Now, here’s a tricky situation, Prue mused. Can I tell Jenny not to believe such nonsense when I’m a witch myself?
She tried to laugh it off. “I can take care of myself,” she promised Jenny.
“Can you?” Piper asked. “You are kind of smitten and that can cloud your judgment.”
“I don’t get what you see in him,” Phoebe declared. “Okay, he has a good act, but other than that, I don’t see any redeeming qualities whatsoever.”
“I—I can’t explain it,” Prue said truthfully. There was something different about Ivan.
“I can. I think I’ve figured out what’s—” Phoebe glared at Piper, who gripped her arm. “What?”
“I don’t think we should go into this now. Here.”
Phoebe glanced at Jenny, who luckily was watching Mitzi trying to round up her performing poodles. “Okay,” she said quietly. “But you be careful. And Piper and I will be doing some serious research into all this.”
“I need to get Jenny home, it’s way past her bedtime,” Piper said. “You be careful.”
“I promise.” Prue watched her sisters leave with Jenny. She had about an hour or so to kill before meeting Ivan. She figured the best thing she could do was stay out of the way. She picked up her bag and carefully threaded through the crew and the equipment surrounding her.
She made her way over to the seats and plopped into the second row. Crews were sweeping the ring and setting up the tent for the next day’s performance.
A few seats away a man with a clipboard sat scribbling notes and talking into his headset. “We need more blue gels, the two on the left are fried. Also, that cue during the contortionist bit is a little early. And the band needs to pay closer attention to Miranda. Her performance deserves their one hundred percent support. The flute should be following her arm movements.”
Prue was impressed that even though the show was up and running, notes were taken every night to make sure the high level of quality was maintained.
“What happened with the clowns? Who was late? Well, find out,” the man said sternly.
So it was a mistake, Prue noted. Once again, she was struck by the professionalism of the clowns—despite their being clowns. Not a single audience member had been aware that anything was wrong. Although different, the act had been as entertaining as it had been the night before.
A startling odor made Prue’s nose wrinkle. Sweat, cigarettes, and something unidentifiable wafted her way.
“What am I doing wrong?” Raphael the Tattooed Snake Charmer leaned onto the back of the seat beside Prue. He was sitting in the row behind her. The unidentifiable odor must be eau de snake, Prue realized.
“I am sorely in need of advice,” Raphael continued. “I’ve used all of my sure-fire lady-killers to get your sister Phoebe’s attention. Nothing seems to have worked.”
Prue bit her lip to keep from laughing. She’d seen Raphael in action and wouldn’t have imagined any of his attempts to court Phoebe as “lady-killers.” Chasing a girl around with a large boa constrictor didn’t strike Prue as the way to anyone’s heart. Though, she admitted, if it would work on any of the Halliwells, Phoebe would be the one.
“I’ve never seen such a sweet, pretty thing as that there Phoebe. And Isabella, my snake, seems to agree. She let Phoebe pet her without any fuss at all. Am I losing my touch? Am I no longer the good-looker?”
Prue studied Raphael’s crooked face, complete with missing teeth and neck tattoos. The man seemed so genuinely perplexed that Prue decided to let him down easy.
“I’m sure it isn’t you,” Prue told him. “Phoebe isn’t really in the market for a boyfriend. Particularly one who will be leaving town soon.”
Raphael stroked his stubbly chin. “You know, you may have something there. The circus life isn’t for every woman. What if she fell hard? This is just the start of the tour. I’ll be on the road for the next six months.”
“Exactly. She’s just protecting herself from a broken heart.”
Raphael nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt that young lady,” he said. “I’d better turn off the charm.”
If you could get past his tough-guy looks and his rather overpowering smell, Raphael really was kind of sweet.
“Is there a reason you’re still here, miss?” Raphael gave her a sidelong glance. “As if I didn’t already know. These old peepers see plenty.”
“I-I’ve been invited to Kaboodle’s birthday party,” Prue explained.
“That’s quite an invite. Someone must really like you.”
Prue felt herself flush. Was there a lot of gossiping going on about her and Ivan? That couldn’t make Miranda happy.
“And where is our handsome Gypsy?” Raphael continued. “Or is his bad luck keeping him from making his appointment on time?”
Another reference to Ivan’s bad luck. “No, he told me he had something to take care of first. Maybe with the animals?”
Raphael shrugged. “I’m going to head over to Clown Alley. I don’t want all the cake to be gone. The party must have already started.”
Prue checked her watch. It was nearly midnight. “It’s time for me to meet Ivan. I’ll go with you.”
They strolled out of the tent. Once they were in the fresh night air, Raphael’s rather significant personal perfume faded to a more bearable level. He flicked on a flashlight.
In the weak beam, shadows danced all around. The famous tall trees of Golden Gate Park blocked any illumination that might have come from the stars or the moon. The street lamps were placed very far apart, since usually there weren’t nighttime events in the park. Prue shivered.
“Why don’t I walk with you,” Raphael offered. “I don’t like the idea of you strolling around here without a flashlight.”
“Thanks.” Prue was grateful. She spotted Ivan’s trailer up ahead. A light was on inside.
“Oh, good,” Prue said. “He must be here already.”
“I’ll just wait to be sure, missy,” Raphael said.
They approached Ivan’s trailer. A sudden loud bang made Prue jump. An explosion!
Ivan’s trailer burst into flames!
CHAPTER
13
Oh, my god,” Prue gasped. She stood frozen, staring at the orange-and-blue flames leaping into the air.
Raphael let out a cry, bellowing “Fire!” He charged forward, without any thought to his own safety. “I’ll find the gas lines!”
Within moments, it seemed, the area was crawling with circus people. Even though Clown Alley was on the other side of the tent, Prue was amazed to see how quickly everyone got there. Several people showed up with fire extinguishers.
“Soak the trees!” someone shouted.
Prue looked up. The flames were leaping so high the overhanging trees were in danger of catching fire. If that happened, the whole park could go up. The weather had been particularly dry, and the trees’ branches were close together.
Flames licked higher and higher, rising ever closer to the bottommost branches. Prue studied the huge tree shading Ivan’s trailer. The next highest branch was quite far up. Prue focused her energy. She concentrated on the branch and with a quick and subtle flick of her hand, cracked off the branch and tossed it far from the fire.
Chaos reigned all around her. People were shouting encouragement, screaming in fear, calling out orders. Everywhere Prue turned she saw an opportunity to use her telekinesis to help. Things were so crazy she had no worry that anyone would notice or connect her hand waves to any of the actions around her. She helped hoist a heavy hose into position atop several performers’ shoulders. She moved a small child out of harm’s way. She whirled around just in time to alter the course of shards of glass as a window shattered from the heat.
Smoke poured out of the broken trailer windows. Prue diverted its direction, trying desperately to peer through the smoke. The terrifying question kept pounding in her heart: Is Ivan still inside?
Then her body flooded with relief. Sh
e spotted Ivan stomping out flames by the trailer door.
With the fire beginning to subside, and knowing that Ivan was safe, Prue began to tune into her surroundings. At some point, firefighters had arrived on the scene. She had never even noticed. They pushed all the circus folk away, to the sidelines, to allow them to do their job.
The firefighters streamed in and out of the terribly damaged trailer. Suddenly EMS workers swarmed toward the trailer with a stretcher.
Someone was inside, Prue realized with horror. Could the person possibly have survived the blaze?
A cry went up, along with murmurs and gasps. “Miranda.”
Miranda had been in Ivan’s trailer. Yet Ivan had been outside, alive. What did this mean? Prue wondered.
All around her, gossip flew. “Poor Miranda,” a large woman said. “She always refused to see that Ivan simply didn’t feel about her the way she felt about him.”
“I heard he asked her to meet him here, to put an end to her nonsense once and for all,” a gruff voice added. “She’d become a nuisance.”
“This is more of Ivan’s bad luck,” the clown Prue remembered from the first day—Sacha—said. He was standing with Olga. “Just coming into contact with him brings trouble.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Kaboodle protested. “There must have been a problem with the gas line.”
“There’s nothing supernatural going on here,” Masha agreed.
“Foolish,” Olga muttered. “Foolish and blind. All of you. Him, too. He refused my help. You should insist he take my offer.”
“I think Ivan should just leave,” another person said. “We’re all in danger with him around.”
“We’d all be out of jobs then,” Kaboodle countered. “He’s the biggest draw, and we’re not doing that well as it is.”
Prue’s head swam. She didn’t know what to make of all of these comments. If Phoebe’s vision was right, and Ivan really was capable of trying to strangle Piper, could he also have deliberately trapped Miranda in that fire? Could that be what he needed to take care of before meeting me?
Prue shook her head. The thought was too awful.
She peered toward the trailer. The EMS workers had taken off in the ambulance, and the firefighters were now allowing Ivan to enter the trailer. The fire must have been completely out. Prue moved closer. Could anything be salvaged from that inferno? She’d never seen anything like it. The fire happened so fast. Was it the work of a demon? And was Ivan that demon? She hadn’t been able to see him close up enough to check out his reaction to the news of Miranda’s death.
Ivan came back out of the trailer, a stunned expression on his sooty face. He stood clutching his violin. Astonishingly, it had survived the fire. In fact, from where Prue stood, it looked as if the violin wasn’t even singed.
Did Ivan magically protect his precious instrument and not a human life? Or did the violin protect itself?
Prue’s stomach was tied in knots. The fire, the questions, Ivan’s guilt or innocence, Miranda’s death—it was suddenly all too much. Without even a glance back at the handsome Gypsy, Prue hurried away from the disturbing scene.
“My eyes are seeing double,” Phoebe complained. “Double basses. Triple clefs, and far too many quarter notes.”
“And you claimed you weren’t musical,” Piper quipped. She shut her eyes and rubbed them. She let out a yawn. “Let’s take a break.”
Ever since they’d come home from the circus, Piper and Phoebe had been up in the attic going through The Book of Shadows. They had found a lot of information about magic and music. Music used in spells and also magical instruments. Pages and pages of magical instruments.
Phoebe kept trying to keep herself from thinking about Prue being alone with Ivan this late and on his turf.
Piper continued poring over the pages of The Book of Shadows. “Look at all these powers,” she said. “There are instruments to make people fall in or out of love. To control the weather. To ward off psychic attacks.” She sighed. “But without knowing all the symbols, we can’t interpret the kind of power Ivan’s violin might have.”
Phoebe drummed a rhythm with her fingertips on the table. “I know that violin is being used for something,” Phoebe said. “I just hope it isn’t to cast a spell over Prue.”
Phoebe told Piper her theory that the reason Prue was uncharacteristically gaga over the Gypsy was because said Gypsy had cast a spell on her. Maybe with the violin.
“Could be,” Piper mused. “Here’s the good news, though,” she added with excitement.
“There’s good news? Finally.” Phoebe slid beside Piper. “Where? Show me good news.”
Piper pointed to a passage in The Book of Shadows. “ ‘Many of the spells of these instruments may be neutralized by the Power of Three,’ ” she read. “At least we have a chance.”
“Mmm.” Phoebe thought a moment. “Does Ivan know there are three of us?”
“I can’t remember,” Piper admitted. “But given how chummy he and Prue are I’d guess that the answer is yes. Olga seemed awfully interested in us, so the number three must be important in Gypsy magic, too.”
Phoebe nodded. She absently flipped through the pages of The Book of Shadows. She was so tired, but she didn’t want to go to bed without finding some answers first. Sometimes, if she let go just enough, the book itself would lead them to just what they needed to know. Sometimes Phoebe had the feeling that the book was teaching them about their powers. She also felt as if their mother was somehow watching over them through the book. Phoebe had been so young when her mother had died that she barely remembered her. But it was her mother who had written many of the spells in the book. And it was through her mother, and her mother’s mother, and all those mother’s mothers before them that Phoebe and her sister got their powers. So when a page would flutter, or the book would fall naturally to a particular spell, Phoebe felt as if it was guided by her mother’s watchful hand.
She felt that way now. Her fingers stopped at a specific page, smoothing it out without even thinking. She looked down.
A ghoulish figure gazed up at her from the book.
“Ick,” she commented. “Who is this dude?”
Piper leaned in to stare at the picture. “Hey,” she said. “Doesn’t he look as if he’s wearing a Gypsy outfit?”
“Yeah, only it really needs to swing by the laundromat.” There was no text on the page, just the picture. Phoebe studied it carefully. The figure wore the full pants and colorful vest and scarves of a traditional Gypsy outfit. But this Gypsy’s face was decaying, as if it had been long dead. Tattered strips of fabric hung from the figure’s outstretched arms. Its fingers were skeletal, and its eyes were hollow sockets.
“Didn’t Prue say she saw someone looking like this sneaking around the circus?” Phoebe said.
Piper’s eyes widened. “She did! Does the book explain what this thing is?”
Phoebe flipped the page. Sure enough, there was the text to accompany the picture. “ ‘Gypsy Zombie,’ ” Phoebe read. “Wow. It says here that a powerful Gypsy magician can call up a zombie to do his or her dirty work! That way the Gypsy can remain above reproach and still get what he or she wants.”
“Does it say what kinds of things a Gypsy might ask the zombie to do?” Piper asked.
“You mean a zombie job description? Let me see. Yeah, it’s quite a list. All the biggies: Kidnapping, murder, burglary. Hey—wait. Some are pretty intense—and weird.”
“Being murdered by a zombie isn’t weird enough?” Piper asked.
“For a truly skilled magician, the zombie can be used to do your bidding on the astral plane. This is important if you need to battle psychic attacks. It is also useful in searching for additional powerful talismans, such as the Romany ruby and other charged objects.”
“Romany ruby?” Piper interrupted. “That was the gem that gave Gypsies threefold power. Ivan told Phoebe about it, but he claimed he didn’t believe in it.”
“Sure. And he claims he’s
Mr. Nice Guy, too, only I know different,” Phoebe said. She still couldn’t figure out what Prue saw in the guy.
“Olga sure seemed to believe in it,” Piper remembered. “Jenny mentioned the ruby, and Olga just about freaked that Gypsy secrets were being spread to us non-Gypsies.”
“Uh-oh,” Phoebe said, reading further. “I think I just figured out why there’s Gypsy magic in our Book of Shadows. The zombie may also be of use in fighting the neutralizing powers of the Charmed Ones.”
“Oh, goodie. Why is there always a catch?” Piper said. She rubbed her face.
“I guess the question is, what is Ivan using the zombie to do?” Phoebe said.
“Are we absolutely sure it’s Ivan who has conjured the zombie?” Piper asked. “We really have to keep an open mind.”
“Why? An open mind just might get Prue—or you—killed!” Phoebe knew on some level that Piper was right—that she might be jumping to conclusions. Still, Ivan hadn’t won her over into his fan club. Someone had to keep some perspective around that guy.
“All I’m saying is, maybe someone has conjured up the zombie to harm Ivan,” Piper replied. “We still haven’t ruled out the idea that he’s cursed.”
Phoebe let out a huge yawn. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I think I’d better hit the sack. I’m too tired to put any pieces together at all anymore.”
“Thank goodness,” Piper said. “I was hoping you’d say that. I didn’t want to seem like a wimp and poop out first.”
Phoebe placed the book back on its stand. Thanks, Mom, she thought, holding her hand on the book’s cover for a long moment. Then she slung her arm over Piper’s shoulders. “Come along, fellow party-pooper. Let’s get some shut-eye.”
They headed back downstairs. “No use waiting up for Prue if that party doesn’t even start until midnight,” Piper said. “There’s no telling when she’ll get home.”
“If she’ll get home,” Phoebe grumbled. She so did not trust Ivan.
Piper stopped in her tracks. “Why did you have to say that?” she demanded. “Now I’ll never get to sleep.”
Charmed: The Gypsy Enchantment Page 10
