Girl in the Shadows (18 page)

twenty-three

I didn’t always make my way over to the big top at night. Only occasionally, when I wanted to catch one of my friends’ acts. I did the next night for the last show of the day.

There had been a soft murmuring about these July holiday shows among the performers who’d been around last year, ever since we arrived. And Dita had made it plain that her desire for a special addition to her performance on the third was related to the absence of Jules’s cousin. It was the anniversary of the Cirque’s loss.

Dez had said he had “things to do” after his knife act. I hadn’t argued. Neither of us was ready to apologize yet.

I figured he’d get over it before he had to take on Jules’s role for the real live encore of the burning rope escape when we got to Dallas.

Entering the backstage area, I encountered the usual bustle and tumble of bodies and activity. To an outside observer, it might seem like there was no difference between this day and any other. But there was an undercurrent that wasn’t usually present, and Dita had been possessed by a stormy moodiness earlier. The circus was built on risk, on taking chances. But today, everyone wanted to make it through the day a little more than usual—with no incident or accidents, like the tragic one they’d witnessed a year ago tonight. Thurston was throwing a “wake or a remembrance, whichever you prefer to call it” in the mess tent after this show.

I reached the Garcias’ area as they were preparing to head out. Dita had some flash powder I’d given her, and she was going to employ it at the start of her trick. She’d been defiant about not wanting to wait to incorporate it. She was determined to use it tonight.

“Hey,” I said to her, “you all set? Sure you don’t want to hold off and practice a few more times?”

I had no doubt she’d do great with it—she had been performing at top capacity since her costume switch and, unlike me, didn’t need magic to do it—but I also didn’t want her to feel like she
had
to use it. There was little danger in it, but navigating through the burst of smoke might prove difficult at first. On a day when everyone else was being extra-careful, she wasn’t.

“You sound like one of my parents,” she said. “Sam was a born performer. He would want me to pull out all the stops.”

I nodded. It was the first time I’d heard her say his name.

The audience erupted into applause, and Remy waved Dita over to the starting point. “See you after,” I said.

I joined the small gathering of people at the side curtain to watch, nodding to Raleigh hovering at the back. There weren’t too many onlookers this evening. Whether it was due to superstition or eagerness to get the party started was impossible to say. Probably both. Thurston did his usual banter, and the Flying Garcias sailed up to their posts and began flying through the air in turns.

Dita raised her hands and clapped her palms together, and special-effects smoke billowed around her. The audience cheered as she grabbed the trapeze and swung out through the smoke. In her black and red, she was like a daring devil emerging from some fiery dimension. She built speed, blazing back and forth. And when she let go of the bar, not a soul in that room doubted she’d make the somersaults. She did one, two, three perfect spins, then latched onto her brother’s wrists.

I never doubted she’d make it these days, not since the first night I’d watched her achieve a triple. She might not have been born on a trapeze, but she’d been born into a family who put her up there quickly enough that she might as well have been.

After the last bows were taken, the Garcias rejoined us backstage. Dita’s mood had lifted a fraction. There was an almost-smile on her lips.

Raleigh appeared as we made our way over to the family’s dressing tables.

“Party?” I asked Dita.

I knew I should try to make things right with Dez, but I also knew I shouldn’t ditch Dita when she was feeling vulnerable.

“Let me do a quick change.” She paused. “I won’t want to stay long.”

“You don’t have to go at all.”

“No, I do. I want to.”

“Sam would go,” I said, just for her.

“He would. So I will,” she said. “It’s nice to hear his name again.”

Her eyes were bright, shining with unshed tears.

She slid the top drawer of the dresser open and began pawing through it. “What in the . . .” She reached farther into the drawer.

The inside was a messy jumble of bow ties and undershirts, a rumpled men’s button-down, stray sequins, and gym chalk. The arrangement, or rather the lack of it, was odd. Dita was unfailingly tidy. I was neat, but I often worried I was still too much of a slob for her to happily share a tiny room with. She never left anything out that could be put away.

“Somebody’s been in here,” she said. After checking the contents, she pulled out a folded piece of paper jammed at the back. She unfolded it, skimmed it, and said with pain, “Not today.”

I reached over to take the paper from her. Remy and Novio had been chatting, but they turned to face us now. “What is it?” Raleigh asked.

“Another note,” Dita said. I showed it to them.

I want the coin. You Garcias know where it is.

Novio’s face went hard, and before he could stop himself, he punched the mirror on top of the dressing table. The glass shattered, and the noise attracted the attention of the few people still lingering backstage.

“What is this?” Thurston said, hurrying over.

Novio was contrite already. “I’m sorry,” he said to Dita.

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I feel the same way. I wish I could punch someone. That drawer was all nice and neat earlier. Someone went through it while we were out there.”

I handed the note to Thurston, my pulse racing.
Had my mother left this? Or someone with her?

“This is unacceptable,” he said.

“I hate that coin,” Dita said, with a frustration in her voice that I’d never heard.

Remy spoke up, solemn, “It can’t hurt anyone now. I promise.”

“But whoever left this might,” Dita said.

Remy couldn’t argue that.

But Raleigh spoke up. “Seems like more misdirection to me,” he said. “I’m sure you’re safe.”

Dita stood for a moment, folding in on herself. Then she sprang into motion, plucking a shirt from the messy drawer. “Enough. I won’t let this person ruin the day.” She stalked toward the makeshift dressing room. “Let’s go to the party.”

Thurston refolded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll see you all there,” he said.

“I’m not up to it,” Novio said, and no one tried to convince him differently. He disappeared out the flap into the night.

I knew Remy would take off to consult with Jules, but I wanted to question him before he did. “Remy, hold up,” I said.

I began to tidy Dita’s drawer, hoping I was guessing correctly at the order in which she liked things.

“I need to go,” he said.

I stopped what I was doing and pulled him away for a private conversation. The situation was awful, but also an opportunity. Raleigh stayed put, watching speculatively as I steered Remy outside.

“Where did you two put the coin, you and Jules?” I asked. “Are you positive it can’t hurt anyone? That no one will find it?”

My mother needs it,
I thought.

A muscle in Remy’s jaw twitched. “I don’t know what you think you know, but don’t worry about it. It’s not hurting anyone. Whoever this is”—he waved a hand to indicate the note-leaver—“will get bored and move on. They’ll never find it.”

“There’s no way you can know that,” I said. “Maybe you should move it.”

Then I could watch and see where he and Jules went, and send a message to my mother through that ghost e-mail address or something.

“No,” he said, “it’s good where it is. Don’t worry about it.”

I did what I seemed to do best these days: I lied. “Good. See if Jules can make Thurston less suspicious.”

With a nod, Remy left. I rejoined Raleigh and finished up with the drawer.

“Where’s your shadow?” Raleigh asked.

“Busy,” I said. “I think he’s washing his hair.”

“I told you to watch out for him.”

Funny,
I thought.
If you knew what he was mad over, you’d probably be on his side.

“He didn’t have anything to do with this, if that’s what you’re thinking.” That much I felt certain of. No way he’d have come around here when I was present, not while being so mad at me.

“I wasn’t,” Raleigh said neutrally.

Dita slid aside the dressing room curtain and came over to us. Her short hair stood up as if she’d run her hands through it, and her cheeks were blotchy. Of course they were. She’d been gone longer than just changing would have taken. The shirt she had on wasn’t as crisp as usual; whoever had messed up the drawer had wrinkled it.

“You were great tonight,” I told her. “And the day’s almost over.”

“But it’s not over yet,” she said, glancing at the dressing table.

The rest of the night passed unceremoniously, though the party was the least party-like event I’d ever been to. We all left early, and I slept uneasily, dreaming of a lost coin.

twenty-four

Our last day in Kansas City passed with no further disturbances, and with little conversation between Dez and me. My mom had said I wouldn’t see her again unless we were unlucky, but I craved her guidance. My magic had almost caused me to botch the Ferris wheel escape—and no matter what I’d said to Dez, the consequences would have been very real. My magic career would have been over before it began.

Now I was on my way down the midway to do it again, this time in front of an actual audience. We’d arrived in Dallas two days ago, and Thurston had added an extra daytime performance to our dates here. We were all to be on three times a day. A grueling pace that still left plenty of time for me to think as hard as I could, in case she could hear me:
come see me again, Mom.

Thurston had also decided that today was the day we added my dangling chain escape to the midday show. Doing it more than once a day would make it too ordinary. It would be my debut as a featured performer for the Cirque (not just Raleigh’s opener), kicking off the opening of the Ferris wheel.

I could see the crowd gathered around the wheel as I approached. I’d texted Dez, and he’d confirmed he would meet me at the car at the end of the second arm with the rest of the supplies and the lighter. He was in charge of tying the rope, to the ride and to me, in addition to lighting it on fire. He’d been a quick study with the knots.

Despite his showing up to help, he had taken off immediately after each rehearsal. I missed him, but I wanted him to break first. I refused to apologize for going after my dream.

The crowd wasn’t a surprise, but Thurston waiting in costume near it was. He waved me over. “I thought it might be good for you to know something going into this performance.”

I took a moment’s pause, figuring it must be something bad. “Can’t it wait until after?”

“You are all so dire all the time,” he said, shaking his head. “I just wanted to say I was wrong about you. The Cirque ticket hotline has started to get calls not just about when Jules’s next walk is, but about when your next escape is. We added your schedule to the website. I thought you’d like to know. Your legend is spreading.”

A thrill raced through me. He smiled at me, and I smiled back.

I was doing what I’d come here for. For real.

Still smiling, I finished my journey to the Ferris wheel and clambered up the spoke to the spot where Dez waited. He sat with his legs out on the metal. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. Except that I wished he’d say he was sorry for overreacting, and that my mother would show up.

I swept my gaze over the crowd below. There were a lot of people, but I saw no brilliant-red hair.

“Ready, then?” Dez asked. “Unless I can talk you out of this.”

“You can’t. I’m more than ready.” I held out my arms, and he assisted with the application of the chains. My body wanted to lean into him, so I made myself stand straight. His face came nearer as he clipped a small mic to my T-shirt collar.

One quick move and I could be kissing Dez.

Our eyes met, and I knew he was thinking the exact same thing. But we were both too stubborn to cave.

The crowd murmured, watching me get bound up in the metal chains. When we were all but ready to go, I stepped up onto the edge of the car. It would add a few more dramatic feet to the drop—and yes, I did it to goad Dez.

Nerves kicked up within me. He hadn’t been entirely wrong about the lack of safety. The first time was a close call.

This one wouldn’t be.

I spoke, the mic picking up my voice. “Welcome to this illusion in honor of one of magic’s great ladies, Mercedes Talma. Not an escape artist, though she could have been . . .”

I ran through the whole riff, setting up the fake heist. The late afternoon was beyond warm, heading toward blistering, and the chains were already growing hot against my skin. The sound guys had insisted on the tiny mic, even though I wasn’t sure it would survive my writhing.

“Do the honors, lovely assistant,” I said to Dez. He didn’t preen, only turned the keys in the locks, but the audience still cooed with delight. He tested the chains so the audience could see they were real.

“Set?” he asked. His eyes were so brown, his pupils made tiny by the sun.

“Set,” I said, jumping off.

As I fell, I spotted the unmistakable red of my mother’s hair in the crowd.

It was enough to distract me from turning to break the speed of the descent, and so the force with which the rope tugged me up by my ankles sucked the wind out of me. My lungs burned, emptied of air. My torso throbbed with searing pain. My ankles protested, the rope cutting in.

All I could think was,
What is she doing here?

I blinked to keep tears from my eyes, not because I didn’t want anyone to see—though I didn’t—but so I could look for her.

“And now . . .” Dez said above me. There was no way he could have guessed the extent to which that drop had hurt.

“Fire,” I managed, a bit strangled.

He lit the rope.

Shit.

I was spinning, trying to recover my wits and steady my breathing and search each face below me for her all at the same time.

There.

I snagged her standing at the back of the crowd, far enough away that I had to crook my neck at an incredibly awkward angle to see her. Her arms were bare, and I’m sure her tattoo would have been visible if I hadn’t been upside down and fifteen feet in the air.

“Moira?” Dez called down softly. “Something wrong?”

He probably wanted me to say yes. But I had to talk to her, to find out why she’d come. So failure was the one thing that was
not
going to happen.

“Just busy,” I called up, and began working, no matter that my body still screamed from the harsh drop. The special-effects smoke stung my nose—though not as much as the real stuff would if I let the rope burn through. I called on my magic quick, wanting not just to get free, but to do so faster than ever. I told myself it wasn’t about impressing her, but about catching her.

I’d never successfully summoned my magic. It had always just showed up.

This time was different. As soon as I called for it, the heat of my magic unfurled within me . . . and I felt triumph in the success. My magic had come, and now it would free me. I guided it to the first set of locks, wriggling against the chains—

The shove of an outside force knocked the breath out of me again. But not just my breath. That force, strong and solid, pressed against my magic until I couldn’t feel it anymore.

I called for my magic again, and nothing happened. It didn’t come back.

Panic set in. I searched for my mother, hoping she could help. I was wasting valuable seconds while the rope above me burned.

My eyes found her, and she gave me a brief, disapproving nod. She raised a finger and pointed to her chest.

It was her. She was the outside force.

She had used some of her finite amount of magic to keep me from mine.

I took shallow breaths, my lungs burning again.

I called on my magic, and when it started to respond, I felt her push once more.
How much power is this taking from her?

I couldn’t risk her running dry, not because of me. I’d have to get out of this on my own. I twisted, unable to ignore the pain. The clip mic caught my every gasp and grunt.

The crowd below was riveted—and cringing. I ignored them, ignored her, and Dez above.

He wouldn’t interrupt, not after the way I’d acted.

Finally, I got to the first lock and managed to get it undone. I fumbled for the lock-pick tool hidden at my waist and palmed it . . . just as a strand of the rope gave way to the fire.

I dropped, and the tool flew into the crowd. They’d see it. Worse, I’d have no help unfastening the next locks.

I tried to call my magic again, praying it would respond. This time my mother let it come. My limbs heated, blotting out the aching pain, my ears roaring with life as I imagined the metal twisting and turning for me. I imagined it melting away.

The rope dropped another foot. “Last strand,” Dez called out, the concern in his voice plain. “Bring the net!” he shouted.

“No!” I had one last chain to get clear of, but I went ahead and triggered the prop coins to make myself lighter. I realized afterward that I hadn’t said my line, so I added, “And that’s how you do a heist” as I twisted my fingers against the last lock. It plummeted to the ground, and I swung up to grab the rope so I could swing to safety.

“Ah! No!” I swore as I almost grabbed the burning part.

I reached again, higher . . .

I saw the last strands of rope burn through, and then I was falling fast.

I hit mesh with a jolt and bounced back up into the air.

The net Dez had called for had saved me from hitting the ground. From a broken arm, or a broken neck. Or worse.

My face burned with humiliation.

The crowd seemed baffled, but they were applauding anyway. I leapt free of the net, looking for my mother. She caught me, holding tight to my arm, and said urgently into my ear, “I told you to stop this. To leave. But here you are, still taking risks you can’t afford to.”

“I’ve been looking for the coin, for you . . .”

“Stop.” She gave me a soft push, but there must have been some magic in it. The ground seemed to waver beneath my feet, and I fell back into the mesh.

“Wait!” I said, forcing my way out of the net. I tore through the crowd, searching for her.

Dez caught up with me and grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?”

I continued to scan the crowd. “Did you see her?”

Dez put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. He was pale, but also furious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about . . . Or what you’re thinking. I can’t watch you keep risking your life!”

Oh God, what
was I
doing? He’s right. I almost died.

Because my mother had distracted me, and then prevented me from using my magic. But still.

The same magic she’d told me to stop using. This visit had been to deliver a message:
I told you to stop.

“Nothing to say,” he said. “What a miracle.”

“Dez, wait!” I called to the back of his head as he vanished into the crowd.

There was nothing left to do. If I wanted him on my side—if I wanted him, period—I’d have to tell him the truth.