Vagabond Circus Series

by Sarah Noffke

  “You all better clear this area unless you want to be burned,” Sunshine said.

  Knowing Sunshine wasn’t the bluffing type, many of the crew members clambered for the back practice tent. A few performers backed up to the far side of the big top. Only two people remained sitting in the front row staring at her with nonchalant expressions. Oliver and Padmal.

  Sunshine grabbed the teal blue and neon green flag and started her act. First she lifted her hand up and a flame shot from her wrist and landed on the first torch. Most people in the audience of Vagabond Circus thought Sunshine had some sort of fire shooter attached to her arm. That’s why her costume was sleeveless and tight, to show there were zero places to hide such a device. Still skeptical adults were able to make a reasonable explanation for this part of the act. A girl couldn’t shoot and control fire. Most changed their minds by the end though.

  All three torches were now lit. Sunshine then flipped the flag between each of the torches, making them flicker from the wind. This was to show that there was nothing connecting the torches. No wires. Then she dropped the flag in the center of the ring and snapped three times, making each of the torches snuff out by some invisible source. This was followed by three swift claps from the girl. Each flame ticked back on. At this point in the act most were convinced the torches were on remotes, but that wouldn’t explain what happened next.

  Sunshine raised her hand at the first torch, and the flame rose in height. Then she dragged her hand and the flame spread in the direction her hand went, making the flame drag toward the next in a line of fire. She raised her hand and the beam of fire raised. Then it connected with the second torch. The performer dragged her hand again directing the initial flame until all the torches were connected by a line of fire. This put Sunshine in the middle of a triangle of fire, her brow sweating from the heat around her.

  In truth, she didn’t actually need the torches. They were only to ground the act in something believable. People wouldn’t be able to digest a girl producing fire. Controlling fire, yes, but not producing it.

  Sunshine was just about to move on to the second part of her act when she was distracted by Oliver and Padmal. They still sat on the bleachers, their hands clasping each other’s. Then Padmal pressed her face in close to Oliver’s and kissed him once on the cheek. Sunshine dropped her hands and the triangle of fire disappeared. She threw her finger at the couple. “Separate,” Sunshine said, her voice angry.

  Padmal looked at her and blinked rapidly. “What?” she said.

  “Separate or I will burn you,” Sunshine said, her focus on the young girl.

  Padmal gave an incredulous look to her friend. “Oh, come off it, Sunshine,” she said, waving her cappuccino-colored hand at her.

  Sunshine growled with frustration. “You were warned,” she said and then shot a neat bit of fire at the couple. They broke apart at once, Oliver moving right, Padmal left. The fire hit Oliver’s jeans, lighting the bottom of the frayed edge. He slapped at the fire, putting it out swiftly.

  “Are you mad?” Padmal said to the girl, her fists by her side.

  “No, but you must be,” Sunshine said. “You think because Dave is dead that the rules are too? No dating, remember? Do you have no respect for the man who saved your life?”

  Padmal tied her arms across her chest, her dark brown hair falling down in her face. “Dave did not save me.”

  Sunshine stomped over to the girl, towering over her. “I’ve tolerated your animosity toward Dave knowing that you were confused. He personally asked me to take it easy on you since he was aware of your feelings toward him. But he’s dead now and I don’t have to mind that request anymore. You will show the founder of this circus respect or you will leave it.”

  “Sunny,” Oliver said at her back. She didn’t turn to look at him. She liked Oliver. Knew he was under Padmal’s evil spell. She had only tolerated Padmal because of her respect for the girl’s brothers, who were sensitive and kind. But that diplomacy died with Dave.

  “You don’t have the authority to kick me out of the circus,” Padmal said, raising her chin to the girl in front of her.

  “Oh, but I think we both know I can make your life hell and I’ve got a lot of anger to direct somewhere,” she said, holding her finger up at the girl.

  “You wouldn’t,” Padmal said.

  “I just did and I will again,” she said. “Just give me a reason to set your ass on fire, Paddy.”

  “Sunshine, you’re not thinking clearly,” Padmal said.

  “No, I’m not,” the older girl said. “And that’s not good for you, so I suggest you don’t cross me. Show respect to Dave or leave. You’ve been warned.”

  Oliver dared to put a hand on Sunshine’s shoulder. She did turn this time and regarded him briefly. “Sorry I burned you. It was meant for this girl,” she said, indicating the small girl in front of her. “But stay off each other or I will burn your Mohawk, Oliver, got it?”

  He nodded and Sunshine turned back to Padmal, who had a new fire burning in her eyes.

  “We all know you don’t want to be here and I’ll say what no one will,” Sunshine said to the girl. “Everyone would be happier without your bad attitude, so keep that in mind when considering the future.”

  Padmal pressed her mouth together forming a hard line, but she didn’t dare say a word. In truth, she was afraid of Sunshine and also knew the girl was right. It was probably time she left Vagabond Circus. And once she did then she could find her mother and finally be happy.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Is there some place we can practice?” Finley asked Zuma as they walked through the wide halls of her old home.

  “Practice?” she asked, thinking he was referring to their act in Vagabond Circus.

  “Well, we need to figure out a few things for entering and staying alive in Knight’s compound,” he said, his face carrying the serious expression again, all lightness gone from his eyes.

  “Right,” she said, and his expression was contagious, making her face go slack. “That makes sense, although…”

  “What?” Finley asked.

  “It just feels like we’re wasting time when we could be rescuing Jack,” she said.

  “I agree that’s what it feels like, but everything is about timing,” Finley said, stopping and turning toward Zuma. The morning light slid through the window behind her back, drenching her in its golden rays. Finley shook this off and tried to concentrate. “And Ian said we should show up early afternoon, which means we don’t leave here for at least another couple of hours. I vote we use that time to practice.”

  She nodded, seeming to agree. “Yeah, we can practice in the basement,” Zuma said and then she led him to a set of stairs at the back side of the house.

  The basement wasn’t like most that were dark, unfinished, and mostly unused. It was cool like most basements, and it was also incredibly large. Finley’s face broke into a mystified expression when they stepped into the multipurpose area of the basement. First Zuma led him through a lounge area complete with tables and leather sofas. Then the pair walked past a game room stocked with a ping-pong table and arcade games, and finally through a gym area with every type of machine that could be found in the nicest of health clubs.

  Zuma continued walking until they came to a door. She opened it and the automatic lights flickered on to reveal a mirrored room with pristine wooden floors and a ballet bar installed along the perimeter.

  Zuma looked back at Finley, whose face had a look of awe about it. “Will this work?”

  “Yeah,” he said, trying and failing to understand what it was like to grow up in a place like this.

  “They use this mostly for yoga now, but it’s where I learned to dance,” Zuma offered.

  Finley nodded, still unable to digest this. He and Zuma didn’t have polar opposite upbringings. Their childhoods couldn’t even be compared. That would be like comparing a Tesla car to a soggy torn up box. They were too dissimilar to contrast. There was nothin
g to even relate between the two.

  Finley blinked away his confusion and looked up to find Zuma studying him. He should have been expecting this but he was so caught off guard by the strangeness of Zuma’s family life.

  “My parents don’t like to leave the house much, Mom especially,” she said in response to the look on his face. She realized that a set-up like this warranted an explanation. “They’re homebodies, about like I am to Vagabond Circus. Anyway, they put all this in to make that easier for them,” she said, a nervousness in her voice. She felt Finley’s judgments and didn’t know if they were good or bad. “Hudson spends all his time in the gym area as you might have guessed,” she said, trying to make a joke, to which neither laughed. Finally after a bout of silence Zuma said, “So, what are we supposed to practice?”

  Finley grew up in a warehouse. When he was older he was moved to another warehouse. That’s where he trained and did everything, but the metal walls and concrete floors were a stark difference to the Zanders’ house. Finley shook off the weirdness and brought his chin up. “Right, we have two things that I think we need to master so we can break in and out of Knight’s compound.”

  “Master?” Zuma said skeptically. “You gave us less than two hours to master an important skill for surviving Knight’s compound? Don’t you think we could have been practicing while dream traveling last night?”

  He shook his head. “No, I think you needed time to grieve last night because being composed for this mission is important too.”

  She nodded, suddenly taken aback by how sensitive Finley could be. How had a boy raised in a factory of sorts gained such compassion? It almost appeared to her that it was inborn.

  “And besides,” he said, daring to show her a small rebellious smile, “we work better under pressure and impossible deadlines, don’t you think?”

  Zuma remembered when they constructed and perfected their first act, just under three months ago. It was the best part of Vagabond Circus and unbelievably they’d created it in only half an hour.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said. “What’s the first of these two things we’ve got to master?”

  “Teleporting,” Finley said simply.

  “What?” Zuma said, almost laughing.

  Finley strolled to the center of the studio. “The only way to get in and around Knight’s compound safely, that I know of, is by teleporting. I’m fairly certain that it’s the reason I’m the only one who has ever escaped.”

  “The only one…” Zuma said half to herself. And again she was mesmerized by the guy who stood before her. He was the only one who’d ever escaped this crazy and impossible place known as Knight’s compound.

  “There’s too many traps in outer corridors. We need to be able to bypass them by teleporting.”

  “But wait,” Zuma said, shaking her head, her long braid falling off her shoulder as she did. “You think we can teleport together? That you can take me with you?”

  Finley gave a reluctant nod. “I suspect I can.”

  “Wait, what? You’ve never done this before?”

  “I’ve done it with objects and I don’t have any reason to think that under the laws that dictate my teleporting ability I shouldn’t be able to take you along with me,” Finley said, having spent most of the night considering all this.

  Zuma didn’t reply to this statement, but instead paused to consider this crazy notion. What would it feel like to teleport through space and time with Finley? It terrified and excited her.

  After a moment, Finley shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work then it doesn’t work. No harm done. I’ll teleport and you’ll remain behind outside.”

  “But then how do we get into Knight’s compound?” Zuma asked, as if she hadn’t heard his last sentence.

  “Well, then I guess we don’t and you can be the lookout,” he said with a slight satisfied grin.

  She neared him, giving Finley a sturdy look. “Then this better work because I’m not some dumb lookout.”

  He agreed with a nod. Then his light expression dropped off his face. “Okay, but you’re not going to like the procedure for teleporting, although I’m certain it’s the only way.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Why? What does it involve?”

  “Touching me,” Finley said flatly.

  “Oh,” she gulped. Zuma had been preparing herself for something much more awful than that. “Yeah,” she said, trying to make her tone sound disappointed. “Why do I need to touch you?”

  “Well, because I can only teleport with objects if I’m holding them,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said again. “So…”

  “I’m going to need to hold you for this to work,” Finley said, and he tried to make his voice sound neutral.

  “Fine,” she said after a moment, her tone clipped and unaffected. They had done similar things in their act, so she wasn’t sure why it was a big deal. However, a lot had transpired since then. He’d confessed his love. Zuma had accepted him only to learn his treachery and she’d then rejected him. She wasn’t sure if touching him would ever feel as it did or be something that she could do without being bombarded by a thousand competing emotions. “What do I need to do?” Zuma asked, her voice mechanical.

  “Well, it’s your thoughts,” Finley said. “Like I said, I’ve never done this with a person, but I know how it works with objects. Usually it only matters how I feel and think about them, but since you’re a thinking and feeling being I want you to be focused.”

  “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “What should I be thinking and feeling?”

  Finley released his lip from his teeth and said, “That you’re mine.”

  Zuma paused her breathing. “What?” she finally croaked out. “Why do I have to do that?”

  “Because,” Finley said, pulling his eyes off her, “I can only teleport with that which belongs to me. I had the hardest time stealing other people’s stuff until I realized this. It’s a law of teleporting.”

  “Err…Fine,” Zuma said, her eyes on the ground, not daring to look at Finley.

  “I told you you weren’t going to like it,” he said.

  She pinned her shoulders back and forced herself to raise her chin high and fake a new confidence. Zuma was a professional. I can do this, she thought. “This is simply what we have to do. I’m fine with it. Let’s practice,” she said and walked until she was only inches away from Finley.

  Awkwardly Zuma stood looking up at him, but all he saw was the confidence she was projecting. “How do we do this?” she said flatly.

  “Well,” he said, taking a half step closer to her, “I’m going to put my arms around you now. Do the same to me.”

  She nodded. This is just business, she thought. A means to an end. A way to get Jack back. And then when her arms reached around Finley and when she finally touched him, Zuma felt a part of her chest tighten, her heart instantly reacting to the closeness, to the combination of their chemistry as it mingled.

  “Okay, now what?” she said, her eyes pinned to his chest. Zuma was too aware that their stomachs and hips and legs and arms were all touching. She felt each of his abbreviated breaths.

  “I want you to firmly believe you’re mine,” Finley said. “Erase everything dividing us, if only for doing this. For merely this moment you have to think you belong to me. You have to want to be mine.”

  Zuma tried to say something but the words caught in her throat. She nodded instead.

  “And I’m going to force myself to think the same thing about you,” he said, and she could have sworn she heard a lightness creep into his voice.

  Another nod.

  “Okay, I’m going to teleport us a few feet now,” Finley said. “If it works, it will feel strange for a bit afterwards, but we will deal with that then.”

  “Wait,” Zuma said and realized she’d tensed her arms around Finley. “Could this hurt me? Mess up my composition?” There was real fear in her voice.

  He smiled slightly, enjoying her arms arou
nd him more than he should. She wasn’t touching him because she wanted to, but in that moment he hardly cared. “I don’t think so,” Finley said. “Just relax and focus.”

  Zuma nodded, keeping her eyes on a place on his chest, unwilling to look up at him. “I’m yours,” she whispered and then closed her eyes.

  “Yes, mine,” he said in the same whisper but his tone was loaded with satisfaction.

  Then suddenly Zuma’s insides were jolted, her head exploding with an intense pressure. It wasn’t pain but rather a strange centrifugal force, like she was falling from a building. Her stomach met her throat and then she opened her eyes to blackness. She was just about to scream when she realized she wasn’t breathing, she couldn’t hear, she had no voice. No senses. And then everything detonated around her: colors, sounds, lights, smells, sensations. She felt everything at once: the ground under her unstable feet, the particles of air around her, Finley’s arms pressing her to him, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She squinted from the acute loudness of everything in her world.

  “Hey,” he said beside her ear in a gentle voice. “Are you all right?”

  Zuma focused on her breath and only then realized she’d been holding it and that’s what was contributing to the lightheaded feeling. Then slowly she attempted to open her eyes. Finley was staring down at her, a half-satisfied, half-nervous look on his face. “It jolts the senses the first few times,” he said. “Are you all right?” he asked again.