For one, the massive tent has four distinct points, like spires on a castle. It’s surrounded by a fenced-in outer ring, where there’s room for the acrobats and magicians to perform for guests before the real show starts. Because at Maison du Mystère, the circus doesn’t begin when the curtain opens—it begins the moment you pass through the gates.
And then I hear a noise. The scrape of a violin echoes from far away. A single note calling out to the sky. I’m drawn to it, the way I was drawn to the circus lights as a little girl. The instrument breaks into a sad melody, like a ghost wandering aimlessly through an eternal forest.
A ghost with no name. A ghost with no face.
A ghost with no family.
I tuck my arms around myself, fighting the emotions I don’t have the energy to sort through, and walk closer to the big top.
It’s enormous in every direction. The first opening spills out into a foyer, where mechanical beasts slumber, soon to be filled with popcorn and peanuts and cotton candy. There’s a glass counter waiting to be stocked with chocolate bars and licorice, and a soda machine perched in the back. I follow the red carpet to the next opening, where the violin grows louder, drawing me closer like I’m a fish on a hook.
When I peer inside, I know the violin wasn’t meant for me. It couldn’t be.
Because the violin and its beautiful music belong only to him.
Vas stands in the center of the ring, surrounded by over a hundred empty chairs. The lights above him are dimmed. Moody. And he’s facing away from me, his dark wooden instrument tucked under his chin.
I watch his fingers dance across the strings, vibrating when he holds the long notes that make my heart ache.
I feel myself swaying without really thinking, and I realize it reminds me of when I was a child hanging out in Dad’s office.
He was always practicing—always writing something new. And usually he was fine with me listening, as long as listening was all I did. Under no circumstances was I ever meant to make a sound.
But I stayed anyway, because Dad’s music was beautiful. Is beautiful.
And I stole the thing that means the most to him to trade it for the thing that means the most to me.
I wish there were a way to make that sound less selfish.
How much longer will it take for Dad to realize I broke his heart?
Regret tethers itself to my heart, spilling through my veins like Venom taking over Spider-Man. I don’t want to let it in. I can’t—not when I’ve risked so much to get here. I need to see this through. I need to prove myself before I make sense of what I’ve done to my parents.
But the music rips through me anyway, and all I can see is Dad in his office, smiling at his little girl.
I blink, tearing myself away from Vas and his violin before he has a chance to realize I’m there.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As the afternoon wears on, it becomes more and more apparent that people are avoiding me. They’re not outright rude about it, which I guess is nice. But they either avert their eyes or pretend they don’t see me at all.
This morning I asked one of the magicians if they’d seen Dexi, and they got so flustered I spoke to them that they turned around midway through their answer and walked off.
It feels unfair. Like maybe what I did doesn’t deserve this kind of reaction. At least not from strangers who don’t even know me.
But even though this isn’t the fresh start I imagined, the battered piece of hope that’s tethered to my heart urges me to keep going. To adapt.
I can’t force people to like me. But maybe if I keep myself busy enough, I’ll stop noticing when they don’t.
I spend a lot of time wandering around, trying to get used to the layout of this place, and to understand how it works—what the rules are—so I can avoid ignorantly stepping on any toes. But most of the performers are on such a strict rehearsal schedule that not having anything to do makes me feel even more out of place.
I’m like one of those betta fish, stuck in a tiny container, watching all the other fish across the aisle swimming in a big aquarium. An outsider with a bad reputation. A fish, but not one of the fish.
What I want more than anything right now is just to feel like I have somewhere to be.
So when I check the schedule and see that Vivien is in the rehearsal tent, an overpowering amount of relief floods through me. I know we’re not best friends or anything, but Vivien and Dexi are the only people who make me feel like there’s still a chance things might change. Like there’s still a chance I might one day join the other fish.
Vivien is in the middle of her act, smiling to an imaginary crowd with a blindfold over her eyes. Her dark braids are tied back with a thin scarf, and she’s wearing a purple tank top and black leggings. The glint of a silver blade peeks through between each of her fingers like she’s a menacing, clawed creature out of a horror movie. She throws one, two, three knives at her target board, hitting a trio of colorful balloons that pop beneath each blade. Then four, five, six, pop, pop, pop.
It’s enthralling to watch her, the way her body moves like a cat prowling through the grass. She’s strong, and subtle, and so very deadly. She’s juggling a new set of knives a moment later, the board of balloons now spinning. It’s hypnotic. She’s hypnotic. She turns and throws, turns and throws, turns and throws—everything is moving faster and faster, like a chase scene nearing its end. My breath is caught in my throat, but I’m too afraid to take in more air—too nervous to let anything out. Only one balloon remains, bright and red in the very center. Vivien picks up a bow with her feet, does a handstand, and curls her legs over her head, pointing an arrow directly at the balloon. Drawing the string with her toes, I can see the flash of her teeth.
She loves this, the way I love the trapeze.
The arrow releases, sailing across the ring.
Pop.
Vivien is standing, the blindfold in her right hand, waving at the empty spaces around her and taking a low bow. When she lifts herself back up, she spots me at the edge of the mat and grins.
“That was incredible,” I gush, taking a few steps toward her.
Three fire-jugglers are standing at the back, going over their routine with practice pins. They look at me for only a split second before turning back to their equipment.
I try to ignore the sinking feeling trying to pull my entire body down with it.
Vivien smiles with her whole face. “Are you going to stick around and watch? I still have another half hour left before the contortionists take over. It would be so much easier if they could just practice in the yard, but Simon has a strict no-performing-for-free policy. Guess there’s too big a risk of people pulling up outside to watch us through the fence like we’re part of a big zoo.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’d love to stay, but the words come to a halt on the tip of my tongue. I feel the fire-jugglers staring hard.
Maybe they want privacy, or maybe they just don’t like me. But either way, it’s obvious they don’t want me here.
It was easy to make friends at Teatro della Notte. Everyone was nice. Welcoming. And they always made me feel like I fit in.
I guess I thought every circus would be the same.
But maybe it was only easy for me because my parents were the owners. Maybe everyone had to like me, by default of who my mom and dad are.
The possibility that Mom wasn’t the only person who lied to me makes me queasy. Teatro della Notte was my family—I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel knowing it might’ve all been an illusion.
Am I a difficult person to like?
And if so, what am I doing wrong?
Vivien turns around, and it only takes her a second to put all the pieces together. She looks back at me apologetically and rolls her eyes. “Maggie told everyone you were after her job.”
“What?” My heart sinks. So that’s why everyone is pretending I don’t exist. They don’t just think I screwed over a stranger—they think I screwed over o
ne of their own.
Of course they hate me.
She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shakes her head. “They think they’re doing her a favor by giving you the cold shoulder or something. But don’t worry—Dexi and I told everyone she’s lying. It will all blow over in a few days, you’ll see.”
A few days. Okay. I can handle a few days.
Right?
I force a smile. “Thanks—for sticking up for me, and for the invite to watch the rehearsal. But I’m actually pretty tired, so I’ll probably head back to the trailer for a while.” Tired of feeling like what I want will always be just outside my reach. I bite down on my thoughts and shrug like it’s not a big deal. “I’m supposed to be shadowing Maggie in a couple hours anyway.”
Vivien smiles and skips back to her target board, retrieving the knives, arrow, and scraps of ravaged balloon.
I sulk out of the tent and chew my bottom lip. I feel like I’m losing control.
I think about what Mom and Dad would say if they were here. Probably something along the lines of I told you so. Popo might be a bit more forgiving. She’d scold me for breaking my parents’ trust, but I think she’d understand, too.
And Chloe, who seemed so mad at me earlier—what would she say?
I think there’d be sympathy, but then she’d tell me to come home. She wouldn’t remind me that I came here knowing it would be hard, and that encountering a few roadblocks just means I have to try harder. She wouldn’t tell me I joined Maison du Mystère for a reason, and I can’t leave until I’ve trained with Maggie and accomplished what I set out to do.
I think I’m the only person in the world I can trust right now.
I just wish it weren’t so hard to remember why.
* * *
Maggie’s feet balance carefully on the metal bar, the static trapeze lifted high above the room like a grand chandelier at the heart of the big top. Except instead of crystal shards or an abundance of candles, there’s a woman with lavender hair and a smile that explodes across the room with all the brilliance of a fireworks display.
I can only imagine what she’ll look like in full costume. She’s wearing pink yoga pants and a black sports bra, and she still looks like magic incarnate.
Dexi told me the flyers and aerialists are the only ones who rehearse in the big top because of the way the equipment is set up. But a few months ago, Simon lost his flying trapeze act to another troupe. Since then, it’s just Maggie who trains in here, four days a week with two spotters, like she’s circus royalty.
Gripping the ropes, Maggie pulls herself off the bar and does a backward roll. She slows into an upside-down pose, the muscles in her arms sharp and lean. With incredible control, she holds herself for five counts, before lowering herself back onto the bar. In one fluid movement she pulls her entire body upward again, this time pointing her toes and stretching her legs into an oversplit, her teeth flashing like every movement is effortless.
I stay close to the back of the ring, trying not to draw her attention while she’s performing, but when the bar lowers and her toes graze the floor, her large eyes snap toward me like a rubber band.
“This is a closed rehearsal,” she says. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
I try not to let her see me flinch as I walk toward the center of the ring, not wanting to shout my thoughts from the stands. I’m not sure my voice would even carry that far—not when I feel flimsy and nervous and desperate for her to train me.
“Simon says I’m allowed to shadow you. I thought maybe—” I start.
“The thing about shadows is that you don’t notice they’re there.” She circles her finger toward me like she’s motioning to every inch of me.
I bite my lip, reminding myself this is not the time to start blurting out whatever pops into my head first. She clearly doesn’t like me. I need to neutralize that somehow.
I could even forgive her for all the rumors she’s spread, if she’s willing to give me a clean slate.
“I don’t want to get in the way,” I say firmly. “I just want to learn.”
Maggie stares at me for a long moment, and hope starts to brew in my chest. I imagine her eyes softening, her shoulders sinking into a sigh when she tells me to come closer so she can teach me about technique and style.
But I guess my imagination has always been too big for this world, because none of that happens. Instead, she points behind me and purses her lips. “Take a seat at the back, where you won’t be a distraction. You can watch the routine—be a shadow, if that’s what you want. But I don’t have time to help you, or answer your questions, or do anything other than what I always do, which is rehearse. Do you understand?”
I clench my teeth and nod.
She fluffs her hair. “I know you think I’m being a bitch, but this is my career. I work hard—too hard to have Simon play his silly mind games, and for entitled, starry-eyed strangers to think I’m supposed to drop everything to teach for free.”
The bright lights send my brain spiraling into a panic, but I try to speak anyway—to tell her she’s wrong. “This isn’t a mind game, and I’m not starry-eyed. I’ve wanted this my whole life. I just—”
She tuts. “You don’t honestly think Simon would’ve taken you on if he weren’t trying to get to me? He calls me his Sapphire Peacock. And do you know the thing about birds? They fly away, eventually. Not because they have to, but because they want to. And it doesn’t matter how many jewels you decorate their cage with—a bird will always be a bird.” She shrugs. “He’s trying to get under my skin—and you’re getting in my way. But when I’m ready to leave this cage for something bigger, neither of you is going to be able to do a thing about it.”
I take a seat at the back and spend the next hour watching Maggie rehearse, wondering if maybe she’s right—maybe I do have a sense of entitlement.
Tatya had offered to train me, but she was a friend of the family. A friend to me.
Why did I think it would always be that easy?
I chew on my thoughts like they taste stale and wrong until I convince myself that they are.
Maggie leaves without even a glance my way, and when her spotters leave too, I find myself transfixed by the static trapeze still hanging in the air.
Empty. Solemn. Waiting to come back to life.
And before I know it, I’ve lowered the bar and pulled myself to a standing position, feeling the grip of rope between my fingers. Remembering what it felt like to come to life in the air.
I pull myself up, imitating Maggie’s split. I know my legs aren’t as straight, and my core isn’t as strong. I can feel my arms trembling slightly when I shift from one position to the next. But I can do what she did.
I can be a trapeze artist.
And with the right training, I think I could be a great one.
Maybe that isn’t Maggie’s problem, or her responsibility, and deep down I know I can’t be mad at her for that. She doesn’t owe me anything, and maybe it wasn’t fair that Simon and I made a deal that involved her without even involving her.
It was bad form. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now.
But maybe I don’t need Maggie’s help. Because here, where it’s quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts and everything I’ve learned over the years, I can train by myself.
I could keep practicing, the way I’ve been practicing, but I’ll work harder than I ever have. I’ll put in as many hours as it takes, and I’ll prove myself without Maggie’s mentorship.
And maybe one day it will be enough to prove myself to my parents, too.
I won’t give up now. Not when there are still options left.
I place my feet back on the bar, considering where to move my legs, when Sasha’s accented voice makes me jump. I grip the ropes tighter, finding him in the doorway with his eyebrows raised.
“You can’t be in here alone,” he says. “Aerialists have to have a spotter at all times. Even the non-flyers.”
“I’ll keep t
he bar low,” I say. “I just wanted to practice.”
He twists his mouth. “I’m sorry, but rules are rules.”
I let myself down from the bar, my face burning fiercely.
“If you ask someone to spot you, you can train as much as you like,” he offers.
I nod a few times as I walk past him, and I feel my mind imploding with so much frustration.
Because where would I find a spotter? Most of the people here have already decided to ignore me, and if I ask Vivien or Dexi, I risk making them feel the same way about me that Maggie does. Like I’m entitled and I expect help and free labor.
I can’t ruin what little trust I’ve built with them. And I won’t be someone who spends her time here begging for scraps.
I’ll just have to find another way.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I’m almost asleep when I hear my phone vibrate. It’s an email from Mom.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: The time you lost your tooth
Do you remember that day at Disneyland? You lost your tooth eating a churro. You were so worried the tooth fairy wasn’t going to visit you in California that you asked me to look up her email address on the internet. I always thought that was funny—how you’d see a problem, and immediately start coming up with solutions. You never believed something just couldn’t be done.
You carried that tooth around the entire day but lost it sometime between Pirates of the Caribbean and meeting Mary Poppins. Your dad and I were worried you’d be upset, but you started laughing and couldn’t stop. You said most people lose a tooth, but you really lost one. It made us laugh too.
You were happy when you were little. It seemed like you’d always be happy.
Is it my fault that changed?
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