by Jenna Coburn
“I’m going to step outside with you, Alethea.” Reynard stood up with her, and then patted Gudmund’s back. “I’ll be back in a minute.” They went outside together, and as the door fell into its lock behind them, the night felt colder than it should have. It was all in their heads, emphasized by the feeling of loss and disorientation. Not even the drinks could keep them warm.
With their hands in their pockets, they shared another silent moment, thinking about all the things that they knew they should not think about, because it made everything worse still. “We’re going to find them,” Alethea heard herself say. She was surprised how confident she sounded. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but by now I suppose I have a little experience in murder investigations. More than the next target girl, at least.”
Reynard nodded. “Thanks. I just want to make sure that this doesn’t escalate. Gudmund and some others…they might get revenge in their heads.” He sighed. “You know how it is to feel powerless. I saw it in your face.” She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows for a second. He gave her a tired smile. “Good night, Alethea. See you soon.” She gave him a small wave, and he stepped back inside.
Left to her own devices, and left to gnaw on what she had seen and heard, Alethea stood there feeling a bit lost, until she turned away and walked, seeing Selby’s face in her mind. Her steps steered her back towards their own circus, towards their big top that lay mostly deserted, without anyone inside that was building or preparing for a later show. These surroundings matched the lonely feelings she was experiencing. The world seemed hostile, and not just because her throat hurt. Ever since she had to exculpate her brother, it felt as if everything had taken a dark turn. And magic? Magic? It was too hard.
She sought out a place to sit, and her steps led her to a specific one.
Sitting in one of the lower seating rows, where she had caught half a glance of that yelling man who put a curse on her, according to America, Alethea put her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands, and looked over to where the Wheel of Death had been erected. She was not sure if proximity to this place helped in any way. Even in a world where magic was real, she wasn’t a medium who could pick up on the lingering presence of his bad juju. Or mojo. “What’s the difference?” she asked the empty air.
To take the mystery man’s perspective, which was something much more mundane, Alethea let her eyes wander across her surroundings. She was intimately familiar with the big top, its metal beams and resilient riggings, the spotlights and platforms, the half-hidden spots for all these very non-Victorian cables and other technology, the box for the musicians, and the entrance to the backstage area. It all seemed magical only in a sense that seemed perfectly obsolete now. It was very different from the trivial happenings of the outside world.
If it was this that America was alluding to when she asked Alethea to open her eyes, then she was finally doing it—trying to see the place through the eyes of the audience, the eternal other of their stage shows and performances. Only, she didn’t see anything special. She was simply alone in a very large and empty tent. The advantage of this was that it gave her thoughts room to explore, and so she let her mind wander. As she said there, starting to hum a melody, she waited for something to come to pass.
An indeterminate amount of time later, Alethea stood up and stretched her arms and back with a big yawn. She idly took out her phone, only for it to slip from her fingers and hit the ground; she answered with a grimace, feeling the pain of the impact in the inanimate object’s stead. Kneeling down, she picked it up and realized something. Following the sudden flash of inspiration, she bowed down farther and looked underneath the seat.
Painted under the exact seat she had sat on was a symbol, and if someone had asked her to describe it, a single word came to mind—arcane. Feeling like a proper detective would have taken out a notepad and made a sketch, she followed a more contemporary path by taking a quick photograph. She stared at the thing on her phone screen and came to the conclusion that it meant nothing to her.
A crimson-colored overlay of different geometric forms, with hard edges and straight lines, it looked somewhat technical, perhaps like a company’s logo from a science fiction film. But there was something more ominous about it other than its color; this wasn’t just some artist’s signature or the manufacturer of their seats. It kept Alethea captivated, and she stood there long, her eyes wide open and staring.
“I better show this to America,” she finally muttered to herself. Her legs started moving again, and she had walked half out of the tent before she turned around and looked back to the seat. She quickly ran back, and taking out a tissue, she hastily, almost violently, tried getting rid of the strange glyph. It became scratched, a bit blurred, but didn’t come off. Still feeling apprehensive, Alethea breathed deeply before giving up and walking away. She hastily made her way to America’s trailer, unable to shake the feeling of being hounded by something.
“So I took a photo of it in order to show it to you,” Alethea finished her summary after having found the older woman in her trailer. America nodded and looked at the photograph. There was no obvious sign on her face if she recognized it or not, and then she gave Alethea the phone back. “So?” She felt more than a bit impatient. This was spooky, and she wanted to push beyond it.
“Did you find this symbol anywhere else?” America spoke in a very casual tone as she poured a fresh cup of strong-smelling herbal tea for her guest. Nonetheless, Alethea noticed from the old woman’s body language that everything wasn’t all right.
“I didn’t think of looking,” Letha answered honestly. “But it makes sense now that you say it. Is that how it works? As in…establishing a connection?” It was difficult for her to think along these lines, to walk that new mental path of seriously considering things like a red symbol underneath someone’s seat to have real power, to be able to change the course of events merely by its presence. And a shout—a shouted curse.
“Maybe,” America replied thoughtfully. “There are many facets to this art. One method may be exclusive to a small group of people, or even just an individual, who learned something from their parent, who learned it from theirs, and so on.” Alethea had somehow expected there to be an old tome or some source of knowledge that would have a picture of the symbol and explain its meaning. But America had not even bothered to look at it longer than a few seconds, only long enough to make sure she was unfamiliar with it.
“I wish you could have recognized this thing, and told me you went to wizard school with this guy.” Alethea leaned down on her elbow and idly traced lines on the table. When she remembered that she had tea, she took a sip. Every second she stayed now was just part of her break time. “I’m going to go back to playing detective, then…maybe I can find this symbol in other places something went wrong.”
It would be a trivial task to find out where to look, and the idea filled Alethea with fresh resolve. Contrary to magical symbols, asking people and finding things was normal, acceptable. She stood up with a tired smile. “Thanks, America. I’ll be around.”
“Watch yourself, you hear?” Madame Lécuyer seemed almost unduly concerned now. Perhaps she had experienced that same sneaking feeling of uneasiness that had assailed Alethea when she first encountered the crimson glyph.
“Always,” she promised. “And as I said, I’ll probably be back with you soon.” She left, feeling worried eyes on her back.
The time of day wasn’t right, and if she tried to ask around now, she’d mostly find people asleep or worried about something else. Compared to digesting the recent death that had occurred, obscure graffiti would be something that could wait. Searching on her own was all she could do. Looking around the place of foremost importance, the murder scene, was off-limits. Alethea went back to their own big top, to look at the Wheel of Death and other equipment. Since everyone had given a particularly close eye to things, it was unlikely that anything had mystical runes on it. Surely somebody would have seen it.
L
ooking at the watch on her phone, she gave herself another hour before she’d have to fall over and let the day be, giving it and herself over to the inevitable night. Frustration would only mount inside of her if she kept going beyond the point of sensibility. The next day would bring a myriad of new chances, not only with the potential of talking to the investigators themselves, but also to other artists. In all likelihood, everyone at the festival would have much more free time on their hands; an incident like this couldn’t be glossed over or just forgotten.
An hour later, Alethea was not much wiser. Examining the different spots she knew about, she noted that nothing within her reach had the crimson glyph on it. If it had been there, it was gone now, maybe already scrubbed away by someone too eager.
It was time for her to go back to her own trailer.
As she laid down on her bed, she felt the weight of the day slowly slipping from her shoulders. With a lazy look out the window at that darkening sky she let her thoughts slowly fall away from her head, waiting until only blank space would be left, ready to be filled up with sleep. Even though she had just thrown herself on her mattress without showering or even taking off her day clothes, she felt her consciousness dimming and the heaviness of sleep approaching her quickly, spreading through her every limb.
There was a polite, rhythmical knock on the door of her trailer. Another unexpected late caller. That usually did not bode well. With a heavy groan, Alethea pushed herself up, thanked herself for not having undressed yet, and walked over to the entrance. “Maybe someone is going to confess everything,” she mused. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.
She opened her door with a failed attempt at smiling at the unknown visitor. It was a middle-aged woman she was sure she hadn’t seen before.
“Ehm, hello? How can I help you?”
The late guest wore tight jeans and a colorful T-shirt, merch from this very festival. She carried herself like a much younger woman, down to the awkward movements and hesitation before answering the question. Alethea instantly realized that the woman must be a guest, not a performer, which made the meeting that much more peculiar. Maybe she wanted to check on the poor target girl.
“Hi, umm…sorry for disturbing you so late!” With a hopeful smile, the woman extended her hand. “I’m Kaley, nice to meet you. I’m, like, a regular? Of the festival, I mean. I’ve been here since—” Kaley realized something and continued with a new thought. “Soo…you were in that Wheel of Death performance, I heard.” Her eyes indicated Alethea’s neck. “And I see it, too.” For some reason, there was an unexpected pause in their conversation. Just a second before she could ask what the problem was, Kaley made her point. “I sort of sat right next to the dude who yelled at your brother, so I thought I should tell you that. That’s why I’m here.”
Alethea’s eyes widened. She had considered asking someone from the audience if they had seen more, but in the confusion of her own injury and the strange talk with America afterwards, she had forgotten all about it until she considered it to be too late. They didn’t exactly make lists of all shows’ attendants, especially with the organization of the festival as it was. “I’m Alethea. Do you want to come in, maybe?” Kaley nodded, and soon afterwards, she sat at Alethea’s table with a cup of tea in front of her.
“Thanks for the tea, that’s…wow. I don’t have that much to say, actually. I mean, I saw the guy, but I don’t, like, have a story about him, you know?” She seemed to speak with her hands almost as much as with her mouth, and a few times Alethea feared for the cup. “I’m here ‘cause I heard that you’ve got this problem with someone endangering people. I mean, sabotaging performances, soo…I thought I’d tell you I’ve seen the guy, because it might be that guy, am I right?”
It seemed like what happened earlier had successfully been kept under wraps so far. The fact was depressing, on some level. Alethea, too, was part of the group of people that was supposed to keep their mouth shut until…until the police did something, in all probability.
“You’re right,” she simply answered. This time, she took out a notepad and pen instead of her phone. She’d do this one old school. “Just tell me anything that you know about him that may help us find him. If you give us a good description, it will help a lot, because someone else might have seen him around.” It almost made her sound like she was going to do a composite sketch, but there was no such luck.
“That’s what I wanted to say, Alethea! I got this.” Kaley took out her own cell phone and showed her a picture. It was a selfie, including a duckface and peace sign. In the background, a man was visible. Alethea slowly put down her pen. She should have been happy, but cell phones winning again felt like a bummer. “I’m going to send it to you! What’s your phone number?!”
“Oh, you know, I actually had something made exactly for this occasion.” Alethea stood up and started searching through one of her drawers until she uncovered a small stack of business cards. She gave one to Kaley and put some more on the table. “And thank you, that photo is a big help.” Alethea cleared her throat and scratched the back of her head. Kaley seemed completely cool with the embarrassing picture, which only made Alethea feel more awkward. “Is there anything else you have?”
Kaley gave a large shrug. “I don’t know. It was just a guy, you know? He disappeared pretty quickly after he had yelled at you. I mean, I wasn’t paying so much attention to him because I was looking at you and the performance, so when I looked back, he wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know where he went. He didn’t give me the impression that he was a bad guy, but you never know. You know if you could just see it in someone’s face then things would be easier, I guess!” She smiled broadly, but her body language was somehow apologetic, as if on some level she realized how she was rambling.
“Okay.” Alethea took a sip of her tea. Both women stared at each other, looked around the room, and then stared down at their teacups. “Well…if you don’t have anything else you think I should know, then…it’s cool that you made the effort to find me and tell me this. Thanks for the photo, that’s really helpful. If you need anything, well… just ask me. I owe you one.”
Kaley quickly and vigorously shook her head. “No, no, no, that’s okay. The tea was enough! It was a really nice tea. I suppose I should go. It’s late, and you look kind of sleepy, you know? Sorry.” She stood up and smiled hopefully, like she was going to ask if the both of them could be friends. Alethea smiled back, feeling like she was put on the spot, but she said nothing, until finally she pressed out, “Good night, Kaley! It was nice to meet you.”
Kaley waved at her, somehow looking very upbeat, like a kid going to Disney World. Then she left the trailer, and a sneaking feeling crept up Alethea’s spine, as if among the two of them, she were the middle-aged one. Somewhere out there, in a place she’d never even heard about, young and wild people were having the time of their life, with lighthearted parties and whimsical jives and all sorts of rug-cutting.
Putting her head back, looking at the ceiling with that cup of tea still in her hand, Alethea let out a deep breath. “This just isn’t the life, is it?” No one was there to answer her, so all she could do was stand up, put the cups in the sink, and get herself ready for bed, where she would hopefully fall into a dreamless and restorative sleep.
Chapter VI
When Alethea opened her eyes the next morning, she had a few beautiful seconds of peace—the moment between waking up and remembering. Before the previous day could ruin everything, she lazily stretched, blinked at the light, and snuggled up to her pillow, thinking that beds were the best invention ever made.
Yet inevitably, her breath stocked and she sat up, put her hand on her forehead and frowned. “Dammit,” she whispered. She had developed a certain routine regarding mornings without time, full of jumping into clothes and splashing water. Only this time, she felt tired, like something had sucked the pizzazz out of her. Accordingly, Letha planned her morning to be slow, scrambling to “save everything” a few minut
es earlier would change nothing.
The coffee was good, and it did her good to drink it slowly. She left her little room to lay out the new day in her mind and consider what she was going to do with it. This time, when she finally stepped outside her door, she felt ready. There was a man she was going to hunt down. That is, the police was probably going to do most of that. Still, it was her find, unless she counted Kaley, whose duckface was dominating the photo.
“Standing on the shoulders of giants,” she said loudly while raising her arms. She felt like doing exercise, but it wasn’t exactly the time. Instead, she smiled at the sun, drew a few deep breaths, and then walked with certain, resolve-filled steps. There was one guy she knew who was exactly the right person to show the photograph to. If he didn’t know, she wouldn’t know what to do. For some reason, the idea that she might actually be faster than the police filled Alethea with excitement.
Down at the security office, scratching his head like mostly everyone at the festival, she found Todd Carlson. Carlson was known for what could have made him anything in the world—his memory was impeccable. Out of all the people that went by him, he remembered every single one, they said. Alethea had met him at the festival before; he was there each year. He was old now—a gentle and slow man. It was not his imposing stature or fearsome aura that kept him in his position, but experience.
“Good morning, Todd. I’ve got something very important I need your help with.” On any other day, she might have exchanged pleasantries with him, but on a day like this, she went straight to the point. Her phone, with the picture on display, was already in his hand before he even started saying anything.
“Good morning, that’s…I’m feeling a bit ambushed here. What you got for me?” He looked down at the photo, and deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead. “This lady? Everyone knows her, she’s—”
