by Sarah Noffke
“How did you know?” she asked Finley. “About Benjamin? How did you know he wasn’t up to something nefarious just now?”
Finley turned his gaze to the eager boy, lying on the ground and listening to the conversation on the other side of the tent. “Just look at the kid. He wants to be someone when he grows up,” Finley said and then added, “And he wants to be a part of Vagabond Circus when he grows up. It’s obvious in everything he does.”
“He must have snuck out of Fanny’s trailer,” Zuma guessed. “But I guess it’s safe to allow him to stay here after hours since he’s up to something good.”
“I agree,” Finley said. What he didn’t say was that he’d charged Benjamin with the job of keeping an eye on Dave on the nights he had rehearsal with the acrobats. He hadn’t realized the boy would dig a hole and build a scope to do it, but now he realized he enlisted the right kid for the job.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
As Dave had suspected would happen, most of the initial excitement among the circus members had died down after the newness of being the most popular circus in North America had faded. Most relations among the Vagabond Circus employees had gone back to normal. Sunshine wasn’t smarting off to everyone. Fanny’s kids were mostly calm. And the crew all seemed happy, although there was more work, with a full house every night.
Finley could hardly believe he’d been with the circus for over three months. It felt like no time at all to him and then also, like the longest stretch of his entire life. No doubt the last few months had been demanding for him, but not because of his role in the circus.
What he was most proud about was that he’d figured out how to create a wall between Zuma and him. It came down sometimes, because she had a knack for finding his loose mortar and pushing at it. But for the most part, he’d been able to keep his distance. There were times where he spied a look in her that dared him to cross new boundaries, but he reminded himself of who he was then, and why he was here. And still he cared for her, wanted to help break the curse, one that Fanny said the girl wasn’t even aware was on her. Finley didn’t have any free time, but he still used any spare second he had to deliberate on Zuma’s curse and how to break it.
The autumn winds had started to blow at the big top one afternoon when he caught himself staring at her across the space. They’d just set up in southern Oregon and Finley realized how perfect the schedule was. They’d be out of the Pacific Northwest before winter hit. The Vagabond Circus would spend all of the cold months in California where temperatures are mild. The bad news for Finley was that the further south they got, the more he’d have to watch his back. And there were other problems that were plaguing him. Weighing on him. And yet, he never felt like he had the focus he needed to finally resolve all the problems. To free himself of the mission.
“Why are you staring at me?” Zuma asked from her place on the mat. She had her feet touching in a butterfly stretch.
He blinked rapidly. “I wasn’t,” he lied and knew his face gave it away immediately.
However, Zuma let it go. She too seemed comfortable with having the wall up between them. Well, not comfortable, but resigned to it. The acrobat had more spare time than Finley and she used most of it to wonder about him. Always she had something else planned, and always her thoughts flocked to the boy of mystery with eyes like a cheetah’s. Finley wasn’t overtly mean to Zuma anymore, but he also wasn’t nice. And still, no matter what, she could turn her gaze to find him staring at her. She stayed away from him, and him her, spending his time with the freaks: Sunshine, the triplets, and Oliver. But every time she looked at him from her place between Jack and Jasmine, Finley was staring at her. His eyes seemed to always be on her. Always watching and trying to piece and unpiece her together in his mind. And Zuma hated that she liked the way his stare felt on her, like silk against her skin.
“Are you ready to get started?” Finley asked, pushing to a standing position. He meant their final act, which Dave wanted them to practice at least once in each new location before the first show.
“I guess,” Zuma said. They’d practiced and performed the act so many times that she was sure she could do it under the worst conditions: blind, sick, or heartbroken. Those were what she considered the worst-case scenarios.
She took her place.
“Try not to do that one thing this time,” he said, getting into position.
“What thing?” she said.
“The second part of the act, where you rush the sequence.”
“Oh, is that what you think I’m doing?” she said, standing tall, not offended in the least by him. “Because I think you’re too slow and I’m doing it perfectly.”
She was probably right, but Finley found that a slight bit of criticism helped to reinforce the wall between him and Zuma. So he made a point of throwing something critical at her before each practice. “I think you’re mistaking the word ‘perfectly’ for sloppy,” he said in his usual offhanded manner.
And for whatever reason, something shifted in Zuma. Her face. The stoic expression she always wore, it cracked. Just a bit. And for a second Finley spied an emotion in her he’d only seen once. That first rehearsal where he’d insulted her callousness toward her family, where he’d actually hurt her. That expression of pain flared in her eyes.
“What?” he said, staring at her, wondering why she wasn’t throwing a volley back at him.
Zuma actually didn’t know why either. She thought she was hardened enough when it came to Finley, but his criticism just never ceased and she couldn’t understand it. She didn’t know where it came from. And presently, she wasn’t sure why it hurt worse than usual.
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “And fine, I’ll work on the second half of the act,” she said, sounding defeated. “If it will make you happy,” she then added.
Finley’s eyes shot up to hers. Zuma’s expression was troubled and also blank, like she didn’t know what was going on inside her.
“Zuma,” Finley said, remorse in his tone. He now felt himself shifting too, the wall crumbling. Finley stopped himself, took a deep breath. “Let’s just practice, okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Zuma said.
The two took their places and then started in unison, practicing without music. And then as they neared the end of the act Finley hesitated, like he had forgotten what came next.
“Are you all right?” Zuma asked.
His mind had been elsewhere, thinking about her and how she would never be happy. To his horror he realized that he’d just made a mistake because of his distraction. What if that mistake happens during a show, he cursed himself. Zuma was indeed his downfall. Not just with the act, but with everything. More and more, he worried about her, knowing the curse over her was real. Sunshine had said it herself, that the girl had everything and still wasn’t happy. But what the empath didn’t know was that Zuma couldn’t be happy. And the more he studied her, the more Finley saw an empty well, unable to be filled. And the worst part was it appeared Zuma was resigned to it. She couldn’t be happy, but she could have her highs at Vagabond Circus and that was enough for her.
“I’m fine,” Finley said, trying to compose himself. “I just forgot a part, that’s all.”
Zuma blinked at him in surprise.
“Let’s keep going,” he said.
The pair started again, but because Finley hadn’t fully collected himself on his next move he paused, holding up her hand.
“What is it?” Zuma questioned, stepping nearer to him, staring into his eyes.
He bit his lip and shook off the question. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that more and more he was defeated. Defeated by her and the draw to her he couldn’t erase. Defeated by his mission, which he felt no closer to than when he arrived. Defeated by himself.
“It’s nothing,” he said, pushing down the emotions. He took her hand again, then grabbed her by the waist and spun her into the air, the next to last move before the end of their act. He caught her as he always
did and then lowered her in one move. And as she was accustomed to he dipped her low as she slid her legs out along the length of his, his figure stretched across her. He then hesitated again, not pulling her up to a standing position beside him as he did before they received their applause from the crowd. However, the tent was empty besides them. There would be no applause. It was only practice. Finley, feeling something in him breaking, leaned down lower, his lips only an inch from Zuma’s. She stared back at him, a strange wanting in her eyes.
“Zuma…” he said in a whisper.
“Yes?” she said, leaning back, her weight in his arms.
What he wished he could say was that he wanted to be what made her happy. That for some unexplainable reason he thought he knew how. Instead he said, “I haven’t kissed you since that one time.” He was certain that the sentence would cause a reaction in her, a snide remark. A rebellion. Instead, she slid her hands out from around his neck and rested them on his biceps. She was fully in his arms, a strange curiosity on her face.
Zuma blinked back at him. “Do you want to?” she asked.
He leaned in close, slid his nose across her cheek. “Yes,” he breathed and quickly admonished himself for the statement. But it was already done and Zuma, still in his arms, leaned back and brought one of her legs up and hooked it next to his hip. He grabbed it with one hand and pinned it to him. She was fully suspended in his arms now as he stood in a lunge.
“Then go ahead and do it,” she said, her voice tattered.
She hadn’t rejected him as he feared. She had just invited him in, given him permission to have the one thing he wanted: her affection. But then Finley reminded himself who he was. How could he allow himself to forget? He wasn’t good enough for her. He had deluded himself.
Pulling his face even with hers, Finley stared into her eyes, felt her breath against his. And then in an impromptu decision he yanked his arms away, letting her fall on the rug. Zuma would have caught this, but her desire had clouded her combat sense. Her tailbone took the brunt of the impact. She sat in horror and disbelief, staring at Finley as he marched away to the exit.
“What the hell?!” she fired at him, her words soaked in hurt. “Damn it, Finley! What is your problem?”
He didn’t answer. Only left her there on the ground staring at his retreating back.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The firelight in Dave’s office tent danced across Zuma’s face.
“Are you sure?” Dr. Raydon said to her.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“And you’re firm on this?”
“I am,” she said with confidence.
He gave her a measured stare. “You know I trust your judgment implicitly.”
“I’m honored that you do.”
“Very well, then consider it done,” the ringmaster said and then reached for his top hat absentmindedly. It wasn’t on the table beside him as it normally was. It was gone, he remembered.
“You’re not upset, are you?” she asked.
“Zuma, you know I could never, truly be upset at you,” Dave said, his hand almost still reaching for the top hat, fingers kneading air.
“Of course you could,” she said with a playful grin. “I’ve just yet to do something that would make you mad. A day will come, you just wait, Dave.”
Dr. Raydon sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his rounded stomach as he did toward twilight hours every day, his time to reflect on the day’s events. “You’ve heard the story of your birth before, from me and your parents,” he stated, no question in his voice.
The girl nodded, her pink hair looking red in the firelight of the lantern.
“To this day, you’re the only child to have been born under the big top. You showed up four weeks early,” he said through a tender lump in his throat. He cherished every time he told her this story and tonight it felt fitting to reminisce. “And do you want to know why I think you came early when your other siblings waited dutiful until their due dates?”
Zuma loved this question-and-answer game she often played with Dave. “Yes, please.”
“Because you couldn’t wait to be a part of the circus. You felt its energy in the womb. You knew your parents were about to leave it and you decided to make a surprise arrival.”
“My mother says it’s all the extra travel that threw her into early labor,” Zuma said, a ghost of a smile still on her face.
“Of course she does,” he said, waving his white-gloved hand at her. “Your mother stopped believing in magic long ago. But you, my dear, I knew as soon as I laid eyes on you, right after Fanny had delivered you, that you were born to the circus. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it until the day I die: Zuma Zanders was born to be in Vagabond Circus. You carry its magic in your heart.”
She stared at Dave, not knowing what to say. Dave believed in everyone more than they believed in themselves. He saw in people the part in them they longed to see. But this speech he’d been giving her for all these years still confounded Zuma. Yes, she loved the circus and felt owned by it, but she never understood the bit about “carrying its magic in her heart.”
“So, don’t you see, my darling, Zuma,” Dave continued, “I could never be mad at you, for you’re the child born to Vagabond Circus. You are, in essence, it’s very magic because right after you were born under the big top this circus really started to take on a life of its own and change the people in the audience. ”
Dave wasn’t lying, Zuma could tell by his micro-expressions. But what she didn’t know was he wasn’t telling the complete truth. She was in fact the magic given to the circus, but in return her happiness was stolen. All curses operate on the scale of equality, so if something is taken then it must go somewhere. Unbeknown to the spell caster, those born at Vagabond Circus, although cursed, are also its greatest servants. Their happiness is transferred in dividends to the big top, coating it in a different kind of magic. However, Dave would never allow another soul to be sacrificed once he learned this knowledge and so he created rules.
“Okay, well, thanks for understanding on the other matter,” Zuma said and stood.
“Whatever it is I can do to make you happy,” he said, and silently reproached himself for the statement. But soon Zuma would be happy. He was making the ultimate sacrifice to give her that.
The girl, however, didn’t notice this small bit of remorse and emotion building in the ringmaster. She simply leaned over and kissed Dave on the cheek. “Bye, now,” she said and turned to leave.
“Bye, my sweet Zuma,” he said. “I love you so very much.” And he held in the tears until after she left.
Chapter Sixty
The knocking on Zuma’s trailer door was loud and incessant. She opened it in a rush, afraid it was an emergency. Her heart had been racing but its speed quickly slowed when she saw Finley standing on her doorstep.
“What do you want?” she said, her tone punishing. He pushed past her at super speed and entered straight into her trailer. His hair was a mess of chaos, like his hands hadn’t left it alone all evening.
“You told Dave that you couldn’t work with me! That you refused!” he said, his voice loud and overpowering in the compact trailer.
Zuma’s eyes scowled but her mouth smiled. “I did,” she said triumphantly.
“Well, because Dave will do anything and everything you want he’s split us up!” Finley shouted, his words angry, but his face full of fear.
“Oh, is that right?” Zuma said, looking at the clock as if bored by the news.
“Don’t play innocent with me, you told him to do it. You demanded that he do it or otherwise you wouldn’t perform,” he said, his eyes haunted by Dave’s words. The ringmaster had thrown his hands up in the air, explaining there was nothing he could do against Zuma’s wishes.
“Maybe I did,” she said, her voice suddenly sounding vexed.
“And even though losing our act will affect the success of the circus he’s doing it, all for his precious Zuma. And y
ou know as well as I do that it’s the best act, but you don’t care.”
“That’s the thing, Finley,” she said, the hurt in her voice seeping through suddenly. “I do care, but I refuse to work with someone who disrespects me and Dave recognizes that. He won’t allow me to be abused. That isn’t favoritism, that’s good management.”
“Abused?” Finley repeated, his eyes lost as he stared out without seeing. “I abused you?” he whispered to himself, his face trapped in self-loathing as the realization dawned.
“You did. I trusted you and you dropped me.” Zuma looked away, unable to stomach what appeared to be genuine remorse on Finley’s face. She had done what Ian had advised her to do. She’d trusted Finley. Not just trusted, but invited him to kiss her and he dropped her, thereby breaking her heart. She had no idea how something like this could change everything because it felt too personal. All she wanted now was to put as much distance between her and the guy who affected her.
“Zuma, I’m sorry,” Finley said, his voice trembling. “You don’t understand. I had to. I was so close to…”
“To what?” Zuma demanded.
But Finley just shook his head. The longer Zuma stared at him, the more she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. Everything about him reeked of distress.
Zuma shook off her concern. “And you better be glad Dave’s taken pity on you as a confused soul and hasn’t kicked your ass out of Vagabond Circus.”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes still lost, his voice a hush. “He’s reassigned me to work with Jasmine.”
Zuma smiled, realizing her friend would be ecstatic about the decision. And Finley wouldn’t get away with disrespecting Jasmine. She’d break his arm. “Yes, and I’ll work with Jack.”