Charmed: The Gypsy Enchantment

by Carla Jablonski

  “Did you get good tires?” Jenny asked as Prue drove them all back to the Carnival Cavalcade.

  “Tires?” Prue repeated, confused.

  Phoebe shot Prue a look. “Great tires,” she said.

  “Excellent tires,” Piper chimed in.

  “Good,” Jenny declared. “So we can stay today as long as we want.”

  We’ll stay as long as it takes, Prue thought, pulling into a parking space.

  A few moments later, Prue hurried over to Ivan’s trailer. She knocked on his door, feeling apprehensive as she waited for him to respond.

  She shook her head. How can I figure out if he’s evil without giving anything away? She just didn’t believe he was a demon. The only vibes I get from him are sweet and kind, she thought.

  And it’s not because of his huge dark brown eyes and his mop of thick dark curls. Not a bit.

  Get a grip, she ordered herself. Don’t prove your sisters right—that you’ve lost all objectivity.

  She knocked again harder. “Ivan?” she called.

  He must not be inside, Prue told herself. She glanced around. Well, she decided, this looks like a perfect opportunity to do some snooping.

  She concentrated on the lock, focused her energy, and with a sharp flick of her finger, opened the door.

  She stepped into the trailer.

  Every inch was crammed with costumes, souvenirs from places the circus had traveled, and family photos. In spite of the cheerful clutter, the trailer was neat and tidy.

  Where should she start her search? She picked up a framed picture. A striking dark-haired couple smiled at the camera. A small mop-haired boy stood in front of them, holding a violin. The instrument was nearly as big as the boy. The child practically glowed, gazing at the violin with obvious awe. Prue had seen that same proud expression on Ivan’s face when he talked about his family.

  She replaced the photograph, and another picture caught her eye. An illustration was tacked to the door of the closet. Fingering it gently, Prue realized it had been torn from a book. The caption read “Gypsy in Traditional Costume.” Beside it were sketches for costume ideas, with fabric swatches attached.

  “Piper was right,” Prue murmured. The clothes resembled those worn by the ghoulish figure she had seen yesterday.

  Prue continued to search through Ivan’s belongings, careful to replace any items she moved. So far nothing had indicated that Ivan was evil. Maybe I should bring Phoebe back here with me, she thought. Phoebe might be able to call up another vision with these objects, because I am striking out.

  Prue crouched beside a large trunk. Using her powers, she flicked open the locks and popped open the top. All she found were extra costumes.

  She stood and gave the room one last once-over. Her eyes widened as a shuddering wave of energy disrupted the air around the trunk.

  “What the—”

  Ivan’s violin materialized right in front of her.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Prue stood frozen, staring at the violin. Okay, something magical is definitely going on here, she thought. But what does it mean?

  She took a step closer to the trunk. Was the violin itself magic, or had someone used magic on it?

  Before she could investigate further, she heard the door open behind her. She scrunched her eyes shut. Uh-oh. Busted.

  She whirled around and came face-to-face with Ivan. She was almost embarrassed by how much she liked looking at his face, despite the confusion that played across it right now.

  “Prue, how did you get in?” he asked. “I thought I locked the door.”

  “It opened,” Prue said. Which was the truth, in a way.

  Ivan ran a hand through his curls. “I have to be more careful. Someone has taken my violin. Perhaps it was due to my own carelessness that they were able to get in.”

  “Someone took the violin?” Prue asked.

  “Yes.” He looked very upset. “That’s where I’ve been. I was trying to find out who might have stolen it.” He plopped down onto a chair beside the small table, his shoulders slumped. “I had hoped it was simply a curious child or a harmless prank. I would hate to think someone with the show would actually steal it.”

  “It’s sitting right there.” Prue pointed at the trunk. She carefully watched his reaction.

  Ivan leaped to his feet. He picked up the violin gently and cradled it. “Where did you come from?” he asked the instrument.

  “Are you expecting it to answer?” Prue asked.

  Ivan laughed. A tiny blush crept across his cheeks. “Of course not,” he stammered. “I—I feel very connected to the instrument. That is all.”

  “It is quite special,” Prue said. “I mean, how many violins can vanish and then reappear all on their own?”

  “That would make quite a circus act,” Ivan joked. “Perhaps I should suggest it to Mr. Amalfi.”

  “So what do you think happened?” Prue asked.

  Ivan shook his head. “Perhaps I never lost it at all. I’ve been terribly distracted lately. I could have put it somewhere and then forgot.”

  “It would be pretty tough to miss, sitting on top of the trunk,” Prue pointed out.

  “Yes, yes. But I have a good deal on my mind.”

  “About the violin?”

  “I have misplaced it several times since the start of the show. It is terribly unlike me.”

  “What has you so distracted?” Prue pressed on.

  “Some personal problems. Also some bad luck seems to be following me. Missed cues, sprung locks on the cages.”

  “Has all the bad luck involved the act?”

  “Yes.” He laughed. “I’ll tell you something silly. Olga the fortune-teller actually tried to convince me that the violin itself was causing the bad luck. That it has a curse on it.”

  Prue wondered if the fortune-teller was right. So far Olga was batting a thousand. She had already predicted danger for Piper, a prediction confirmed by Phoebe’s vision.

  “Do you think maybe Olga has a point?” Prue asked.

  Ivan’s eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me you believe in such nonsense.” He gave Prue a warm grin. “Here I am, the Gypsy, telling the gaujo not to be so superstitious. Ironic, yes?”

  Not if you knew who I really am, Prue thought. “I believe there are things that are difficult to explain.”

  Ivan gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “This is simply a beautiful instrument, its magic is only the magic of its original craftsman.” Ivan held up the violin and admired it. “I have lived with this violin all of my life, and I never tire of it.”

  He picked up a bow and played a quick melody. The notes sent tingles of delight through Prue. How could I ever have doubted him? she wondered. Instead of being worried that she might be in danger from him, she was worried for him.

  She watched as he closed his eyes and swayed with the melody. His fingers moved along the violin’s neck and the bow gracefully arced back and forth.

  The bow. Prue saw that the narrow bow was intricately carved. She hadn’t noticed that before. When Ivan had finished the tune, he spun the violin around and she caught sight of painted symbols covering the back of the violin. She guessed she had been so focused on Ivan that she hadn’t paid that much attention to the violin—until it did a little circus act all on its own.

  “Why would Olga tell you the violin was cursed?” Prue asked. She wondered if those symbols spelled evil in Romany, the Gypsy language.

  “Probably so she could then have me pay her a lot of money to remove the so-called curse.” Ivan shrugged. “It’s a classic scam. Tell some gullible believer that they have a terrible curse on their head and that for a thousand dollars the shuvani will take the curse off.”

  “Shuvani?” Piper repeated.

  “It’s the Gypsy word for ‘witch’ or ‘wise woman,’ ” Ivan explained.

  “You believe that Olga was trying to pull a scam on you? Another Gypsy?” Prue asked.

  “Up until that day, I had neve
r spoken a word to Olga. Neither one of us would know for certain if the ‘Gypsy’ attached to our names was real or not. Many people in the circus invent exotic backgrounds. It adds to the mystique. It was perfectly possible that she thought I was just another gaujo—until I spoke Rom to her.”

  “But she persisted?” Prue asked. “Why would she do that unless she truly believed it was cursed.”

  Ivan rubbed his face. Prue wondered if she was pushing him too far. She couldn’t stop now though—she had to get to the bottom of this. Her sister’s life was at stake. And so, quite possibly, was Ivan’s.

  Finally, he said, “This is a very valuable instrument. Worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Why wouldn’t she want it? But I don’t like thinking that of another performer.”

  “Ivan?” A woman with auburn hair popped her head into the trailer doorway.

  “Miranda, come in.” Ivan stood.

  Miranda frowned when she saw Prue. She stepped inside and crossed to Ivan. Standing beside him, she glared at Prue. “Who is this?”

  “I’m Prue Halliwell,” Prue said. “I’m working for 415 magazine. I’m the photographer.”

  The woman nodded. She was seriously frosty. Her high cheekbones and sharp straight nose gave her a haughty appearance. It didn’t help that her bright green eyes were sending icicles in Prue’s direction.

  “This lovely lady is Miranda Merrill, the tightrope walker,” Ivan said. “Her family is well-known throughout Europe.”

  “That’s really interesting,” Prue said, hoping to warm things up. “Be sure to tell that to Kristin, the journalist. I know she plans to interview you.”

  Miranda turned her back on Prue and began to study her appearance in the mirror. “I haven’t decided if I will agree to be interviewed. I don’t think outsiders should be allowed such open access.” She sent Prue a withering look in the mirror, then turned and addressed Ivan. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time talking to her. What would she know of your life? Our life?”

  Way to be hostile, Miranda, Prue thought. “Perhaps the article can present the life as you would like it to be known,” Prue suggested.

  Miranda focused her large green eyes on Prue again. She gave Prue a condescending once over. “I don’t think reporters can truly be trusted.”

  Prue had the feeling that Miranda simply didn’t trust anyone anywhere near Ivan, reporters or not. She wondered if Miranda was the personal issue that Ivan had found distracting. Well, hanging around Ivan wasn’t going to make Miranda warm up to her any. It wouldn’t be a good idea for her to alienate Miranda so badly that she refused to be interviewed or photographed.

  “I hope we will see each other later,” Prue said to Miranda. “Bye, Ivan.”

  Prue stepped out of the trailer. As soon as the door closed she heard an argument begin. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear that the voices were raised and the tone was angry. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Prue hurried away.

  Her questions about Ivan’s personal life could wait. Prue had a more urgent problem. How can I get a better look at those symbols? Prue wondered. She felt that they were the key to the mystery behind the violin.

  Her head snapped up. “That’s it,” she murmured. Trusty telephoto lens. During the performance, I’ll shoot with the telephoto from angles that will catch the markings. We might actually solve the mystery of that instrument after all.

  * * *

  Phoebe leaned against the back of a spin-art booth. Cautiously, she crept to the edge and peered around the side. She let out a deep sigh. Coast was clear.

  Just my luck, she thought. I’m invisible to the cute riggers and I’m irresistible to Raphael the Tattooed Snake Charmer. What is up with that?

  She had wasted most of the morning playing hide-and-please-don’t-seek with Ralphie-boy. He was certainly persistent.

  She really wanted to check out the area in the woods where Prue had seen the creepy tattered Gypsy. She hoped to find something the person had dropped, or maybe discover some vagrant living out there. Something to give them a clue to go on. But she wasn’t completely certain where the animal cages were, and she sure didn’t want to ask Ivan. So who could she ask without drawing suspicion?

  “Is that my darling Phoebe?” a rough voice called out behind her. “Wait up, girlie!”

  Every muscle in Phoebe’s body tensed: Raphael. She broke into a sprint—and charged right into a juggling stilt walker.

  “Hey!” the stilt walker cried. Beanbags flew everywhere and kids started laughing. The stilt walker desperately tried to regain his balance. No such luck. He tumbled down onto Phoebe.

  “I’m really, really sorry.” Phoebe scrambled to her feet, trying to drag the guy up with her, but because his legs were attached to stilts the operation was hugely awkward.

  “Sorry, but I’ve really really got to get out of here!” Normally she’d stick around and help the poor white-faced performer gather the beanbags and get up, but Raphael was closing in fast. She dashed away, and the stilt walker tumbled back to the ground.

  “You’re lucky I wasn’t juggling clubs,” he shouted angrily after her.

  Another person I’m going to have to avoid at this carnival, Phoebe noted. First the snake guy, now the stilt walker.

  “Phoebeeeeee!” Raphael crooned. “Slow down. I’m not as spry as I used to be!”

  That’s a bit of luck for me for a change! Phoebe put on speed. She dashed in and out of the booths along the midway, concentrating on avoiding knocking anyone over or slamming into anything. Within a few minutes she was near a cluster of trailers.

  She glanced around. Raphael was nowhere in sight. I know what I’ll do, she decided. I’ll knock on a few doors to see if I can get some background dirt on Ivan.

  A small boy, about five years old, wearing sweatpants and a Carnival Cavalcade T-shirt stared at Phoebe.

  “Hey, cutie,” Phoebe said. She knelt down to speak to him face-to-face.

  The boy’s eyes widened. He backed up a few steps, then turned and darted away between the trailers.

  “That was strange,” Phoebe muttered, standing back up. “Am I truly that repellent?”

  Phoebe heard a door bang open. Three clowns in full makeup came around the side of a trailer where the boy had vanished. They wore the same striped orange-and-yellow full-body leotards and oversize hats. It was impossible to tell them apart.

  “Hiya!” Phoebe said brightly. She didn’t recognize these three clowns. Even with the makeup she could tell they weren’t Masha, Sacha, or Kaboodle. “I’m Phoebe. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

  “No one is allowed in Clown Alley but clowns,” clown number one said.

  “Clown Alley?” Phoebe wasn’t sure why these guys were so hostile, but it was pretty obvious that the little boy had ratted on her and they viewed her as a trespasser.

  Clown number two put his hands on his hips. “Clown Alley. Our turf. Now vamoose.”

  “But—” Phoebe sputtered.

  “Come along,” clown number three said. He took her arm and turned her around. One of the other clowns gripped her other arm.

  “Hey!” The two guys had her in a firm grip. They led her back to the barricades separating the trailer camp from the midway.

  “Fine, be that way,” Phoebe huffed.

  “Don’t come back,” one guy warned.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Phoebe retorted. “You know,” she called after them, “for guys who make their living by being funny, you don’t have much sense of humor.”

  They slipped behind a trailer. Sheesh. Maybe Prue had the right idea about clowns after all.

  Phoebe put her hands on her hips. Now what?

  “Please, please, please,” Jenny whined.

  Piper blew her bangs away from her face. Jenny was being particularly difficult today. All the girl wanted to do was try to find Ivan—which was definitely not on Piper’s to-do list. In fact, it topped the to-don’t! The only other idea Jenny had was to return to
Olga’s vardo.

  “I have a special magic request,” Jenny explained. “It’s really important.”

  Piper had hoped to avoid Olga for two reasons. If Olga truly did have second sight, Piper didn’t want her to identify her as a witch. She was also afraid Olga might actually be successful in casting Jenny’s spell. And Piper had the sinking feeling that the magic Jenny wanted Olga to perform was a love spell reuniting Piper and Dan.

  Still, she couldn’t figure out any way to talk Jenny out of visiting Olga. Since Piper had nixed the Ivan meeting, she felt she needed to humor the girl with something. Deciding between an encounter with Olga or an encounter with Ivan, Piper knew which way she had to go.

  “Olga it is,” Piper declared.

  Jenny and Piper wove through the crowds to Olga’s colorful vardo. Olga was sitting out front at the card table, fanning herself with a set of cards. Her thick dark eyebrow raised as she watched Jenny and Piper approach. She obviously remembers us, Piper observed. Or at least me.

  “Hi.” Jenny beamed.

  “Hello,” Olga replied. “Have you come to consult the cards again?”

  “No,” Jenny said. “Something much more important.” She gave Piper a guick sidelong glance. A slight blush tinted her cheeks as she thrust a hand into her purse. She pulled out a fistful of ribbons. “Will you show me how to tie magic love knots?”

  “You know the love secrets of the Gypsies?” Olga asked.

  “I’ve heard about them,” Jenny said. “Do they really work?”

  Olga nodded. “I have known many a happy union bound by just such bindings,” she replied.

  I really wish Olga wouldn’t encourage Jenny, Piper thought. We could wind up in serious trouble.

  “Ooh, I wish I had the Romany ruby,” Jenny exclaimed. “Then my love spell would be three times as powerful!”

  Olga dropped the cards she’d been holding. There was no mistaking her startled expression.

  “How do you speak of such things?” the woman demanded in a harsh whisper.

  “Is the Romany ruby a secret?” Jenny asked. She glanced at Piper, obviously worried that she had said something wrong.

  “It is known only to the Gypsies,” Olga said. “How do you come by such knowledge?” She eyed Piper suspiciously. Piper had the distinct impression that Olga believed Piper had figured out the gypsy lore through her own witch power. That could prove problematic.