by Gwenda Bond
And suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about the magic coin. Where had their grandfather gotten it, if it used to belong to the Praestigae?
Dita’s head went down for a second, like she was losing her nerve, and Jules grabbed my arm. “Ouch,” I said, and her grip loosened, but she held on.
Novio swung back and forth, watching the platform. Remy said something to Dita. And, finally, as we watched—as everyone watched—she lifted her arms and ably accepted the swing flung her way, and then she was off the platform and hurtling through space.
She swung back and forth, like an extension of the trapeze itself, moving smoothly, quickly. Easily.
“She’s going to do it,” Jules said, almost squealing in my ear.
I hoped as hard as I could she was right. Come on, Dita. Come on. You got this.
Above us, high in the air, Dita released the swing and spun into a tight ball for her somersaults—one, two, three of them! She came out cleanly, as if it was as easy for her as breathing, and grabbed her brother’s wrists.
Novio’s teeth flashed above us. So did hers. They were both grinning big enough to fill the tent.
“Have you ever seen anything more lovely?” Thurston boomed, happiness in his voice. “And wait, what’s this? A repeat performance for us? How will we resist her charms?”
Because instead of calling it a night and spinning down into the net, Dita went back to the platform and repeated the entire sequence of events. In fact, she did still another triple somersault after that before she finally ceded the air to Remy and his final quad—which he made too.
Somehow, though, when Jules raced out to join them and they took their bows, I knew all of the Cirque people gathered around the side curtain were cheering for Dita.
All except her mother. She should have been pleased. But when I looked over and saw her greeting her kids, her lips were pulled tight.
“You were incredible!” I said to Dita as soon as she was close.
She was sparkling, laughing, breathing hard. Remy slapped her shoulder. “Three triples,” he said, like he was dumbfounded by it.
“Says the boy who does a quad every night,” Dita said. But I could tell she was proud of herself.
Jules rushed in then. “Congratulations! New costume and back in fine form.” Remy slid a look at Jules, but she just beamed back at him. Her arm was looped around Dita’s shoulders.
“Thanks for the lucky slippers, Jules,” Dita said, and I thought I saw her smile falter briefly.
“You’re supposed to be a Goddess of Beauty,” said a woman’s voice, cutting through the celebration like a sharp knife. We all backed away from it, which had the effect of ceding the floor to Maria Garcia. “You look like a boy.”
My mouth fell open. But not for long. Fury blazed up, and I searched for the words to defend Dita, her mother be damned.
Dita didn’t need me to come to her rescue, though. “No,” she said, the word heavy, like it made her sad to have to say it. “I look like myself. I feel like myself. For the first time in months. I’m not that little girl who will do whatever you say anymore. I can’t.”
Novio stepped up beside her, their shoulders touching, and Remy followed suit. He stood on her other side. A united front.
“You don’t have to,” Novio said. And then to his mom, “She looks great and she performed at the top of her game tonight. You can’t ask for more than that. And if you do, you sound like Granddad.”
That seemed to steal all the air right out of Maria Garcia’s lungs. She looked chastened, even guilty. The tightness in her mouth curved in on itself, her entire body contracting. “You are right. I do sound like him.” She swallowed. “I’m proud of you, my beautiful Dita. Ignore me. I forget sometimes that we don’t have to please him anymore.”
“We never did,” Dita said.
But none of them seemed to believe that.
This Roman Garcia must have been some piece of work. Dez was up on all the circus gossip; I hoped maybe he could give me some intel. But that was for later.
I caught Dita’s eye. “We did it.”
“Partners in crime,” she said.
And she had managed her act—unlike me—without almost drowning. A definite win.
Thurston walked out of the ring, everyone making a path for him. He came straight to us. “Well done tonight, everyone,” he said, and his eyes settled on me. “I heard a story during intermission from Dez. You’ll do that act every night before Raleigh’s performances?”
Was he really asking me if I would open for Raleigh?
My mother had said I shouldn’t do escapes anymore, not until I could control my magic . . .
But I couldn’t turn this down. This was my dream, what I’d come here for. My future in the spotlight.
“Yes,” Dita said, her laughter back, “she’d love to.”
Thurston’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure that you’re up for it?”
“Yes, I’d love to,” I echoed, wishing I sounded more enthusiastic.
“Then it’s settled.”
He left us, bestowing one final beam on Dita.
Of course, it was possible I’d turn air into burning sand next time. And I’d forgotten to ask whether anyone had checked with Raleigh about this new development.
But I wouldn’t spoil our victory celebration by bringing up all the things that could still go wrong, not when they were secrets I had to keep. I’d just obsess over them instead.
nineteen
The answer to whether Raleigh knew about Thurston’s promoting me to his opening act got answered pretty quickly the next night when I showed up.
“Don’t bother asking, Pixie,” Raleigh said. “No, I didn’t get a vote. Believe me.”
The fact that he was still ticked at me was unfortunate, because I needed to know more about the coin and I’d planned to ask him. He told us he’d heard stories the night of the break-ins. But I knew Raleigh well enough to know he wouldn’t be sharing anything with me until he stopped being mad.
He continued, “And you are trickier than you seem.”
That was for Dita. She had tagged along to apologize.
Ouch on both counts.
“Raleigh, you know I respect you as a magician. You could try doing the same for me,” I said. “Dita was just helping me get a break. I don’t want to take your place. I swear.”
Dez swung through the flap of the tent. He had on his vest, his chest bare beneath. Distracting. He raised his hands and said, “For my next trick, I’ll turn this guy into . . . a guy who’s happy to have a kick-ass opening act.”
Brandon, following Dez, laughed, probably at the word kick-ass.
Dez smiled at Dita. “Congratulations to you for last night too, I hear.”
“Um, thanks,” Dita said, fidgeting, obviously a little embarrassed at the flattery.
“I heard that too,” Raleigh said, softening.
Dita said, “You did need to learn how to tie bow ties the right way.”
“True, your way is easier,” Raleigh admitted. He waved toward the exit flaps. “I’ll be back for my set.”
I shrugged. “Your loss.”
After saying it, I immediately wondered if I should have tried a different tactic. I didn’t want him to get upset enough about this to call my dad. I made a promise to myself to be nicer.
“What’s wrong?” Dez said, coming closer. “You’re doing that thing you do with your lip.”
“What thing?” I asked.
He lifted his hand and put his fingertip gently on my lower lip. “Chewing on it. I understand the impulse, but . . .”
I heard a choking sound and looked over to see that Dita’s eyes were as wide as the clock face that counted down my escape onstage. They met mine in a way that could only mean I want to know all about this later.
Dez widened his smile to include both of us and dropped his hand. “I shifted my showtimes so Brandon and I could help out again. I promise to look pretty. Assuming you want me.”
&n
bsp; Oh, did I. My cheeks heated, and I said, “Please stay.”
My escape went as planned that night. Well . . . except for a white-hot flare of magic as I started to work free of the straitjacket.
Panic rose as I stared up at the glass lid of the coffin, and I thrashed against the fabric, burning up. You have to guide it, my mother had said. And so I did, visualizing my magic providing an assist as I undid the buckles and the straps. I surged free to a standing ovation.
Maybe my mom didn’t know everything. Or maybe I was being an idiot. But I basked in the applause, like I’d earned it all on my own with no magical help.
I swore using the magic wouldn’t change me. I wouldn’t let it. I couldn’t be who I wanted to be without performing.
Dez pulled me aside after I left the stage, frowning. “Where was the water?” he asked.
Oh. Right. He would notice that.
“I can’t do it the same way every time,” I said, dodging. Not quite a lie. “You might figure out how it’s done.”
“I’m beginning to think I’ll never figure you out.”
“Good. I don’t want you to.” That at least was the absolute truth.
“Too bad I can’t seem to stop trying.”
“My resistance is futile?”
He pulled me against his chest and gave me a kiss that promised more to come later.
“What resistance?” he asked. “You coming to watch my act?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Then we were off, him to throw knives, and me to admire him while he did.
I was smoothing on lipstick backstage at the magic tent when Raleigh poked his head in—early. “Figured it’s probably time to check out my opener,” he said. Then he disappeared, presumably to find a good spot in the audience.
This meant we were back on speaking terms. He’d held out longer than I expected, so my relief was beyond genuine. We were in Saint Louis, our third day of shows here, in fact.
Good, I thought. I needed to talk to him. I’d riffled through our RV trying to locate the coin, feeling like sneaky scum, and I kept continual watch for my mother at performances. No surprise—I hadn’t seen her again.
These first few weeks of the season had gone by so fast. If this was considered a more leisurely pace, I didn’t know how people in other touring shows survived. It felt like as soon as we started doing shows, we were back on the road, catching our breath for a half second, and then on to more shows. Only two months were left until the end of the season. I didn’t have a clue how long my mother had—but how could I not try to help her? Besides, then I could see her again. Talk to her again.
Maybe this was what being an adult was like. Not the in-control knows-everything feeling everyone pretended it was, but the constant sensation that everything was moving too fast and there was no way to slow it down.
Dad had sent a giant bouquet of flowers and a gourmet food basket to Amber’s address in Ithaca. Her voice-mail message had said, “I feel guilty eating this. But I’m still going to. Call your dad.”
Dez came in, so I knew it must be time to go on. I set aside my worries, something I was getting better at. Denial, my new friend.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Always,” I said.
We went out onstage together. I launched into my now-practiced patter, spotting Raleigh at the back of the tent. He stood in the corner behind the last row, arms crossed.
Dez helped me into the coffin, as usual. And as usual, his touch set off butterflies within me. We were getting closer. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t know me at all.
I pushed the button with my toe to expel the air and worked to get free. The heat of my magic burned through me, a searing flame I was almost used to, though it hurt every time. But no water appeared from thin air, and I guided the magic through my arms and fingers, making my best time yet.
The crowd applauded once I was successful and bowing before them—and Raleigh joined in before slipping out to get in costume and persona.
“Not bad,” he said when we rejoined him backstage. His assistant was there too, prepping the cabinet. Dez and Brandon left again to wheel off my equipment.
“Thanks,” I said, though it was hardly high praise.
“You’ll need to come up with something new before long. People will get tired of it. More importantly, you will.”
He might be right, but he was one to talk. I eyed his cabinet, where his assistant nodded to me before stepping inside. Caliban was with her, as ever.
“I am working on something else,” he said. “It’s just busier here than I expected. And buying equipment is expensive.”
“You don’t need to justify anything to me. I’m just grateful for the chance to be onstage. And I’m almost ready to test out a new illusion.” I hadn’t showed it to anyone yet, because I lacked a few supplies and I would need help to pull it off. This illusion would see me suspended in the air, precarious in a different way than in the coffin, and potentially much more dangerous.
But I was convinced I could handle it.
Raleigh pulled on his jacket and straightened the sleeves.
Dez and Brandon were still clearing the stage, so I chanced asking the real question I had for him. “Hey, you heard any more about that coin? The, um, magic one? I’m curious about it—whether anyone thinks it’s real.”
He frowned. “Like father, like daughter, I guess?”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
“You know. All that stuff your dad collects.” He made spooky spirit fingers. “With supposed powers. Oooooh.”
“He does?”
He gave me a skeptical look. “Yes. You’ve been in the warehouses.”
I’d been in the warehouse. Singular.
“Oh, that stuff. Right.” Dad had been keeping a lot more secrets than I’d even realized. “So, you hear anything else about the coin? Any idea where it is? Dita worries,” I added, feeling like dirt for using her name.
“I wish. I see the security guys around, and I don’t think there’ve been any more break-ins. People still talk, but they don’t say anything new.”
“Really? What do you hear them saying?”
Raleigh shrugged one shoulder, sleek in his tux. “Just that it’s real, and that they’re looking for it.”
“They who?”
“The mysterious ‘they’ who are never defined. You’re awfully curious about this, Pixie.”
I was about to ask more anyway about whom he’d heard discussing the mysterious they and the coin, but Dez came back. He looked between the two of us with some suspicion.
“What are you two talking about?” Dez said. “You both look dead serious.”
“Nothing,” Raleigh answered.
“Whatever,” Dez said. “I gotta go. You coming?”
He meant to watch his act. “Of course.” He tugged on my shirt and gave me a quick kiss. I didn’t let myself worry about the fact that it was obviously for Raleigh’s benefit as much as mine.
Raleigh said nothing. The magician code meant he’d expected me to return the favor and watch his set. I went with Dez anyway, my new loyalty asserting itself.
He rewarded me with a grin when we got outside. “That guy likes you,” he said.
“No, he’s just being big-brotherly. Besides, I like you.”
“Good.”
Brandon was ahead of us in the crowd, and he’d stopped to talk to someone. It was that man from poker night. Weird, creepy Rex. He wore the same fedora-ish hat as the last time he’d made an appearance.
What was equally weird was that Dez stopped cold when he spotted them.
“Dez? What’s wrong?”
He stood frozen for another second, then seemed to relax. Seemed to because his shoulders were still tight, but he forced the tension out of the hand that was in mine. Magicians notice these things.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll see you after, okay?”
He kissed my cheek again and took off, heading st
raight for Brandon and Rex. The man reached out and took his shoulder when he got to them. It was impossible to tell from my vantage point whether the slight shake he gave Dez was affectionate.
The three of them disappeared between the side of the contortionists’ tent and the stage.
Huh.
I found my way to the back of the crowd that was already gathering to watch the hot knife-thrower do his thing. Dez and I were new, I told myself, and we hadn’t even really had a “define the relationship” talk yet. Him talking to random family friends in unusual hats was none of my business.
Neither was my talking to Raleigh about the coin any of his business, for that matter.
Dez was late coming out, though, which was odd. He usually appeared onstage right at 8:50, punctual to a fault.
When he finally arrived, five minutes late, I went still in shock.
He had a cut that seeped blood on one cheek, and his left eye was rapidly turning purple. “Got into a fight with my equipment manager,” he said, with a grin that might have fooled the audience, but not me. “You should see the other guy.”
Brandon, standing at the side of the stage, appeared fine. Something told me creepy weirdo did too. He’d hurt Dez, for some reason.
I changed my mind. This was my business, whether Dez wanted me to stay out of it or not.
twenty
I retraced my steps and ducked off the midway between the same tent and stage where I’d seen Dez, Brandon, and Rex disappear a few minutes earlier. This was the way to the back of Dez’s stage, where I’d wait for him to finish his act—and hope his busted eye didn’t throw off his aim.
He hardly even needs to see to throw accurately, I told myself. That’s how good he is.
Small comfort. I also kept my eyes peeled for any sign of Rex. He was nowhere in sight.
Intuition—and what I knew about Dez—told me if I didn’t catch him immediately after he came offstage, he’d avoid me entirely. Waiting gave me time to roll around in my head the new fact about Dad being into magic items and having a warehouse I knew nada about. My whole life was beginning to feel like a lie, and somehow that made me more determined to talk to Dez. To be there for him.