The Ladies of the Secret Circus

by Constance Sayers

  “But there’s no net.” Lara strained her neck to see how far off the ground she was expected to be, figuring forty feet at the highest point.

  Althacazur rolled his eyes. “Then make one.” Lara thought he sounded like a teenage boy at the mall. He studied the signet ring on his finger, avoiding her gaze.

  Lara plucked at her costume, making sure it covered everything. “I can do that?”

  The daemon put his head back and closed his eyes. “Why, why, Tisdale, is this one so stupid?”

  “Father!” Cecile barked.

  “Yes, yes,” said Althacazur, sounding slightly defeated.

  Tisdale patted him on the hand, and she swore she saw the little monkey draw a line with the other hand. A net of gold appeared under the trapeze.

  “Better now?” Althacazur cocked his head.

  Lara sighed and climbed the fabric ladder. As she made her way up the rungs, she thought that all she wanted was to be back in Kerrigan Falls, taking time to figure out what to do next. When she got to the top and looked down, she was reminded of the scene from Vertigo where the camera panned in and out. This might be harder than she thought. Considering her options, she thought she’d just swing across. This was like some zipline thing she’d done in college. This was no big deal.

  “We’re waiting.” Althacazur was sitting back on the purple throne, chomping popcorn. The scent of burnt oil and fake butter wafted up toward the ceiling. She recalled the entry in Cecile’s diary about the first time she’d leapt. Not exactly knowing what to do next, she pulled down the bar from overhead and jumped from the perch. About ten seconds in, the weight of her body and gravity kicked in and she felt her arms strain. It was not unlike swinging on the monkey bars as a kid. She swung back and caught the perch awkwardly but managed to find her footing. Hoping that would be the end of it, she did a little raise with her hands like figure skaters do to illustrate a finished movement.

  “That’s it?” Althacazur had draped himself over the velvet throne. “Tisdale, Cecile… do something before I kill her.”

  Lara wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but she had little doubt that if he wanted to kill her, he could.

  The monkey sighed and climbed the ladder easily. He grabbed the bar from her and shook it, then placed it back in her hands. The bar felt warm, like it was now enchanted. What had he just done? Magic? He chirped something, and oddly, Lara understood him.

  Don’t fuck this up. He chirp-pointed to the other side and spun with his finger. We’ll all pay. Get over there.

  She searched the ring but did not see Cecile. Again, Lara leapt off the perch and saw that another bar was being sent down from the other side. As if her body knew what to do, she left the first bar and somersaulted—yes, somersaulted—into the waiting hands of a man wearing a pink leotard. She swung again back toward the perch and saw that another man was now on the other side. She somersaulted back to his waiting hands. She landed back on the perch and found she was out of breath.

  “Well, that didn’t suck.” Althacazur shrugged like some theater director or fucked-up Bob Fosse critiquing her from the front row. He twirled his finger. “Again. Niccolò, give me Villa-Lobos’s Bachianas Brasileiras Number Five. And I don’t care if you don’t like it and it’s not your composition. Play it.” From the orchestra pit came the sounds of strings.

  Lara leapt off the perch, preparing to simply repeat her last swing. She could see Tisdale’s hands twisting and his lips moving. He was helping her, enchanting her movements. This time, it felt easier, her body lighter as she swung. She hooked up her legs on the bar, let her hands go, and shifted her gaze up for the man to catch her. Instead she found Cecile’s sure hands reaching out to catch her. They swung together and Lara went to catch the opposite bar. So preoccupied was she that Cecile had caught her, that in flight on the way back, she missed the next bar. Looking down at the net, she saw to her alarm that the gold net that had once been beneath her was gone.

  Gone.

  Tisdale squealed.

  Althacazur laughed.

  Niccolò stopped the music.

  A cymbal crashed.

  As she fell, Lara thought that this was the stupidest death she could have predicted for herself. She thought about Gaston having to tell her mother and father that she’d fallen to her death performing for a monkey while wearing a tutu. “No,” she screamed, then “fuck.” She had her arms splayed and her eyes closed, bracing for impact, then nothing. Then she opened her eyes to find that she was hovering like a freeze-frame on a TV about six feet from the ground.

  “Oh, thank God,” said Althacazur, sitting upright in his seat. “I was getting so bored. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Shut up, Father,” said Cecile, sitting on the swing above them.

  Lara held herself in place, not sure what to do. Recalling Cecile’s journals, Lara considered the corkscrew move. Completely confused how she could somersault from a frozen position, she rotated and found that her body held the altitude as she spun. Next, she gazed at the perch far above her, where she needed to land. In the back of her mind, she heard Althacazur tell her, Think of spinning this flower. Don’t think of the carousel. She imagined a flower being twirled at its stem. As she pictured it, her body began to rise and spin at the same time, mimicking the movement in her mind. Focusing on the perch, she picked up speed, like a figure skater, twisting vertically back up to the perch.

  “In case you haven’t realized it, you don’t need a net.” Althacazur was slow-clapping.

  Looking over at the other side of the trapeze, Lara let the bar drop and leapt again, somersaulting cleanly through the air in a tight vertical roll, like she was drilling her way to the other side. Her body was in a tight rotation, like a football spirals in the air. She landed on the opposite platform, next to Cecile.

  “Did you do that?” Lara shouted to her.

  Cecile shook her head. “No. You did.”

  And Lara wanted to do it again, needed to do it again so badly that she immediately leapt off and spiraled to the other side, but then she slowed and hovered and began doing graceful spins, like water ballet in the air. A powerful feeling overtook her. Nothing in her life had ever felt as perfect as performing magic like this. Fuck a correction. Her magic didn’t need to be hidden or contained. As it flowed, she felt herself becoming stronger. This power had always been inside her, but she’d never been encouraged to use it, so like an undeveloped muscle it had withered—she had withered. Until now.

  Then Cecile dove off the swing like she was diving into a pool and flew like a bird down to the ground, where she landed softly.

  “Now you try it,” she said, calling up to Lara.

  Lara hesitated, but Cecile held out her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you, but you need to learn how to do this.” Cecile smiled but her voice was firm. “Come.”

  What the hell, thought Lara. So she dove off the platform, thinking no as she fell. No, she would not fall. Lara dropped more like a leaf than like the purposeful dive Cecile had demonstrated. She landed a little two-footed, but Althacazur was very happy.

  Still, it was Cecile whose approval Lara wanted most. The woman walked over and embraced her. “You were wonderful. I wasn’t as good my first time.” Lara’s legs were shaking, but she could feel the magic flowing through her like a current. She spun to face Althacazur. He had been right. This had been her destiny. There was a smile forming on his lips. He had lured her here with the promise of answers. Now she had them—Todd, Cecile, and what she really was.

  Then, with a sweep of his hand, the performers were gone.

  Althacazur sighed. “Can we discuss a little business now? I need Esmé here where she belongs. Lucifer is growing impatient.”

  “But I don’t understand. You’re the daemon of really cool shit. Why can’t you bring your own daughter back into the circus? Why do you need anyone’s help?”

  “Because he can’t.” It was Cecile who spoke; Althacazur looked shocked. “He’s ne
ver admitted it, but by seducing our mother and having us, he’d already caught the ire of the other daemons. It is forbidden, but he was the favorite, so Lucifer let it pass. But when he sent Esmé to the White Forest, it was Lucifer who found her and sent her back.” She pointed her comments to Althacazur. “After she returned, your behavior toward her changed. It’s my guess that you can’t touch her now, can you?”

  “You’ve gotten wise in your death, Cecile.” Althacazur exhaled like he was defeated. “After what she endured in the White Forest, Lucifer won’t let me touch her. He blames me, rightfully so, for banishing her in what was a rather harsh punishment, but he’s putting me in an awkward position. The daemons are clamoring to destroy her because she’s a cambion. They think she’s cocky and too powerful. I don’t want to see my daughter destroyed, but I can’t help her directly.”

  “I don’t want to help her,” Lara snorted.

  “No, you just want to live your life free of her. I want her here again, so in essence we want the same things. Even if I could lift a hand, there’s pride in the daemon community. She struck Cecile first by killing Émile. It needs to be Cecile—or her proxy—that strikes back. I’ve helped as much as I can to build the perfect proxy. More than you know.”

  “It sounds a bit like the mafia,” quipped Lara, wiping some dust or chalk off her hands and onto her thighs. “Well, I’m done chanting protection spells and hiding in Kerrigan Falls. If you need me to bring her here, I’ll do it. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “That’s my girl!” Althacazur clapped his hands. “Only problem is that you can’t tangle with Esmé alone. Oh, granted you’re a clever little thing turning the lights on and off—and that marvelous little bit of business you did with the trapeze artist at Rivoli was inspiring, not to mention what you did just now. I’ve built you well and I bet you’re feeling quite powerful about now, but you’re no match for a hundred-year-old child of a major daemon. So let me propose a little deal for you. Take Great-Grandmother with you, so you have a fighting chance.”

  At this suggestion, Lara could see Cecile shift, disturbed. Althacazur had not consulted her on this strategy. “This is not why I wanted Lara to come here.”

  Althacazur laughed. “So what did you think? You just tell her all about Esmé and she’d go back to her little town and vanquish your sister? Surely you see that is a fool’s errand, Cecile. She can’t do that. Only you can do that.”

  “But I can’t leave here, Father. I’m dead.”

  “But she’s not. And you—” He turned to Lara. “Esmé is like a cat with a toy. She knows that the daemons want her back here and that I’ve been looking for someone to wrangle her. That person is you, Lara, and she knows it. Like a feral cat, she won’t take the chance of getting caught. When you get back to that dreadful little place where you live, she’ll kill you for sure, along with your mother and the rather handsome police detective you’re so fond of.”

  “No.” Cecile shook her head. “It’s too risky.”

  “What does it involve?” Lara looked at Cecile. Lara’s head was swimming with everything she’d learned today. She felt both broken by the news of Todd—and yet powerfully strong as magic pulsed through her veins, the cambion part of her waking up. She was open to hearing any plans.

  “You must absorb me.” Cecile frowned.

  “And?”

  “You could die once we leave here. I tried once with Doro. It went terribly wrong.”

  “No,” said Althacazur. “It’s not like with Doro. She shouldn’t die. I’ve altered this one in anticipation of this very moment. She only has one kidney, like you, Cecile. Her body is the most like yours so she can absorb you successfully. She’s the strongest of all of you. It should work.”

  “Glad to know I shouldn’t die.” Lara swallowed. Her body was altered for this moment, like a vessel. She recalled Althacazur and Margot in the field that day; Margot asking if she was “the one.” He hadn’t just hoped she would become the human patron. He needed a soldier, too.

  “No—” said Cecile, again sharply. “Absolutely not.” Cecile bit on her nail, considering something.

  Althacazur turned to Lara to reason with her. “You will certainly die if she does not do it.”

  “I got that,” said Lara. “I might be stupid, but I am present.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Althacazur said from his velvet chair. “Any day now, Cecile.”

  Lara kept focused on Cecile. “I get that the big bad is coming for me. When I absorb you, will it change me?”

  She nodded. “You won’t have my memories, but I’ll see through you and you’ll feel me. You will feel different.”

  “She’ll possess you, dimwit. Have you never watched a horror film?” Althacazur was picking some lint from his coat. “If you succeed—and it’s a rather hefty if—I’ll bring Cecile and Esmé back where they belong. And you will agree to serve as our human patron. I need to be free of this circus. Do you understand me?”

  “I’m not killing for this circus.” Lara turned and met his eyes.

  Althacazur rolled his eyes. “No one is asking you to kill anyone. If you succeed, you’ll vanquish Esmé—who should be dead anyway, so we don’t need the charm anymore. Although I admit, the idea of you as my human patron is almost unbearable to me now. And I thought Plutard was bad.”

  “If you’re the human patron, you won’t be able to leave the circus.” Cecile shook her head. “Ever. Once Madame Plutard agreed, she could never leave. She was bound to it.”

  Lara didn’t care. Her choice was between certain death or this circus. This was the only shot she had to avenge Todd. “Can I ask you for one thing?”

  “Sure.” Althacazur spoke, but she’d meant the question for Cecile.

  “Can I ride the carousel one last time?” Lara needed to clarify. “Before we do it.”

  Cecile understood Lara immediately.

  “Of course.”

  Lara walked out of the main doors through the Grand Promenade, Tisdale following closely behind. She considered that if she succeeded, she would become the human patron of this place. It was like an otherworldly château mixed with a little Las Vegas. As she passed each room and attraction, she studied the ornate baroque walls. Outside the windows, amid the elaborate hedges, she saw clowns playing croquet and drinking tea from china cups. When they arrived at the carousel, she mounted the same horse as before and Tisdale pulled the lever. “Don’t let me go poof, Tisdale.”

  The monkey nodded.

  As the carousel went backward and the horse shook its head, Lara leaned into its mane and closed her eyes. She had one last moment alone with her own thoughts—quite possibly the last time she would be her.

  The memories began immediately, starting with dancing with Ben at the gala. She felt his heat and the sense of safety he always brought with him as he pressed against her; then him laughing at Delilah’s, his overly starched sleeves. In front of her, the image of Ben morphed—almost melted into Todd. It was here that Lara stopped and tried to slow things down. She held his face. This was a memory—a true one—but she had the ability to alter it.

  Before her was the final image of him. Lara was in her car. This was the moment that had haunted her—the moment when she’d failed to catch a last look at him. What she did next, she had not done in real life: Lara turned her head back to the house to see Todd standing in his driveway. The knowledge of what would come next for both of them in the world sent her body heaving into heavy sobs. “Todd,” she said, but he never heard her. Instead he turned and walked to the house, hands in his pockets. Like her, he never realized the significance of the moment. He would be dead in twelve hours.

  Then as a movie cuts to the next scene, she and Todd were lying out by the river. The sun was cooking their skin, making them smell of sweat and suntan lotion. He slid over her body and kissed her. She pulled back, even though that wasn’t what she’d done in the moment. Studying every line and detail of his face, she could feel tears welling up with the k
nowledge of what was to come for them and what would never be.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he said, laughing. He raked his hair and touched her chin.

  “I just want to look at you,” she said.

  “You have a lifetime to look at me.”

  That he chose those words gutted her. This beautiful boy in front of her didn’t get a lifetime of anything. “I’ll always love you.” She wondered if he’d be annoyed at her at this moment, like he could get when she got too sentimental, but this version of Todd didn’t.

  He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I know you will.”

  Lara held on to him, too tightly. She knew that. In the real moment, she’d never done these things, but she felt his skin now, the warmth of it and the hair on his arms. Tears flowed down her face and she kissed him deeply. A profound feeling of sadness washed over her. The horse slowed and Todd faded in and out, like he was illuminated by a faulty lightbulb.

  When the ride stopped, Lara looked up to see that both Cecile and Margot stood there waiting at the controls.

  Lara could see versions of her face in both women. It was like a time-lapse projection with Margot being the bridge between Cecile’s rather frost-like features and the warmer complexion that she’d inherited from Audrey.

  “It’s a horrible machine,” said Margot, staring at the carousel. “They aren’t real, you know. When I first came here, I rode it for hours to see my Dez.”

  Cecile touched her daughter’s arm. Lara could tell how fragile Margot was and how protective Cecile was toward her. This was her family, her legacy. And Lara considered how a painting had brought her here.

  “I tried to give you clues all along,” said Margot. “The record and the Ouija boards. I wanted to help.”

  “You sent the message in the record?” And Lara remembered the description of the woman who’d dropped off the Ouija board at Feed Supply.

  She nodded proudly. “I also sent a message to that detective of yours through the board.” Margot laughed a little too loudly, her whole body rippling like it came from somewhere deep inside. “He looked terrified.”