Darius stared at the slightly bent letter lying on his nightstand. The thick cardstock had weakened along the fold from repeated reads. Curling into his pillow, he sighed heavily. The notes from the library were scattered about the room, looking as if a gust of wind had wreaked havoc. A few pages crinkled beneath him when he shifted on the bed.
None of it really mattered.
Half of it was nonsense from fear-mongering and the other half was mostly annotated retellings of famous 19th and 20th century novels. A very small sliver of information he gathered seemed worthwhile. One wasn’t even within a body of text. It was a small footnote from a conspiracy theorist that hardly counted as information.
The world harbors Night Children. Creatures of a different sort from those in popular media. They are horrifically beautiful, sinister, and better at playing Human than Humans.
How were stakes, silver, and garlic going to protect him? The Holy Word of God? What did any of it have to do with a flesh and bloodless night stalker?
But what bothered him more than the supernatural element was why he was being followed. Targeted. Harassed. What did he possess that a monster wanted?
He reluctantly picked up the letter once more.
It weighed heavily in his hand, seeming to grow more burdensome with each read. Darius lifted it up, skimming the words that were burned into his mind already. It was handwritten of course. Blood red ink in a hauntingly lovely script.
My Dearest Treasure,
Won’t you come home soon?
I have so many wonderful things I want to share with you.
Don’t you feel the same?
A whole world of color and beauty is waiting.
Have you listened to my song?
Follow its tender lullaby and it will light your path.
Won’t you make haste?
My arms are open.
With Love,
Your Ringleader
Darius didn’t know what to make of it. It felt like he was being teased—led on a scavenger hunt where the prize was a cage.
But wasn’t he already trapped? His mind was a cavern filled with only thoughts of him. His room was littered with scribblings on what could be and what must be. His very body was captivated by scorching touches.
What still belonged to him?
Frustrated, Darius sat up and threw his closet open. In a slightly frantic scramble, he tore into the suitcase, snatching up the devilish little glass egg. It rested innocently in the palm of his hand, glinting in the warm golden light. Hesitantly, he ran unsteady fingers over the surface, tracing each delicate design. It seemed to hum with energy, warming under his touch.
Darius silently tapped the top. It obediently popped open, revealing the familiar model of a Big Top. This was part of the game, wasn’t it? The hunt? He refused to play the music box, merely satiating his curiosity with examining the trinket.
It terrified him to think what would happen if he did play it. Where would it take him? Where wouldn’t it take him?
“Darius? You still up?” A knock on the door.
He jolted, shutting the egg with a bit too much force before tossing it back in the suitcase. “Yeah, what’s wrong?” he called back. With rather clumsy hands, he swept up all the papers and shoved them into the case as well before shutting and zipping it.
Evan didn’t open the door, voice projecting through the wood. “Uh I have a few Art History questions, if you’re not too tired?”
Rubbing his head, he considered refusing, but thought better of it. This would be a good chance to ask a few questions. “Sure.” He opened the door, stepping out and shutting it behind him. There was nothing to be proud of in that room.
Evan didn’t seem to mind or notice. Instead, he smiled with relief, heading back into the living room. The lights were still on, life coloring the area. Darius looked around in almost a daze, warmth filling each corner and soft music comforting them.
It didn’t feel right.
They quietly reviewed the pages Evan struggled to understand. Darius watched him take notes on particularly tricky bits while making suggestions on how to memorize different art periods. The explanations tumbled off his lips in an almost rehearsed manner.
When the last notes were being jotted down, Darius summoned up his nerve. “Did that guy, Adrian, say anything else to you?”
Evan paused, looked up curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing really,” he mumbled, heart hammering at the thought of coming off creepy. Was there a more tactful way to bring up the topic? “They’re circus people.”
“I’m not really sure what that means.” His flatmate chuckled awkwardly, shuffling papers around. “But I kind of get you being nervous. Adrian made me nervous, too.” Evan chewed on his bottom lip, eyes darting back and forth in thought. “It was a really normal conversation. Like if I enjoyed their show, and if London is treating me well. Nothing too personal. I just don’t know why they paid us a visit and the longer it went on, the less I cared.”
Darius ignored the chill crawling down his spine.
Evan frowned. “But after he left, my head felt hazy. Maybe I was more wound up during the visit than I thought?” He mindlessly slid the papers back into a folder, tidying up the coffee table. “And now I’m just on edge wondering what happened. We sat together for a while before you even came home, and then for a little longer after he gave you that letter.”
Wanting something to do with his fidgeting hands, Darius picked up their tea mugs and walked over to the adjacent kitchen. It was just a corner of the common area, clearly within view of the small flat.
“Did you believe his story about the circus?” Darius asked softly.
“I didn’t know it was up for debate?” Evan stifled a yawn.
“Sorry, you must be tired.”
He nodded sheepishly. “Hey, if you’re really curious about the circus and stuff, Adrian left a calling card.” Evan rummaged about in his pockets, still dressed in his clothes from earlier that day. After a moment, he tugged out a plain black card. “You can have it.”
Darius didn’t want it. “Thanks.” Though maybe he needed it.
That evening, he resisted the urge to read or do anything else related to the circus. The calling card was tossed into his suitcase along with the Ringleader’s cryptic love note. He just wished he could also toss his feelings in there.
***
He made the call on a Tuesday morning.
It immediately went to an automated message, detailing their operating hours and website URL for purchasing tickets. A further plug about their upcoming tour schedule followed.
Darius hung up after their third date in Berlin. It seemed that Adrian hadn’t been trying to stir something up by talking to Evan. The card was a standard business card. Nothing out of the ordinary and certainly not shady.
Disappointed, he tossed the card into a nearby trashcan and hurried along to school.
It was already week three in the term and the workload was both heavy and not. With a general history class on Europe, it was hard to delve into complex stories. Darius found the lectures to be mostly recapitulations of the readings, and the exams were few and far between. Out of the increasingly boring classes though, were plentiful field trips around Europe. The excuse of “exploration” was frequently cited.
He had already been informed of two trips coming up in the following weeks. One was to the Royal Opera House, but the other would take them to Romania. Both were considered rich in history and suitable for the course.
Darius wasn’t sure what he thought of them. It was better than sitting in a lecture hall each day.
And then as the days dragged into nights, he’d found himself wide awake with hundreds of thoughts and a deep fear of what dreams awaited him. There was a time not long ago that nights were pure darkness. He would awaken and drift off with little more than logic to tell him that he had slept.
Insomnia soon led to Darius sitting awake, tempting himself into turning the crank and bringing the Ringleader’s lullaby into his room. The little glass egg would stare up at him from the palm of his hand, asking silent questions without clear answers. He fell asleep more often than not with the trinket in his grasp and the bedside lamp on.
He didn’t know if it happened because of one of these sleepless nights, but the inevitable finally occurred.
How it happened, he still didn’t know exactly.
Darius heard the lullaby but didn’t feel his fingers moving. The music box was wound, and his feet were moving. Cold air rushed around his face and through the thin pajamas he wore. He clutched the egg in both hands, leaning out the bedroom window with little awareness of what was happening.
His heart was beating steadily, but his mind may have been screaming.
The drop was steep. At least three stories. He stared down at the approaching ground.
And then it stopped.
The chill of the night reversed. His body was lifted up and the stifling heat of his bedroom returned. Darius blinked slowly as cool hands plucked the egg from his death grip. Papers rustled, escaping from his open suitcase to fly about the room.
He gazed up, reminded of rippling silk, confetti, and the beauty of Delirium.
“You’ve come home.”
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