by Juman Malouf
Bea’s face lit up. She flew out from behind the screen, bodice half-laced. “It’s him!” she shrieked, pointing. Sonja looked out past the curtain into the audience. In the third row, dead center, sat a tall man in a black suit. His long legs were crossed, and a brimmed hat was tilted over one eye. He stroked a white Persian cat on his lap. The cat that had delivered the letter. Sonja stared, her eyes glued to the stranger.
“Isn’t he handsome?” squealed Bea.
“Terribly,” Sonja said with a shudder. There was something about the man that made her uneasy. Maybe it was his horrible cat.
“You’re up, boys!” Pershing called out.
The clowns buttoned their pleated collars and snapped on their pointy hats. They ran out of the dressing room. The curtain fluttered behind them, and Monkey dashed through it with a half-eaten sandwich clenched in his mouth. He clambered onto a lumpy sofa, chewing frantically. The twins flopped onto the moth-eaten cushions beside him.
“Don’t look so depressed, dearies.” Tatty stepped out from behind the screen in her costume. Her skin was slathered in oil. The Seven Edens tattoos shimmered brightly. “Pershing will let you perform soon enough. Won’t you, Pershing?”
Pershing looked up from a newspaper, distracted. “What’s that?”
“If they ever set foot into our circus ring again,” interjected the Snake Charmer, “Alfonso and I’ll quit for good.” The boa constrictor hissed inside its basket.
“Me, too!” squeaked the Miniature Woman, standing on her head.
“Thank you, everyone,” said Sonja. “You’ve made your feelings extremely clear.” She sank her head into her hands. Whenever she was depressed, playing in front of an audience always made her feel better. Those days were over.
The clowns burst through the curtains covered in sweat. The audience cheered behind them.
Pershing jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to introduce Tatty.”
Sonja and Charlotte walked Tatty to the curtain. She carried a torch over her shoulder, for swallowing fire. “You don’t have to wait. I’ll meet you at home when I’m finished. We’ll play gin rummy.”
She kissed them on the tops of their heads and whispered, “Don’t worry about the others. They’ll come around.”
Tatty ran into the circus ring waving her arms, exuberant. The audience clapped halfheartedly. The Richer whipped a pair of binoculars out of his pocket.
Pershing bumped into the twins as he strode back into the dressing room. “Girls, you can’t stand there. Go home. I don’t want any Enforcers seeing you.”
“We were just leaving,” Sonja said miserably. She felt like a leper.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The sun was setting, and colored lights flickered on. The clowns were arguing and drinking as they opened their booths. The Fat Lady stood behind a cotton-candy stall, winding pink sugar onto a cone.
“I wish we could have gone to school,” lamented Charlotte. “Everyone hates us here.”
Sonja remembered all the frightened faces in the audience. “It’d be worse at school.” Kanazi Kooks probably thought they were freaks, too. A long line waited in front of Mr. Fortune Teller’s caravan. What would all their fortunes hold?
Sonja stopped walking. She faced Charlotte.
“If we found our parents, maybe we’d understand.”
Charlotte clasped the locket hanging from her neck.
“Where we’re from. Who we are. Why we’re full of magic.”
Charlotte nodded.
“The question is: how do we find them?”
Footsteps crunched behind them.
They turned to see a tall figure slinking in the dark alongside a black limousine.
He stood still and silent, watching them.
Sonja pulled her sister’s hand and whispered, “Let’s go!”
They hurried into a tent: “The House of Illusions.”
It was a labyrinth of mirrors. A hundred reflections followed them, some with twisted heads, some with stretched-out bodies. A pair of metal-tipped shoes click-clacked across the wooden planks behind them. Suddenly, the tall figure’s black reflection dazzled them from all directions. They saw grinning teeth everywhere. Charlotte screamed. Sonja yanked her out of the tent.
They raced across the campsite toward the other caravans. The lights were out, and the curtains were drawn. They heard giggling up ahead. Two people were kissing in the dark.
“Bea?” Sonja said softly.
Bea turned. “Hello, girls.” She motioned them over. “This is my boyfriend I was telling you about. He’s been dying to meet you. He funds the Schools for the Gifted, you know.”
It was the Richer from the audience.
His face was gaunt, with deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. A long scar ran alongside his eye like a tear. He took off his hat and bowed his head. His black hair was slicked and stiff. “I had the pleasure of seeing you two at the auditions today. That was a tip-top performance!”
“Don’t just stand there,” said Bea. “Say hello.”
“Hello,” Charlotte mumbled.
Something brushed against Sonja’s ankle. All the hairs on her body stood on end. The white cat looked up at her with fiery orange eyes.
“This is Chestnut Sabine.” As the Richer introduced her, the cat snarled up at Sonja and showed off her jagged little teeth.
“We’ve already met,” Sonja said, taking a careful step back. “Tatty’s waiting for us. Nice to have met you, Mr.—”
“Von Stralen,” the man said smoothly. “Kats von Stralen.”
Sonja and Charlotte stumbled away.
Charlotte looked back over her shoulder. Finally, she asked, “Do you think he could get us places in school? He seemed to like our act.”
“Are you nuts? I wouldn’t go anywhere with that man. He’s scary—and so is his cat.”
“I guess so. Still.”
They reached their caravan. Sonja pulled Charlotte closer and whispered, “When Tatty gets home, don’t tell her about us being chased. We don’t want her to worry.”
“It wasn’t an Enforcer.”
“I know.”
“Who was it, then?”
Sonja shrugged. She had an odd feeling.
Tonight, she would bolt the door.
CHAPTER NINE
Chestnut Sabine
THE CLOCK STRUCK MIDNIGHT, AND THE CUCKOO POPPED out of its hole and squawked. With the clowns’ help, Tatty had put the caravan back in order. The nearly-completed Tiffin puppet lay on the table next to Charlotte’s latest musical composition: “Ode to Jack Cross, A Talented Boy.”
On one end of the bed, the twins murmured to each other in their sleep. On the other end, Tatty snored loudly with Monkey curled into a ball wheezing beside her.
The trapdoor slowly lifted.
A tiny cardboard box the size of a matchbook shot up into the room, hit the ceiling, and pattered to the floor. While the sleepers slept, a plume of yellow vapor curled out of a pinhole in the top of the box, smoked into their nostrils, and forced them into deeper slumber.
A set of sharp claws emerged from the dark hole, reached up, and stabbed into the floor of the caravan. Two orange eyes peered over the edge to survey the room. All clear, thought Chestnut Sabine. She squeezed inside. She shook her white coat, spraying mud and dirt across the floor, and wiped her whiskers clean. Two small, empty glass balls dangled from her collar.
Chestnut Sabine wiped her lips with her scratchy tongue. She could still smell the salmon on her breath, and a wave of pleasure came over her as she remembered piercing the fish’s eyes with her claws and slicing its cool flesh with her teeth. She climbed a stack of books pushed up against the bed and leapt onto the end where Charlotte and Sonja were sleeping. She waited a breath to see if anyone moved, then crouched over Sonja and began to lick her ear.
After a moment, Sonja’s nose began to twitch. Chestnut Sabine placed her mouth on Sonja’s ear and took a deep breath. Sonja gasped in her sleep. The cat sucked harder. Sonja’s chest heaved up and down, her heart pounded, and finally, a glittering substance slithered out of her ear.
Chestnut Sabine caught it on her tongue, licked it into the first glass ball, and flipped the stopper shut with her snout. The gold matter danced and darted, trying to find its way out. Chestnut Sabine’s eyes lit up in the glow. One more to go, she thought. She crept across to Charlotte and set to work again.
Tatty’s groggy eyes opened. She clutched her head, spinning from the drug, and rolled over. She saw Chestnut Sabine hunched over Charlotte, sucking on her ear. She bolted upright, horrified.
She gasped and lunged.
Chestnut Sabine snapped her claws and scratched Tatty’s face.
Tatty screamed and fell backward. Blood filled the marks slashed across her cheek.
Mr. Fortune Teller pounded on the door, shouting, “Tatty! Girls! Open up!”
Tatty fumbled for the door and opened it.
The old man flew in. He saw Chestnut Sabine take one last inhale from Charlotte’s ear and slurp the glittering substance into her mouth.
Too late! thought Mr. Fortune Teller. The cat already had them.
The old man stumbled across the room as Chestnut Sabine sprang away and spat the matter into the second glass ball. He swung his cane, blasting it through the table, but the cat was too quick. She jumped between his legs and disappeared through the trapdoor. Adios, old man, thought Chestnut Sabine as she raced off into the night.
“Catch that cat! Don’t let it get away!” Mr. Fortune Teller ran from the caravan.
“What’s happening?” Sonja asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. She touched her ear. “Yuck! Monkey’s been licking me again. I hate it when he sleeps with us.”
“Charlotte! Wake up!” Tatty shouted as she threw on her robe and lit a candle.
Charlotte opened her eyes. “My chest hurts,” she coughed.
“Let’s go!” Tatty tore off the sheets and pulled the girls to their feet. “We have to help Uncle Tell!”
“Help Uncle Tell with what?” asked Sonja.
Tatty looked confused. She said simply, “Find a cat.”
The twins looked at each other. They grabbed their jackets as Tatty hurried them out the door. It was cold and dark. Voices shouted from Bea’s caravan. There was someone standing on the roof. Mr. Fortune Teller’s lantern shone on him like a spotlight. It was Kats von Stralen with Chestnut Sabine in his arms. The balls around the cat’s neck glowed brightly. She purred smugly.
“Give back the Talents, and we’ll let you go!” yelled the old man.
Kats von Stralen giggled. “Let me go?” He took a snort from a diamond-encrusted snuffbox. “I’m already gone.”
“You better get down here, you creep!” Tatty hollered.
Kats von Stralen’s black eyes widened. A grin spread across his face. “I caught your act. Fascinating what a woman can do with fire.” He flicked his gaze to the front of her robe, which was partly open. “I do admire your tattoos,” he said, almost in a trance. “The Seven Edens, no doubt.”
Tatty whipped her robe closed, then slammed her hands against the side of the caravan, rocking it with a violent jolt. The caravan door burst open below.
“What’s all the commotion?” Bea shouted, looking up. “Kats? Are you up there?”
“Sorry, my bearded beauty, but I have to dash.” Kats von Stralen pulled out a little vial from his pocket. “A little souvenir from the city.” He smashed the vial on the roof, releasing billows of white smoke. It turned the air all around them into a thick, deep fog. Then they heard a thump on the ground and the sound of footsteps running away.
Mr. Fortune Teller tried to follow the sound, searching in the white cloud. If Kats von Stralen escapes, he thought, we are in deep trouble. He saw a pearly white grin through the haze. Headlights flashed. A vehicle sped away.
“I knew you’d ruin the first good thing that’s ever happened to me!” Bea yelled. She glared at the old man.
“Calm down, Bea,” Tatty said, climbing the caravan steps.
Bea waved her arms in front of her. “Don’t come near me!”
“That man’s dangerous, Beatrice,” warned Mr. Fortune Teller. “He’s hurt the girls.”
“How could he? He was with me all night.”
“With his cat.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Promise me that if he tries to contact you, you’ll tell me immediately.”
“I’m done listening to you!” Bea’s face reddened. “All of you!” She stormed into her caravan and slammed the door behind her.
Tatty led the girls back to their caravan. Mr. Fortune Teller followed, lost in thought over what to do next. We must contact Alexandria, he thought. It was the only way to find Kats von Stralen.
Charlotte broke the silence. “The cat hurt us? What did you mean?”
The old man took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. He would have to explain everything to them. Well, maybe not everything. “This might be hard to understand,” he said, stuffing the handkerchief back into his jacket pocket. Through his visions, Mr. Fortune Teller had been studying Kats von Stralen’s movements for months. But it was only days earlier that he had realized what the man was doing with all those cats.
“What happened,” he began slowly, “is the cat stole your magic.”
He watched the twins closely. The old man expected their bewildered looks—but what came next surprised him: they seemed happy.
“Good riddance!” exclaimed Sonja.
“That’s the best news we’ve heard in ages,” said Charlotte.
“With your magic,” interrupted the old man, “went your Talents.”
“Our—Talents?” repeated Sonja, confused.
“You no longer have the abilities you once did.”
Now he had their attention. Ever since his sight had started to decline, Mr. Fortune Teller’s other senses had heightened. Standing with the girls in the cool night air, he could hear their pounding hearts. He could smell their growing anxiety.
“You mean, our music?” Charlotte finally said.
His “yes” was so soft, he knew the girls could barely hear it.
“That’s impossible!” Sonja hurried inside and grabbed her recorder off the table. She clicked it against her teeth and blew.
It screeched. It croaked. It whined like an animal—but it was not music. Her fingers tangled up as the jarring noises rang out. “What’s happening?” She started to panic. She tossed the recorder aside and reached for her pennywhistle. Spit sprayed everywhere as angry notes piped in a row—but it was not a tune.
Sonja wheeled around to Charlotte. “Play something!”
Charlotte strapped her accordion over her shoulders. She stretched the bellows. The instrument groaned and wheezed. She looked down at her hands as she attempted to play. Her fingers fumbled and stumbled across the keys. It was pure cacophony. She stopped. “I can’t play,” she said softly. “I don’t know how.”
Mr. Fortune Teller shook his head sadly. He could feel their despair. It soaked into his old bones and made them ache.
“Oh, girls.” Tatty hugged them close.
Sonja pulled away. She blew into her pennywhistle again. More noises screeched. She shook her head, her eyes tearing. “I’m never going to be like Kanazi Kooks.” Mr. Fortune Teller put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Sit down.” Sonja slumped into a chair. “All of you. Sit.”
Mr. Fortune Teller positioned his chair in front of them. He took out two newspaper clippings from his jacket pocket and handed them to Charlotte. He had been collecting the articles as proof of his visions. “Please, read these out loud.”
“‘Cats Gone
Astray,’” Charlotte started in a trembling voice. Her hands shook, rustling the paper: “‘Authorities confirm hundreds of cats have run away from their owners’ homes. Cats are the only legal pets allowed in the cities since the passage of the Proclamation Against the Animals. Enforcers have been urged to solve this mystery because the children of many important people will be spending their nights alone.’”
Sonja frowned. “Lost pets? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Be quiet and listen,” ordered the old man. “Go on, Charlotte. Read the next one.”
Charlotte held up the second clipping and cleared her throat. “‘One of a chain of prominent Schools for the Gifted has temporarily closed down. The general administrator, Mistress Koch, said in a statement today that the children, quote, appeared to have lost their Talents, end quote. Auditions to re-pupil the school are already in progress.’”
Charlotte hesitated. The old man pressed her: “Finish it.”
“‘A peculiar footnote: witnesses report they have observed numerous cats entering and exiting the aforementioned establishment regularly during recent weeks.’”
Charlotte stopped reading. “What does this all mean?”
“Kats von Stralen is stealing children’s Talents to extract the magic from them. He’s found a way to detach a Talent from a child’s heart before the two become one—using the Felis catus.” The old man shook his head. “I saw him coming, and I still couldn’t stop him.”
Charlotte’s head started spinning. “I’ve got to warn Jack Cross,” she said. “He mustn’t go to that school!” She leapt to her feet and burst out the caravan door.
“Wait!” Sonja shouted after her. “Charlotte!”
Charlotte did not stop. “I have to save him!” she yelled back as she disappeared into the night, her jacket flapping behind her.
Mr. Fortune Teller covered his face with his weathered hands. He remembered the dreadful night when the twins had been taken away from their mother. They had not stopped crying for days. Since then, he had always tried to shield them from pain. Now there was no helping it. They would have to suffer no matter what he did.