by Sarah Noffke
“Now how do you explain that?!” Dave said and his excitement and question broke the trance and the crowd erupted with applause and cheers. The horses then came to an abrupt halt and turned at once to face the crowd. Dave raised his hands in the air, top hat clutched in his right. “As I said before, ladies and gentlemen, there is no magic here!”
And there was no smoke. No change in the lights. No tricks to distract. In front of every patron’s eyes the six full-sized Arabian horses vanished in unison. Cheers and applause shot out from the shocked audience.
“It is my immense pleasure to welcome you to Vagabond Circus!” Dave said, arms spreading out wide before he popped his top hat back on his head, a compelling glint in his eyes. And at once everyone’s seat was emptied as the people at Vagabond Circus gave a standing ovation. If it was like most shows this wouldn’t be the last one tonight.
And behind the teal blue curtain stood various performers at the ready. One of those would have to rest before his next performance. The Vagabond Circus used zero animals in their acts and therefore the horses, as the audience now suspected, hadn’t been real. They had been Oliver’s illusions. The pale boy stood in the wings, taking measured breaths. Creating illusions in the physical realm was draining, but he had at least half an hour before he’d have to go into the ring. Now was the acrobats’ first act of the night.
Chapter Seven
After the last performance of every night the circus performers and crew all gathered for a BBQ by sleeper row. It was a tradition that Dave started eight years before and hadn’t allowed anything but torrential downpours and snow to disturb. Other circuses had lines drawn between the crew and performers, but Dave never condoned such segregation. It took everyone in the circus to make the big top successful. How was anyone more important than another? In most circuses the tent crew could be replaced by anyone with a strong back and attentive personality, but not at Vagabond Circus. This circus should have needed a crew four times the size Dave employed. However, for crew he only recruited Dream Travelers from the streets who wanted a job but didn’t have a star-worthy ability. These individuals worked by day and spent their night hours dream traveling to also work to put up the big top or take it down. To a person watching at night it would look as if invisible ghosts were doing the work, but it was only crew members in the other realm. This was also how Dave’s performers became elite in less than a year. Middlings lose the nights to uncontrollable dreams, but Dream Travelers had a choice and his staff chose greatness. It was a part of the agreement they all signed when they started.
Although Dave had the intention to bring people together, the circus still was somewhat divided during the BBQ festivities. People inevitably want to be with those who do the same job as them. Costume and make-up employees chatted as they ate their baked beans and fresh rolls. Tent crew ribbed each other from the other side of the campfire. Performers took turns impressing the kids with stunts.
Fanny, the orphaned kids’ nanny and homeschool teacher—as well as the circus healer—sat close by, watching with dazzling eyes. She’d watched the performances at Vagabond Circus a thousand times, but like a kid she never got tired of it. She said it was the kids who kept her young at heart, but her kids were more mature than most adults. Dave found them at orphanages and recognized them for their race immediately. He constantly visited the children’s homes in every city they passed, looking for more kids who needed a place to belong. He spotted the special race of children usually by relying on Fanny’s abilities. Her healing skill made it so she was attuned to people’s energies. Dream Travelers, even before they came into their powers, were specific and registered for the healer.
The kids Fanny cared for were prepubescent and didn’t have their skills yet. Once they did and could dream travel, then they were moved to a crew or performance role depending on their talent. But none really ever wanted to leave Fanny’s care, although the luster of a job in the circus was intoxicating to them. All admitted that nothing was quite like the warmth of Fanny’s hugs as she pressed a kid into her oversized bosom. And little was as comforting as the sound of her laughter, which was rich and warm and always full of approval. For kids who had so little there was no one they would ever adore more than the curly-headed caregiver.
Fanny currently had four children in her charge between the ages of four and eleven. They came from a life where no one wanted them and into a life where they were revered. To be the shining next generation of Vagabond Circus was a true privilege. Everyone was respected at Vagabond Circus. The crew was valued. The performers admired. But the children were honored. They, Dave said, brought the real magic. The magic of belief and wonder.
Chapter Eight
Finley watched from the wooded area bordering the circus, taking in the various characters as they drank and ate. He’d seen most of them working or performing, but to see people when they didn’t know they were being watched revealed their true character. The only thing that revealed more was to watch people when they were alone, and he’d done enough of that last night.
Finley’s meeting with Dave had gone extremely well. It half lightened his weighted heart to see the look on the older man’s face when he unveiled his idea. At first the ringmaster had been surprised, but to Finley’s relief he had never given him an ounce of skepticism. Dave Raydon, as Finley was learning, was a man who didn’t greet the strangers and new experiences of the world with a critical perspective. He opened his arms wide to every experience as long as it promoted goodness and truth. Unfortunately for Dave, he was too open. Too trusting. And it was going to get him killed.
Finley had wanted to start right away, but Dave told him they would have to delay. He needed a day or two to get things in place. This left Finley restless to watch from the shadows and to observe those who didn’t know he was watching. He scratched his scruffy jaw. Camping in the woods had taken a toll on his appearance, but it wasn’t anything a few minutes in a gas station bathroom couldn’t fix. And it hadn’t deterred Dave’s judgment of him. By tomorrow evening he’d look polished and clean.
Finley now fixed his gaze on the children dancing around a big-hipped woman. She was clapping and encouraging their play. Her smile was carefree, like the children she attended to. After watching this group Finley knew that his instinct had been right. He’d come to the right place and he was going to be successful.
Then his eyes swept from that group to the performers next to the children, all of them doing something to encourage the children’s laughter. A group of telekinetic triplets juggled flaming marshmallows without touching them with their hands. A girl threw somersaults forward and backward over and over.
And then there was the girl with the platinum blonde hair and pink streak, sitting casually on the log doing nothing. Well, not nothing actually. She was enjoying the conversation of her companion, the other acrobat. He was the guy with the perfect blond highlights and a smile that always prompted a laugh from the girl. Jack. More revolting to Finley than how Jack made the girl react, was that he was the star of the show. His performance was the one that received applause which triggered car alarms. He was the one they came to see more than any other. Finley didn’t like anything about Jack, but he realized it was only jealously fueling those thoughts. And soon it wouldn’t matter. Soon he’d turn the tables. Soon he’d be the one everyone envied. All he had to do was wait one more day.
Chapter Nine
“What city are we in?” Jasmine asked, running her light brown hands through the grass where they sat, enjoying the way the soft blades caressed her palms.
Zuma smoothed out the map with her hand and eyed it with a speculative stare. “Seattle,” she said after less than a few seconds.
“You didn’t even hesitate before answering. How do you always know where we are? It’s almost a different city every night,” her friend said.
“How do you not know?” Zuma said with a low gaze, her tone disapproving. “And it’s not a new city every night when there’s a sh
ow. Just on the road.”
“It feels like it,” Jasmine said with a tired sigh.
Zuma traced the Pacific Coast Highway on the map with her fingertip down to Mexico.
“What’s your deal with maps?” Jasmine asked, watching her.
She shrugged and flipped a strand of pink hair off her shoulder. “I think they’re grand. It’s so cool to see where you are, and where you could go and how vast the world is and all the possibilities.”
“Yeah, so cool,” Jasmine said with zero emotion. “Don’t you ever get tired of traveling?”
Zuma flipped her head up with a look of astonishment. “You can’t be serious?”
“Of course I am,” the girl with the head full of fuzzy tight brown curls said.
“Jaz, don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting?”
The older girl gave a guilty expression. “If I do then you’ll have my spot in the show.”
Zuma carefully folded up the map of California. “I don’t want your spot. I want my friend to not abandon me for some steady job and fixed location.”
Jasmine sighed. “Don’t you want to meet people you can form lasting relationships with? No offense but I feel kind of limited with only seeing the same fifty people for the last three years.”
“I do take offense. I’m the bestest of friends you could wish for and the other people here are the best you could meet anywhere,” Zuma said.
“This is more than about having friends. It’s about finding someone special,” Jasmine said.
Zuma blinked at her friend in surprise. “But even if there wasn’t the ‘no dating each other’ rule at Vagabond Circus, there isn’t anyone here that’s…”
“Gay. That’s what you want to say,” Jasmine said boldly. “Yeah, there’s no girls here for me and that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Please don’t leave, Jaz. There’s ages to date and find Mrs. Right.”
“Zuma, you can’t tell me you don’t think about dating?”
“I date,” she said with offense.
“Oh, yeah, you meet a boy on opening night and go out with him once or twice before the caravan hits the road. Then you leave him heartbroken and wanting more of what only Zuma with her mysterious looks and sassy attitude can give.”
Jasmine Reynolds-Underwood was referring to a situation with a boy that happened last year in San Diego. There was an undoubtable connection between Zuma and him, but she didn’t look back as the caravan pulled away. The boy had begged her to stay after their three consecutive dates but Zuma hadn’t even considered the option. She handed him back his bouquet of sunflowers and told him she’d see him another time.
“We will be back through San Diego this year,” she said now, remorse in her voice.
“And he’ll probably be in a happy relationship,” Jasmine sang back.
“And have forgotten me, right?” Zuma said, a bit of snark in her voice.
“No. You’re kind of unforgettable. And there won’t be a ‘we’ going back to San Diego this year. I really can’t keep this up much longer.”
“Jaz,” Zuma begged. She knew arguing with Jasmine was ridiculous. The girl was stubborn and if she was telling Zuma this now it was because she’d already considered and made up her mind. Still, Zuma plastered a pout on her face, but it had zero effect. Jasmine stared back with her soft brown eyes and shook her head.
The dark-haired girl patted the other’s shoulder as she stood from her seated position in the soft grass. “Hey, and just think, in the top spot you’ll have a lot more practice sessions with Jack,” Jasmine said. “Dang, if I was straight, I’d totally rip that boy’s clothes off him.”
“What good does more time with Jack do for me? No dating rule, remember?” Zuma said.
“Oh, don’t you know already that forbidden love is the best?” Jasmine said with a wink.
Chapter Ten
One hour before the Vagabond Circus begins, the gates open to the big top and the grounds. A line of booths borders the space directly opposite the concessions. Patrons can buy hot dogs and candy and get their faces painted or visit the various other booths set up. Dave didn’t believe in selling crappy merchandise, but he did believe in selling a real service to patrons. Something that enriched their experiences.
Forty-five minutes before the start of tonight’s show a girl of about seven stopped off at the first booth to get a horse and stars painted on her cheek and forehead. Her father, a middle-aged divorcé, was drawn to the second to the last booth. It was drenched in rich fabrics of neon green and teal blues, and firelight danced from the chandelier over a girl’s head. She was actually what drew in the man’s attention. Even with the light blue shawl draped over her head he knew she was beautiful, alluring. There was something of great interest about the girl, but the same could be said of everyone at the circus. He shook his head when he realized he’d been staring. It was just the combination of colors and the smell of popcorn that had him feeling nostalgic for the days when the circus meant something to him.
There’s nothing really here, he thought. Just crazy eccentrics who perform tricks.
“Would you like your fortune read?” the girl asked, her voice soft and melodic.
“Excuse me?” he said, stepping close, not sure he heard her right.
“Your fortune,” the girl repeated.
He shook his head and chuckled. “Oh, no, I’m just waiting for my daughter to get her face painted.”
“What better way to wait?” the girl said, lowering her hood to reveal almost completely white hair streaked with a startling contrast of pink.
Freaks, the man thought. Everyone in the circus is a freak, that’s why they’re so entertaining.
The girl gave a clever smile like she just remembered something funny. “How about I not even charge you? I read your fortune and if afterwards you find the information of any use then you can offer me what you think is reasonable.”
“And if I find what you say to be generic, like what most psychics spout?” the man said.
“Then you laugh and give me nothing,” the girl said, flashing an irresistible smile.
The man nodded, already feeling victorious. He couldn’t wait to tell his golf buddies about the pretty girl who failed to scam him. Most would probably fall for her act and sharp brown eyes, but Tony wasn’t one of those softies.
“Go ahead and take a seat, Tony,” Zuma said, pulling a silk scarf off the opaque orb sitting before her.
The man halted suddenly. “How did you know my name?”
She placed her hands on the ball and smiled into it. “Would you believe my magic ball told me?”
Tony laughed and took the seat in front of the fortuneteller. He had to give Vagabond Circus credit. They were strategic at their scams. He’d used a credit card to buy the tickets. All that information was probably fed straight to this loony girl.
Zuma glided her hand over the ball, not looking at it. It was indeed a prop, but a necessary one to allow her the time she needed. “Now I need you to clear your mind. Don’t think of anything,” she commanded. Those two sentences were also critical to her success. When told to not think of anything most people’s thoughts flocked straight to their greatest worry before shoving it away.
“I’m getting something,” she said, staring into the crystal orb.
“Nice script, honey,” Tony said. “I’ve heard it before though.”
“Shush,” she said at once in a punishing voice. “I said to clear your mind.”
He blinked at her in surprise, but tried to do as he was told, although it was nearly impossible. There were so many thoughts clouding his head lately. Well, always, but especially at the present. After ten long seconds Zuma raised her eyes at the stranger and leaned forward. “Your daughter…” she began in a breathless voice.
“Oh, sure, start with the one piece of information I fed to you. I told you I was here with her,” Tony said, rolling his eyes.
Zuma smiled at him and took a long pause as the data fl
owed to her almost effortlessly. Middlings were exceptionally easy for her to read. Finally she said, “You don’t think your daughter is yours. It’s that fear that made you insecure, that made you cheat in retaliation and therefore land yourself divorced and with only partial custody,” she said in one long flowing breath.
Tony dropped both his palms on the table in front of him half in disbelief and half in anger. “How?” he growled. “How did you know all that?”
“I’m a fortuneteller,” Zuma said, her tone calm and nonchalant. “And that was only to get your attention, but here is your fortune.”
Tony’s hands shook and he pressed them into the tablecloth for support. No one knew his suspicions about Telly, his daughter. He’d been too mortified to speak about it even to his closest friends, unsure if he was paranoid over the whole thing.
“It shouldn’t matter if she is your blood or not,” Zuma said. “For these seven years she’s been your daughter and you love her, right?”
“Yes, of course.” His voice came out in a shaky croak.
“Then put the concern behind you and stop punishing her for what your ex-wife may or may not have done. Because if you don’t then you will lose her, as you did your wife. Instead of being distant and withholding, love your daughter as your own.” Zuma stopped abruptly. Blinked at Tony impassively.
He gulped, afraid his emotions were showing, making him look like a fool. It was only last year that he’d cheated. This year his wife had divorced him. And for all of his daughter’s life he’d been like a yo-yo with his affection for her.
“Do you really see a future where I lose my daughter?” Tony asked, trying to keep his voice steady.