Violet narrowed her eyes at Lola. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“What? Those two spend an inordinate amount of time together.”

“That’s because she’s, like, his substitute mother figure or something,” Violet said before giving me a pointed look. “And no, they were actually arguing about you, Lille.”

I almost choked on a noodle. “Me?”

“Yep. Jack was giving Marina hell for inviting you to join us. He said we didn’t need the dead weight. Marina defended you. She said you were hardly dead weight since you were fixing her accounts for her.”

I hated to admit it, but hearing that upset me a little. “He called me dead weight?”

“Jesus, Violet, have a little tact, would you?” said Lola, elbowing her roughly in the side.

“It’s okay — I’d rather know the truth. And I’m not surprised. He’s been mean to me since we first met.”

“Don’t take offence,” Lola told me in a soothing voice. “We’ve got a lot of abrasive characters around here, as you can probably tell.” She tilted her head to Violet, who was looking the other way and didn’t see her. “Besides, Jack McCabe’s always had a reputation for being slightly…eccentric.”

That piqued my curiosity. “How so?”

“I’ve just heard that he’s a bit of a kinky bastard. You know, into all that bondage shit.”

“Those are lies,” said Violet. “Jack’s a good guy. People just like to make stuff up to entertain themselves.” She took a sip of her wine.

“And then there’s what happened to Vera. Nobody knows who did it. It could very well have been Jack,” Lola went on, her voice hushed.

Violet seemed to shudder. “Let’s not talk about that. And being into bondage doesn’t make you a rapist, Lola. For Christ’s sake.”

My heart hammered at that, and now I needed to know more. “Who’s Vera?”

Lola looked to Violet. “She should know, Vi.”

“Fine, tell her.” Violet waved her away and concentrated on her wine glass.

Lola sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, so, up until about two years ago, we used to do some late-night adult-only shows. Vera was a burlesque dancer. People loved her. She was amazing at what she did. Then one day she just disappeared. She didn’t take any of her stuff with her, so we knew something bad had happened. The police got involved, and then two weeks later they found her body buried in the woods. She’d been raped and beaten to death. Needless to say, Marina put a stop to the adult-only shows after that.”

I gasped, and my stomach dropped like someone had just dumped a tonne of bricks there. “That’s horrific.”

Lola grimaced. “Pretty much. They never caught who did it. Most people think it was someone from the town we’d been in. Or a passing traveller. But you know, it could always have been one of us.”

“Don’t say that!” Violet complained. “I won’t sleep a wink tonight now.”

Lola only gave her a big toothy smile in response, causing Violet to scowl. My mind was racing, heart beating fast, my skin goose-pimpling. I didn’t like Lola’s insinuation that Jack might be a murderer. Not because I had any sort of affection for him, aside from thinking he was hot, but because I’d been alone with him the other night on a dark, empty street. If he was capable of doing something like that, then I’d been in a terrible amount of danger and hadn’t even realised it. I mean, I craved an adventure, the unknown, but I’d rather the adventure be full of fun and excitement than fear and terror.

It didn’t take us long to polish off the rest of the wine, and then we hit the sack. Tomorrow was my first day as a proper circus worker. I didn’t like the word “carnie,” so I refused to call myself one. I made sure I’d brought my face painting kit with me and then settled into bed. I was tired, so I thought I’d sleep right away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about Vera and what had happened to her.

The following morning, I awoke to the sound of voices arguing loudly. Violet was complaining that Lola had used up all the hot water for her shower. I winced at her high-pitched screeching. Obviously, showering in the camper wasn’t going to happen right now, and I needed to wash. So I gathered my things and made my way to the communal showers on site. Even though I wasn’t overjoyed by the idea, I felt a sense of satisfaction to know my mother would be horrified by me using anything that had the word “communal” in front of it.

Take that, Mother, I mused, giving her an imaginary middle finger.

Yes, I was a dork.

The weather was warm, so it wasn’t such a hardship to shower in what was essentially the outdoors. There were individual wooden cubicles, one side designated for men and the other for women. I slipped off my shorts and T-shirt quickly, then stepped under the spray, yelping when it hit me because it was freezing cold. Thankfully, though, it heated up after a moment.

I took my time making sure I was squeaky clean, because if I was going to have to shower outdoors for the next week, I wanted this one to last. I was nothing if not economical. When I was done, I reached out and grabbed my towel, wrapping it tightly around my body. It was then that I realised just how many things I’d neglected to bring with me. I’d only brought one towel and no flip-flops. I dried my feet as best I could and then slipped on my Converse.

I was coming out of the showers at an opportune moment, and when I say “opportune,” I mean the worst possible moment, because I tripped and fell over somebody’s feet. My towel slipped off a little, and I had to fumble to secure it back in place before I ended up flashing the entire campsite. And conveniently, Jack’s camper van was parked only a couple of yards away from the showers. He was standing outside, smoking and rubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw, casually watching the whole encounter.

“What the hell,” I grumbled, and looked down to see who I’d tripped over. A dishevelled-looking man sat passed out against the wall, an almost empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his dirty hand. He was also snoring loudly. I thought I heard a low, quiet chuckle coming from somewhere close by, and I knew it had to be Jack. I was still looking at the sleeping man, wondering who on earth he was. His clothes were in dire need of cleaning, and his long hair was so thick with dirt and grease that I couldn’t tell what colour it was. He also had a beard that covered most of his face.

All of a sudden, he shifted, and his eyes began to blink open. I was startled to be met with eyes so icy blue they almost made him beautiful, despite everything else. And God, did those eyes tell a story. They possessed so many layers I felt like I could have spent a lifetime painting the horrors and wonders in each one and still never get to the bottom.

“The fuck are you looking at?” he asked, accent posh London, those icy blues shooting daggers. I noted his accent was completely at odds with his appearance as I swallowed and stepped away, because there was something about this man that was positively chilling. As I did, my back hit something hard and unyielding. I didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Jack, because I could smell him. It surprised me that I remembered what he smelled like: smoke, kerosene, and clove oil.

The man on the ground began to get up, but he was wobbly on his feet and fell over again. His whiskey bottle dropped to the ground, the glass shattering.

“Fuck’s sake!” he grunted, and looked at me angrily again, like it was my fault he was so drunk he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. I felt the weight of a warm hand land on my shoulder just before Jack murmured in my ear, “This is King. He’s Marina’s brother. He’s also a raging alcoholic. You should try to avoid him if possible.”

“What did you say about me, you bastard!?”

“Call me a bastard again, and I’ll throw you in those showers. We all know you could do with a wash,” said Jack, his voice firm and unwavering. It shut King right up. He mumbled a few choice words that didn’t bear repeating and then stumbled away.