Peering from her hiding place, Piper watched several performers heading over to the performance tent. Kaboodle and Masha were holding hands like teenagers.
“Come along, dearies,” a shrill voice called out. A plump woman wearing several colorful petticoats and a tight corsetlike top minced along the path. She was followed by five small dogs wearing identical skirts. Piper recognized the woman from the show the previous night: Mitzi and her Performing Poodles.
Uh-oh. One of the poodles broke ranks. It headed straight for Piper. The little critter snuffled around the bush, right near her toes. I shouldn’t have worn these sandals, Piper scolded herself. If that little dog starts licking my bare feet, I’m not going to be able to control myself. I’m going to start giggling.
“Snookums,” Mitzi called. “What are you doing? We have to get to the tent.”
Snookums continued pawing at the bush near Piper. Oh, great. Now the flouncy petticoat was caught on one of the branches. The dog started tugging and yipping, trying to get free.
“Ooh, Snookums, don’t tear your dress!” Mitzi hurried over to help her poodle. Piper was about to throw her hands up to freeze Mitzi before she discovered her, but she just didn’t move fast enough. That will teach me to debate a freeze, she scolded herself. Next time, just go for it.
Mitzi’s eyes widened as she stared straight into Piper’s face. “What are you doing hiding in the bushes?” she demanded.
“Uh, uh, I . . .” Piper tried to think of an excuse. She didn’t exactly want to say she was playing lookout for Phoebe.
Mitzi burst out laughing. She bent down and untangled her dog’s dress and stood back up, cradling the poodle like a baby. “Of course. Another Ivan groupie.”
“What?” Piper stared at Mitzi.
Snookums licked Mitzi’s double chins. “I hate to tell you, dearie, but Ivan doesn’t go for girls who throw themselves at him. And just between you and me, you’d better not let Miranda catch you out here. Come on, now, get up.”
Piper scrambled out from the bushes. “Miranda?” she repeated.
“That Miranda,” Mitzi confided. “She can be a real demon when she’s jealous. She’d make mincemeat of a groupie like you.”
Piper blushed. She hated having Mitzi think she was going to throw herself at Ivan. But it was better than having her know the real reason she was skulking in the bushes—that she was a snoopy witch!
“Now, run along,” Mitzi admonished Piper. She took a wide stance between Piper and Ivan’s trailer. She was obviously determined to wait until she was sure that Piper had gone before she’d move from that spot.
“Okay,” Piper said reluctantly. There didn’t seem anything else she could do but leave Phoebe alone in Ivan’s trailer.
“Vamoose!” Mitzi ordered. “Do you want me to set my dogs on you?”
Piper stifled a laugh as she gazed at the poodles in petticoats. They didn’t look like they were a match for even a kitten, but she got the point.
“I’m going,” Piper said. She spun on her heel and took off down the path toward the tent. Well, she should check back in with Jenny anyway. Phoebe doesn’t need my freezing ability to get out of the trailer, at least. She glanced down at her watch: 8:05. Ivan was backstage preparing to perform right now, Piper assured herself. Phoebe should be fine.
Phoebe lay on the floor of Ivan’s trailer, gasping for breath. She coughed a few times. That was some vision, Phoebe thought. It was almost as if it was really happening to me—as if maybe this was a vision for myself.
Phoebe shuddered. What a horrifying thought.
She slowly got into a sitting position and leaned against Ivan’s bed. Maybe the visions she consciously called up were more powerful. That was something she was still learning about.
Okay, what does the vision tell me? she asked herself. Not really much of anything, she realized. Because of the flames and the intensity, she didn’t see anyone’s face. She rose to her feet, waiting for the lightheadedness to disappear. Oh, man, how long was I out? she wondered. Her heart fluttered in panic—what if she’d been lying on the floor for Ivan’s entire act?
She checked her watch and relief flooded through her. Only 8:10. She still had plenty of time. But she didn’t want to push it. For one thing, she didn’t think she could take another vision right away.
She turned toward the door. Her eyes widened. The knob was moving.
The door was flung open—and in walked Ivan!
CHAPTER
11
What are you doing in here?” Ivan demanded. Phoebe could see the suspicion and fury in his eyes.
“Aren’t you supposed to be onstage now?” Phoebe demanded right back. She figured the best defense was a good offense.
So it doesn’t always work.
“I’m on last, remember?” he answered, his eyes narrowing. “Now answer my question. What are you doing in my trailer?”
“Well, uh, the door opened up and I was looking for my sister,” Phoebe said. Sheesh. Even I don’t believe that line. Work harder at sounding confident, she scolded herself.
“Who’s your sister?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would she be in my trailer?”
“Prue Halliwell,” Phoebe said. “The photographer for 415?”
His expression never changed. Hmm. If Ivan was as into Prue as Prue was into him, he should at least have warmed up a little at hearing Prue’s name. There should be something the teensiest bit friendlier flickering in those big brown eyes.
Well, using Prue’s name isn’t helping, Phoebe realized. Better try a new approach.
“I’m a big fan,” Phoebe cooed. Flattery usually worked with men.
Not this man. His face stayed hard, his eyes cold. “Just get out. I’m in a hurry. I have a performance, remember? I don’t have time to deal with you.”
“Fine, I’m going.” She crossed to the door.
“Nothing better be missing,” he shouted as he slammed the door behind her.
What does Prue see in this guy? Phoebe wondered. Sure, the features are technically handsome, but there’s nothing warm or sexy about him. All that seemed to be in his face was cruelty and anger. He reeked of mean. This is the dude that has Prue going gaga? I really don’t get it.
I can easily picture him as the man in my vision strangling Piper, she thought. In fact, I’m lucky he didn’t rewrite the vision and strangle me right now. Where is the sweet gentle soul that has Prue so captivated? There is no charm to that man at all!
Phoebe stopped short. “That’s it,” she murmured. Ivan has Prue under a spell. Maybe he slipped her a love charm or potion.
She picked up her pace. We need to consult The Book of Shadows again. He’s a Gypsy, so the most likely scenario is that it’s a Gypsy spell. I wonder if there’s a section in the book for magical traditions other than our own? Ooh. I really hope there’s something on Gypsy magic in it. Piper’s life—and maybe even Prue’s—could depend on it.
Prue paced backstage, trying to ignore Kristin’s nonstop chatter. Not only was Prue putting up with Kristin’s never-ending monologue, she had spent the entire day photographing clowns. They seemed to be the performers Kristin liked best.
“I think it’s so interesting that none of the clowns would allow us to photograph them without their makeup,” Kristin said. “Although from what I understand, that’s pretty common. I did some research, and there have been some clowns who wouldn’t even let other circus folks see them in their natural faces.” Kristin giggled. “Actually, I can relate. I never let anyone see me without my makeup!”
“Uh-huh,” Prue murmured. She ran her fingers along her telephoto lens. She was trying to figure out her best chance of getting a clear shot of the back of Ivan’s violin. She had managed to take some pictures of the carved bow in the dressing room as he prepared. But with magic, as Prue knew only too well, partial information could land you in terrible danger. She needed the whole story, or things could go horribly wrong. Prue might be able to find the intrica
te carvings on the bow in The Book of Shadows, but without the symbols on the back of the violin, their meaning wouldn’t be accurate. Every element of a magical system worked together, so you had to untangle it piece by piece. In spell casting, changing a single element could dramatically alter the outcome of the spell. She figured the symbols on the back of the violin referenced or affected the carvings on the bow. She needed it all.
“Look at that,” Kristin commented. Prue’s eyes flicked to the ring. The clowns were chasing one another around the ring. Prue wasn’t sure what Kristin was pointing out.
“The act is different tonight,” Kristin commented. “Instead of six clowns, there are only five. I wonder why.” She studied the performance a moment longer, then began scribbling. “Oooh! That’s a good question. Do they change the act a bit each night to keep it fresh? Or was someone injured? How do they make the adjustments? How much of the act is improvisational?”
This was a tic of Kristin’s that drove Prue nuts. She’d fire these questions at Prue as if Prue was supposed to have the answers. It had taken Prue the full two days they’d spent together so far to stop feeling put on the spot, or racking her brains for an answer. Finally, she figured out that all she needed to do was nod.
Besides, all these questions—as if discovering the secret of the clowns’ performance was the key to world peace or something. She had enjoyed spending time with Kaboodle and Masha, she admitted. They were smart and sweet. But the rest of the clowns were just a putty-nosed blur. There were so many of them! And most of them seemed to think once they had their faces on, the performance began, in the ring or out. They just never quit, well, clowning around. What made that silly clown think spritzing her with water this afternoon was funny? In fact, why would anyone think that kind of humor was funny?
As she watched the clowns go through their paces, Prue noted that their act seemed to last longer than usual. Or was it that she just found it more tedious? No, she thought, glancing down at her watch, it is running longer.
Prue had learned that the clowns served more than one purpose in the show. Not only did they entertain the audience, but they often were used to cover up glitches—a reluctant animal, for example, a prop or a set problem, or any kind of delay backstage. Perhaps the reason the act was long tonight was a practical one. She wondered if Ivan could be the reason for the extended performance. He was scheduled next.
She glanced up into the stands and was relieved to see Piper in her seat. One more day that Phoebe’s vision hadn’t come true. Of course, the night isn’t over yet, Prue reminded herself. She tapped her telephoto lens again. She was determined to get to the bottom of this. She had to keep her sister safe. And she wanted to discover the truth about Ivan. She simply couldn’t believe Phoebe was right. But to prove her youngest sister wrong, Prue needed solid evidence.
“Excuse me,” a haughty voice said. Prue turned to see who had the frosty tone.
Miranda Merrill, the tightrope walker, stalked past Prue, glaring as she went. “It is terribly dangerous for outsiders to be backstage,” Miranda snapped. “Stay out of the way.”
“I’m sorry,” Prue said, giving the woman a wide berth.
“I don’t know what Mr. Amalfi was thinking,” Miranda muttered. She stood and placed herself at the edge of the ring. She was obviously there to watch Ivan’s act. Or keep an eye on him.
Prue darted a glance at Miranda. The woman was truly breathtaking up on the high wire. She had a ballerina’s grace and regal bearing. She was obviously very skilled at the dangerous art of tightrope walking. Too bad she was such a pain on the ground.
“What’s going on between you and Miranda?” Kristin whispered.
Prue wasn’t sure if Kristin was asking as a journalist worried about antagonizing a subject or as a gossip wanting dirt.
“A simple misunderstanding,” Prue said. She figured that was the safest answer. “What do you think is holding up Ivan’s act?” she added, wanting to change the subject. Then it occurred to her—perhaps Miranda had detained Ivan.
Kristin shrugged. “I’ll be sure to ask him.” She gave Prue a sly glance. “Or maybe you can. You seem to have quite a rapport with the handsome Gypsy.”
Now it was Prue who shrugged. She didn’t want to encourage Kristin’s speculation, or fuel Miranda’s irritation. Miranda was throwing hostile glances in Prue’s direction. Then her expression changed. Prue turned her head to see who Miranda was now gazing at so steadily.
Big surprise. Ivan hurried out of the dressing room area. He stalked straight to Miranda and they had a quick whispered conference. Judging from their body language, both were quite tense. Prue wondered what they were discussing. She hoped it wasn’t her! She also hoped the tension wouldn’t affect Ivan’s performance. She knew that animals were very sensitive: they could pick up a person’s anxieties. If the tigers, or bears, or lions sensed that Ivan was distracted, he could easily be put in danger.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the ringmaster. “Now we present Ivan the Gypsy Violinist.”
Ivan stepped away from Miranda and shut his eyes. He took a deep breath as the lighting changed. Then he placed the violin on his shoulder and lifted the bow. He held up his head and played the first, beautiful, plaintive note. He strode into the ring.
Prue moved into position. She kept her eyes focused intently on the violin. She didn’t want Ivan’s charisma to distract her from her goal. She had to take pictures of the back of that instrument. She raised the camera to her face. “Those symbols tell a story, Ivan,” she murmured. “I need to know if that story is a tragedy.”
CHAPTER
12
Prue knelt beside her equipment bag. She was fairly confident that she had gotten at least one clear shot of the symbols on the back of Ivan’s violin. All around her there was bustling activity. The performance was over, but the ring was even more crowded as riggers and roustabouts and performers gathered up props and equipment. Children streamed down to ringside to talk to clowns, and staff members barked into walkie-talkies. It was some operation.
Ivan had vanished backstage the moment his act was over. So had Miranda. Ivan had told Prue that he always made sure his animals were comfortable and fed before coming back to clear out his dressing room area. Did Miranda help him with that task, or was tonight special? Something definitely was up with those two. Were they a couple fighting? Was Ivan actually Miranda’s boyfriend and his flirting with Prue a serious no-no? Despite the gossip about Ivan, though, not a single circus performer accused him of being a womanizer or mentioned a relationship with Miranda. And some of them had been pretty forthcoming with romantic gossip about other performers! All they mentioned was bad luck. A few had described incidents, and some seemed downright hostile about Ivan’s bad luck. If there was something between Miranda and Ivan that she was interfering with, Prue was pretty confident she would have heard something.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” a deep, accented voice said. Prue glanced up and gazed into Ivan’s almond-shaped eyes. She felt herself go a little squooshy inside.
“The act was beautiful again,” Prue complimented him. It was true. Whatever problem he and Miranda had been having before he entered the ring, Ivan was transformed the moment he began playing. So was the audience. Prue had felt the hush come over the crowd as Ivan’s music soared and the wild beasts behaved like pussycats and teddy bears.
Ivan smiled shyly, his face crinkling into dimples. “I’m glad you think so. Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”
Prue’s heart thudded a little as she stood up. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you would like to be my guest at a special performers’ party. It is Kaboodle’s birthday.”
“I’d like that.” Well, not the clown birthday party part, but Prue knew she would enjoy spending time with Ivan.
Ivan’s smile broadened. “Wonderful. Why don’t you meet me in front of my trailer around midnight.”
“Isn’t that kind of late?” Prue asked
. She wondered what she would do with herself for the next few hours.
“I have something I must take care of first,” Ivan explained. “And without me as your escort, the performers will never allow you to join the party. It’s for insiders only.”
Prue nodded. “I understand. Midnight it is.”
“Prue,” a stern voice called. Prue glanced over her shoulder. Piper, Phoebe, and Jenny stood nearby. Phoebe was the one who had spoken. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was glaring at Ivan.
“In a minute,” Prue called back.
“I’ll leave you to your sisters,” Ivan said. “Till midnight.”
“Till midnight.”
Ivan vanished into the backstage crowd.
“Did I hear right?” Kristin asked. “Did he just ask you to a party?”
“Yes.” Prue snapped her case shut.
Kristin gave Prue a light punch on the shoulder. “You are so lucky! I am so jealous.”
“It’s just a party,” Prue said. She wondered if Kristin had a crush on any of the performers. If she did, Prue figured it would have to be a clown.
“But it’s on the inside,” Kristin squealed. “That’s so special—to have been invited to see how they really live. I wish I were going. Well, you’ll just have to be my eyes and ears. Take notes, take pictures, if they let you!”
“I’ll do my best,” Prue promised, not very enthusiastically.
Kristin bounced off to talk to Mr. Amalfi the ringmaster, and Prue went to face her sisters.
“So, ready to rock?” Piper asked.
“Well, actually, I’m going to hang around a bit longer.”
“How much longer?” Phoebe asked. “And why?”
“Ivan asked me to a party. I told him I’d go.” Prue didn’t meet her sisters’ eyes. She knew they would go ballistic.
“You can’t!” Jenny exclaimed. “Olga said Ivan brings trouble to those who care about him.”
Charmed: The Gypsy Enchantment Page 9