by L.H. Cosway
It wasn’t going to happen.
As I went to change out of my work clothes, the flyer for the circus slipped from my pocket. I picked it up and read the little section at the back that gave a snippet of its history. Apparently, the Circus Spektakulär was thirty years old and originally set up by a German named Konrad Eichel. When he died seven years ago, Marina Mitchell, who had previously been the circus’s fortune-teller, took over as ringmaster. The circus was held not in a traditional circus tent, but in a Spiegeltent, which was a large, colourful structure dating from the late 19th century made from canvas and wood. Apparently, there were only a small number of Spiegeltents left in the world, which made the Circus Spektakulär something of a rare experience.
Already I was imagining what it might look like so that I could paint it.
Hurriedly, I pulled on a light summer dress and some boots, grabbed my coat, and sneaked out of the house as quietly as I could manage. A little rush of excitement ran through me when I got around the corner and speed-walked toward the edge of town. I could see lights flashing up into the sky as I got closer, could hear distant music.
When I reached the usually vacant field where the circus was being held, I had to dodge some bits of mud where the grass had been trodden on too frequently. Old vaudevillian piano music played from speakers that had been set up all around, making you feel as though you were stepping through a portal back in time. I nodded hello to a few families I knew from town and stepped in line to buy a ticket. After I paid, I went to a stand that was selling popcorn and candyfloss. A girl with short brown hair wearing a T-shirt with a cat’s face on it smiled at me and asked what I’d like. I bought some popcorn in a paper cone and made my way inside the Spiegeltent.
On the outside, it was a circular structure with a dome-like roof and was painted in red, blue, and yellow. The primary colours. Mix red with yellow, and you get orange. Mix red and blue, and you get purple. Mix blue and yellow, and you get green. I had always been interested in the very simple science of it all.
When I was painting, sometimes I liked to mix random colours together to see what would happen. Often I’d discover a wonderful new shade of pink or purple, while at other times I’d discover that mixing too many colours just gave you an ugly brown or grey.
I thought maybe that was a good philosophy for life. Experiment with your colours, but don’t experiment too much, or you’ll destroy the natural beauty.
It’s like that saying – too many cooks spoil the broth.
The inside of the tent was circular in shape. The stage was a sturdy round platform in the centre with the seating surrounding it. Red and blue stripes lined the ceiling and gathered up towards the dome of the roof. I’d never been anywhere like this before, and I was fascinated.
Sitting down on a seat three rows from the stage, I munched on my popcorn and waited for the place to fill up. Children’s excited laughter rang out over the chattering of adults and the vaudeville piano. I heard more mature giggling then, and turned my head to the side to see Delia and three of her friends looking in my direction. So much for her not wanting to go to the circus.
Obviously, they were mocking the fact that I was there alone. My mouth formed a straight line as my gut sank. I felt a momentary flicker of self-consciousness. Was it weird to go to stuff like this on your own? All around me people seemed to be in groups of family or friends. Perhaps it was weird. Still, my resolve hardened. Delia really wasn’t my friend at all, was she? I needed to add an eleventh item to my list.
Unfriend Delia.
I pretended I was unaware of their mocking and focused my attention straight ahead. After a few minutes, I was almost out of popcorn, and the lights started to dim. I immediately recognised Marina’s voice as she announced over the speakers that the show was about to begin. Then a drumroll started up as she walked out onto the stage, wearing a top hat, a red coat with tails, tight black trousers, boots, and her trademark assortment of necklaces. Her lipstick was bright pink, and her eyes were lined with silver and gold eye shadow. However, the most interesting thing about her was that there was a little capuchin monkey sitting on her shoulder.
A monkey!
He had cream-coloured fur on his head and brown fur on his body, and when he jumped off Marina’s shoulder and headed towards the audience, I heard a number of children squeal with delight.
“Welcome, everyone, to the Spiegeltent and the Circus Spektakulär! My name is Marina Mitchell, and I’ll be your master of ceremonies for the evening. The little guy currently running amok amid the audience is Pierre, my trusty capuchin sidekick. Please keep an eye on your belongings — he has habit of taking shiny things that don’t belong to him.” She paused to wink at a boy in the front row. “We are a small, independent circus and pride ourselves on giving audiences a unique and magical experience. We have been travelling around Europe, Ireland, and the UK for the past thirty years. Tonight you will see wonders to delight, astound, and thrill. You will see men tame beasts. You will see women dance in the sky. You will see bodies accomplish impossible feats. And yes, you will laugh until your bellies ache as our clowns act out the comical and ridiculous. But first, I give you our Elephant Men, Jan and Ricky.”
Applause rang out as Marina took a bow and clapped her hands, and Pierre came running to climb back onto her shoulder. A moment later, two short men with dark hair walked out onto the stage. They were bare-chested and wore matching silk trousers with intricate designs. When one of them made a small gesture, two elephants came trotting out. I smiled widely, my eyes going big as I stared at the magnificent creatures. Playful music came on, “Pink Elephants on Parade” from Dumbo. They marched around the stage in a circle, lifting their legs gracefully when prompted or throwing their trunks high into the air.
During the act, the men led the elephants to go up on their hind legs, and at one point, Jan, I think it was, climbed up onto one elephant and sat on its back. Once their act was over, Marina was back out, introducing the Ladies of the Sky, three red-haired acrobats who I thought must be sisters, they resembled one another so closely.
They hung from silky coloured ribbons, twisting, twirling, and diving. My hands itched for a paintbrush as the colours swirled above me. I could have sat there for hours detailing the orange glow of their hair and the lithe, graceful movements of their limbs. I was certain that my Gran, who had been the one who first taught me how to paint, would have loved to be here right now. Unfortunately, she died when I was ten, but I always remembered her teachings, always tried to live by her philosophies, which were so opposite from my mother’s.
Make mistakes, Lille. Walk on the cracks. Break the rules that were made to be broken.
Somebody sat down in the empty seat beside me, and I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see the girl from the popcorn stand. She was holding a stick on which was spun a massive cloud of pink candy floss. When she saw me looking at her, she smiled wide, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and asked, “Want some?”
I nodded and eagerly plucked off a wisp before sticking it into my mouth. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’m Lola.”
“Lille.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lille. Are you enjoying the show?”
Again, I nodded, this time more fervently. “Absolutely.”
“I’m on my break. Thought I’d come in for the best part. Jack’s on next.”
Instantly, I recognised the name, and something both nervous and excited squeezed in my gut. Still, I feigned ignorance and asked, “Jack?”
“He’s the fire-breather. He also does knife throwing. I swear, every time he throws a knife at someone, I can’t be certain whether or not he means to hit or miss. There’s this air of danger about him, you know.”
I swallowed, more questions on the tip of my tongue, but the low, thrumming rock music that came on interrupted me. The bass hit me right in the pit of my stomach, and the crowd began to cheer. Marina made a passionate introduction for the Jack McCabe, fire-eater
extraordinaire, and then he was walking out onto the stage, two long metal torches in his hands, the tips blazing with fire. My skin prickled with awareness, and somehow I just knew I was in for something truly amazing.
Two
They crossed a sea of water
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the way that his large muscular frame moved mesmerised me. He was all hard, toned muscle underneath gorgeous tanned skin. I leaned forward in my chair, because it looked like there was scarring all along his shoulder and half of his back.
“Are those….”
“Burn scars?” Lola interjected casually. “That’s what they look like, but nobody knows for certain.”
I glanced at her, unsure yet if I was comfortable with this girl. I was by contrast wary and delighted with her instant camaraderie. I’d never had a stranger come up to me and randomly act like we were already friends. For once, I wasn’t the eager one. Then again, I thought Lola and I probably came from very different worlds. Perhaps she did this kind of thing all the time.
Thinking of Jack’s scars, I wondered if that was why he’d been staring at my burned hand so intensely today. Perhaps it brought back a traumatic memory for him.
My eyes grew wide as he walked to the centre of the stage, holding out the two blazing torches. The crowd applauded when he began to swing them around dexterously, and my body got tense. He swung the torches in swift figure-eights, creating glowing swirls of orange in the dim light of the tent. I was both fascinated and worried that he might hurt himself, or worse, lose his grip on one of the torches.
His movements were almost like dancing. He ran the fire along the length of one arm, and it blazed across his skin before flickering out. He licked at the other flame, then brought the entire torch into his mouth and swallowed the fire. Whoa. Sexily, he lifted a bottle to his mouth, took a drink, tipped a torch to his lips, and spat. Huge, billowing flames exploded outward, making it look like he was breathing fire. It held a terrifying sort of beauty.
I heard quiet chuckling next to me and turned to see Lola grinning, “You’re fucking hilarious.”
I frowned, unsure whether I should take offence. “What?”
“You act like you’ve just seen a miracle.”
“Well, I’ve never been to a circus before, so….”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s mad.” Then she dropped her face into the candyfloss and bit off a big chunk. She ate it like a three-year-old would eat a birthday cake, face first.
Hearing delighted noises from those around me, I brought my attention back to Jack to see he was now swinging around pronged metal wheels, the tips all lit with fire. He reminded me of an ancient tribal warrior performing a victory dance, and it was sexy as shit. I felt a chill cover the surface of my skin, my pores prickling. There was something irrefutably carnal about this man, and I was shocked to discover how much he could arouse me without so much as a touch.
Well, “shocked” was probably too strong a word. Since my mid-teens, I’d felt like I was a little preoccupied with sex. I mean, I had an active imagination and daydreamed about it all the time – probably because I had yet to find a partner who truly satisfied me. I was desperate to sate the foreign yet familiar hunger inside me. I’d always had this urge to explore, to experience something outside the realms of the normal. I’d had more than enough normal with Henry. Now I wanted more. Just…more.
Marina came back onto the stage, declaring that Jack would need a volunteer from the audience for the next part of his act. Needless to say, I was dying to throw my hand up and offer myself, but I had no idea what volunteering would entail. If it was something embarrassing, then half the town would be here to witness it. I shuddered to think of the news getting back to Mum, and I’d already defied her tonight with my backtalk.
So yeah, I craved sticking it to her like nobody’s business — I just had to formulate the actual courage to do so. One step at a time, I told myself, just as Lola shouted out, “Marina! Over here! I have a volunteer for ya!”
She took hold of my arm and swung it into the air.
“No!” I whisper-hissed, but she only winked at me and pushed me up out of my seat. Before I knew it I was standing, and a spotlight had landed on me, alongside Jack’s dark, indecipherable gaze. I stood frozen for a moment, uncertain of what to do, and then Marina was calling me to the stage and my feet were moving one after the other, the traitorous bastards. Okay, so maybe I was going to stick it to Mum sooner than I thought. And really, it was oddly liberating.
Jack held his hand out to me when I reached him, and I placed my palm in his. Without realising it, I’d given him the hand that had been burned. When he gripped it, I hissed in a tiny breath at the sting.
“Sorry,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound sorry.
“It’s okay,” I replied as he led me to an upright wooden panel. Taking my shoulders in his big, warm hands, he gently situated me against it, my back flush with the wood.
“I hope you’re good at holding still,” he said, and his breath hit the side of my neck.
“Why?” I practically whispered. He was incredibly handsome, even more so now that I was seeing him up close, and I felt a little drunk on it.
The edge of his mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smile. With one hand braced above my shoulder, he leaned in as he replied, “Because, blondie, I’m gonna be throwing knives at you, and I’d really hate to make you bleed.”
Again, he didn’t sound like he meant what he said at all. And I didn’t think there was a single pore on my body that wasn’t tingling. I remembered items number three and four on my list: Have sex with a stranger and do something dangerous. Perhaps if I could get Jack McCabe to do me, then I could kill two birds with one stone.
I hadn’t noticed before, because I was too busy staring at him, but there was a belt attached to the wood. I stood there as Jack took it and buckled it extra tight around my waist. He gave it a firm tug once he was done and smirked. I’m not sure why, but the action caused me to tremble. I think he noticed, too, because his eyes grew darker, if that was even possible.
Surprising me, he placed his flattened-out palm on my belly. I had to try my hardest to concentrate on his words rather than the fact that my libido (the little slut) was willing his hand to move lower.
“This is your core. Visualise it. Focus on it. Keep your body in this exact position, and everything will be fine.” There was the tiniest edge of a smile tugging at his lips, and it made me wonder if he was enjoying this, if maybe he was trying to make me nervous.
Sucking in a breath, he continued randomly, “You smell like turpentine.” Then he drew up to his full and impressive height, and walked to the other side of the stage. I knew I smelled like turpentine because I often used it to clean my paintbrushes, and sometimes the smell got into my clothes. That wasn’t the part that preoccupied me; that part would be the fact that he’d taken the time to smell me, and I didn’t know whether I should be weirded out or turned on.
Okay, so I knew which option my libido was going for. And really, maybe I was just as much of a weirdo, because what I’d wanted to reply was, “You smell like kerosene.”
Jack gathered a selection of small throwing knives from the floor and demonstrated the sharpness of each by flinging them one by one into a block of solid wood, where they embedded themselves as though slicing through butter. My heart began to race, and I could feel adrenaline starting to flood my system. I was shaking very slightly all over as I remembered Lola’s words.
I swear, every time he throws a knife at someone, I can’t be certain whether or not he means to hit or miss.
I was hoping it was the latter. Perhaps I was crossing my “something dangerous” off the list after all. Damn my life. Why couldn’t it have been the sexy danger? Jack didn’t even announce that he was starting when he stood at least ten feet away from me, flipped a knife in his hand, caught it, then lunged with his whole body and flung the knife right at my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, and
a hollow thud sounded at my ear where the knife had, thankfully, hit the board. Sounds of nervous excitement and clapping came from the audience as Jack continued his assault on me. He moved his body with the kind of skill that only comes from obsessive practice.
Adrenaline drowned me, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
A small squeak of fright escaped me when he threw a knife at my hip and it barely missed. In fact, I could feel the hard edge of the steel pressing against me. I was surprised it hadn’t cut into the fabric of my coat. Jack prowled around the stage, gaze on me, calculating his next throw. Everywhere his eyes looked, I felt positively laid bare. Molested by disinterest.
I might as well have been a sack of potatoes for all the care he showed as to whether or not he might cut me. Deciding I couldn’t take any more, I kept my eyes closed until it was over and all six knives had been thrown.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
When I finally opened my eyes, Jack was standing before me, unbuckling the belt that held me in place. I didn’t move even after I’d been released, still trying to come to terms with the terror I’d just endured. All of a sudden, Jack McCabe was more scary than sexy.
“That was a close one,” he said as he pulled out the knife that had landed just below my ear. I glanced to the side to see a tiny lock of my hair fall to the stage floor. Oh, my God.
“You cut off my hair,” I gasped.
