The Bootlace Magician

by Cassie Beasley

  The Lightbender examined the chart for a minute more. His name was the only one listed under the Mind Manipulation section, but it was that way for a lot of the categories. And quite a few people hadn’t been able to fit themselves on the chart at all, so Jenny had been forced to add a new box labeled “Other Talents.”

  “Classifying magicians is a tricky thing to do,” the Lightbender said, passing the marker back to Jenny. “Magic is a reflection of the people who wield it. It mirrors our characters. Or it represents something we hoped for or needed when we first discovered our power. It can be as individual, and as uncategorizable, as human beings themselves.”

  Jenny frowned thoughtfully. “What does Micah’s magic say about him, then? I guess that’s the question we need to ask.”

  “Indeed,” said the Lightbender. He gave Micah a serious look. “But answering that question is the work of a lifetime. It’s not something that can be accomplished in a single day.”

  * * *

  With only an hour left before Jenny had to go back to Peal, the two of them headed for the menagerie, their shoes slipping in the mud.

  Jenny was frowning.

  “Are you upset you have to go home?!” Micah had to shout to be heard over the sound of the rain. “You know I’ll invite you again!”

  Jenny shook her head. “It’s not that! I just thought the chart would help you more!”

  Lightning crackled across the sky, and they picked up speed, sprinting the rest of the way to the scarlet tent. They dashed through the entrance into the welcoming brightness and warmth. The skylights had been shut against the rain, and the animals were all in good spirits.

  Big Jean trumpeted happily when she saw Jenny, and she stomped over to them, waving a piece of sidewalk chalk in her trunk.

  “Oh, Jean!” said Jenny, patting the elephant’s leg. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have time for the chalkboard right now. We’ve got to see Terpsichore, and I need to find Mr. Head. I’ve got a card for him.”

  The world’s most intelligent elephant flapped her ears and knelt in the sawdust.

  “Is she offering to take us to Mr. Head?” Jenny asked Micah.

  “Probably,” said Micah. “But she might also be planning to kidnap you and teach you geometry.”

  It had happened to him more than once.

  They climbed aboard, and Big Jean tromped toward the manager’s office. When she reached the hidden seam, Jean stuck her head right through it, as if she was sure she was welcome.

  “Jean, we’ve talked about knocking,” Mr. Head said. He came to the door before the elephant could force her way inside. “Hello, Jenny Mendoza.”

  “Hello, Mr. Head,” said Jenny, once Jean had let them both down. “I made something for you.”

  She was busy rummaging through her tote bag, so she didn’t see the look of surprise that crossed the manager’s face. She pulled out a folded card made of heavy paper and checked it all over for bends and tears before handing it to Mr. Head.

  “That’s our dog, Watson, when we first got him from the animal shelter,” she said, pointing at the photograph she had glued on the front. In it, her mom was grinning and holding a gangly German shepherd puppy. “And the one inside is him now. He goes to work at my mom’s shop every day.”

  The front of the card said THANK YOU in bubble letters. Micah couldn’t see what the inside said, but Mr. Head stared at it for a long time.

  “You are very welcome, Jenny,” he said finally. “And Watson is a beautiful creature. I’m glad to know he has a loving family.”

  An annoyed grunt came from across the room, and Micah saw Bibi’s red velvet cushion shift. A moment later, the tiger appeared. She stood between the manager and Jenny, her posture unusually stiff, her blue eyes intent on Mr. Head.

  “Really, Bibi.” He sighed. “I didn’t say the dog was more beautiful than you.”

  * * *

  They went next door to visit Terpsichore, who was so delighted to have a new guest that Micah was afraid she was going to expect Jenny to come every day.

  Jenny cooed at the foal and brushed her while Micah sat comfortably propped against his backpack, studying the chart. He wanted Jenny to know that her hard work hadn’t gone to waste, so he was trying to find some category he could possibly fit himself in. Finally, his eyes settled on the first one.

  Artificers. People who made magical objects.

  The Inventor’s name was there. It would be great if Micah’s knots could do even half the things her magical creations could. Maybe he could make umbrella bracelets.

  Or exploding knots, he thought, remembering the gold ribbon he’d destroyed.

  Suddenly, Micah could imagine a thousand things he wished his knots could do. If he were an Artificer, he could make shielding knots or levitating knots or knots that would work like tracking devices.

  That last would even be useful. He could tie a tracking device knot around everything he owned, and then, when something got misplaced on moving days or stolen by one of the mousebirds, he could hunt it down.

  “Maybe I’m an Artificer, Jenny.”

  He even liked the feel of the word in his mouth. Artificer sounded special. Talented. Definitely the kind of magician who belonged at Circus Mirandus.

  “Do you think so?” Jenny asked. “Your bracelets would qualify as magical objects. And if you could just make—”

  “Different kinds,” Micah said eagerly. “I know.”

  He was glad now that he’d put together his magician’s kit. He had everything he needed right here. He unzipped the backpack and dug through it, pulling out a spool of black thread.

  “Are you going to try something right now?” Jenny asked. She had brushed Terpsichore into a happy stupor and started braiding her tail.

  Micah examined the thread. It wouldn’t be a good idea to tie anything explosive in the menagerie, and he thought if you were trying to make a shielding knot you should probably use something more substantial than thread.

  “A tracking device,” he decided.

  Thread was perfect for that. The knots would be nearly invisible, and they would be so small he could tie them to anything.

  “How will it work?” Jenny asked.

  Micah wasn’t sure, but he was so excited by the new idea that he couldn’t resist trying.

  He started tying. Don’t get lost, he told the piece of thread. He imagined he was attaching it to his own brain. He thought it would be like having a sixth sense, so that wherever the thread was, he would be able to find it.

  Right away, the knot felt peculiar. The tingle in Micah’s fingers told him he was doing magic, but something was different than usual.

  He finished, bit off the piece of thread, and closed his eyes. The tiny knot still didn’t seem quite right, but he tossed it as hard as he could away from him and then waited, trying to picture where it must have fallen. He crawled around on his hands and knees, trying to get a sense of the knot’s direction.

  “Micah, what are you—?”

  “Shhhhh . . .”

  But he shouldn’t have shushed Jenny. Because he didn’t have anything like a sixth sense for the knot’s location, and when he finally gave up and guessed, he looked down to see a patch of empty grass.

  “Maybe a different technique?” Jenny suggested. She was working on Terp’s mane now.

  “No, I felt something,” said Micah, frustrated. “I’m going to try again.”

  He went back to his backpack, picked up the spool of thread, and started over.

  Micah tried a more complicated knot now. He would take his time, get it right. He worked slowly, pulling the thread tight here, twisting it around and around there.

  After a while, the soft music that always filled the paddock helped him focus.

  He stared at the thread, tracking its progress through the endless loops of the knot with
his eyes, and suddenly, he saw . . . something else. Like a firefly, flickering in the periphery of his vision, desperate for his attention.

  Micah turned his head to look, and it disappeared.

  Jenny was petting Terpsichore, and the foal was soaking up the affection, tossing her head to show off her freshly braided mane.

  “Did you see . . . ?” Micah started to ask. But, of course, Jenny hadn’t seen anything. She’d been focused on Terp.

  He shook his head and went back to the knot.

  It was done. This new design was exactly what he had imagined, but it had that same not-quite-right feeling to it. Micah knew it wasn’t going to work any better than the last one had.

  I’m missing something, he thought. Something just out of reach.

  And there it was again. That glimmer. Micah didn’t turn to look at it this time. He didn’t want to scare it away.

  What are you? His fingers searched the knot for an answer.

  KRACKA-BOOM!

  Jenny cried out in surprise.

  Terpsichore whistled.

  Micah dropped the knot and slapped his hands over his ears.

  The sound shattered the air, and lights flashed overhead. Micah was vaguely aware of Terp scrambling to hide behind a pile of hay in the corner.

  “Thunder!” Jenny said. She laughed nervously.

  Yes, Micah realized. Thunder. That was what it had been. But the magical paddock did such a good job of muffling the sound of the weather that he hadn’t ever heard thunder in here before.

  He looked up and saw water smashing into the transparent roof. It didn’t even look like rain. It looked like a giant was standing over the menagerie tent, emptying an ocean over the top.

  “It’s just the storm, Terp!” said Jenny. She hurried toward the unicorn, who was shivering in the hay. “It’s okay. It’ll be over soon. We’re safe in—”

  KRACKA-KRACKA-BOOM!

  Micah felt the sound like a hammer against his bones.

  Jenny yelled shrilly. “That struck us! Micah, I think lightning just struck the menagerie!”

  Micah was still staring at the paddock’s ceiling, which was no longer transparent but glowing with a light so bright it hurt. It’s the magic of the tent protecting us, he thought. That’s what the light is.

  But that wasn’t all there was.

  Micah could see a different brightness. A tangled rope of light, burning and wrong.

  He slammed his eyelids closed, but though the light of the tent dimmed, that wrongness was still there, high above him, twisting through the air like some terrible diseased vine.

  A hand was on Micah’s shoulder, shaking him. He opened his eyes, and the rope of light was gone.

  “Are you okay?!” Jenny said.

  “I . . .” Micah didn’t know.

  Jenny grabbed his face in both hands. “Micah? Are you going to faint?”

  The rain was still pounding into the tent. Micah waited for something else to happen—some flash, crackle, or explosion. But it was just rain.

  “Come on,” Jenny said, grabbing his hands and pulling. “We should make sure everybody’s safe.”

  “Did you see that?” Micah asked, climbing to his feet. “Did you see the light?”

  “We got struck by lightning!” said Jenny. “The whole tent glowed for a second!”

  “Not that,” said Micah, shaking his head. “Did you see the rope?”

  She pulled him toward the paddock’s door seam. “What rope?”

  “It was . . . there was a rope of light. I could see it with my eyes closed, and . . .”

  But before he could figure out how to explain, Jenny opened the seam into chaos. Kids were running around and screaming, or they were crying and hunkering down in the habitats with the animals.

  The huge center pole of the tent was blazing with white light, making Fish’s aquarium shine like a bulb.

  “It must work like a lightning rod!” Jenny exclaimed. “Micah, look!”

  But Micah couldn’t muster any excitement or curiosity over the tent pole. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. “Jenny, I think—”

  “We need to calm people down,” she said, her eyes zipping back and forth to take in the frightened crowd. “Let’s—”

  The tent fell silent. The kids who’d been running around stilled. The ones who’d been climbing over gates and stalls and startled animals stopped. Everywhere, children were brushing sawdust off their clothes and helping one another up off the ground. One girl even let out a merry laugh when she saw that one of her flip-flops had gone missing in the confusion.

  Micah looked up and saw the Lightbender. The illusionist stood in the menagerie’s doorway with Bowler at his side. He was dripping wet, water streaming off his coat onto the ground. And he was staring right at Micah.

  Are you both well? his voice said in Micah’s ear. I’ve left you out of this particular illusion. Do you need anything?

  Micah felt like he needed to throw up, but he didn’t think that was what the illusionist meant.

  “We’re good!” he shouted.

  Stay in the menagerie for now, said the Lightbender. It’s a safe place to weather the storm.

  He left, but he didn’t drop whatever illusions were keeping the kids in the tent calm. Over the next few minutes, Micah and Jenny stood with Big Jean and watched, wide-eyed, as magicians came and went, making sure all was well.

  Rosebud was the first, striding into the tent with a bag full of healing potions slung over her shoulder. There wasn’t much work for her, but she stopped to help a boy with a bloody elbow. A couple of the Strongmen appeared next. They set about righting overturned barrels and calming nervous animals.

  Last came the Inventor. She’d brought something that looked like a spyglass with her, and she peered through it at the glowing tent pole, which was slowly going dark. Next, she took a tiny hammer and walked around Fish’s aquarium, tap-tapping on the glass.

  When she’d finished, she nodded at Mr. Head, who had just come from checking one of the private habitats. Then, she hooked the hammer back onto her belt, apparently satisfied all was well.

  “What do you think these kids are seeing?” Jenny asked, watching a girl twirl in circles while a curious wallaby hopped around her.

  “Something fun,” said Micah.

  “I like your guardian,” said Jenny. “But he’s a little terrifying.”

  Micah knew what she meant. It was always impressive to see the Lightbender’s illusions during his shows, but watching him turn the mood of the tent around in seconds, without even lifting his hand, was more sobering.

  “Jenny, when the lightning struck, did you see the other light? Like a vine or a rope, but really bright?”

  Jenny turned to him, brow furrowing. “No?” she said. “Were you looking at the ceiling?”

  “Yes,” said Micah. “I mean, I was looking at the ceiling, but when I closed my eyes, I could still see it. It looked . . . not right.”

  “Maybe it was an afterimage?” said Jenny.

  “A what?”

  “You know,” she said. “It’s like when someone uses a camera flash too close to your face, and you shut your eyelids, but you still see lights popping.”

  “I guess . . .”

  It made sense. The lightning strike and the protective glow of the tent had been much brighter than any camera flash.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jenny asked.

  Micah nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I bet this kind of thing has happened before. Lightning’s more likely to strike tall objects. And the menagerie tent’s so big.”

  “Right,” said Micah. He hadn’t been worried about the tent. After all, he’d seen Firesleight cover hers in flames, and the fabric had never even scorched. But that ugly rope of light . . .

 
An afterimage, he told himself. That’s all it was.

  MAGICIANS WHO MATTER

  The storm raged for over an hour, and long before the end of it, Jenny turned into an anxious mess.

  “My parents,” she moaned, wilting onto a folding chair in front of Big Jean’s chalkboard. “They’re going to wonder where I am. They’re going to call the Greebers. Then they’re going to call the FBI.”

  “Maybe they’ll just think you’re having fun at Florence’s house,” Micah said, sitting down in the chair next to hers. “You’ll only be a little late.”

  “I left a note on my bed just in case I didn’t make it back in time,” said Jenny. “I didn’t think they would ever actually read it!”

  “But that’s a good thing. They’ll know you’re safe.”

  “It said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ve gone to visit Micah. He lives at a magic circus. I’ll explain when I get home.’” She pulled her feet up into the chair and pressed her face to her knees. “Why did I write that?”

  “Well, it’s the truth,” said Micah.

  “They’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”

  “I’ll come home with you and explain. I’ll tell them I begged you to come, and it’s all my fault.”

  She stared at him. “You can’t do that! That will just make them mad at you, too!”

  Big Jean turned away from her chalkboard at the shrill note of alarm in Jenny’s voice. The elephant had been drawing a map of California, but she put down her chalk and reached out with her trunk to pat Jenny on the head.

  “Oh, Jean,” said Jenny. “Thank you. I know they love me, but what if I can’t make them believe me? And what if I can, but they never want me to come back here?”

  “Then I’ll come see you in Peal,” said Micah firmly. “And we’ll both talk to them until they understand.”

  They watched the skylights, and when the battering rain became more of an ordinary flood, Jenny insisted they go wait by the door.

  The fabric of the menagerie’s entrance was drawn shut, and a pair of Strongmen stood there. They weren’t letting people leave just yet. Not even people whose parents might or might not be on the phone with the FBI.