by Sarah Noffke
“Right,” Zuma said, sitting up because her hand had fallen asleep under her weight. “Am I heartless not to think about them more often?”
“I don’t really think about my family,” Jack said, his tone commiserating.
“Yes, you do. You despise them every chance you get, as you should. They’re all a bunch of haughty jerks who can’t see how amazing you are in your own right,” she said.
“Don’t ever change, Zuma,” Jack said with a wink.
“So you have a reason to not want to be around your family, but I don’t. My parents are great people. My brother and sisters are lovely. And still…”
“Well, when we pass through there do you want to stop by for a visit?” Jack asked.
“Honestly?”
“I hope you never give me anything but that,” Jack said.
“Well, honestly I don’t want to stop by when we pass through,” Zuma said with a sigh. “I know I should, but I’d rather stick around the circus.”
“That’s the thing I’ve noticed about you, Zuma,” Jack said, his voice introspective. “You never get enough of the circus. Some people need a break from it. They get away when they can. You don’t tire of these trailers and the big top. You’re like Dave in that way.”
“Yeah, it’s like I’m a homebody,” Zuma said.
“And this is your home,” Jack smiled in agreement. “So it’s not that you don’t love your family, it’s that you prefer this one.”
The tension that had been in Zuma’s chest since her argument with Finley dissipated, like a tight knot was unraveled by Jack’s words. “You’re right,” she said. “There’s just something about the chaos of the circus and the constant adrenaline that calms me somehow.”
Jack laughed. “Pandemonium makes you feel at peace,” he said, marveling at her. “You really are one of a kind, Zuma.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice softening. “And Jack?” Zuma waited until he pulled his eyes from the mat and met hers. “If you want me to, I’ll go with you if you want to visit your family.”
“You know, Zuma, I think if I showed up with you on my arm then I’d actually get some admiration from my family.” Jack laughed suddenly, his eyes imagining the scene. “My brothers would envy me for once.”
Zuma wasn’t one to blush, so she just smiled wide at Jack. “So that’s a yes?”
He shook his head. “No, but thanks for the offer. You’re not really mine, so the attention I’d get wouldn’t really be genuine.”
Zuma agreed with a solemn nod. It hurt her to see the look that plagued Jack’s eyes when he reminisced over his family. Whereas she needed none of her family’s approval, Jack would never be complete without it. She hoped one day they saw him for who he was, extraordinary in his own way.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Finley stared at his image in the full-length mirror. The skin-tight suit was decorated with the colors of Vagabond Circus, teal blue and neon green. They alternated around the suit, the blue specked with wisps of smoke and the green arranged like flames. It wasn’t a distracting suit like in some acts, it was complementary to the performance. Finley almost felt like a real performer now.
After the dress rehearsal he’d have a break before his first show.
His first show.
At the circus.
The idea seemed strange running through his head.
“I’m in the circus,” he said out loud and smiled at himself in the mirror. “You got this,” he said and gave himself a cheesy thumbs-up and then promptly laughed at himself. The sound seemed strange coming out of his mouth. Finley didn’t laugh. He hadn’t really been given any opportunities to do so. There was nothing fun or funny in his life. But this was his new life.
He exited his trailer to find Zuma leaning against the RV, one foot propped up behind her. He hadn’t felt nervous thinking about his first show, but staring at her made his throat prickle with tension. Everything about her demeanor was casual: the way she leaned against the white trailer, the way her arms were crossed in front of her, and the way she lifted her eyes to look at him. She was wearing a white gown. It was her costume for the first part of the show where she’d be locked up in a clear orb that was lifted to the top of the tent and then filled with colored gas before night came in the story.
The nightgown wasn’t loose like most, although it flowed at the bottom. It was tight at the bodice with a low neckline. Pieces of chiffon formed the bottom of the dress and the long train she had tucked under her arm. She seemed unconcerned about the potential of getting the white dress dirty by leaning on the trailer or messing up the intimate series of braids her hair was arranged into. The pink in her hair threaded through various braids, solitary diamonds pinned in multiples places.
Finley struggled to swallow and the attempt produced a startled cough from him. If Zuma noticed his nervous reaction then she covered it.
“What were you laughing about?” she asked, pointing to his trailer. “I heard you in there.”
He arched a disapproving eyebrow at her before turning around and stalking off a few feet. Finley was glad he could avoid Zuma’s question by pretending to still be angry with her.
“We need to talk,” she said.
He halted. Turned and appraised her.
And then quite deliberately Zuma checked out his suit and looked away, feigning boredom.
“I thought I made myself clear that we should refrain from talking in the future,” he said, trying to match her casual stance. “It gets us nowhere.”
“Thing is, Finley,” Zuma said, her voice dull, “that communication between acrobats is kind of key to their performance.”
“Oh sure, we can talk about the act,” Finley said. “We can discuss timing, arrangements, and whatever else. But let’s limit it to that.”
She kicked off the trailer and stood tall. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. It appears I’m good at it. But you and I are in this act together and the show rests on our performance. You may be able to wall off your emotions but I can’t go out there and put on show after show with a guy who hates me. Acrobats don’t just need to communicate about logistics, they need to communicate in other ways. They need to know each other and you’re not even trying on that front.”
The idea of knowing Zuma was exhilarating. It was the other part that created a chorus of no’s in Finley’s head. Zuma couldn’t know him, not who he really was. “I think we’ve proved that we work just fine with the way things are. Dave and Titus loved our act.”
“Damn it, Finley. There are several times in this show that I’m trusting you with my safety and I’m not sure why I’m doing that since you’re a complete jerk to me half the time. And why should I trust you at all when you won’t even tell me the first thing about you? You aren’t even trying to meet me in the middle here!” Zuma’s voice rose until she was yelling, her face flushed pink as her hair.
“I won’t ever drop you,” he said through clenched teeth, a heat in his eyes.
“What?” she said, her voice low again.
“That’s what you’re worried about, right? That I can’t be trusted? That I’m going to hurt you in the act? You’re worried that I might drop you because of what you don’t know about me. And you’re afraid of me because of what you do know about my attitude toward you.”
“No,” she said quickly, then took it back with a slight nod. “I mean, maybe. But more than anything I worry how I’m going to maintain focus working with a partner who won’t communicate with me.”
“Is this another attempt to get in my head?” he said.
“Well, that’s part of it,” she urged. “If I just knew you were okay up there,” she said, pointing to her own head, “If I could get a glimpse, then maybe I’d understand you. Maybe I could trust you. And also, don’t you see that we would be able to communicate throughout the act without saying a word to each other? It’s very efficient.”
Finley hid the shiver that transpired through his body at the idea of Zu
ma in his head. There would be nothing worse. He shook his head roughly. “It’s just not necessary.”
“Damn it, Finley—”
“You know, maybe I should have made my last name Finley and changed my first name to Damn It, since that’s what you prefer to call me,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to divert the conversation.
“Seriously though—”
“Seriously though,” he said cutting her off again, “I do find your attempts to try and get along with me kind of cute.” He also found it was threatening his resolve to push Zuma away.
“Well, we really have a lot of people counting on us and the last thing I’m going to allow is for something to make this circus fail,” she said, stomping her foot into the earth, a frustrated determination on her face.
He saw in her right then a passion that froze his heart and injected it with its drug. Zuma was in love with Vagabond Circus. It was so clear in the way her eyes changed talking about it. He took a step toward her. “I will not fail the circus. There’s little more important to me than ensuring that Dave’s circus is a success.”
Zuma studied him. Her eyes made Finley realize how vulnerable she made him. In that moment, Finley was dangerously close to his determination crumbling. “And Zuma, you may not know me but you can trust me. I would never let something happen to you.”
She gave him a sideways skeptical look.
“It’s true,” he said, a new lightness in his voice. “If the big top implodes I’ll throw my body over yours to keep you safe.”
She laughed and it brought a carefree smile to his mouth. There were few things that sounded as attractive as her laughter. And now he’d been the one to bring it out of her.
“Okay, well then I guess that means we are getting along yet again.”
“Well, yeah,” Finley said, “how could we not after you totally just groveled at my feet with that apology?”
Her mouth popped open. “I did not.”
“That’s not how I’m remembering it,” he said, hooking his arm around her shoulder and heading them in the direction of the big top.
Zuma’s face flushed from the contact. She’d hoped to smooth things out with Finley but to have his arm casually draped over her was unexpected. It unsettled her in all the right ways, stirring a cluster of butterflies in her stomach. She kept her eyes trained on the tent as they walked. Finley was a tornado, changing every second, beautiful and dangerous and unpredictable. But Zuma loved storms. Always had.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
From the moment Dr. Raydon introduced the circus to the finale, which was Zuma and Finley’s big act, the entire show was seamless. Fanny’s kids sat in the front row, Emily and Benjamin both jumping up and down in their seats several times. The employees of Vagabond Circus were people who took an insurmountable challenge like rearranging and changing an entire two-hour circus and made it look easy. Middlings would never be able to pull off such a feat. The success of the circus wasn’t just because the performers had super powers, but because they could spend sleep hours training. All things take time and Dream Travelers have more of it than anyone.
Finley and Zuma took their final bows as the lights dimmed overhead. They stayed in the ring, ready for the dress-rehearsal after-meeting. The performers all spilled out of the backstage area and stadium, wide grins on most everyone’s faces. Fanny was still clapping, unabashed tears swimming down her cheeks.
“That was marvelous,” she said in her warm voice so everyone in the ring or nearby could hear.
Zuma gave Finley a slight smile, not meeting his eyes entirely. He leaned over and whispered into her ear. “I told you. I won’t let down this circus.”
“I want to believe you,” she said through her smiling teeth as she waved at various crew people in the bleachers, who were throwing her kisses and thumbs-ups.
Finley was about to say something else when something poked him in the leg. He looked down to see little Emily standing beside him, a smile lighting up her blue eyes. He kneeled down. “Well, hey there, Emily,” he said.
“Would you come over here?” the young girl said, pointing to where she’d been seated. “Benny wants to meet you but he’s too nervous.” Finley looked up to see the three other kids sitting next to Fanny, who was now wiping tears away from her cheeks. Between the older girl and Sebastian was a boy of about ten. He had short brown hair and a nervous smile. Finley’s eyes slid over to Sebastian and the boy got up at once and left the tent, looking to be rushed like he just forgot something.
“You bet I will,” Finley said, throwing a glance back at Zuma, who was watching the whole thing with a new interest. Emily slid her tiny hand into Finley’s and urgently pulled him over to the group.
“He says that you’re the new star of Vagabond Circus, and that he wants to be you when he grows up,” she said, her words rushed with excitement.
Jack arrived at Zuma’s side without a word. He was watching her watch Finley. She turned her eyes to him. There was a group of performers behind him who looked eager to relay their compliments to Zuma. It was unspoken but everyone knew Jack got her attention first.
“Great catch,” she said to him. “That’s going to wow the audience more than anything.”
Jack’s eyes were still on Finley, who was signing an autograph for Benjamin. “It is Finley who you should be complimenting. I only catch the quadruple because he teleports.”
“Jack, that’s not true,” she said, a little deflated by his bad attitude, which was oozing off him like bad cologne.
He slid his eyes to hers, a quiet anger in them. “So it appears you and Finley made up after last night.”
“We kind of had to. We are in a ton of the show together and then there’s the last act.”
“Yeah, about that,” Jack said and he could feel the resentment in him building. It was petty and he knew it but he didn’t know how else to feel. Not when it came to Zuma.
“You didn’t like it?” she said, turning to him, half mad and half sad.
“No, of course I did. How could I not like it?” He said, his voice lower than hers, his eyes scanning the curious faces around them. They weren’t being loud but everyone could sense the tension. “The act was breathtaking. You were more gorgeous than I’ve ever seen you. The way you moved, it made me hurt from the force of emotions you unearthed.”
“Then why do you look disappointed?”
Jack stole a glance at Finley, who was talking to the kids, but his eyes kept finding Zuma.
“Because you’ve never moved like that when performing with me,” he said, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Chapter Forty
Dave and Titus didn’t want Zuma doing fortunetelling before the show now that she had more responsibility. Ian replaced her. He was in charge of the rig crew members and preferred the labor of putting up and maintaining the big top. However, Ian also had the gift of divination and clairvoyance. Dave had asked that along with his responsibility on crew, he run Zuma’s booth for an undeterminable amount of time.
Since her conversation with Jack after the rehearsal that morning, Zuma had felt lost. And she also had trouble staying away from the preshow activities. She loved watching the patrons arrive at Vagabond Circus. Some had faces full of anticipation and others only tolerated the experience for their kids. Zuma loved watching them before and then after as they left, transformed.
With a fond gaze she ran her eyes over the blue and green fabric bathing her booth. This was one of her favorite parts of Vagabond Circus. She loved the ring, but her interaction there was impersonal. As the fortuneteller she connected with patrons and helped them, or at least she hoped she did. Most came back year after year to visit the fortuneteller who advised them and therefore saved their business, strengthened their ties with their family, or helped them with a major decision.
Zuma’s black hooded cloak mostly hid her face and entirely covered her white gown. Still, to some she was always recognizable. It was her energy.
; “Hey, lovely,” Ian said, pulling his round face up from a deck of cards. “Are you checking up on me?”
“No, I know you’re doing an excellent job. I bet you’ll want to keep the booth after a few shows,” she said, drawing closer, her cloak taking pieces of hay strewn on the ground with her.
“It is fun,” he agreed, “but I don’t know. I prefer the backstage. Dave was right where he cast me, just as he was right with your casting.”
Ian was Zuma’s older brother’s age. Twenty-four. He looked odd in the velvet robe with his broad shoulders and barrel chest. Most would say that he didn’t look like the average fortuneteller, but there was probably no one more accurate than Ian. He had what Zuma only pretended to have when doing the job. Ian could actually see the future and with a precision that most would kill for.
“So, then what brings you here? I thought you were supposed to be resting before each show,” Ian said, his round chin tucked into his chest, eyes discerning.
She cast a sideways look around. “I am resting…”
“Are you?” he said, a challenge in his words, although he wasn’t trying to intimidate the girl.
“Well, I’m trying,” she said, taking another step forward, keeping her voice low, her eyes constantly scanning.
“Is it that you can’t rest because of the stress weighing on your heart?” Ian said, sliding the deck of tarot cards, used only as a prop, to the side and clearing the space in front of him.
“Do you know that because you’re a fantastic observer or because of your abilities?” Zuma asked, her eyes ablaze with curiosity.
“Well, psychics are great because of their attention to detail, so call it both.”
They both laughed easily. “True,” Zuma said, taking a seat in the chair across from him. “Ian, can I get a reading?”
He gave her a look of concern. “You know where your expectations need to be if I do, right?”