by Libba Bray
Light poured through the gaps in the trees. Jericho went a little farther in and saw that there was a log cabin perched on a small bit of hill. The cabin’s two windows glowed yellow, like the eyes of a wolf. Smoke poured from an old stone chimney. It had a strange odor. A garter snake slithered across Jericho’s bare foot, startling him as it ribboned past into the brush. Jericho drew closer. Against the side of the house, rabbit skins hung from nails to dry. The skins still had the heads attached. The dead eyes seemed to follow Jericho.
Jericho couldn’t see into the windows. The glow was far too strong. There was an ax stuck into a tree stump, and a cauldron that he knew from his farm days was used to make lye soap like the kind his mother would sell at market. Jericho remembered accompanying his mother and father a few times in the back of their horse-drawn wagon as they made the journey from their farm in Pennsylvania Dutch Country to Philadelphia. How Jericho had gawked at the buildings and the people in their fine city clothes. How happy he was to return to the farm again.
The cabin door creaked open slowly, but no one emerged. It was as if the cabin were issuing an invitation. Jericho edged closer. Through the narrow opening, he could make out a hearth and the last of a fire burning there. He should go back to the boardinghouse. He should not be out here alone in unknown woods. But he had to know. His acute hearing picked up the splintering of the twigs as the fire consumed them for fuel. The scraping of branches against the windows. And a slurping, like a hungry man finishing his soup.
Jericho stretched out his hand and pressed the door back. His mind took in the room bit by bit: Braided rug. Tall chair, tattered covering. Beside the chair, a man crouched, curved back to the door. He was eating something from the floor. Jericho took a step forward. Behind the chair. Near the cabin wall. The body of a deer, still twitching. Its chest torn open. Flesh peeled back. The man. The man dipping his hands into the cavity. Hands coated in wine-dark blood. Hands pulling up entrails like weeds. The man stopped. Turned his head slowly to face Jericho. His eyes were black as endless night.
“Poor boy,” he said and smiled, and that was when Jericho felt the room swim. He feared that he would faint at the sight of that bloodied mouth. The animal flesh hanging from pointed teeth, draped across the fouled chin.
“Poor boy,” the man said again, in a voice thick with blood. “With no home to call your own. Orphaned again. Who will ever want you?”
If Jericho had been able to speak, he might have said, Stop.
The man hopped forward on his haunches. “He is coming. It is his time now.”
He straightened and Jericho saw that he was tall and muscular, with veiny arms. Blood spilled from his sharp mouth and down the front of his bare chest. “He will come and this nation will tremble and welcome him like a god!” The man’s laugh burbled up from deep in his chest, like some swallowed animal desperate to get out. On the floor, the deer’s legs twitched. “Come. I will give you a home, poor boy. I will tear the flesh from your bones and break those between my teeth.”
The man swiped at Jericho with filthy hands.
Jericho ducked from his grasp. He stumbled backward out of the cabin. And then he turned and ran faster than he ever thought possible into the woods. A fog had come up, turning the woods unfamiliar. Where was the boardinghouse? Where was he? Behind him, the night was alive with every sound imaginable. Birds screamed and lifted from their nests with a great flapping of wings. It hit his ears like a deafening punch. He slipped, fell, and staggered into a run once more.
“Poor boy! Poor boy! Poor boy!” The sound bounced from tree to tree. Jericho could no longer tell if it was only one voice or many. “Poor boy!”
Someone waited at the edge of the foggy woods. The serum punched through Jericho’s veins. If it came to it, he could throw a right hook. His arms ached to do it. The waiting man wore a soldier’s uniform. Jericho slowed with relief. The man turned. Jericho stopped, unable to take another step.
“Hey, kid. How’ve you been?” Sergeant Leonard said. His face was death-mask white. Bruised shadows showed beneath his deep-set eyes.
“You’re dead,” Jericho whispered.
“I’m sorry about what I made you do. I never shoulda made you do it,” Sergeant Leonard said.
Jericho sank to his knees. “You’re not here. I’m dreaming.” Jericho made a fist over and over.
The night sounds had nearly found them.
Sergeant Leonard parted the soupy mist like a curtain. Beyond it was the road, and next to it, the boardinghouse. He was almost there.
“Don’t wander around in the woods, okay, Jericho?”
“You’re not here,” Jericho croaked. Fist. Fist. Fist. Fist.
Sergeant Leonard’s eyes were immeasurably sad. “Sorry, kid. It’s about to get rough,” he said and disappeared into the screeching night.
IF THAT ISN’T MAGIC
The next morning, the circus readied to move out of Cooperstown. Elephants and horses pulled the beautifully painted circus wagons up a ramp and onto the special railcars. The acrobats, wire walkers, animal act trainers, sideshow performers, and clowns alike scurried aboard with their traveling trunks, filled with everything they’d need on their tour of the country—greasepaint, makeup, costumes, shoes, and props. To Evie, it was as if a small city were being transported on the spine of a lumbering beast that floated from town to town.
“All aboard that’s coming aboard,” Zarilda called.
“You ready, Baby Vamp?” Sam said, sneaking a kiss from Evie.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. Come on.” Sam helped Evie onto the train and led her down the corridor through the performers getting themselves situated. He escorted her into an empty compartment and shut the door. Then he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
“Missed you last night,” he murmured, and kissed a trail down Evie’s neck to her collarbone. When her eyes fluttered open, he smiled mischievously at her. “I admit, I was kinda hoping for a little midnight visit.”
“I was dead to the world last night,” Evie said.
Sam’s wolfish grin disappeared. “Don’t say that.”
“Just an expression.”
“Kinehora, poo, poo, poo,” Sam said and spit.
Evie raised an eyebrow. “Why did you do that?”
“Keeping away the evil eye,” Sam explained.
Evie stroked a hand down Sam’s cheek. “You look beat, Sam. Are you sure you’re copacetic?” She’d been worried about him since his trials with the Eye. There were definitely things he wasn’t telling her.
“Sure,” Sam said. But he wasn’t convincing.
The Diviners sat in their train compartment watching the countryside roll by. They’d wave back to the people who’d wandered down to the tracks, excited to see the circus train zooming past. It was exciting, and Evie wished they could enjoy it without having to worry about Shadow Men or Jake Marlowe’s machine or facing ghosts or whatever the King of Crows was up to now.
“Say, Isaiah, you want to try to talk to Sarah Beth, see if she can tell us anything more?” Theta asked once they’d had their breakfast and settled in for the ride.
“Okay,” Isaiah said. He shut his eyes and tried to let himself relax. But he felt funny with the others watching him. “Sarah Beth,” he said. “Sarah Beth, it’s me, Isaiah. Can you hear me?” He waited, but when nothing came, he shook his head. “Sometimes I gotta have something that belongs to the person. Or I gotta be touching ’em, like when I held Sister Walker’s hand.” He frowned. “Is Sister gonna be okay?”
“We’re gonna make sure she is,” Sam said.
“Did she really kill the professor?”
“Naw. ’Course not. That’s bunk,” Sam promised.
“You sure going to Bountiful’s the right decision?” Theta asked once Isaiah had gotten up to wander the train. “We haven’t even heard from this girl since that first time.”
“I just hope the Shadow Men haven’t gotten to her.
If Jake Marlowe finds out she knows how to stop the King of Crows, he’s gonna want her,” Sam said.
Evie watched the day brightening over the sweet green hills. “I just hope we can get there in time.”
The train crossed the state line into Pennsylvania. The conductor tooted the whistle as the circus’s first stop came into view. Like turning the crank on a well-oiled machine, the performers hurried into their costumes while the roustabouts began unloading. Everything was taken from the trains and put onto the wagons for the trip through town. It was quite something to see the caravan parade down Main Street. First came six dapple-gray horses in plumed harnesses pulling a bandwagon of drum, banjo, and trumpet players, and in the wagon behind that one, an organist playing a rousing tune on the calliope. Stilt-walkers lumbered down the street, towering over the spectators lining the roadway. Acrobats followed in their wake, turning somersaults that defied gravity. Equestriennes in jeweled headdresses waved from the backs of cantering show horses whose manes had been braided with colorful ribbons. From behind bars, the lions and tiger roared at the crowds, pacing the limited length of their cages. The elephants’ thudding footsteps sent up clouds of road dust and made the fringe on their red satin capes sway to and fro. On a practiced cue from Giacomo, the elephants lifted their mighty trunks and let loose a trumpeting bellow that thrilled the children watching from the sidelines. The throngs of spectators roared their own approval in return and waved their tiny American flags.
“Doc” Hamilton spoke through a megaphone from the back of his Traveling Medicine Show: “Folks, there is absolutely no charge for this show—it is that important! You must try the curative powers of this patented vitamin vitality tonic, guaranteed to smooth your skin, grow you a full head of hair, put some pep in your step, and keep you forever young. You owe it to your health! Just a sip of this elixir will fix what ails you!”
In the sideshow wagon, Johnny the Wolf Boy howled and beat his chest while Arnold flexed his muscles, showing off his many tattoos. Bella the Strong Man lifted Polly onto his right shoulder so she could wave to the crowds with one hand while stroking her beard with the other. Isaiah walked beside Billy, the goat, grinning at his good fortune. Sam performed several impressive backflips in a row. He looked back, pleased with himself, and winked at Evie, and she laughed in delight.
The clowns were up next. With three others, Evie jumped from their wagon and ran up to the children, who were squirming for a view of the parade. She pulled a long line of colorful scarves from up her sleeve and used it to skip rope, pretending to stumble. The children laughed, and Evie thought it was a wonderful sound. It was a far cry from the glamour she’d enjoyed as the Sweetheart Seer, and, if she were honest, she would hate for anybody to know how far she’d fallen, from radio star to traveling circus clown, but Zarilda was saving their lives and getting them closer to Bountiful. Besides, being a clown was still attention-getting, and Evie loved few things more than that.
Decked out as Miss Liberty, Theta kept pace with Isaiah as they walked side by side, waving to the crowds. Isaiah’s grin was one hundred percent real—he was clearly having the time of his life. Theta’s was pasted on. She couldn’t help looking out into those crowds of people and wondering if anybody recognized them. Was the magic of the circus enough to hide them, or was there somebody out there right now, rushing off to make a telephone call to the authorities? Were there Shadow Men watching from under the brims of their gray hats, just waiting for nightfall and a chance to pounce? Could Roy be here somehow?
Theta’s hands heated up beneath her white satin gloves.
“Isn’t this the berries?” Isaiah said, feeding a treat to Billy from the flat of his palm. The view ahead was an agitated frenzy of people and flags and color.
“Yeah. The cat’s pajamas,” Theta answered and kept waving.
Once they’d reached the fairgrounds, the roustabouts got to work, pounding stakes into the ground, spreading out the canvas tents and ropes. Up went the Big Top, the ticket booth, the sideshow tents and medicine wagon, the nickelodeon stargazer—“Peer into the Infinite and See Your Fate!” Enterprising local folks set up the many food stalls that bordered the long road into the circus grounds. It was a symphony of intoxicating smells—popcorn and caramel apples, cotton candy and fried chicken to make the mouth water. People had lined up ten deep, money in hand and eyes wide, eager for every bit of the culinary splendor. Out by itself on the edge of the fairgrounds was Zarilda’s fortune-telling wagon. “I like to give it that air of mystery so’s when folks come in, they feel like they’re entering another world,” she explained with a wink.
Evie gagged as she and Sam passed the elephants’ cage, where the boys were busy mucking out mounds of manure. “When you imagine the glamour of the circus, you never think about the potency of the elephant dung.”
Sam shrugged. “You get accustomed to the smell.”
Evie waved her hand in front of her nose. “I never want to get accustomed to this smell. If I do, my life has taken a terrible turn.”
“You got me, didn’t ya? Couldn’t’a gone too wrong,” Sam said and kissed her.
Evie laughed. “Now you’ve got greasepaint on your mouth.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Wish I’d known that before I kissed you.”
People streamed into the fairgrounds by the thousands with their Cracker Jack and souvenir flags and programs, and Evie started to believe that Zarilda’s sign about marvels and miracles wasn’t just a line. It was true that everybody was looking for just a little bit of magic to believe in. So why was it so hard to believe in Diviners?
In the Big Top, Evie felt just as wowed by the circus as did the paying customers. She and Isaiah watched as the ringmaster, Mr. Sarkassian, held up a succession of rings and trained dogs jumped through them, then balanced on their hind legs like ballerinas. Between acts, Theta came out and danced the Charleston and some soft-shoe with a couple of other dancers, and even though it wasn’t the Follies stage, Theta still shone brightly. When it was time for the trapeze, Evie held her breath as Hasan swung by his knees and caught Flora, the elegant trapeze artist who just happened to have the mouth of a longshoreman. On the ride out from Cooperstown, Evie had learned a lot of new words from Flora that she could never say in polite company. The tumblers were on next. Sam executed three flips in a row before locking hands with Hasan and leaping into a handstand position above the other man’s shoulders. Evie was amazed by his surefootedness and agility. Sam was sensitive about being small, she knew, but here, that was to his advantage.
She looked out into the stands at the faces. They all wore the same expression of awe. But Evie knew from reading objects that some of those people were sad. Or they felt that nothing good would ever happen again. They worried about their children, or about the cost of heating the house. They tried not to think about what that cough they couldn’t get rid of meant, if it meant anything at all. Some of them were in love with people they could never have. Some of them had to hide who they really were from the people who were supposed to love them the most. But you wouldn’t know that just from watching them now, or from passing them on the fairgrounds. Once you did know it, though, you saw them differently. No longer as separate from you. Some of them had big dreams, and these were the people Evie felt the greatest kinship with—those, and the ones who were lonesome for something they couldn’t quite put their fingers on. Something just out of reach that kept them restless and a little scared that they would always feel this way.
The people watched the circus and Evie watched the people. Can’t you see? she thought. You are the whole circus.
Johnny rushed over to Evie. “Zarilda sent me! She said to get a wiggle on.”
“Here goes nothing,” Evie said, securing her ratty clown hat on her red wig.
A line of eager hopefuls had formed outside Zarilda’s fortune-telling wagon. “Step right up, folks! Don’t be shy. What you desire to know will be known. The spirits will see to it!” Zaril
da said. She looked the part for sure, in her emerald-green satin dress topped by a flowing flower-print silk coat of purple and gold, a rhinestone headband sitting pretty on top of her red hair. She was a carnival queen.
Evie went inside Zarilda’s wagon. “You ready for our act?” Zarilda asked Evie as she set up her table with tarot cards and a crystal ball that cast prisms around the wagon.
“What do you do with that?” Evie asked.
“Talk to the spirits, of course.”
“You can communicate with the dead?”
“Mm-hmm. Sometimes, yes. I ain’t sayin’ I’m a real Diviner. I’m what you might call more of an Interpreter. But I do all right. And what I don’t know I fake.”
“Well, how do you do it?” Evie pressed.
“Darlin’, I’d love to talk about the dead all day long, but we got a show to do, and paying customers. You know what you need to do?”
Evie nodded. “I clown around with somebody’s scarf or hat, get a read, then come back and feed you the information.”
“That’s the ticket!”
Outside, Evie waddled up to a man and offered her paper flower for him to sniff. While he did, she stole his hat and placed it on her wigged head. It was tricky having to grab information so quickly, but she didn’t have much choice. She pressed into the hatband. Bingo! The man’s name was Donald. He was a schoolteacher from Erie, and he was hoping to buy a small house for his family back home on Poplar Street. Evie returned the hat and helped herself to a few more trinkets—a glove, another hat, an umbrella—all of them carrying memories and emotions and wants. At last, Evie threaded a woman’s scarf around her neck and pranced about like royalty, making everyone laugh. The woman’s name was Emily, and she was lonely. Evie blushed to know this. It felt wrong. Emily had come to the circus as a last outing. She planned to drink poison when she got home.