My hazel eyes are bleary and ringed with dark shadows, my long blonde hair pulled back in a wayward ponytail. I look like I’ve been run over by one of the giant semis that carries the tent. I feel like it too. Something’s itching in the back of my brain, but I can’t put my finger on why my instinct tells me I should be freaking out. It feels like I haven’t slept in a week. Kingston never showed up. I try not to dwell on it. I tell myself I’m a big girl, and it doesn’t matter that my boyfriend didn’t sneak into bed in the middle of the night to curl up next to me. Like he had every other night. But as I sit and look at my coffee and try to remember why my dreams feel like a clusterfuck, assuring myself of anything positive is impossible. Especially at 6 a.m. I hate jump days. The rest of the troupe is milling around at about the same pace as me. I glance up and watch the Shifters crowded around the coffee table. They’re in leather and denim and ripped plaid shirts, like some punk-rock Hell’s Angels.
What do You think about The Immortal Circus: Act Two?
