“Max, trust me, I know your kind.” Vandevere smiled down condescendingly. “Charlatan, con man, opportunist—”
Nope, Medici thought. He had not come out here to be insulted. “Uh-huh. New York’s that way; happy to give you directions.”
Vandevere held up his hands placatingly. “But I also know it comes from a deep desire to one day build something authentic and true.” He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air.
“I know your game,” Medici said. He’d met plenty of men like Vandevere—all out to scoop up more power and money, not caring who they trampled in the process. Plus, he knew this magic trick.
“It’s not a game.” Vandevere wound the coin through his fingers. “Some men cheat rules. Others change them.”
With a final toss, the coin arced into the air, and then Vandevere grabbed it and unfurled his palm to reveal it was empty. The coin was gone.
Medici folded his arms and shot Vandevere a disgusted look. “It’s up your sleeve.”
“It’s in your pocket,” Vandevere countered.
Medici patted his jacket and found a folded piece of paper. Drawing it out, he nearly lost his footing. The check covered more than a year’s worth of expenses for the circus, and the note attached claimed something Medici had never expected.
“Secret to show business, my friend,” Vandevere continued as Medici read everything over again. “Always keep a rabbit in your hat. Or a monkey in your desk, I suppose.”
“Ownership shares?” Medici tilted his head and studied Vandevere. Was this real? Vandevere wanted him to be part owner of the Dreamland circus?
“Max, look around. Your whole way of life is ending.”
Medici gazed at his life’s work—the patched tents, the scrappy crew sawing new cutouts or practicing their acts despite being half the number they used to be. Every loss had cut Medici’s heart—he considered the troupe his family, and whether it was due to death or disbanding, he hated that the family was shrinking instead of growing. They hadn’t had anyone new join them in over a year. Maybe Vandevere was right—circuses no longer held the same allure.
“The future of entertainment is getting the whole world to travel to you. I have built that destination, but what I lack”—Vandevere paused and turned soulful eyes on Medici—“is a protégé.”
Was Vandevere saying what he thought he was saying? Medici scratched his head absently, forgetting there was a check in his hand until the paper hit his forehead.
“I know there’s no Medici ‘brothers.’ You probably always wanted one.” Vandevere looked sincere.
“You’re offering me a partnership?” Medici asked.
Vandevere nodded. “And a home. For your entire troupe.” He spread his arms wide. “No more traveling, debt, or struggle. We’ll all soar on that elephant’s wings. Or ears. However it works.”
Medici’s eyes rested on his circus, where his performers and crew were waiting for him. “A home for all of us?”
“Join with me and my family in Dreamland and let me take us all into the future.” Vandevere’s face was aglow as he spoke of Dreamland.
Caught up in Vandevere’s enthusiasm, Medici pictured them working side by side, transforming Dreamland into the premier circus in the world. People would travel to them, and without all the setup, transit, and breakdown costs, Medici could invest more in props and costumes, build permanent stages…The possibilities were endless.
“All right. Partners,” Medici proclaimed, sticking out his hand.
Vandevere grinned as they shook. He seemed just as genuinely excited as Medici.
There would be paperwork to lay out all the details.
But Dumbo and the whole Medici family would be moving to Dreamland.
Where all their dreams would come true.
No, Max Medici didn’t have a twin brother—or a brother at all, for that matter. Max Medici wasn’t even his real name. He was born Gustavo Jakub Klosinski. But he was smart enough to know a catchy hook was needed in the circus business. And if there was one thing Max excelled at above all others, it was drawing people in. A salesman of marvels, a peddler of curiosities, a born entertainer. He knew how to make a crowd gasp and shiver with excitement. From the age of five, he cracked jokes in the kitchen while his mother and aunts scrubbed laundry until they waved him off. At eight, he drove his teachers crazy as he interrupted lessons, wanting every eye fixed on him.
When his father disappeared, eleven-year-old Max dropped out of school and set up shop as a shoeshine, spinning tall tales for his customers. Some people would come back, transfixed, while others found him too forward and took their business elsewhere. But day by day, Max practiced how to catch and hold a person’s interest.
Then, when he was thirteen, a circus arrived in Pittsburgh.
“Bernardo, wait for me,” he called after his best friend.
Up ahead, Bernardo paused impatiently by the lamppost until Gustavo reached him.
“Gustavo, you have to keep up,” Bernardo scolded. “That was the deal.”
“I can’t help it. My legs are shorter than yours.” He kept hoping for a growth spurt.
As they turned onto the drive leading to the circus, they could see the tall tents ahead, lights and streamers strung between them.
His stomach felt fizzy.
“Ugh,” Bernardo groaned. “How are we going to get in? Look at that line.”
“Never fear, ’Nardo. Where there is a will, there is a way.” Gustavo led him around to the side, where a makeshift fence surrounded the fair.
Prying apart two flat sections, the kids slipped inside. A white sheet of fabric met them—they were behind a small tent. Edging around it, they saw a cook fire and benches set up all around it—this must be where the circus performers ate. Gustavo pictured them all coming offstage, roaring with laughter and slapping each other on the back as they settled in to eat and talk and joke with one another. A family not of blood, but of friendship and camaraderie.
Bernardo hustled forward, knocking Gustavo’s imagination back to the present. Quickly, he caught up to his friend, and they both eased into the crowd along the main thoroughfare, where the sideshow booths were set up.
“Whoa!” Bernardo pointed to a man on a pedestal juggling lighted torches.
The next person over wasn’t all that strange. Sure, she had more facial hair than the usual woman, but Gustavo had seen plenty of almost-full mustaches on his older female relatives. Still, the kids stopped to watch as the bearded lady spun in a circle and tugged on her hair so they’d know it was real.
“Look at that!” Bernardo nudged Gustavo and led him to a pair of contortionists who were twisted together, their limbs looking like a pretzel.
The boys swiped some popcorn, and after half an hour of wandering, they made it to the main tent. Applause thundered as the previous act ended. The benches were packed, but Gustavo found them standing spots near the front.
Lights flashed, spotlights dancing around the tent while someone tapped out a drumroll. Bang! went the cymbal. The lights veered to the center of the ring, where an elegantly dressed man in a top hat and tails bowed.
“You’ve seen feats of strength and speed. Now be dazzled by our most daring duo—the Leaping Leonardos!”
Swooping away, the spotlights illuminated two men in sparkling green leotards standing on platforms at least fifty feet off the floor, facing each other. Each waved to the crowd, then stepped forward and unhooked a bar between two ropes.
“Those are trapezes,” Gustavo whispered to Bernardo, acting like an expert when he’d only just heard the word from the people nearest them.
“I know,” his friend huffed.
Dangling from their hands, the two men pushed off, swinging out over open air. Gustavo gasped, then noticed the net below, its black threads camouflaged in the darkness. Still, how brave of those performers! Now one was hanging upside down by his knees. The other suddenly let go of his trapeze!
Gustavo’s stomach
clenched, his eyes riveted on the man.
The acrobat tucked into a ball, spinning through the air like a hoop, before extending his body out into a straight line, reaching for his partner. They linked arms, the trapeze holding them both whooshing even faster.
For the rest of the performance, Gustavo didn’t move. Even when the lights came up and everyone was ushered out, he stood, immobile in the press of people exiting. Bernardo tugged on his arm, but instead of heading for the exit, Gustavo plunged into the ring itself.
A burly crewman busy hoisting down the nets yelled at him to stop.
The ringmaster appeared at Gustavo’s side. “Who are you?” he asked, not angrily.
“My name is Gustavo Jakub Klosinski.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, please!” Gustavo nearly tripped over his words.
“With what?”
“How do I become you?”
The man studied Gustavo’s hopeful upturned face, the fervor in his eyes. “Ah, caught the circus bug, have you? It’s a hard one to shake, I have to warn you. If you let it in further, it will take over your life, consume your every waking minute…and dollar.”
“Where do I start?” Gustavo asked.
The man laughed. “Sign on as a stagehand, learn the trade. Or rustle up enough money to start your own show from scratch.” The man winked. He was clearly joking about that last one—circuses must have been very expensive.
Gustavo nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, thank you.” He shook the man’s hand and turned to go. Bernardo fidgeted a few feet away.
“Hey, Gustavo,” the ringmaster called after him.
Gustavo looked back at the ringmaster.
“Whatever you do, change your name!”
Hmmm. It was true. It would be hard to spread word of mouth about a traveling circus if nobody could pronounce—or spell—the name.
As Gustavo followed Bernardo back to their neighborhood, the streets of Pittsburgh blurred around him. Visions of acrobats and clowns, freaks and unusual acts danced through his mind. And at the center of them all, he stood in a spotlight, proudly waving to an audience of cheering men, women, and children.
One day, he would make it happen. All of it.
He’d run the greatest circus there ever was.
Two months later, after all the contracts had been reviewed and signed, arrangements made, tour dates cancelled, tickets refunded with promises of discounts if customers traveled to Dreamland to see Dumbo’s act…after the circus had been packed up and loaded onto the train for the last time, Milly, Joe, and Holt pressed their noses against the glass of the train’s window.
“There it is!” Milly gasped at the high buildings reaching skyward like teetering acrobats when they piled up on each other’s shoulders. “Can you believe it?”
“New York City,” Joe marveled. “Center of the world!”
Chugging over bridges, the train passed crowded apartment buildings with folks hanging over the rooftop ledges to get a peek at them, while others strolled down wide avenues, parasols lifted to shield their faces from the sun. Milly had never seen so many cars jockeying for position on the roads. The calls of hawkers selling their goods, newsboys, horn blasts, and engine noise filled the air. As they rolled away from Manhattan, the houses grew shorter, but were just as packed together. Milly sniffed—salt! They were near the ocean.
Slowly, the Medici train pulled into the final station, the end of the line. Milly and Joe bounded out, followed by their father. They couldn’t believe they were finally there. From all they’d heard, Dreamland was a wondrous place. In the distance they could see the soaring ring of a Ferris wheel and the curving line of a roller coaster. In the center, rising above a set of swirling metal gates, was a delicate tower. The letters “V.A.V.” were spelled out in lights on its side, and a glass-enclosed room near the top promised an incredible view of the circus and the sea below.
“Ah, welcome!” Vandevere strode down the train platform and pumped Medici’s hand. Colette, draped in a peacock blue capelet, trailed behind him, waving hello to the kids.
When she’d first seen her, Milly had been intimidated by Colette, sure this elegant lady would frown at Milly’s patchwork jumpsuit attire—not to mention her outlandish notions of training Dumbo using the scientific method. But Colette’s warmth felt genuine. She seemed honestly curious about Milly and her ideas.
“I trust you’ve had a safe journey. I’ve made arrangements for Dumbo, as you can see.” Vandevere interrupted Milly’s thoughts, pointing to a giant gold-encrusted covered carriage drawn by horses. It featured a small barred window at the back. Several of his men backed it up close to the train and quickly loaded the little elephant into it.
“Wait,” Milly called. She ducked inside Dumbo’s boxcar on the train and emerged with the mouse circus. “These are his friends; he likes to have them close by.” She carefully tucked the cage into the carriage and patted Dumbo on the trunk.
“Now, follow me to our own ride,” Vandevere said to the Farriers, Medici, and Colette as the men closed up the carriage. He led them to the silver car they’d seen before, now with its top down. Sotheby held the door open as Milly, Joe, and Holt piled into the back. Vandevere, Colette, and Medici took the front row, and Sotheby slid behind the wheel.
The car rolled smoothly up to a massive curved gate that marked the entrance to Dreamland in a flourish of letters. Milly held her breath as it swung slowly open. She gazed around as the car passed inside. Directly ahead of them, a line of booths and flashy attractions led to a massive, elaborate tent. But unlike their own traveling tent, this one had metal pillars and railings for the attached fabric, and it was five times the size. Off to their left lay amusement park rides, like the Ferris wheel and a roller coaster. A rocket ship appeared to soar above. Shrieks of delight came from that area. Yet Milly’s gaze was drawn to the right, where sleek, modern buildings announced the future. One was emblazoned with words she’d never imagined.
“Look, Dad! ‘Wonders of Science,’” she read aloud, pointing to the building with electric wires zigzagging above it. Her whole body tingled as though gentle waves of electricity were flowing over her.
“Slow down, sugarplum,” Holt cautioned. “We have a job to do here.” Vandevere was watching Milly with curiosity. “My daughter fancies herself the next Marie Curie,” Holt told him.
Vandevere tilted his head, studying Milly. He smiled. “I once overheard my father say I’d never amount to anything. Now he calls me every year asking for money.” His intense gaze focused on Milly alone. “Never let anyone tell you what you can’t do,” he said fiercely.
“Hang on, I wasn’t saying—” Holt spluttered, clearly upset at being painted as unsupportive. He loved Milly with all his heart; he just wanted something practical for her future rather than crushed dreams of a world beyond reach. He knew what it was like to lose things that were precious to him. He wanted to protect her from that hurt.
Vandevere didn’t wait for Holt to finish. He motioned lazily and they continued on toward the large tent. Crowds of people lined the path, cheering and waving as the procession rolled past.
“Have you ever seen so many people?” Milly asked.
“I know. I wish Mom could have seen it.” Joe looked wistful.
Regaining his composure, Holt smiled at his kids. “Somehow, I think she knows we’re here.” Then he leaned forward and whispered to Medici, “Way to work your magic, Gustavo.”
“Shhh.” Medici waved him off.
“Eeeeaaauuugh?” A plaintive call came from the carriage. Milly and Joe twisted to see it behind them.
“It’s okay! We hear you, Dumbo,” Milly called. “Why won’t you let him see outside?” Dumbo loved waving to people, but the carriage only had the small barred window, too high up for him to peek out of. She was sure he wanted to know what all the commotion was.
“Patience, young lady. Mystique,” Vandevere explained.
Behind the carriage, the rest of Med
ici’s circus brought up the end of the parade, their faces full of awe. They’d never been greeted like this before.
“Now this is why I joined the circus,” Rongo said happily.
Miss Atlantis smiled from behind her veiled hat while Pramesh and his nephew nodded their heads at the clamoring crowd. Catherine blew kisses to the spectators while Ivan waved like a movie star. Puck straightened his back, puffing up his chest, prompting Rongo to elbow him playfully. The clowns broke out into spontaneous cartwheels and somersaults while the acrobats glided along gracefully.
Tires crunched to a stop as they pulled up in front of the main tent.
Vandevere turned toward his masterpiece of a circus, putting a hand on Colette’s shoulder. “Here it is, the center of it all! What is it that we do here, ma chérie?”
Colette knew her cue. She threw back her arms and beamed. “We make the impossible possible!”
Gazing around, Milly believed it. Everything looked brand-new and shiny.
“And that’s where you’ll perform: the Colosseum!” Sotheby pointed to the enormous tent, which Milly now noticed was decorated with six-foot-tall banners featuring Colette. They’d never seen a tent with such angles—the stadium beneath it was permanent, with sleek metal support beams. “Training tents are behind it. That’s where Dumbo will stay.”
Skellig and several men steered the horses off in that direction, golden carriage bumping along behind them. A nervous trumpet leaked out.
“We’re here, Dumbo! Don’t worry!” Joe called back.
“Why aren’t we going with him?” Milly asked. Dumbo liked to have her and Joe settle him in, and they usually slept nearby these days.
“Because we’re headed to your new home.”
A little while later, Vandevere strode toward a beautiful building on the edge of the circus and unlocked the oak front door.
Holt and his kids blinked. They weren’t sleeping in a tent anymore? No more chilly nights and stifling hot afternoons? No more tiptoeing around each other’s cots in the middle of the night to use the bathroom?
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