw a puffy silence.

She reached up to his neck, feeling for a pulse. She looked up at us. "He's gone."

I turned to Rocco, anger flaring through me. "Who are these guys?"

Rocco's face screwed up in distaste, a flicker of fear reflected in his eyes. "The dead one is the mayor's son," he whispered, his voice taut with emotion. "Beside him is Thalia, Lotta's granddaughter. The redhead next to her? She's the daughter of the local priest. And they're all bound to the Circle, every bloody one of them."

"And how does Chiara get out of this dream?" My fists were clenched, ready to drive some sense into him if I had to.

Rocco's eyes darted around the area nervously. "We… we don't know. Last time it took a few minutes, but this is six people. It could take longer."

"Or we're losing her!" I snarled. "I'm going in."

"No!" He stepped in front of me, his hands up, desperation coloring his tone. "We need you for the end—to take them to Santa Maria."

"I don't care," I replied as I headed toward Chiara. "She needs me."

"No!" he yelled, reaching to stop me, but Dhalia was already working. She nudged the dead body off the mattress; his lifeless body slumped to the floor.

She looked down at me with this bizarre determination. "Lie down."

I didn't have to hear anymore. I lay down on the blood-red carpet, shut my eyes, and let the thick odor of metallic blood flood into my nostrils.

"Count to three," she said. Her voice was flat. "And focus on where she'd be. When you find her, give her the code—something only she'd know. That'll anchor you both, help you enter her dream."

"Fine," I growled, settling myself. I took a deep breath, then counted.

I counted each number like it was a step through the dark: one, two, three. My mind wandered back to the maze, to that first night when I saw her—all that innocence and defiance, such a bright spark against the dim world we lived in. I'd regretted not going to her sooner; if I had, maybe I would have claimed her that very first night.

A door materialized, and I reached for the handle and shoved it open. The world abruptly shifted around me. I stepped into a tent, its walls flexing with an eerie glow of red neon, tinging everything with long and distorting shadows. In the center, a great maze flowed down, curving and turning with mirrors at every turn. Faint, haunting circus music murmured back, each note hanging in the air like a ghost of memories past.

And there she was, a flash of white as she darted through the maze, her reflection flickering in the mirrors like a ghost slipping between worlds. I walked toward her and entered the maze, the red glow above me sputtering unsteadily. The first mirror caught my reflection and there I was—a clown, even here, even in my own dream.

She ran ahead, a flash of white receding deeper into the labyrinth, her reflection rippling from one mirror to another. I started after her, running down the twisting corridors. Yet just when I could almost reach her, the maze would shift, the mirrors gliding as though they were partitions, blocking my way.

Finally, she turned around the corner just in front of me, and I caught her wrist and drew her near, her back pressed against a mirror. She looked up at me, her eyes searching, as though something familiar but forgotten shone somewhere deep in my gaze. The words swelled in my chest, words so long held in, words that I had never dared to utter.

I leaned in, pressing my lips against hers, whispering against them, "I will always come back."

Her fingers brushed my face, soft and cold, her skin sallow as though she was drifting off, pale, her form blurring, becoming translucent. And in desperate clawing up my throat, I yelled as she began to fade, "I fucking love you."

A soft smile touched her lips, and she reached out, her hand intertwining with mine. She pulled me after her, straight into the mirror, and I felt a lurch, some sensation of falling through endless space. I tumbled through the darkness until, suddenly, my feet hit solid ground—golden leaves crunching beneath me. I looked up, and there it was. The tall, haunting building before me could be mistaken for no other.

"Santa Maria Asylum," I said in a whisper to myself, and a shiver ran over me as the meaning registered.

I was in.