Chapter Text
I was invited to watch the freak show the next evening at the suggestion of Mr Tall. He had said it would be a good opportunity for me to learn more about the Cirque members and both with those I would be living with. Crepsley wasn’t too enthralled that I would be in the audience, but soon agreed upon it seeing it as a way to introduce me into working with the Cirque and what it would be like.
A couple of minutes before the night’s performances began I took the risk of sneaking behind the curtain. I wasn’t meant to be snooping, and had no intention of over staying my welcome, I merely wanted to find the vampire. As it turned out, he found me.
“Your seat in the audience is that way,” he said looking down at me.
I startled and smiled awkwardly. “I’m aware,” I said, “I just came to wish you good luck.”
He eased up. “Thank you,” he replied through a smirk. A smirk I wasn’t used to. One at the time I found strange.
Only as I took my seat within the audience did I find what he had been thinking fond of. Wishing him luck had been very ironic, as if I were already part vampire. I smiled to myself too, then. I was genuinely excited.
I got a seat nearest the front to witness the show best. All the acts went smoothly. The performers entrancing the audience. There were 'oohs' and 'ahhs' everywhere. The wolf man was just as thrilling as I imagined, though I was grateful that it wasn’t me being mauled. Even as I knew the acts one by one, I found myself captivated in their beauty and uniqueness. Human life had definitely got more interesting.
When finally, Crepsley was announced and flew down upon the stage, I couldn't help but lean in. His cape, Madam Octa I noted being brought forth, his hair, his scar: the look. All of it lit perfectly and captivated in the moment.
He called over the little person with Madam Octa’s cage. She looked even more hideous under the stage light. The tricks he got her to do were the standard, but each was artfully perfected. The act went on and when it was all over, I went to congratulate the vamp in red. Through him, I was introduced to all of the acts, though some had already headed for bed.
Evenings ran smoothly from there. I was then entrusted to do some chores, helping set up the big top or in abandoned venues. I shared Crepsley’s caravan, getting a smalll bed set up in the corner. Me and Larten were amicable with each other. We didn’t talk a lot to begin with, his sleep schedule the opposite to mine. But as I settled into life, I found myself wanting more. A couple of weeks passed, and weeks turned to months. Before I or Crepsley had realised, it had been a full year. By that time, I had been driving myself crazy. When I could bear it no more, I asked the familiar face.
“Combat train me,” I requested of him simply, casually one evening as we were sat down in his caravan talking about Madam Octa.
“Do not think that I will go easy on you because you are human,” is all he cared to say in response.
We started training; and sure, it was hard at first. I regularly kept up with weights to strengthen myself to the best of human capability. I ran nightly, building strength in my legs and in my stamina, and listened hard to instruction. When we sparred, I pushed myself further than he or I ever expected. Larten trained me well. We had built a stronger bond for another year and a half, finally starting to communicate and see eye to eye.
Before long I found myself at twenty-one, three years later and still with little talent. Still by the side of the familiar grump, staying with a bunch of freaks. I helped out with the shows more often than I got to watch them, never paying full attention even when I did. I knew them all off by heart anyway.
After the dreamy beginning I'd had at the place, I had forgotten how the other side lived. I had forgotten that this world was once fiction to me, that it could be taken away from me at any given point. I held nothing special. I was replaceable and everyone knew it.
For the sake of peace, I never told Crepsley I knew of his future and past. I let myself be swept up in the madness. He set me tests almost nightly, used to the routine of having my ass whooped my body was adjusted to the harsh world of vampires — or more so than any other human. Crepsley spoke often of how good I was getting of late; I knew deep down that I was quickly approaching the limit. As good as I would ever be able to get. I wouldn’t progress unless I became a vampire. But the thought of that only ever came subconsciously in the odd dream, and neither Larten or I ever addressed that.
On occasion I was granted breaks from my chores. I sometimes took those evenings to watch the show. And after a long-ass day of hauling barrels to and from the kitchens, Mr Tall had granted me one of those opportunities. So, I sat patiently after setting up some chairs awaiting the arrival of the general public and for the Cirque's performance to start. I sat in my usual seat, in the row fourth from the front near the end and anticipated Crepsley's act. He had always been the highlight of the show, despite my slight fear of the eight-legged arachnid he performed with.
The other acts flew by in a heartbeat and when Crepsley swooped from the rafters of the abandoned theatre, red cape flowing behind him and enveloping an eerie, startling sense, my heart and mind were captivated once more. I clapped alongside many others in the audience.
As his shoes fled lightly across the floorboards, the audience momentarily faltered from their applause, taken back by the figure dropping from overhead. In the short gap, at which I was not surprised nor horrified, I heard a gasp on my left. My head swivelled, curious as to who had made such a noise, to find the culprit sat at the very end. It wasn’t the origin of the gasp; it was its nature. This wasn’t the usual gasp. It wasn’t one of fright or shock, but of recognition.
My eyes set sight of two very familiar boys sat at the last two seats of my row. Shock hit me like a rock hitting the sea.
It was a loophole and a half.
I recognised the boy instantly without any issue. Steve was the one who had gasped. There passed a moment as if in slow motion where my brain caught up with my body, processing just who was sat in front of me and the boy in the following seat. Darren. Then my attention quickly shot to Crepsley as he gave Leopard a once-over glance. He decided after a brief and a very misinformed judgement, that the boy was not of current concern, more focused on the spider at hand — pun intentional.
Steve and Darren? They were taller than expected, older. Never mind that, their appearance was a bad omen. The start of all the shit that was to come. I was in for the long haul, and the show was just the beginning of it.
My mind went a mile a minute trying to process things. I was actually living in my favourite series. That alone was mind-blowing.
No. One thing stopped all other thought. If I was living in the book, there was the possibility that I had the power to change the events that unfolded. What could I change? What did I want to change?
I sat zoning out through the rest of the show. It had hit me so hard I barely noticed the end of Crepsley’s act. I was now painfully aware that the world of fiction I had twisted around myself had officially started to crumble. It was the beginning of the end. The book was moving on, with or without me.
As the show drew to the last few minutes, I got up from my seat and walked off into the shadow of the theatre.
I should’ve known. Why hadn’t I thought of this?
I paced around outside the main entrance, attempting to take lungful’s of air. The cold didn’t bother me. I needed the hit of the temperature drop to ice over the fear building behind my nerves.
I took a deep breath, shaking my hands lightly as I came to my conclusion. This was it, where the story began. That fateful, night Steve would ask to be blooded, and there, on that night, would he have his dreams crushed. The making of a villain.
Could I change that outcome?
After just over two and a half years Darren and Steve came to play? It was odd to say the least. Maybe it was fate. That brought DesTiny to mind and something must’ve clicked because it suddenly made sense. It must have been his doing, for what purpose I was unaware of but it was the only explanation I was capable of.
I pondered it, going back to sit in my seat and staying sat as the theatre was emptied of people. The bustling of the crowds, Evra’s part of the act, the real ending. I sat through all waiting for the hall to be cleared of people before making my move. I had seen Crepsley disappear into the shadows high up near the roof and had no doubt he was there still.
I scanned the ceilings after a few seconds and could have spotted him from a mile off. High up and clinging to the wall stealthily, like a blood-sucking bat. He seemed to be staring at me, wondering why I was just sat un-moving. The feeling of unease was back again and was creeping like a spider up my throat. Crepsley mouthed something to me and was about to leap onto the stage when the devil himself walked in.
Steve Leopard.
He waltzed down the steps to the stage as though not a thirteen-year-old boy but a man of high charisma. He saw me and advanced with caution. Keeping a close eye on my person out of suspicion. He stopped halfway down.
“Aren't you going to leave?” he sniffed.
“Wasn’t planning on it. What’re you doing here?” I asked him back, holding my breath.
“I wanted to speak with a performer alone,” Steve replied coolly as though he was just a child enthralled by the dream of working as a clown.
“I usually stay. I clean up after the shows,” I lied, though to some extent it was true. Had that night not been my day off —and thank the Gods it was— I would've been made to clean up the chairs along with the little people.
The atmosphere was tense as Steve weighed his options. But he soon shrugged off his worries, no longer caring about my presence.
“Forget I said anything. I tried.” He finished down the steps and stormed up the stage. He began bellowing as he looked to the ceiling, “Vur Horston!” he yelled, and let it ring around a couple times before he added, “Vampire! Get down here!”
It was not like the books.
The demand echoed about the empty theatre for mere moments before Steve had his response. “And by whom do you mean, 'Vur Horston'?” came Crepsley’s thickly voice which created a menacing cacophony from out of the darkness.
The blood red-figure, cloak bellowing out behind him, fell to floor with a thud. Steve stumbled backward, clearly forgetting his courage before the spectacle.
The vampire rose to his feet, head cocked at the young boy who trembled lightly before him. Then he smiled. A sickly smile that made more bile rise to the back of my throat. I choked down on it. I had nothing to fear of Larten, I knew him well, but his smile was one of evil. He thrived off of Steve’s fear, breathing it in, lapping it up, gulping it down, whatever you want to call it. Steve's knees almost buckled at the actual appearance of the old vampire.
Vur Horston. The fake name in Paris, the name he had stolen from a young boy. His cousin. Vur Horston, the young boy killed by his superior when working in a factory. The same superior that Larten had murdered, resulting in him fleeing his home. The reason he met Seba. The reason he became a vampire.
“I know what you are!” Steve attempted to bellow. He was having trouble standing and fell as soon as Crepsley actually stepped toward him.
“So, you have said, or rather yelled,” the vampire grumbled.
The boy was on his knees, looking up at the tall, slim figure of red all whilst trying not to cry. “Would you like a medal?” the vampire sneered.
He looked to me and back again. He knew the boy was a fool, but there was unmistakable concern at his truthful accusation. I didn't know what to think. “You should know by now, surely, that there are no such things as vampires.”
“There’s no use denying it. I know you’re a vampire, I know they’re real! You can’t fool me!” Steve laughed.
“And what of it if I was? What would I have to fear?” Larten asked and Steve goes a shade paler. He looked about and spotted me still sat in an audience chair.
“Now he knows too!” Steve pointed to me with a trembling arm.
Larten laughed pitifully. A shrill laugh that reverberated round the room as if the building itself were mocking Steve. The teen's arm lowered slowly. His eyes tracked the mocking notions of the vampire in front of him, desperate to find some way out of the hole he'd dug.
The vampire looked amused by the boy's sudden change in confidence. Then his laugh settled, and he grew serious. “How do you know the name Vur?” he asked, his face not far from Steve's with a testy look.
“I saw you in a book on vampires. A painting of you, younger and without the scar, but unmistakably you, and some woman in 1903 in Paris.” The childish whimper that leaves Steve's mouth is almost humorous. Larten let the information sink in as Steve waited in silence.
“Who do you work for?”
“Nobody!” Steve stuttered.
The vampire's rage only increased. He repeated the question stepping closer, but the boy's answer remained firmly the same. Crepsley relented upon seeing that the boy had nothing to tell him but the truth. He shook his head dismissively, the threat diminished.
“Go home boy. You serve no purpose in staying here. Leave, and I will forget your accusation,” Crepsley said, and had turned his back.
“You were expecting me,” Steve stated as he made a weak attempt to stand.
Larten didn't turn, just started mindlessly pacing and idly stroking his scar. I found that when he wanted, he could make anything look menacing. “What makes you say that?” he asked with a voice of interest.
“You were waiting for me from the ceiling. You looked at me in your performance,” Steve pointed out.
To be fair he had a point. But now I didn't know if Larten had been waiting for me.
Larten eyed me and the boy closely. Then made a quick judge of situation. “So, what if I am a vampire?” Larten asked, looking only at Steve now, grinning with intent and intrigue.
“Make me one. A half-vampire. I want to be your assistant.”
Shit.
The question shook Larten, and he laughed half-hearted. He grew more serious when he saw the boy was not joking. Then was visibly shocked by it.
“And why would I do that?” He forced a thin smile.
“We'll go to the cops if you don't!” Steve grabbed me from my seat as though using me as an actual weapon. I was thrown before Crepsley, and I could see him looking at me and trying to keep a straight face, much despite his usual un-emotional approach.
I felt Steve shivering. I stifled a laugh at his cowardice, though I was actually quite nervous myself. I'd involved myself with their interaction. Would it play out the same?
Larten scoffed, “As if they would believe two teenagers.”
I brushed off the fact he called me a teenager.
“You'll have to kill us both or blood me!” Steve shouted impatient.
Crepsley's gaze averted to me. He almost laughed again and I, too, tried to repress my laughter. He looked back at Steve pathetically.
“Would you not miss your family? Your life?”
“I don’t care.”
“Your mother? Father?” Crepsley asked, still shocked that a literal child could be demanding so much of him.
“I haven't got a dad,” Steve confessed a notch higher in pitch. Crepsley’s hold on himself slipped a pinch and his face displayed guilt. It was noticeable enough for Steve to look on in anger. “And my mother wouldn't care if I disappeared,” he added with a hint of disgust.
“What about the boy you came here with tonight?” The words came out like lines from a script.
Steve thought for a second. Then he dismissed it. “Darren? Yeah, I'd miss him. But he’d get over it.”
I wondered then if Darren was there. Though I hadn’t seen him l leave. I wondered how he felt, watching Steve give away his life for something as stupid as Vampirism.
“Alright,” agreed Crepsley.
My head snapped up, my body reacting to the instant shock. Steve's jaw slacked for a miniscule and then clenched in pride. He thought he had blackmailed a vampire.
Stupid boy.