by Gwenda Bond
Thurston kept me on one side of him and Dad on the other as we waved at the more than decent crowd lining the sidewalks. We’d come to Chicago often enough when I was a kid, but I’d never imagined playing here with a gig like this. Not being advertised as a big attraction for a major holiday. Never in my best and wildest dreams.
But so much for my vow to enjoy the day and how special this was. I just wanted it to be late at night. I was determined to sneak out and see Remy again.
After the parade was over, Dad and I went with Sam and Mom to “stable” the horses on the green in a temporary paddock that created a wandering space backed by trailers lined with blankets. A couple dozen feet away, the red and white stripes of the big top made the slightest sway in a welcome waterfront breeze.
Sam removed Beauty’s plumed headdress, which the horse appreciated. She lowered her head so her cheek was alongside his.
“True love,” I said.
He stroked his hand down the middle of her long nose. “She’s one of mine, no doubt.”
I could guess who the other love would be. But it wasn’t the right time to say so.
Or was it? I was desperate to tell someone about what had happened between Remy and me. I could tell Sam. But he probably already assumed we were romantically involved . . . and what was he going to say? Congratulations? He still didn’t know about the weird objects and the murder board, the magic and the threats that had pushed Remy and me together. I wasn’t sure he needed to. Now, with my thoughts wrapped up in romance, all that seemed far away. I thought about Nan’s ominous tarot reading, which no longer made me feel as nervous as it once had. Maybe there were different kinds of falling. Maybe a fall didn’t always have to be a bad thing.
When Sam and Mom finished settling the horses, we started the long, hot walk back to the RV, weaving our way to the cramped museum-complex parking lot everyone was calling home. It was much farther away than usual, and the trailers were forced into rows with only a few feet between each. The poor work crew had even more of a hike, and were already exhausted from the back-and-forth.
Finally, after what felt like a sweaty eternity, we neared our spot. I asked Sam, “You want to check out the Batman building with me?”
The site in question was several blocks away, the boringly named but excitingly designed Chicago Board of Trade building. It had been dramatically wrecked in the movie Transformers, but Sam cared more about its famous role in The Dark Knight, which was his favorite Batman movie. The building was where the superhero had gotten into elaborate fisticuffs with Heath Ledger’s Joker. Neither was my kind of movie, but the building was my kind of building—a perfect setback at twenty stories to stretch a hundred-foot wire across from one side to the other, with art deco loveliness above and below. The street in front would provide an ideal view for the spectators.
“All I want to do is sit in front of an air-conditioning vent, with a fan,” Sam said, his hair plastered to his temples.
“Come on,” I wheedled. “It’ll be fun. It’s the Batman building.”
Sam gave me a look. “I need to be around to check on the horses. And things.”
Oh. Maybe he had a rendezvous with Dita. “And things,” I said, poking his shoulder.
His look morphed into an unmistakable Shut up, so I did. He was right. Just because I wanted to tell the world everything didn’t mean he and Dita were ready to. But my parents gave no sign they suspected a thing. They were holding hands, despite the heat. I didn’t know what he was worried about.
Sam had a point about the pleasures of fans, though. The day was only supposed to get hotter.
Our RV wasn’t visible until we were practically at the front door, and we all stopped at once in front of the large item that had been left there. It was an old-style steamer trunk, covered in creaky aged brown leather.
Sam took a step forward.
“Wait!” I said, too loudly.
I tugged on my lip while my family frowned at me. And then it connected, where I’d seen it before. In the black-and-white photo on the murder board hidden in Remy’s room. In it, clowns had been standing next to a trunk identical to this one, right down to the distinctive pattern of gold studs across the top. I’d focused on the scarf, but maybe the trunk was supposed to be the threat.
The door to our RV swung open, and Nan appeared. “I thought I heard you—” she started, and blinked with shock at the trunk. She stepped down and carefully around it, wearing a simple black tunic that flared as she hit the pavement.
“We’ll have to get rid of this.” She held my gaze. “I told you there was still danger.” The effort it took her to keep her voice calm was obvious by the wobble at its edges. “But first I need to see what’s inside.”
There was a large brass buckle on the side nearest us, and she reached out with immaculate, red-polished nails to prevent anyone else from opening it. “Let me.”
None of us appeared to know what to say. My parents and Sam were probably too confused.
Nan worked her nail beneath the buckle until it popped free. She didn’t object when Sam eased in to help her lift the heavy lid.
The trunk was filled to the brim—with my things from backstage. They were mostly spares, since I tended to get dressed in my room, but they were my things. Stuffed in. Tights. A tutu and bodice. Hair combs and extra slippers. Wadded and balled and heaped.
Nan stilled, not moving or even seeming to breathe. The stinging heat made the moment even more surreal, as if we were all being baked into stillness, standing over my things crammed into this mystery trunk.
But then she bent forward and pawed through the trunk, tossing my clothes and hair ties and shoes out onto the hot pavement. She made quick work of emptying it.
Once she’d stopped, my father spoke. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Nan exhaled. She was breathing hard from her exertion. “You know the superstition about wardrobe trunks. Once placed upon arrival in a new city, they must not be moved again until the circus itself moves on. It is extremely bad luck, especially if a performer goes against it and wears the items inside a trunk that has been moved. Accidents can happen.”
“Why are you so worried?” My father looked perplexed. “This trunk isn’t ours. It must be a mistaken delivery. But, then, why are Jules’s things inside?”
Nan didn’t shrink from the questioning. “I know this trunk. Someone is not willing to forget the past. I know you don’t believe me, but I told you I could work magic, and magic lingers. We have to get rid of this now, in just the right way. If we do, it won’t cause any harm. There’s no other danger here, and nothing that I cannot dispel.”
“Then get rid of it,” Mom said, and removed her arm from mine so she could make the sign of the cross.
Dad insisted I stay behind with Mom while he and Sam carried the trunk somewhere they could get rid of it, under Nan’s direction. When I’d started to walk with them, she’d given me a stern look and added a “Please” that told me I’d have a battle on my hands if I wanted to go. So I stayed, helping Mom clean my things off the pavement. There was no slipping off to talk to Remy, either, not with Mom watching me.
When it became apparent the trunk disposal wasn’t going to be that quick, since they still weren’t back, I took a shower and changed clothes. Mom and I ended up back in the living room. We sat, waiting, in front of a large round fan that boosted the efforts of our old air-conditioning system. Cool air whirred toward the couch. The wet ends of my hair dripped onto the shoulders of the silk dress I wore, soaking the thin fabric through.
“Julieta.” Mom’s eyes were ice blue, trained on me so she wouldn’t miss a thing. “Do you think your grandmother is telling the truth about this magic?”
Yes and no. Yes someone is clearly obsessed with the past and out to get us, but no, no on magic. Still don’t buy it.
I had to be careful what I revealed to her. “I think she believes it, and I think she has enemies. I think we have enemies. That’s all.�
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She was about to ask something else when the door opened and Dad came in. His face was grim. “Vonia, I’m so sorry about all of this,” he said.
Mom sniffed, but she patted the vacant side of the couch. “Come get in out of the heat.”
Nan had entered behind him, and stood in the kitchen. Sam stopped next to her, in front of a smaller fan on the counter. “Is anyone going to explain where that thing came from?” he asked, not sounding like he had much hope of it. His T-shirt, wet with sweat, clung to his skin, and his cheeks flushed red.
We were all looking at Nan, even Dad.
“There are lots of old superstitions,” she said. “As I said, this particular trunk is familiar to me. I thought it no longer existed. I haven’t seen it in decades. I don’t know how or why it arrived now. But it doesn’t matter. It can’t hurt Jules anymore. Someone wanted to upset me again. They let us get comfortable. That’s all.”
“Do you really think that trunk had the power to do something?” Sam couldn’t have been more skeptical. “As in magic?” At the last word his voice almost squeaked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Nan said, firmly.
I knew what she believed, but I was curious why she’d been so intent on emptying my things out of it. “When you threw my stuff out of it, were you looking for something?”
Nan hesitated, and then said, “I was making sure that the trunk was the only threat. It was.”
I conjured that picture in my head, of the clowns pointing . . . at the trunk. The scarf might have nothing to do with any of this. I had no reason not to take her word.
Mom said, “I don’t like Julieta being involved in this. If you think it’s the Garcias behind this, I’ll go to them now and end this. Whether it’s just meant to upset you or not, I have no idea. But it’s not okay.”
I was certain Sam felt the same panic I did.
“No,” Nan said. “I don’t know who it is, but I don’t think it’s them.”
Dad spoke up then. “This is a good reminder. Not to trust, to be careful. We must all be more cautious. Our success makes us more visible.”
There was a knock at the door, loud enough to startle all of us. Sam went to answer it. “Yes? Oh, hi, boss.”
I glanced at the clock below the TV. Dad and I were supposed to have met Thurston and Remy’s dad fifteen minutes ago for our scouting trip.
Thurston poked his head inside the door. “You ready? I figured I’d come check in case there was—” Seeing us so serious, he took a step up the stairs, pulling the door to behind him. Sam backed up to let him in. “Everything all right?”
I tried my best to look inside his head, see if he was surprised or checking up on his handiwork. But Thurston had some poker face.
Dad finally said, “Just some family business. Jules, why don’t you—”
“You can go on and scout without me this time, if that’s okay,” I said to Thurston. “I’ve already been once.”
Dad nodded, and I felt relieved. I still wanted to talk to Sam, and determine if Nan had anything to say that could help Remy and me get to the bottom of why the trunk had shown up now.
“I understand family business comes first,” Thurston said. “All right.”
Once he left, Nan clasped her hands together and said, “I’m going to lie down. Like a bad habit, my headache is returning.”
After she passed us, Dad leaned into Mom, voice lowered. “Bad memories. All of this brings them. Makes her overreact.” Mom nodded. He was offering her an explanation to grab on to.
“We’re going to take a rest too,” she said, though it sounded like she’d more likely be asking Dad questions than napping.
When they were gone I asked Sam, in a whisper, “What happened?”
“I’ve never seen her like that. It was scary, Jules,” he said. “She told us we had to throw the trunk in the water, and when we told her we couldn’t do that, she sent me to go get lighter fluid from the supply trailer. We carried that thing way back behind a bunch of Dumpsters. Where she made us torch it. The smell of the leather . . . it was awful. And she was chanting something weird under her breath. I guess in Italian. Or Latin maybe.” He shivered in the fan’s breeze.
“Wow.” She’d burned the elephant hair too, of course, and even though I didn’t swallow her “magic lingers” explanation, I said a silent thanks that the feather was gone forever, having fallen into the river. Just in case.
“Do you think Nan’s okay . . . mentally?” he asked.
Trust Sam to bring the logical question. I was less and less convinced there was much place for logic in the reality we had apparently entered when we came to the Cirque.
“I think we have no idea what she’s going through, what she went through back then. We have to cut her some slack.”
“I guess.”
He sounded about as convinced as I was.
twenty-two
* * *
Backstage was packed tight that night, since the parking complex was so far from the big top. It was the only convenient place to be for the first of what had been nicknamed our “Very Important Performances” by Thurston. I claimed my usual vantage spot by the side curtain early. At first, I planned to catch Remy and tell him about the trunk. But then I recalled how much pressure was on him tonight to get the quad. They’d just missed the catch at the last performance, and Thurston had promised a party after tonight’s attempt—but only if Remy made it.
I decided he didn’t need the distraction. The bad news that our saboteur had returned could wait until later.
So I contented myself with watching the jugglers balance atop giant balls and toss flaming knives to each other. Right before my act, I made my way over to our dressing tables. Dad sat there, quietly watching the hubbub.
I picked up the lipstick I’d brought with me to replace my stolen one, and reapplied. Then I asked him, “Dad, you’re not sorry? That we came here, I mean.”
He considered. “It hasn’t been easy. I told you it wouldn’t be.”
“I know.”
“But, no, I don’t regret coming here. Performing in such a company . . . seeing you get your chance . . . I’m grateful you’re so stubborn. Your grandmother had to confront her history sometime, and she’ll get through this.”
I inhaled to keep tears from coming. Dad reached over and gave me a little push. “It’s your time. Knock them dead, my heart.”
“I plan to.” I gave a quick check to my costume, something I hadn’t done since the first few days of the season—and found nothing unwelcome. I grabbed my parasol and scampered over to the curtain. Dad’s answer had been more important to me than I’d realized.
From the second I took the spotlight, I was determined to let whoever left the trunk know that they hadn’t knocked me off my game. Gripping the ladder with one arm, I twirled my parasol as I rose to the platform. Once on the wire, my pirouette sequence went swirl snap swirl snap swirl, every movement crisp. My arabesque was high enough that it risked overextension.
The audience clapped loudly as I came down, clowns circling the outer ring to entertain until I exited. As soon as I got backstage, I headed over to the side curtain to catch Mom’s act.
She and the horses were at their best. She even earned a gasp from me with one of her gravity-defying leaps from horse to horse. About halfway through, she made a big show of leaning against one of the stallions and gesturing for Sam—a few steps outside the bounds of center ring—to come in and take over.
He was in his normal costume. No shined boots. She’d said he would get a chance soon, but . . . tonight?
I couldn’t believe it. From his slight hesitation, it was clear he hadn’t expected it either.
But he recovered fast and strutted into position, a pro born and bred. I wondered if he felt short of breath or like he was about to throw up or like he was on fire. They were all things I’d felt the first time I was allowed to perform for an audience.
The audience had no idea it was his first time, n
ot with his confidence. He looked to Mom for a cue about what to do—something I noticed but they never would—and she must have urged him to Beauty.
Sam stopped in front of his—and Mom’s—favorite mare, standing straight and tall. He raised his arms and barked a command I was too far away to hear, and Beauty raised on her hind legs, pawing the air impressively. He gave another shout and all four of her feet were back on the ground. He stepped back a bit and gave a louder command. Seven of the giant beasts whinnied and went down on one knee to him, a horse serenade.
Mom allowed the trick to set for a moment, then strode over and brushed his shoulder as she commanded the horses up, up, up with a series of quick motions. Sam left the ring to applause, and Mom finished the act to even louder accolades.
I glowed with happiness for Sam. So today hadn’t been a total wash. I left my spot to meet Mom and Sam as they reentered backstage. Sam jogged alongside the horses, and I held up my palm to high-five him.
Mom said, “Enjoy it, Sammy. Good job for your first show,” and shooed him toward me. She must have told the stable guys her plan, because one of them appeared to assist her.
Sam smacked his hand into mine.
“Welcome to being an official Amazing Maroni!” I said.
With great relish, he stuck his tongue out at me. I heard laughter and looked over to find Remy and Dita and a few others watching us. Grinning, Dita split off from her brother, distracting everyone as she rocketed past me to fling her arms around Sam. He caught her without a hitch. And then he kissed her. In front of everyone.
There was a moment of quiet uneasiness before someone wolf-whistled. Remy turned to speak to Novio, who’d stepped out of the crowd and was taking in the scene with an expression of dazed horror.
Dad appeared at my shoulder and demanded, “Did you know about this?”
Sam and Dita’s kiss had ended, both of them pink-cheeked. Sam reached down to take her hand, and he walked her toward the curtain that led outside. He ignored the bait when Novio cursed loudly. Remy put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, not letting him follow them to make trouble.
