Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts

by Erin Johnson

  The charm hung from a chunky metal chain. With its pointed ears, bald head, snaggly teeth, and rough metal work, the charm looked like a cross between Dobby and Gollum— with crossed eyes. She caught me staring and her eyes widened. She stuffed the charm inside the neck of her shirt, hiding it. I’d be embarrassed of it, too. Though it begged the question why she’d be wearing it.

  Rhonda suddenly threw her head back, slapped her free hand to her glowing forehead, and stood absolutely frozen for several long moments.

  “Is this a vision or one of those living statue things?”

  I shot Iggy a look.

  She slumped out of it and steadied herself against the tent pole. She pointed at me. “You’ve got some weird hobbies.”

  I felt Maple and Iggy staring at me, and my cheeks burned hot. “What? No.” I’d gone through that duck-herding phase, but I was a kid. Okay, early twenties. But I hadn’t done it in years.

  Rhonda shrugged. “I got a vision of you playing with puppets.”

  “Kinky,” Iggy snarked in his deep drawl.

  “I don’t do anything with puppets.” I shook my head.

  “You make them do it with each other?” Iggy grimaced. “I’m not sure what’s worse.”

  I scowled at Maple when she giggled. “Don’t encourage him.”

  “See?” Rhonda took a bite and talked through it. “Great vision, right? You know.” Rhonda swallowed. “Everyone thinks she’s sooo amazing because you can ask her specific questions and she’ll conjure, or reanimate your loved ones, and get you the answers.”

  “Who?” I mouthed at Maple.

  She held up a hand to hide her mouth and whispered, “Madame Zerna, I think. A rival seer.”

  I tilted my head back. “Ah.”

  “Madame Zerna,” Rhonda pantomimed. “Can you ask my mother if she loved me? Why don’t you ask her yourself, here she is!” Rhonda swept an arm out and it knocked her off balance.

  She scrambled to lean back against the pole, then said through a mouthful of pie, “Who wants to talk to a zombie, I mean really? Gross. My gift, on the other hand, is divinely divvied out. True, I have no idea when it’ll come, and yes, it often relates to the mundane, and maybe that wouldn’t make for the most exciting of shows, but isn’t it more useful to know that that burrito in the back of your pantry has gone rancid?”

  Maple and I sat in uncomfortable silence, darting glances at each other. It seemed Rhonda may have had too many of the ol’ adult beverage hats.

  “Besides, she’s such a gripe. Everyone in the industry knows what a pain she is—she’s famous for it. She’s a temperamental diva, and so demanding—” Rhonda’s eyes focused on a chocolate cupcake. “Give me that.”

  Maple frowned but handed it over, and Rhonda shoved it in her mouth. As she worked her entire jaw to chew it, she gazed out over the crowd. Suddenly she dropped the cupcake and the hand pie to the ground.

  “Speak of the fat lady sings.” Rhonda pushed herself off the tent pole and staggered back out into the main thoroughfare of the pier.

  I frowned at her mixing of sayings—not sure which one she was going for there. I followed her gaze and spotted a large, late middle-aged woman with tall blond hair and flowing blue robes striding through the crowd with her chin lifted. A thin woman with a low bun and strands of mousy brown hair hanging everywhere slunk behind her.

  “That’s Madame Zerna.” Maple gripped the edge of the table.

  We looked at each other, then both leapt to our feet to stop Rhonda.

  “Too late.” Iggy chuckled from the oven.

  Rhonda cut in front of Madame Zerna, bringing her to a halt. The crowd parted around them, a few people lingering to watch. The witch band still played on the nearby stage, and their screaming music drowned out the conversation, but we could watch.

  Rhonda leaned close, glaring and saying something. Madame Zerna drew herself up to her full height, sticking her ample bosom out, and said something back. More people gathered, forming a circle around them and bringing the traffic down the pier to a halt.

  “Watch Iggy?”

  Maple nodded, and I darted around the table, squeezing through the crowd. As I neared the seers, I began to make out their words.

  “Jealousy does not look well on you.” The deep, overenunciated voice had to be Madame Zerna’s.

  “Ha! Jealous? Me? Of you?”

  I slid between two broad-shouldered guys till I could stand on my toes and see the top of Rhonda’s head over the crowd. She fluffed her braids. “I prefer not to diddle with dead things.”

  The crowd chuckled, and some guy yelled, “Witch fight!”

  “Diddle! This coming from a small-time, mediocre inferior!” Madame Zerna huffed and swept a scarf around her neck. “Come, Frennie, I shan’t stand here and be insulted by the likes of this second-rate charlatan.”

  The crowd oohed, and flashing lights bounced off Madame Zerna’s back as she moved through the crowd, the frail woman, Frennie, shuffling along at her heels. Madame Zerna paused, pressing a hand to her heart, and slumped forward. She snapped her fingers impatiently and Frennie jumped, then fumbled around in the large patchwork bag slung around her shoulder. She fished out a cobalt blue bottle, uncorked it, and handed it to Madame, who took a swig. Guess Rhonda isn’t the only seer partaking tonight.

  With the show over, the crowd dispersed, feet clunking along the wooden planks of the pier. I put a hand on Rhonda’s shoulder. “You okay?” I peered into her dark, glassy eyes.

  She winked. Or maybe that was an attempt to blink, I wasn’t sure.

  “Right as a clam.”

  She almost had it.

  Rhonda tugged on her fringed jacket. “That went better than the last time I saw her.”

  5

  Learning Magic

  I knocked again and pressed my ear to the ornately painted purple-and-gold wood door. Nothing—not even a rustling inside. I cupped my hands to shield my eyes and shifted left then right, trying to peer through the windowed top portion of the door, but the frosted glass revealed nothing of the interior.

  I clomped back down the wooden steps that led up to the caravan’s entrance, and looked around. The caravan was as round as a barrel, with a teal canvas top stretched over it, while gold scrolls decorated the maroon sides and porch, which sat atop four golden, spoked wooden wheels.

  The whole cart couldn’t be more than fifteen feet deep. If Edward the Strong were home, he’d have heard my knocking. Maybe I’d gotten the wrong caravan?

  A dense thicket of green bushes and trees rose up behind it, like he’d described, and Mick, the canal ride guy, had given me directions. Maybe I’d taken a wrong turn at the bearded lady?

  I sighed and planted my hands on my hips. Birds chirped and squawked loudly in the trees, the caravan set far enough away from the carnival to enjoy the peace of nature. Just as I was about to turn back and go help Sam run the booth, white smoke rising from the ground caught my eye.

  To the right of the caravan, a black cauldron hung from a shepherd’s hook above a fire, steam pouring from under the lid. I frowned. You wouldn’t put something on the fire to cook and then leave, would you?

  “Imogen!”

  I startled and whirled. Edward the Strong stood behind me, at the front of the caravan. He flashed me a white grin and waved me over, the oranges and reds of the phoenix tattoos on his arms bright against the gray, foggy sky.

  “Were you knocking?”

  I nodded as I picked my way through the tall grass toward him.

  “Apologies. I had my earplugs in. I like to nap during the day, since we work all night.”

  I stood in front of him and smiled. “No worries. Well… you ready, teach?”

  I followed him up the stairs and into the caravan, which he had to duck to enter.

  “Wow.”

  “You like it?”

  I spun to take it all in. Though small, it brimmed with magic. To the left, an ornate cast iron stove stood tucked into a green-tiled fire
place. A copper teapot sat next to a stack of flowered teacups. Picturing Edward, with his massive hands, sipping from the dainty cups made me smile.

  He walked straight to the back and tied back two red velvet curtains with gold ropes. Behind them lay a tousled bed on a raised platform. Edward hastily tucked in the quilt and straightened the pillow. “Make yourself as comfortable as possible in these shabby, tight quarters.”

  “Not at all. I like it.” I moved an embroidered pillow to the side and sat on the leather sofa that ran along the right length of the caravan. “My last apartment wasn’t much bigger than this.”

  Edward finished with the bed and pulled up a wooden chair, which he turned and sat in backwards. I looked from the Persian rugs on the floor to the tall mirror covered in a fringed shawl next to the fireplace. “Actually, I didn’t even have room for a sofa, so this might be bigger.”

  He lifted a brow. “Oh? And where was that? Here, in Bijou Mer?”

  I shook my head. “No, in Seattle—I mean, in the human lands.” I still felt odd saying that.

  He raised both brows and leaned forward. “Human lands.” He nodded. “And your whole family lives there?”

  I swallowed and fidgeted with the pillow. “Well. My human family lives in the US, but I moved thousands of miles away from them even before I came here.” I shrugged. “I never knew my birth parents.”

  His dark eyes never wavered from my face.

  I waved a hand and turned away. “You don’t have to act so interested, it’s boring.” I hiked up my shoulders. “So… thanks for offering to work with me. I really appreciate it.”

  He shook himself and blinked at me. “But of course. I’m happy to.” He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “All right. Where should we start? Anything you’ve been working on?”

  I chewed my lip and looked at my hands in my lap. There was something in particular that’d been bugging me. I looked up and squared my shoulders. “I want to learn to take down disguises.”

  Edward’s face stilled, the corners of his curled mustache dropping. He sat back and gripped the back of the chair. During the long moment that followed I became aware of how quiet it was. Inside, I couldn’t hear the birds chirping anymore. The only sound was the wind chimes that hung from a hook by the door tinkling in the breeze, and I felt the seclusion of the place.

  “Why would you say that?”

  I fidgeted with the hem of my dress, pulling it lower over my knees. “Well. A friend disguised themselves and I didn’t even know it. Well, that’s not exactly true. I could see through it at times, but I don’t know how I did it.”

  Edward startled me by barking out a laugh. He clapped his huge hands together. “So Prince Harry’s been wearing disguises, has he?”

  My eyebrows shot up. “I-I didn’t say that it was him, I—”

  He held up a hand, still chuckling. “You didn’t need to. It’s a very astute question, Imogen, as it relates to the core of being a swallow.”

  “It is? It does?”

  He nodded. “I knew you meant the golden prince, because he’s the only other swallow you know, and only a swallow could have pulled off something like that.”

  I leaned forward. “You mean, other magical people can’t disguise themselves?”

  He tilted his head side to side. “They can… but in a much more limited sense. There are spells that alter perception, which people can use to seem more attractive, and there are costume-type spells for changing one’s appearance. But there’s always an air of falseness about it, something easily seen through. It’s similar to the way actors on a stage might wear exaggerated makeup to accentuate their features from far away, but up close it’s simple to see that it’s makeup.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s because it’s such an energy-consuming spell. A regular magical can’t powerfully alter their appearance, nor can they maintain the change for long—it’s exhausting. But swallows—we have more endurance, more nuance, and more potential power because we can pull energy and magic from outside of ourselves—it’s a never-ending supply.”

  I considered the first time I’d entered the royal grounds. I’d snuck in disguised. “I did it once.” I stared at my hands. “I don’t know how, but I did it.”

  Edward pulled his chair closer. “See, Imogen? You have so much power, so much potential. You’re a natural.”

  I glanced up at him and couldn’t help but grin. I waved it off. “If you’d witnessed my sad attempts at magic over the last few weeks, you wouldn’t be so quick to throw around the word ‘natural.’”

  “Don’t.”

  I looked into his intense dark eyes.

  “Don’t say that about yourself. It’s only because you haven’t been trained. Once you’ve properly harnessed your magic—you’ll be unstoppable.”

  “Ha. I appreciate your confidence in me. Can’t say I share it, yet.”

  He stood and shook a long finger at me. “‘Yet’ being the key word.”

  He cast a camouflage spell on the teapot, creating the illusion that it was a clock. First he had me imagine the teapot, hold the coppery image in my mind, and then will it to appear.

  After an hour of staring cross-eyed at the clock, visualizing the real object behind it, the image flickered, revealing the teapot. I squealed and bounced in my seat, clapping my hands.

  “Well done, Imogen, well done.” Edward rose from his chair in the corner. “Shall we take a break?”

  “Are you kidding?” My whole body tingled, as if I had goose bumps running in waves up and down me. Magic. “That’s the first time I’ve successfully, intentionally done magic! All thanks to your coaching.” I pointed at him and winked. “You’re a great teacher.” I turned back to the teapot. “Nope. I’m just getting started. Let’s do it again.”

  He chuckled, but cast the illusion again and again for me. Hours later, I could successfully reveal the hidden teapot four times out of five, and it took me less than a minute of concentrating.

  “Again?”

  Edward rose. “I appreciate your dedication, Imogen, I do. It’s a rare trait, believe me.” He opened a cabinet next to his bed and pulled out a brocade vest. “But I’ve got to ready myself for my performance.”

  “What?”

  He raised his brows and nodded toward the clock that hid the teapot. The hands pointed to nearly five o’clock.

  “What? Is that the correct time?”

  He chuckled and nodded.

  “We’ve been practicing for five hours? Oh my gosh, I left Sam all alone to run the booth. And you! You needed a nap!” I stood and dashed to the door. “I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Edward followed me to the door, grinning. “Calm down, calm down. I’ll be fine, and I’m betting your friend is too, or he could have sent for you.”

  I jogged down the wooden steps to the grassy field.

  Edward paused at the top of the stairs. “Same time tomorrow?”

  I swallowed, a breeze blowing the long blades of grass back and forth in waves and rustling the leaves of the trees. The low summer sun cast everything in a gold light.

  “I don’t want to impose. Plus, I’ve pretty much learned what I wanted to know, right?”

  His handlebar mustache twitched as he smiled. “You’ve done very well. But, it’s one thing to reveal a hidden object when you already know what lies beneath. What if I cast the illusion spell on something in the caravan, but you didn’t know what. Could you find it? Could you reveal the real object, not knowing ahead of time what to visualize?”

  I frowned. “That’s a definite no.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Of course not. Today was our first day. But you’ll get there, sooner than you think, I bet.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. It felt nice to have someone believe in me so completely, even if I felt it to be unfounded myself. “All right, same time tomorrow.” I turned to go, but paused. “And thank you, so much. I could never have done that without your help.”
/>   I’d taken a few steps through the tall, waving grass, when Edward called me back. I turned.

  “And Imogen… what I said about swallows being able to disguise themselves.” He glanced around the broad grassy field, empty except for the carnival in the distance. “That’s not public knowledge. Don’t tell anyone about it.”

  Suspicion prickled at the back of my neck. “Why?”

  Edward sighed, his broad chest heaving. “If it got out, people would likely fear and hate us as much as they do shifters.”

  Anxiety tightened my stomach.

  “They’re afraid of deceit.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his eyes grew hard, no longer focused on me. “If only they knew they’re being deceived all the time.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  He closed his eyes for a long moment as the wind played with his dark hair, long on top and nearly shaved on the sides. When he opened his eyes, they softened and he smiled. He waved a hand, brushing it off. “Ah. Don’t pay attention to me. Just the grumblings of a crotchety old man.”

  I scoffed. He had to be late thirties, early forties at most. I raised a hand and started off toward the carnival, eager to check in on Sam. He’d said he felt completely healed after a good night’s sleep, but I still worried about him after his fall the day before. “See you tomorrow, Edward.”

  “See you, Imogen,” he called after me.

  6

  Carnival at Night

  When I got back to the carnival, the sun had nearly set. Long shadows stretched out from the Ferris wheel and the tall snail maze, which had a creepy human face. Tall lanterns made of colored paper lit up, strings of white lights flickered on above the booths and tents, and with the last human tourists gone, a few magic folk strolled along the pier.

  The deep temple bells tolled, enchanted to send all the humans to the ferry before the tide rose for the night. I sighed with relief when I reached the tent. Sam smiled and had good color to his cheeks.