by Sarah Noffke
Tony laughed and took the seat in front of the fortuneteller. He had to give Vagabond Circus credit. They were strategic at their scams. He’d used a credit card to buy the tickets. All that information was probably fed straight to this loony girl.
Zuma glided her hand over the ball, not looking at it. It was indeed a prop, but a necessary one to allow her the time she needed. “Now I need you to clear your mind. Don’t think of anything,” she commanded. Those two sentences were also critical to her success. When told to not think of anything most people’s thoughts flocked straight to their greatest worry before shoving it away.
“I’m getting something,” she said, staring into the crystal orb.
“Nice script, honey,” Tony said. “I’ve heard it before though.”
“Shush,” she said at once in a punishing voice. “I said to clear your mind.”
He blinked at her in surprise, but tried to do as he was told, although it was nearly impossible. There were so many thoughts clouding his head lately. Well, always, but especially at the present. After ten long seconds Zuma raised her eyes at the stranger and leaned forward. “Your daughter…” she began in a breathless voice.
“Oh, sure, start with the one piece of information I fed to you. I told you I was here with her,” Tony said, rolling his eyes.
Zuma smiled at him and took a long pause as the data flowed to her almost effortlessly. Middlings were exceptionally easy for her to read. Finally she said, “You don’t think your daughter is yours. It’s that fear that made you insecure, that made you cheat in retaliation and therefore land yourself divorced and with only partial custody,” she said in one long flowing breath.
Tony dropped both his palms on the table in front of him half in disbelief and half in anger. “How?” he growled. “How did you know all that?”
“I’m a fortuneteller,” Zuma said, her tone calm and nonchalant. “And that was only to get your attention, but here is your fortune.”
Tony’s hands shook and he pressed them into the tablecloth for support. No one knew his suspicions about Telly, his daughter. He’d been too mortified to speak about it even to his closest friends, unsure if he was paranoid over the whole thing.
“It shouldn’t matter if she is your blood or not,” Zuma said. “For these seven years she’s been your daughter and you love her, right?”
“Yes, of course.” His voice came out in a shaky croak.
“Then put the concern behind you and stop punishing her for what your ex-wife may or may not have done. Because if you don’t then you will lose her, as you did your wife. Instead of being distant and withholding, love your daughter as your own.” Zuma stopped abruptly. Blinked at Tony impassively.
He gulped, afraid his emotions were showing, making him look like a fool. It was only last year that he’d cheated. This year his wife had divorced him. And for all of his daughter’s life he’d been like a yo-yo with his affection for her.
“Do you really see a future where I lose my daughter?” Tony asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I do,” Zuma said with confidence. “I see one where she refuses to speak to you, tired of experiencing the heartbreak.”
“Oh,” Tony said, and lowered his chin, feeling almost unable to hold it up under the sudden weight of emotions.
“But…” Zuma continued. “I also see a possible future where you connect with your daughter like you’ve never done before. Where you have a fulfilling relationship because you let go of the insecurities.”
Tony dared to look up at the fortuneteller and it was her look of confidence that softened him slightly. “Really?”
Zuma nodded.
“Is that all?”
“No, one more thing,” Zuma said. “Getting one’s face painted is really more fun if there’s someone to share in the experience with. If you hurry then you can enjoy that moment with Telly.” Zuma pointed down to the end where the young girl had patiently been waiting in line and was now taking a seat to get her face painted.
“Yes, of course,” Tony said, shuffling to a standing position. His throat was parched suddenly and his chest pinched. Who was this girl? Had she actually read his fortune? He nodded at Zuma before turning around and almost racing to stand beside his daughter. Telly was surprised when she saw her father there next to her, his face full of wonder and a brand new energy. Telly reached out and clasped his hand as the makeup artist brushed the first bit of paint across her freckled face.
Zuma smiled down at her crystal ball again. Her main role for the Vagabond Circus as a fortuneteller was a bit of trickery. She wasn’t clairvoyant and couldn’t see the future. But one didn’t need to see the future to tell people what they needed to hear. All one required was to read their thoughts and give them sound advice. Lucky for Zuma she was excellent at both, a telepath and a girl with solid intuition.
Six minutes later Zuma startled suddenly when someone knocked on the surface of her table.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Tony said, looking apologetic. His daughter stood next to him, her hand neatly tucked into his, a giant smile on her elaborately painted face. “I just wanted to give you this.” He laid down a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill in front of Zuma. “It’s all I have in cash, but what you foretold to me is worth more. Thank you.”
Zuma allowed the bill to sit in front of her, unrushed to add it to her till. “You’re most welcome and this is most generous of you.”
Tony smiled, a real one, before allowing his daughter to tug him away, underneath the big top.
Chapter Eleven
The acrobats perform three separate acts in the two-hour show of Vagabond Circus. The first is right after the opening. While the crowd is still reeling from the disappearance of the six Arabian horses, Zuma and Jasmine are lowered from the ceiling on two hoops. They use them as a gymnast would the uneven bars, spiraling over and through them as the hoops make their descent from over forty feet in the air. Their silver hoops halt when they’re ten feet off the ground. And then between them Jack is lowered, standing majestically on a large globe of the Earth. He begins walking at a slow pace and the Earth glides under him, like a gerbil on a ball. It spins from the axis through its middle that’s suspended by two cables. The orb stops just above the girls. There are no nets or safety harnesses below them.
The six-minute act begins slowly. A series of twists and turns by the girls. The audience always stares mesmerized, as the music remains steady, a few harp notes. And then a sudden crescendo makes everyone jump and that is precisely when Jack jumps straight in the air and throws a series of flips and double-backs from atop the ball. Several times he descends nearly missing the globe, which makes the audience gasp with fear. This always produces a wide smile from Jack, who knows without a doubt that falling from twenty feet up would cause serious injury and knows that was never going to happen. It was also what he did after every flip that astonished the audience.
Jack seemed to pause in midair and hover a few inches over the spinning ball before landing on it in a sprint.
“He’s floating,” a girl screamed from the crowd.
“No, he must be suspended by wires we can’t see,” the guy in front of her said.
Finley, who sat in the back row, knew the truth. Jack was levitating. It’s what granted him a brief moment to gain his footing before the next trick. And levitation was an impressive skill, but Finley guessed Jack could only do it for a few seconds at a time.
Again Finley found himself studying Zuma. It was one of the reasons he came to the show again. He wanted to know as much about the people as he could before tonight’s meeting. Advantages were always gained by the person who sought covert information. He needed every advantage.
This was the sixth show Finley had watched and he knew what everyone’s gift was but Zuma’s. He knew she must be telepathic or clairvoyant since she did the fortune-telling before the show, but he couldn’t figure out why she was an acrobat. She undeniably had a grace and speed that was breathtaking to wa
tch, but she didn’t appear to have a special skill during the performance like the others and yet he couldn’t force himself to look away from her. He hardly noticed the girl who obviously had the second position in the act, Jasmine. Although she was irrefutably impossible to completely ignore. Whereas the girl with the pink hair was gorgeous, the other was unique with her slender shoulders and scrutinizing green eyes. And what she did was hard to miss.
Finley leaned forward just as the girls dismounted the hoops. Jack flipped backwards several times and on the last one he projected himself three feet back until he was off the ball. He then somersaulted four times in quick rotation, each one bringing him closer to the earth. The audience gasped in horror, sure Jack would crash to the ground. When he was three feet from the ground, he paused and hovered, his hands out flat, chin held high, and then slowly, like being lowered by a wire, he glided to the ground. When he was safely down he threw his hands into the air and received the second standing ovation of the night. The girls gracefully arrived at his side, presenting him like he was royalty.
The entire act was a series of flips and twirls and different holds until the finale. Everything had returned to the slow methodical rhythm that started the act. Then suddenly Jack took Jasmine’s hand and just when the audience expected him to thrust her above his head in a shoulder hold as he’d done many times throughout the act, she lifted him above her head and held him there. A low moan of disbelief echoed from the audience as they watched a one-hundred-pound girl balance a one-hundred-forty-pound guy above her head. Their hands held on to each other’s tightly as Jack was suspended in a handstand. They turned, the girl taking deliberate steps to show the audience all sides of them and that there were no wires supporting Jack.
And just when the audience digested this, Jack lowered both his legs forward and the girl with pink and blonde hair grabbed both his heels. With a concentration to impress, he lifted his legs as the girl pushed off the ground and extended her own legs upward. They worked together, Zuma and Jack, until he was straightened back into a handstand and she was in a similar position, her hands firmly planted on his feet. When she straightened all the way into a handstand the crowd erupted with deafening applause. Three people erected one on top of the other, two in handstands and the base of the tower a girl of only eighteen. Finley had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know such a Dream Traveler gift existed. But there was no doubt about it. He was certain that if he challenged the dark-skinned girl to an arm-wrestling contest then he’d lose. Most anyone would lose to this girl who obviously had super strength.
Chapter Twelve
After the circus was over Finley didn’t file out of the front gates with the rest of the patrons. Instead he lingered by the booths and concessions waiting until fifteen after the hour. Dave had told him to arrive five after, but being late would set the better standard. Finley checked his appearance in the mirror at the face painting booth, which was now abandoned. He’d spent his last bit of money on a new shirt and jeans. He could have gotten more money, but he didn’t enjoy the means by which he would have to resort to do so. That was one of the reasons he was here. Only one of the reasons, though. Because for a guy like Finley there were multiple opportunities, but he only saw that now. He had cursed himself for being so blindfolded before. The blinders were off now, though, and his unlimited potential was stretching out in front of him.
Finley dared to smile at himself in the mirror. The white button-up shirt fit well. He’d never worn anything so nice. Never been allowed to. Only black T-shirts and black jeans. All hand-me-downs. He’d splurged and even gotten a haircut and shave. Now his dark brown hair almost looked tamed, parted on one side and making a spiky arc on the other.
“You got this,” he said to his image, boosting the confidence he knew he needed. It wasn’t the circus performers who intimidated him or even the crew. It was the one they all didn’t suspect. The one he came to take down.
With his shoulders relaxed he headed straight for the back lot. Finley smelled the burning charcoal before he heard the voices and laughter. He’d watched, from the woods, this scene a few times, but now to willingly walk up to it produced a different feeling.
When Finley strolled straight into the Vagabond after-show festivities three things happened: Half the groups stopped conversing. Most of the groups regarded him with puzzled stares. And Finley realized he had finally entered this deadly game and it might cost him his life.
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you lost, son?” Titus, the creative director, asked Finley. He had stepped away from his conversation and approached the outsider as others stood curiously staring. “The circus is closed.”
“Not lost,” Finley said, deliberately not expanding on his statement.
Titus’s forehead wrinkled. He was a tall lean man and constantly had an irritated look on his face, but more so after Finley’s response.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Finley said, still keeping it brief.
“Well, I’m Titus,” he said, extending his hand. “Who might you be and who might I fetch for you?”
Finley didn’t take the older man’s hand. Instead he roamed his eyes over the crowd at Titus’s back. Several pairs of curious eyes stared at him, but politely pretended to be uninterested. Zuma was one of them. She sat between Jack and Jasmine, her eyes half on him, studying him. He smiled at her before returning his gaze to Titus.
“Dave Raydon is expecting me,” Finley said to the man.
Titus’s long face broke into a look of pity. “Thing is, son, Dave doesn’t meet with the public after hours. And I’m sure you’re excited to meet the ringmaster but he’s quite bus—”
“Well, it’s about time!” Dave’s booming voice filled the air as he strolled forward. He clapped a gloved hand on Titus’s shoulder, which stood even with Dave’s head. “Thanks for welcoming my friend, Titus,” he said and then turned his wide smile to Finley. Dave’s face was round with an extra layer of fat, but he was undoubtedly attractive, especially in his youth. And the bushy mustache made him appear whimsical, and also sophisticated. “What kept you, dear boy? I had begun to think you’d had second thoughts about the job.”
At this, everyone quieted down. No one even made a show of not eavesdropping now. All eyes were on Finley. He made note of where the different people of interest were to ensure he was a good distance from the most dangerous. For now he was safe.
“I just had some business to wrap up before I could devote my full attention to you and this meeting you’ve invited me to,” Finley said.
“And do I have your full attention now? No other obligations from this point forward?” the ringmaster asked.
“None,” Finley said, extending his hand to Dave, who immediately took it and shook it exuberantly.
“Very good,” he said, shaking it for a few seconds more than necessary. “And this isn’t a meeting, Finley. This here”—Dave turned to the crowd at his back, holding his arms wide—“is a celebration. We have one after every day of a show, and now we have more to celebrate.”
“We do?” Titus said, his face growing a shade darker. His blond eyebrows reached up so high, like they wished to connect with his hairline. “Dave, what’s going on? You haven’t included me in any of this.”
“I haven’t,” Dave admitted easily. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You know I don’t like surprises, Dave,” Titus said, his fingers pressing into his temples like he could feel the headache coming on from the news he hadn’t yet received.
“Oh, but you’ll like this one,” Dave said, a laugh in his voice, like uncontrollable giggling was about to commence. “You’re the one who’s been encouraging me to do something to boost sales and help the circus be more prosperous.”
Titus shook his head, his fingers still pinned on his temples. “Not make prosperous, but keep afloat.”
Dave waved him off. “And that’s what I’m doing.” He then reached o
ut and took Finley’s hand and held it in the air above their heads, in front of Titus and the crowd of Vagabond Circus employees. The gesture was done easily between boy and older man. Although Finley was taller than Dave, they shared a similar grace. “I’d like you all to meet the newest performer for Vagabond Circus, Finley.”
First there were several gasps of disbelief followed by a long sigh from Titus. Finley noticed someone in the crowd skirt to the back. Away. He suspected he knew who it was and they were already avoiding him, but not for long.
“No-no-no-no,” Titus said, his head shaking. “We’re mid-season. We aren’t adding acts right now.”
“Oh, but we are,” Dave said, not looking at Titus but rather fondly at Finley, who was the picture of cool although everyone was now scrutinizing him.
“How can you think this will boost sales?” Titus asked. “This is suicide. Bringing in a new unrehearsed act when things are already running. Have you lost your mind?”
“My mind is as strong as ever. And after reflection I realized that you, Titus, were right and we needed to do something drastic,” Dave said, that unrelenting spark always in his eyes, but magnified as he stared at the boy beside him, the one who was almost a man. Finley had a face full of subtle sharp angles, one that made him appear handsome and also discerning. His expression seemed to say, “I don’t trust the world.”
Titus sighed slightly. “I meant raise ticket prices or add furlough days.”
