The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Jordan Bell

  Before he reached it, Eli stopped him.

  “I need to know.” Alistair looked at Eli’s hand on his elbow. “Is she yours?”

  “Mine.” The carnival director mulled the word over as if he’d never heard it uttered before, a foreign sound he couldn’t wrap his tongue around. “Cora and I were never…” He waved the final word away, even after more than a century too much the gentleman to refer to such torrid activities.

  “Then why would Cora give her your name? If not yours, then who does she belong to?”

  Alistair hesitated and Eli released his hold on him. “I’ve thought about it many times since Serafine came to us. I don’t know why Cora would have left the girl with my given name. I wish I knew. Maybe to make sure I took her in when Serafine eventually found us.”

  “You think Cora knew you’d open the gates again and that Sera would come to us?”

  Alistair met Eli’s gaze, both of them a little uneasy with the conversation. Fortune tellers had that effect on people who knew exactly what sort of magic they wielded. “Oh yes. She told me where I could find her when I was ready to reopen. The exact address.”

  20

  __________________

  Sitting in an ornate, horse drawn carriage on the bottom tier of the two story harlequin carousel, I stabbed an itty bitty bayonet beneath a seam and pulled until it ripped and let loose yards of velvety fabric from its dress shape.

  The carousel was kept a virtual secret from me until this morning when one of the dancers I was helping casually asked me if I’d taken a turn yet.

  The carousel had apparently become a kind of urban legend of the carnival. The dancer told me that people traveled across the world to treasure hunt for it. Some found it, some didn’t.

  Sometimes, she said, they’d change cities several times before someone finally found the carousel hidden amongst the tents where it hadn’t been the day before.

  True to my inability to accept that in this world of magicians and ageless acrobats that magic and legends might be real, I went hunting for it. A thing that exists can’t not exist sometimes just because. The idea made me crazy. It reminded me of my mother and her impulsive contrariness.

  Don’t be so rational, Serafine, she’d say with too much exasperation for a twelve year old, as if my skepticism badly disappointed her. Sometimes things are because they are.

  They. Are. Not. Then twelve year old Serafine stomped and screamed and in a fit of irrational rebellion, threw her mother’s very old, very favorite deck of tarot cards into the dining room fire.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe her when she told me to set out milk for the faeries in the spring or that she’d seen my future and I should definitely wear my goulashes to school.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe Eli when he told me he could make origami cranes fly.

  It was that a small but terrified part of me believed it was more likely they were playing a cruel joke and the moment I admitted it was all real and I believed with all my heart, they’d pull back the curtain and show me how I’d been fooled.

  I wasted hours distracting myself by wandering around tents looking for the Harlequin Carousel, believing more and more that I’d been sent on a Snipe hunt, a hazing for the new girl that everyone seemed to be in on. Horus told me I’d find it when I wasn’t looking and Mama George said it I could only find it when it rained. Lily didn’t tell me how to find it but she sighed and confessed she’d had her first kiss upon the carousel when she was very young. She ran away to the join the carnival the next day.

  Katya, while giggling with a group of eavesdropping acrobats, claimed the carousel had standards. Holding her hand up to the top of her head, far above mine, she mouthed “You have to be this important to ride this ride.”

  Micah insisted if I went out into a big empty space between tents, turned around counter-clockwise ten times while reciting I call the carousel, I call the carousel, I call the carousel, it would appear.

  (It did not.)

  When the early morning weather shifted and began to drizzle, hardly enough to make me feel more than damp but too cold to keep pursuing a fable, I decided to head back to my tent. I turned back the way I’d come and walked right into the damn thing.

  There it was, surrounded by a cloud of low mist hugging the forest floor, like the damn thing appeared from the beyond without a hint of irony.

  The building had a domed roof and four carved columns in the corners. The carousel itself was populated by characters of legend, a black knight astride a black horse chasing down a giant dragon several rows ahead. Griffons, unicorns, hydra. Giant tigers with saddles and bridled ravens as big as dogs. My carriage was pulled by three great, monstrous black horses with garnet jewel eyes. Another, smaller sleigh was pulled by a team of large mice.

  The platforms of each tier and all four columns were carved in silver angelic creatures (from above) and demonic dark blue creatures (from below). The ornamentations were frozen in a great, epic battle on the precipice of victory and defeat.

  Elena, the dancers’ manager, had me pulling costumes apart all day, and the carousel, alone in the drizzling, gloomy weather, made for a cozy hideout.

  A hiding place mostly from Eli, but also from Katya and her bedazzled girl gang. There were rumors I wanted to avoid at all costs. Whispers about the Magician and his latest conquest.

  Whispers about the magician and his latest rejection.

  I missed him.

  At breakfast that morning I heard the Magician’s shows last night had pushed the boundaries of his greatest illusions, packing his tent each show and forcing Rook to assign bouncers when it reached capacity. I heard no one had seen him perform such astonishing feats of magic since long before Imaginaire went dark. I heard people could hear the applause as far as the Midway and the Ferris.

  He came to breakfast late looking tired and irascible. We didn’t share anything approximating acknowledgement. He sat with Lily who sat alone until he showed up. She didn’t eat, I noticed, but went through the motions as if attempting to mimic everyone else but missing the context.

  They spoke in hushed secrets. When I couldn’t pretend not to watch any longer, I escaped to the carousel and brooded.

  Things were not turning out exactly like how I expected them to be. I didn’t expect to make enemies or crave the touch of a secretive, ageless magician, or defend myself as my mother’s daughter, which itself was laughable considering how much I’d always hated that distinction. Now it made me feel a little sick when caustic comments were murmured in my general direction.

  And I missed her.

  “My love,” she had said and knelt where I sat on the curb, street sludge darkening my tennis shoes and her knees. “My love, why are you crying?”

  I wiped at my eyes and nose, making the mess worse. “They called me dirty. Because of my freckles. Because I’m ugly.”

  The tears weren’t even from my hurt feelings. They were from my childish anger and helplessness. It bubbled up inside me until I didn’t know what to do with it. Until it felt like a ball in my throat that I’d choke on. We never stayed anywhere long enough for any of my classmates to get to know me beyond what they saw. They never liked what they saw. I didn’t know how to defend myself. Dirty girl, they taunted, even God didn’t bother cleaning her up.

  “Oh Sera.” The way she said my name eased the pressure in my chest. She said it like it meant something more than me. “You’re lovely, like a star. Those kids don’t know anything, not yet, but I do. You’re mine and I don’t make things that aren’t beautiful.”

  “You don’t have freckles,” I protested.

  “I made you unique,” she whispered. “One of a kind. No one else in the world looks like you, because no one else could ever get the freckles right. I did that on purpose.”

  I believed her. For years. I believed that she’d sketched me out in her notebook and gotten it all just right before fitting me together like a puzzle. It wasn’t until I was a
teenager that I realized she’d lied to me.

  And I never forgave her for it. Right up until she died I’d never forgiven her for making me believe I was special.

  Finding Imaginaire had given me that sense of self I hadn’t had since that day on the sidewalk. It made me feel unique and on purpose. Nothing here seemed a coincidence, so I had to believe it wasn’t.

  Including me.

  But now I faltered again. It was exhausting, believing in something.

  Eli.

  Stupid magician.

  “I’ve been looking for you.” The accent startled me out of my memories and I twisted around in my seat to find the Magician resting against the outstretched wing of a shimmery green dragon, it’s wingspan as wide as the platform, its eyes peridots, as bright as tiny stars. He had his arms crossed lazily over his chest, his ankles crossed in front of him.

  He stared at his feet, his messy black curls falling across his forehead.

  For a panicked second I wondered if I’d summoned him with a thought.

  I launched myself out of my seat and put the carriage between us. I caught the pole of the Pegasus and held on like I might fall down.

  “I did not expect to find you here, which is probably why I didn’t. The carousel’s a little…” He gestured for a word. “…recalcitrant. It doesn’t even listen to me, which begs the question, who does it listen to? But that’s maybe a conversation for another time.”

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” he repeated dubiously. “I have no idea why it’s disobedient and impossible to control. I didn’t build it. Although I am now completely unsurprised that it found you. You’re both charmingly unmanageable.”

  “No,” I snapped, and squeezed my fist until it hurt. I swallowed my temper. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “Oh.” He uncrossed his ankles and shoved his hands into his pockets. He hesitated. “Last night I made Katya disappear and reappear in an empty seat at the middle of the room. I lit a sword on fire and swallowed it. I became invisible once and created a menagerie of circus animals out of smoke from a single cigarette.” His memory caught him off guard and for a moment I thought I saw a smile, but it was gone before I knew for sure. “The tent smelled like brandy and cherries all night. There were people waiting outside ten deep to get in. I can’t remember the last time my theater had to turn people away.”

  His confession confused me. It sounded like bragging except that he seemed more worried than excited. He toed a smudge on the painted platform with his boot.

  I ran my hand across the horse’s saddle and looked anywhere but at him.

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “I was wondering if you were able to come watch. I saved the best for the last performance. I thought…”

  “No. I didn’t see your show.”

  He went quiet and I didn’t turn around. Between us there was nothing but the sound of birds in the trees, the rhythm of light rain drops striking leaves and the mossy ground.

  “Serafine.” He started across the platform and I shrugged away to the other side of the winged horse. He stopped immediately.

  His next words were cut off by Micah calling my name. I turned and saw her leading several others, including Katya, across the field at a run to get out of the rain.

  Eli backed off. “Nevermind. This was a mistake.”

  Before he could escape, the other girls were upon the carousel and he was trapped against the static column at the center of the carousel.

  “What are you doing here?” Katya asked, circling the Magician before sliding up onto a griffon near him.

  “I need a reason?” He controlled his expression, settled into his usual guarded gaze.

  She glanced towards me, not so subtly. She reached her long arms above her head to grasp the pole and rested her temple against it between her elbows. She pouted and the way her back swayed and stretched made me viciously jealous. I didn’t want him to notice, though I was sure he had.

  I looked away as Micah wove her way around the mythic animals to spin round one of the silver poles to sidle up onto the Pegasus I hid behind. “Hop up baby, I’ll give you a ride. It’ll be romantic.”

  She mooned her big eyes down at me and I couldn’t help it. I swatted her away, laughing despite myself.

  Pretending my heart wasn’t pounding in my chest or that Eli’s voice hadn’t badly displaced me.

  Katya kept his attention, though barely. He did not rise to her flirting. She pouted.

  “Make it turn on, boss.”

  Eli was patient, but short, as if he were speaking to a child. “I have no power over the carousel, Katya. I can’t make it do anything.”

  “Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t she?” Micah murmured conspiratorially.

  I tried to ignore them and Micah’s disapproval, but it was impossible to keep my attention from him for long. When I looked over at him, his eyes were locked on mine. I shivered and Micah noticed.

  “Would you like to see the carousel?” she asked softly, emphasizing you and nudging me with her elbow. She followed my gaze to the Magician’s.

  “Micah,” I scolded, but after hesitating, I nodded. “Very much. I’d like to see it lit up just once.”

  His eyes narrowed. He knew very well that Micah was manipulating him and it made me nervous that it seemed to work. The Magician claimed not to be able to make the carousel do anything, but at my wish he pushed away from the center column and came close, closer, much too close. I hugged Micah’s side and followed his hand across the wooden tiger, the polar bear, coming to settle on the nose of my Pegasus. If I turned towards him we’d have touched.

  Micah watched him carefully. Everyone watched him, including Katya, riveted to his every movement. Everyone but me.

  First there were tinkles, like wind chimes or rain on glass, and then the lights faded on and the chimes were joined by a low rasping organ piped through the middle chamber of the carousel. The haunted carousel dirge worked its magic as the lights ghosted, dim to bright, as the platform began to spin. The creatures rode over autumn wooded glens, somewhere far away from the carnival and the rest of the world, their poles more like leashes than paths. Beside me, I could almost feel the Pegasus strain into the wind.

  The giggling girls quieted and clung to their beasts. There was something serious about the carousel, something remarkable. Something from another time and another world, from books and words and fables. From legends.

  As the carousel turned and turned, Eli withdrew his hand from the horse’s head. I felt him linger. I could almost feel him touch me. Instead of turning to meet his gaze, the one I could feel on the back of my neck, I looked at Katya who stared at me with a kind of confusion and dislike I hadn’t seen since I was a little girl.

  Without a word he stepped off the slow turning platform and into the drizzling rain. When the carousel came around again, he was gone.

  * * *

  While most of the carnival lived for the night shows, the acrobats were made for the day shows. They lived and breathed for the children that lined the wooden benches, lips pink from raspberry cotton candy, eyes wide and unblinking, afraid to miss anything. The children gasped the loudest and felt the wonder more deeply than their parents or the night guests. I rarely saw the day shows, but they felt different. More important. This was fantasy realized. These were the guests who already believed that wonderful things could happen and Micah and her troupe gave them the proof they needed against the rest of the world.

  I snuck into Micah’s show that afternoon to get away from the burlesque girls and their barely there costumes. It was warm in the Galaxy, the tent packed with so many bodies I had to stand near the acrobat’s curtains to watch from behind. Micah walked out across the tightrope and midway bent her body backwards until her fingertips touched the tightrope next to her toes and then in one fluid motion the rest of her body followed with exacting control. Another acrobat danced out across the tightrope on h
er toes and did a little turning pirouette with Micah so that they were on opposite sides, the simple, dangerous trick sending the room into applause. Beneath them the trapeze flung themselves beautifully into the air, tucking and stretching between hands.

  They make it look effortless. Every time one of them flings themselves through the air, every time Micah wraps the aerialist’s fabric around her ankle and hangs from it, arms outstretched in a beautiful upside down spin, every time two girls make a running leap towards each other with nothing but their ankles perfectly balanced across trapeze bars keeping them from a long, horrible fall. No one in the crowd realizes how their muscles tighten to hold them in place, or how many hours they’ve spent practicing holding to the tightrope with their toes. No one realizes how fast they trapeze girls have to tuck their body, then bend backwards as far as they can stretch, fingers and arms in for speed, head arced and smiling, smiling, always smiling. If they miss their mark, don’t tuck fast enough, don’t pull their arms forward at the right time or bend their knees when they’ve reached full momentum, then the whole performance collapses like so many pink cheeked dominos.

  They made their art look like play so that no one below knew that their lives were always dangerously hanging balanced from fingertips and toes.

  I loved to close my eyes and listen to the orchestrated sounds of hands clashing with metal bars, skin whipping through the air at breakneck speeds, the vocal calls of one bird to the next when a stunt was about to be executed. They made the whole show look like a dance.

  When Micah shimmied up the silk panels hanging from the ceiling to perform her aerialist show, a second acrobat ran out to the middle of the ring to set a snow globe beneath her. I couldn’t see what was happening within the snowstorm inside the globe, but the base it sat on was ornate gold and white with a large brass key sticking out the side. The acrobat turned the key and back flipped away as the music box chords began to play.