Circus Mirandus

by Cassie Beasley

  “Please.” Micah’s voice cracked. “Please come.”

  The Lightbender looked away.

  Micah grabbed Jenny by the arm and pulled her up. He backed away from the Lightbender. “You don’t care,” he said accusingly. “You’re not even going to try.”

  He tugged Jenny across the stage and toward the exit. His own fury was burning him alive. As he stepped outside, the night air felt like a thousand points of ice against his skin.

  In the dark tent behind him, he thought he heard the Lightbender groan. He thought he heard him say something in his too-quiet voice.

  “Dear, dear Ephraim. Could you not have asked me for a smaller miracle?”

  Micah almost walked into the Strongman on his way out of the tent. The giant in the bowler hat didn’t say anything at all. He stepped out of the way and let them pass. Micah bulled his way toward the gate. He wasn’t going to spend one more moment in Circus Mirandus than he had to.

  Jenny stumbled after him. “Micah,” she said in a shocked voice. “Micah, I don’t think the Lightbender uses cameras.”

  “He might as well.”

  “I . . . I think this . . . All of it is real.”

  Micah snorted.

  “Slow down!” Jenny said. “I need a minute. I need to think.”

  But Micah didn’t slow down, and they were just yards away from Geoffrey and the outside world when Jenny dug in her heels. Micah jerked to a stop and dropped her arm.

  “What about Rosebud’s wagon?” she said.

  Micah shook his head. “These people aren’t going to help us, Jenny. We shouldn’t even have come.”

  “The Lightbender said she could give your grandfather something to make him feel better, though. If this is all real, don’t you want to try?”

  No. Micah didn’t. He had tried and tried until he was scraped raw inside.

  “Micah Tuttle!” Jenny cried. “You can’t give up now.”

  Micah breathed in and out slowly until he had calmed down enough to think. He knew Jenny was right, but vicious disappointment was gnawing its way through his heart. Grandpa Ephraim was going to . . . he was . . . Grandpa Ephraim could use every bit of help Micah could find for him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

  Micah wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t noticed Rosebud’s wagon before. It looked like a dollhouse next to the menagerie. He didn’t want to be too hopeful, but as soon as he saw it, he had to admit that it looked like it had potential. The wagon was painted a bright green that glowed in the light from the spotlight on top of Mr. Head’s tent, and four fat yellow ponies were tied to a stake nearby. The sign beside the three wooden steps that led up to the door said ROSEBUD’S POTIONS AND POULTICES.

  “She must be some kind of herbalist,” said Jenny. She knocked on the door.

  It swung open almost instantly, and they both gasped. The woman standing in front of them was huge. Her skin was as dark as the Lightbender’s tent, and she must have been at least seven feet tall. She didn’t have a single strand of hair on her head, but her skull was painted with bright pink flowers.

  “Um,” said Jenny.

  “We’re looking for Rosebud?” Micah said. “Ma’am.”

  Her grin was almost as big as she was. “Looking for me?” she said in a booming voice. “Well of course you are, ducklings! Come in.”

  And before either of them could decide whether that was a good idea or not, she grabbed Micah and Jenny by the shoulders and pulled them into the wagon. Micah wasn’t sure, but he thought his feet actually left the ground for a second.

  They were dropped onto an armchair so large that it took up almost all of the room in the wagon that Rosebud herself didn’t occupy. “Holy smokes,” said Jenny.

  “I’ve got those!” Rosebud said. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “No, ma’am.” Micah took in his surroundings. A baby alligator with a bandaged tail slept on top of a stack of foreign-language dictionaries and astronomy textbooks in one corner, but every other spare inch of the wagon was covered with jars and bottles and baskets. “At least I don’t think so. We’re looking for something to fix someone’s lungs.”

  “Oh dear.” Her smile faded. “So it’s a serious problem you’ve come to me about? Tell me all about it, ducklings. We’ll see what we can cook up.”

  Rosebud’s wagon smelled stranger than any place Micah had ever been, and she wouldn’t stop calling him a duckling. But as soon as he finished describing Grandpa Ephraim’s symptoms to her, she started reaching into her baskets and beakers and cookie tins, pulling out things that definitely looked disgusting enough to be medicine. “I can’t fix everything,” she said, “and I can’t stop the dying from doing their thing, but this will help a mite.”

  Jenny whispered into Micah’s ear that “mite” meant a little bit, but he couldn’t help feeling encouraged while he watched Rosebud grind all of her ingredients with a mortar and pestle that were much too small for her hands. She made a fine, brown powder and tipped it into a small pot with a cork top. Then she dipped a brush into a jar of white paint and wrote, “For Ephraim Tuttle,” on it in pretty calligraphy.

  “My special tea,” she said as she passed it to Micah. “You steep it in some hot water for a few minutes and give it to him. It’ll make him feel better.”

  The pot was heavier than it looked. Micah clutched it to his chest with both hands.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Aww, duckling.” She patted him on the shoulder. “You have a good day.”

  “Day?” Micah asked. Surely he hadn’t been at Circus Mirandus for so long. But when they stepped outside Rosebud’s wagon, he looked up at the sky and felt Jenny stiffen beside him.

  A band of gray light crept across the horizon. It was almost sunrise.

  “My parents,” Jenny squeaked.

  “Aunt Gertrudis,” Micah whispered.

  “The bikes!” they both shouted at the same time.

  They pedaled like they were being chased by a whole army of white tigers, but it wasn’t enough. By the time they reached Micah’s house, the sun had stained the sky an early morning pink.

  Jenny didn’t even stop. She shouted, “Bye! Good luck!” and streaked away with the Pooch Prowler rattling crazily behind her. Micah jumped off his bike and left it lying in the yard. He had one hand clutched tightly around Rosebud’s pot of medicine.

  I’m going to need good luck, he thought. He could only hope that Aunt Gertrudis hadn’t woken up yet.

  He made it up the stairs. He moved as quickly as he could without letting the floorboards creak beneath his feet. The house was completely quiet. When he reached the door of his bedroom, Micah paused for a few seconds to catch his breath.

  That was his mistake.

  Just before he could turn the handle, Aunt Gertrudis stepped out of the guest room. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she took in his appearance. He was sweaty from the bike ride. He smelled like the menagerie animals and Rosebud’s herbs.

  Aunt Gertrudis had never been stupid. Her nostrils flared. “Where have you been?”

  Micah knew he was a goner.

  Micah didn’t tell her the truth. He said he’d been out riding his bike “for exercise.” Aunt Gertrudis didn’t buy it for a second.

  At first, she only lectured, but then she saw the bootlace wrapped around Micah’s wrist. Something Micah hadn’t expected flitted across her face—recognition. An angry flush reddened her cheeks.

  “Take it off,” she said in a low voice. “Take that filthy thing off.”

  Micah shoved his hand in his pocket to hide it.

  “Ephraim’s old lies,” she hissed. “I won’t have it anymore! That thing should be burned.” She swooped down on him and yanked his hand toward her.

  “Let go!” Micah struggled to pull his arm free.r />
  “It’s a stupid, stupid joke,” she said. “And it’s dangerous.”

  “No it’s not!”

  She dug at the lace, but the more she pulled, the more it tightened around Micah’s wrist.

  Micah didn’t know what had possessed her. “Stop it, Aunt Gertrudis. It’s mine.”

  He snatched his arm as hard as he could and wrenched himself free.

  Aunt Gertrudis stood crouched, her hand curled around thin air where his wrist had been a moment before. Slowly, she straightened. “Take it off.”

  Micah looked down at the bootlace. The knot he had tied yesterday stared innocently back up at him. He set his jaw and looked his aunt in the eyes. “I won’t.”

  She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “You’ve turned out just like Ephraim. I should have taken you away from him years ago.” She glared a moment longer, then turned toward the staircase.

  “He’s not a liar, Aunt Gertrudis,” Micah said to her retreating back. He wasn’t sure where he’d found the courage. “Circus Mirandus is real. I’ve been there.”

  “You’re grounded,” she said without looking at him. She reached up with one hand to smooth the back of her bun. “If you won’t take that thing off yourself, I’ll cut it off. This foolishness will die with my brother. I won’t have it infecting my life in Arizona.”

  Micah stared after her. “Then you’d better not take me back to Arizona with you,” he whispered. He was surprised to realize that he meant it.

  After he changed into his school clothes, Micah headed downstairs to the kitchen. Aunt Gertrudis was in the living room, and she didn’t even ask what he was doing in there. Maybe their latest fight had been good for something after all.

  He put on the kettle to heat the water, then set Rosebud’s pot of medicine on the counter and pulled out its cork. He sniffed. It smelled weird but not bad, like flowers and bacon. He pulled the biggest mug he could find out of the cabinet and dumped all of the powder into it. When the kettle was hot, he let the bird sing for as long as he dared with his aunt nearby.

  He carried the mug of finished tea carefully upstairs and slipped into his grandfather’s room. Grandpa Ephraim was asleep, and he looked worse than ever. His skin was like paper, and he seemed to be fighting for every breath even in his sleep. The sound was terrifying. Blub glub, wheeeeze.

  Micah bent down and kissed his cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered.

  Grandpa Ephraim’s eyes opened slowly.

  “Micah.” His voice was exhausted. “How did it go?”

  Micah hesitated. He wanted to tell him the truth, to ask him questions, but he looked so awful. “It was okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you after school.”

  Grandpa Ephraim frowned.

  “I made you tea.” Micah helped Grandpa Ephraim prop himself higher on the pillows.

  “I’m tired of tea,” his grandfather wheezed.

  “It’s not Aunt Gertrudis’s,” Micah said. “It’s special. From Rosebud.”

  Grandpa Ephraim’s eyes widened. He took a sip from the mug.

  “Is it good?”

  His grandfather nodded.

  “Drink it all,” said Micah. “It’s supposed to make you feel better.”

  Please, he thought, let it make you feel better.

  The morning passed quickly, probably because Micah fell asleep while Mrs. Stark taught the class their new list of spelling words. He didn’t have a chance to talk to Jenny until lunchtime.

  “I was lucky,” she said as she picked all of the pepperonis off her slice of pizza. “My parents were making coffee when I got home, so I sneaked in the back door, and they never noticed.”

  “My aunt noticed.”

  Jenny’s eyes got huge. “No way. What did she do to you?”

  “She grounded me.” Micah had never been grounded before. It didn’t bother him as much as Aunt Gertrudis’s reaction to the bootlace had. She had seemed almost scared. He looked down at it. It was a comforting weight against his wrist.

  “Well, that ruins our plan,” said Jenny.

  Micah shoved a pepperoni in his mouth and swallowed it without chewing. “What plan?”

  “To get the Lightbender to cure your grandfather, of course!” she said.

  “You believe he can now?” Micah asked. It was strange for her to be the one convincing him that magic was the answer to his problems.

  “If he’s centuries old, then something has to be keeping him alive.” Her voice was firm. “I’m coming up with a really good argument to convince him. I think we went about it the wrong way last night, but I’m sure that if we try again . . .”

  Micah nodded slowly. The Lightbender had said he couldn’t save Grandpa Ephraim. Micah didn’t want to think he was the kind of person who would tell a lie that awful, but Jenny was right. Everyone at Circus Mirandus was very old.

  That meant that there was still a chance. He couldn’t give up yet. Hopefully, Rosebud’s tea had bought him some more time.

  Grandpa Ephraim and Micah had always kept the house pretty clean, so Micah didn’t know how Aunt Gertrudis had found so many disgusting chores for him to do that afternoon. Maybe she had her own evil version of magical powers. Within two hours of arriving home, he had scrubbed both toilets, scraped gunk out of the windowsills, and scoured a lot of burned stuff off the oven walls.

  The only thing that made it bearable was the fact that Grandpa Ephraim was sleeping like a log. Micah thought his breathing seemed easier, and his face looked less pale. He was still snoring when Aunt Gertrudis told Micah to go to his bedroom.

  Maybe Rosebud’s potion is working, he thought while he pulled on his pajamas. Maybe a mite of help will be enough.

  When he crawled into bed, his eyelids were already so heavy they felt like they had weights attached. He could barely remember the last time he’d actually slept the whole night. He had just let his head fall onto his pillow, which was a million times more fluffy than it had ever been before, when he heard the shout from his grandfather’s room.

  He was out of his bed and down the hall in a single motion, his heart slamming into his ribs. Aunt Gertrudis stood outside Grandpa Ephraim’s door. She held a hand over her chest as she stared into the room.

  Micah shoved past her.

  Grandpa Ephraim was standing up. He was standing in front of his mirror, wearing his best suit and tying his necktie.

  Micah froze, but only for a second.

  “Oof!” his grandfather said when Micah grabbed him around the middle and pressed his face into his stomach.

  “You’re better,” Micah said. They were the best words he’d ever said. “You’re really better! I missed you so much.”

  Grandpa Ephraim laughed, and it was a real laugh instead of a coughing, choking one. He picked Micah right up off the floor and kissed his forehead.

  “Isn’t it amazing? I woke up and decided I felt good enough to stand, and once I did, I felt good enough to get dressed, and now,” he said as he set Micah back down and patted himself all over, “I’m right as rain.”

  Aunt Gertrudis was still staring and clutching at her chest. “Ephraim!” she gasped. “It’s not possible. You’re dying.”

  Grandpa Ephraim winked at her. “I do know it, Gertie, but if I feel well enough to be up and about I’m going to take advantage of it.”

  He clapped Micah on the back. “Let’s get out of the house. We have to celebrate the fact that my dying has been postponed.”

  This made Aunt Gertrudis come back to herself. “He’s grounded, Ephraim,” she said. “For sneaking out last night.”

  Micah didn’t care about being grounded. He didn’t care about how exhausted he’d been a moment ago. He didn’t care about anything but the fact that Grandpa Ephraim was here, and he was healthy. Rosebud had done it. Her potion had worked. Micah’s head couldn’t take it all
in, but his heart could. It wanted to climb right out of him and crow.

  Grandpa Ephraim looked down at him. “I’m ungrounding you, Micah. It’s very inconvenient for me if you’re grounded right now. Put on some shoes. We’ll go to a movie.”

  “A movie! Ephraim, you can’t be serious.”

  “Do you want to come, too, Gertie?”

  “No,” said Micah.

  “No! I don’t want to come. You should get back in bed. You could relapse! I don’t understand what’s going on here, but we need to call the doctor.”

  Micah said, “It’s magic.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Aunt Gertrudis spat.

  Grandpa Ephraim reached out and hugged her. She stood as stiff as a post. “It really is magic,” he said. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  When they left the house, she was on the phone with Dr. Simon, trying to explain that Grandpa Ephraim was both dying and going to the movies against his doctor’s orders.

  Micah was too shocked and delighted to speak for most of the drive to the theater, but when Grandpa Ephraim pulled the car into the parking lot and started to unbuckle his seat belt, he found his voice.

  “Wait.”

  His grandfather looked at him.

  “Circus Mirandus. The Lightbender—he said he couldn’t . . .”

  His grandfather pressed his fingers gently to Micah’s lips. “Not yet,” he said. “I know a great deal, and you’ll tell me the rest later. I don’t know how long Rosebud’s wonderful potion will last, but I want to enjoy every minute of it with you.”

  “But your miracle—”

  “It will take care of itself at this point,” Grandpa Ephraim said. “Forget about it please, Micah. For just a little while.”

  Micah didn’t quite forget, but he did let his grandfather’s enthusiasm carry him away for most of the evening. He had never been to a late movie before, and he had certainly never been to one wearing his pajamas with his tennis shoes. Grandpa Ephraim told knock-knock jokes while they waited in line. When they reached the box office, they didn’t recognize any of the movies that were playing, so they bought tickets for the one that had the funniest poster. They ate popcorn and malted-milk balls and shared the biggest orange soda the theater sold. It was so big that they couldn’t finish it in one movie.