Circus of the Damned - Laurell K. Hamilton [120]
A clown? He had chosen to be a clown? It wasn’t what I had pictured him in. But the lamia was impressive with her striped coils curled around him, her naked breasts caressed by his gloved hand.
“If our enemies win, then tomorrow night will see a bloodbath such as no city in the world has ever seen. They will feed upon the flesh and blood of this city until it is drained dry and lifeless.” He had stopped about halfway down. Now he began to come back up the stairs. “We fight for your lives, your very souls. Pray that we win, dear humans; pray very, very hard.”
He sat on the throne. One of the wolves put a paw on his leg. He stroked its head absently.
“Death comes to all humans,” Oliver said.
The spotlight died on Jean-Claude, leaving Oliver as the only light in the darkness. Symbolism at its best.
“You will all die someday. In some small accident, or long disease. Pain and agony await you.” The audience rustled uneasily in their seats.
“Are you protecting me from his voice?” I asked.
“The marks are,” Jean-Claude said.
“What is the audience feeling?”
“A sharp pain over the heart. Age slowing their bodies. The quick horror of some remembered accident.”
Gasps, screams, cries filled the dark as Oliver’s words sought out each person and made them feel their mortality.
It was obscene. Something that had seen a million years was reminding mere humans how very fragile life was.
“If you must die, would it not be better to die in our glorious embrace?” The lamia crawled around the dais to show herself to all the audience. “She could take you, oh, so sweetly, soft, gentle into that dark night. We make death a celebration, a joyful passing. No lingering doubts. You will want her hands upon you in the end. She will show you joys that few mortals ever dream of. Is death such a high price to pay, when you will die anyway? Wouldn’t it be better to die with our lips upon your skin than by time’s slowly ticking clock?”
There were a few cries of “Yes . . . Please . . .”
“Stop him,” I said.
“This is his moment, ma petite. I cannot stop him.”
“I offer you all your darkest dreams come true in our arms, my friends. Come to us now.”
The darkness rustled with movement. The lights came up, and there were people coming out of the seats. People climbing over the railing. People coming to embrace death.
They all froze in the light. They stared around like sleepers waking from a dream. Some looked embarrassed, but one man close to the rail looked near tears, as if some bright vision had been ripped away. He collapsed to his knees, shoulders shaking. He was sobbing. What had he seen in Oliver’s words? What had he felt in the air? God, save us from it.
With the lights I could see what they had moved in while we waited behind the curtains. It looked like a marble altar with steps leading up to it. It sat between the two daises, waiting. For what? I turned to ask Jean-Claude, but something was happening.
Rashida walked away from the dais, putting herself close to the railing, and the people. Stephen, wearing what looked like a thong bathing suit, stalked to the other side of the ring. His nearly naked body was just as smooth and flawless as Rashida’s. “We heal fast,” she’d said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will give you a few moments to recover yourselves from the first magic of the evening. Then we will show you some of our secrets.”
The crowd settled back into their seats. An usher helped the crying man back to his seat. A hush fell over the people. I had never heard so large a crowd be so silent. You could have dropped a pin.
“Vampires are able to call animals to their aid. My animal is the wolf.” Jean-Claude walked around the top of the dais displaying the wolves. I stood there in the spotlight and wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t on display. I was just