Girl in the Shadows (4 page)

But I wasn’t lying, so fine. “What do I do?”

“Pick a card, and concentrate on allowing it to show your true essence. If you are here under false pretenses, I will know. The cards will tell me.”

I reached out, happy to do anything to prove I was telling the truth and get clear answers. I ran a fingertip along the entire span of cards she’d fanned out and gently removed the seventh from the left. Noting the card’s position was as natural as breathing.

“Lay it flat so I can see it,” she said.

I looked at it first. A figure wearing a robe with suns and moons, woman or man I couldn’t say, stood on an outside stage, holding a snake in one hand and a wand in the other. The moon above was red in a black sky. As I studied the card, my fingertips heated, or maybe the card heated in them. I felt that warmth surge through me again, and the painted magician on the card began to move, limbs stretching, face turning away and then back. Around him shapes of animals and humans emerged from the night. One of them was a girl—

Nan’s fingers plucked the card away. “You were changing it,” she said, her voice shaking.

She was right.

The face of the magician on the card wasn’t the same anymore. It was my father’s.

And the girl at the edge of the stage had short black curls, her hands held out in front of her, handcuffed at the wrists. To be precise, she was now me.

I blinked at the card, stunned, then looked back to Nan. Her mouth was open in shock.

I felt cold all over, a contrast to the heat that had surged through my fingers moments before. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “You told me your mother made these.”

I didn’t have anything from my mother—except, it seemed, this unwieldy magic—but I could guess that Nan would consider these cards from her mother to be precious.

She took a slow breath, and when she let it out, she’d regained her composure. “When your magic came into contact with the card’s, you transformed it . . . It shows your essence now. This is your story. You are what you say.”

She set the card down between us sideways, so we both could see the image better. Together, we peered into it.

In the background behind my father and me were two shadowy, unrecognizable forms, stopped midtransformation. One was a woman with long red hair, who wore a black dress; some shape seemed to wind around the top of her head, but it was impossible to tell what it was. She was otherwise indistinct. The other form was blurrier, possibly male but not clear enough to swear to it. They both gazed up, where two small shiny objects fell toward them from above. The previously black background now featured the red and white stripes of the tent. Some white and red and yellow spots beside it, like bright lightbulbs, hung on a string in the sky.

“Who are they?” My finger hovered over the background. I pulled it back when I realized what I was doing and that she might not want my hands to touch the card again.

“I have no idea,” she said. “You definitely transform things. I don’t know why your mother would have left you . . . She must be one of the Praestigae, given your power. The only reason your magic wouldn’t have expressed itself is if it were purposely hidden. Something here woke it. But I will tell you the most important thing your mother should have: your magic is dangerous.”

The words brought a chill.
Your magic is dangerous.

“How?”

“Think of magic like you are a cup and you hold magic inside you. You drink a little, or pour a little out, and it can be refilled. Use too much, and that process becomes harder. And should the cup ever be emptied completely, then it will break. Magic has consequences.”

“Like what?”

She frowned, as if she didn’t want to answer. But she did. “The kind of magic you can do, it’s strong. It’s extremely powerful. If you use too much all at once, it could kill you.”

“Oh, well, that’s no big deal, then.” A bad joke, but the truth in her words somehow sang to me. My bones vibrated with it. “I only want to be a magician.”

“You will have to learn to control your powers. To conserve them.”

I didn’t want to use real magic at all. “But I can stay? What did you tell Mr. Meyer?”

“I told him I saw something in you, and that I wanted to talk to you before we dismissed you.” She paused. “You
can
stay, though it might be better for you to go home. Ask your father to find your mother. Or not. She may have her reasons for abandoning you.”

No.
“I can’t go home.”

“I figured as much. You remind me of my Jules. Stubborn. Driven. You’ll have to take care. People who can do magic . . . other people will want to profit from it, be threatened by it, or both. Be careful who you trust with this secret. And be careful how you try to use your magic. The cup cannot be emptied.”

“No dying. Got it.”

It was another bad joke, and neither of us laughed. I had enough to think about. I couldn’t take anything more. So I got up to leave.

“They’ll be wondering why I’m still in here,” I said.

She nodded and then escorted me the short way to the door. Raleigh and Dita came forward to meet us when it opened, and I stepped down to the grass. Nan lingered.

“You’re staying?” Dita asked.

I nodded. Which meant living arrangements were a problem I had to deal with now. “About that, where does everyone sleep?”

“We’re a tent circus,” Dita said, gesturing at the RVs and trailers around us. “And we don’t do the same route as the Greatest, so we drive caravan-style to our dates.”

I assumed she meant the Greatest Show on Earth, but I didn’t question it. That part didn’t matter to me. “Could I rent something? When do we leave?”

Dad might protest transferring me such a big chunk of money, but I didn’t have many options.

“We leave tomorrow,” Dita said.

“So soon?” I blurted. “We don’t even get to rehearse the midway?”

Dita shrugged. “Thurston has a ‘go big or go home’ thing. He says the energy will be better if the midway debuts on the road. He’s not even giving us the full schedule until we get to Jacksonville.”

Nan cut in. “Every place in town with rentals has been cleaned out by now. I’m guessing this means you don’t have anywhere to stay?”

That I didn’t know the rules of circus life—especially Cirque American life—was becoming as clear as glass so invisible the audience never so much as glimpsed it. Not to mention I didn’t even know the rules of my own life.
I can do magic. Magic that could kill me.

“You drove here, didn’t you?” Raleigh said. “In that ridiculously small car. I guess you can stay with me. I managed to rent an old trailer from a friend.”

“If you want, you can stay with me and Remy,” Dita said. “We just got our own place.”

There was no doubt I’d rather stay with her than Raleigh. He knew me well enough that he’d see I was hiding something.

“That would be great,” I said to Dita. “I can pay rent.”

Nan gave us a satisfied nod and closed the door. Raleigh said, “You’re all right?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to run the risk of lying out loud and being obvious about it.

“We can grab an air mattress from supplies,” Dita said, starting across the grass. “I’m curious about Nan’s interest in you.”

“Me too,” Raleigh said.

“Are you guys related?” I asked her, to deflect.

“Me and Nan? Ha,” she snorted. “No. Our families hated each other until last summer. No one can believe the Garcias and Maronis are now friends, mostly.”

The Garcias. Nan had mentioned them and some kind of coin when she’d been accusing me of being in that secret society. The one my mom belonged to. In theory.

There didn’t seem to be much of anything neutral to say back to Dita or Raleigh about why Nan had taken an interest in me.
Your magic is dangerous. The cup cannot be emptied.

For once, I was the one not holding any cards.

part two

pay no attention

five

When I woke the next morning on my air mattress in the tiny, cute room I was sharing with Dita in her and her brother Remy’s tiny, cute silver Airstream, I discovered Dita already up. Wrapped in a gray robe that seemed to be a man’s, she held a slender mystery novel with a creased spine in front of her and leaned against the wall behind her bed. But she was staring over the book at me.

“Good morning,” I said, which seemed safe.

“So,” she said, lowering the book, “don’t you want to know why I invited you to stay here?”

I’d wondered, but I was too wiped out the night before to ask. I went straight to sleep. “For the rent money, I assume. How much do you want?”

“No, not for the rent money.”

“What then?” I glanced over at the narrow closet simply to avoid looking at her.

I’d noticed when I hung up some of my clothes the night before that most of her things were of the same variety—crisp men’s shirts and pants, a few suit jackets, and a lot more bow ties. The room itself was bare-bones, but there was a pleasant hint of spicy cologne in the air.

“Oh God,” she said, and I looked back to find her shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward. It’s not—I’m not interested in you. I mean, I am, but not like
that
.”

“That didn’t even occur to me,” I said. “So, why am I here? There’s obviously a reason.”

“There is. Last season . . . I lost someone. It was over this . . . thing, over the Maronis and Garcias’ ancient history.”

Wait,
I thought. Nan Maroni had mentioned this too. The loss and the magic coin. “Some coin?”

“What do you know about it?” Dita demanded.

“Nothing. Nan mentioned it in passing. She wanted to, um, make sure I wasn’t here because of it.” I paused. “I’m not. I had no idea what she was talking about. You want to explain it?”

She swallowed, not so skilled as an interrogator. “No. I just don’t want to get left out again. I had no idea what was going on, not until it was too late. Why would she ask you about that?”

Oh no.
I hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Because I’m a magician and sometimes we work with coins? Anyway, it was all a misunderstanding. I’m just here to do magic.” I added, “The stage and close-up kind.”

She gave me a long, hard look. “People tell stories about Nan Maroni, you know. There’s truth to them.”

I didn’t know, but I could guess they had to do with magic. The real variety. Which she’d told me explicitly to keep hidden from anyone else. And anyone included Dita, no matter how much I liked her or how much she was helping me out by letting me bunk here.

“What kind of stories do you mean?” I asked.

She sighed. “Never mind. But if there’s anything to know, anything weird, you’ll tell me?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I can do magic and so could my absent mother . . . who maybe I should track down.
Except I’d prided myself on never pining for her, on never wanting to find someone who plainly didn’t want to be found. Not to mention that she was apparently wrapped up with some dangerous people. I’d have to Google that name—the Pressteejie?

Oh God. This was too much thinking before breakfast.

Dita still didn’t look entirely convinced, so I decided to distract her with directness. “Okay, new topic—I know we just met and this is truly none of my business, but if you’re gay or bi or straight as an arrow or whatever variety or combination thereof, I’m cool with it. I’m straight, but I have zero problem with anyone being otherwise. Also, where do we get the delicious breakfast foods?”

Dita’s eyes went round. I’d thrown her off the trail of my secret, at least. “I . . . I’m pretty sure I’m bi . . . Not that it matters right now. But I just feel more like myself when I dress in men’s clothes.”

“The look suits you. But I still can’t believe you’re not into me.” I shook my head sadly. “How will I get over this?”

Her expression turned slightly wounded. Then I smiled. She chucked the paperback at me.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re one of those. Onstage, always performing.”

I climbed to my feet. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve never been onstage performing. I’ve always been the one behind the scenes. Or in a small crowd, slipping away right after.”

“Huh,” she said. “You fooled me.”

“I’ve
wanted
to be onstage for a few years. Just never had the chance.”

“Why not?” she asked, sounding legitimately curious.

Note to self: stop being interesting.
I ducked the question. “I’m here now, and that’s what matters. You said who you like doesn’t matter right now for you. Why?”

Her face subtly shut, like a window being pressed down to the sill. “I can’t imagine being with anyone right now.”

There was a story there, one she didn’t want to talk about. “Got it. Do you mind if I take the first shower?”

“Go ahead,” Dita said. “We’ll hit the mess for your ‘delicious breakfast foods’ and then the road. Everyone packed up their gear last night or this morning. You’ll drive behind us in your car?”

“Sounds plan-ish.”

When I slipped a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of my bag, I also grabbed a deck of new cards. I concealed them under the shirt as I made my way up the small hall and into an even smaller bathroom. My fingers itched with the tug, the pull, the desire to be in motion. I needed to prove to myself that I could still do the kind of magic I wanted to.

But I also wanted to test my newfound ability. Part of me didn’t believe in it. I didn’t plan to empty the cup, just experiment by taking a slow sip from it.

Cramped for space, I climbed into the shower and dumped the cards into my hand. Then I began to shuffle them. I created a mental image of each card in my mind, learning the deck automatically while I did. My fingers moving nimbly, each motion perfect, controlling the cards. I made them fall like rapids of a river, one into the next into the next, and scooped them up and made them into an accordion flowing back and forth between my palms. I riffled them, living for the satisfying familiar
snick snick snick
as they returned to the exact positions I wanted them to. I held my arms tight in front of me, completing two circle fans. No problem this time.

I set down all the cards except one. Slowly, I laid that card flat on my hand. I added my other hand on top, pressing the card between my palms.
Change,
I thought, as hard as I could.

But I didn’t feel that warmth this time. The card was a card, the jack of hearts before I touched it and after. My fingertips were just stupid fingertips. My palms declined even to sweat. Nothing happened.

When the magic had struck before, both times, I’d been completely powerless to guide it. All those hours of practice to learn my magic skills had been aimed at ensuring that control of my body and focus during a trick or an escape was effortless, total, and ever-present. I didn’t want to feel the way I had yesterday again, and especially not while performing. But apparently this supposed magic I had wasn’t going to come out for practice today.

“Moira, everything okay?” Dita called softly.

“Fine,” I lied, then put the cards on the sink ledge before I twisted the shower on.

Being part of the caravan to Jacksonville was another weird new experience to add to my list. Even for a Vegas girl, the sheer scale of this enterprise and all the people involved was impressive.

I stayed behind the Airstream, which Dita’s brother Remy was piloting while she played passenger. I was glad I’d seen the mural on the side of their home before I’d met Remy—it interrupted the silver side of the trailer and pictured Dita perched on a platform holding a trapeze and Remy swinging out on another. A third figure’s face was concealed but muscular arms reached out to catch the boy’s hands. Fancy script said
The Flying Garcias, with the Love Brothers and the Goddesses of Beauty
.

The image had given me some warning of how much black-haired and brown-eyed Remy looked like a movie star, down to the muscles. Swinging from a trapeze would do that to you, I guessed. Remy and Jules, the famed wire walker, were a solid item, according to Dita, and I could look forward to them ignoring everyone else when they were with each other.

Some of the staging crew was already on-site at our destination, but we were still nestled in a miles-long line that included performer families’ RVs with murals and logos, semis with the tents and sets and more of the work crew, and a massive assortment of other vehicles, including a couple of horse trailers. The horses belonged to the only animal act in the show besides a routine of very well-cared-for dogs, again according to Dita. Though she’d had that sad look again when she said it.

While I was alone, I had another item of business to arrange. I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, selected the name Amber, and put the call on speaker. She was one of Dad’s former assistants, a bubbly brunette who’d left Vegas a few years earlier to move to Ithaca, and we’d kept in touch occasionally. Many of the lovely assistants, current and former, liked to play at being a maternal influence. Or some sort of positive influence anyway.

“Hey, Moira,” she said, answering on the second ring. “Good to hear from you. What’s up?”

“I need a favor,” I said, and proceeded to ask if I could tell my dad I was staying with her for the summer. It took a little convincing and a lot of assuring her that I was completely safe, but eventually I hung up with an address to give Dad for his care package and any that might follow.

I waited until we were waved into a giant flat lot on the outskirts of Jacksonville, directed into parking rows, but as soon as I was stopped, I sent him a text:
Here’s my address. Hope the show went well! Miss you!

He texted back almost immediately:
I should never have let you leave. I’m surrounded by incompetents, and there’s no one to complain to.

I snorted.
Be nice, you hired them.
☺

It felt strange to be texting with Dad instead of just talking to him, and to be so far away. And to be lying to him. I was doing too much of that.

I got out of the car, joining a throng of other people getting out of their vehicles. Dita and Remy stood outside the Airstream, gaping at an enormous Ferris wheel set up next to an empty stretch of field. The metal wheel rose high up in the air, the spokes covered in lights and ending in open-topped cars. Their doors were painted with the Cirque’s logo.

“I take it this is new?” I asked.

“Um, yes,” Dita said. “Very.”

“It’s so . . . big,” Remy said. “Let’s go over there.”

The rest of the Cirque had the same idea, and we were gathered around the base of the wheel, stretching up and up and up, a circle that seemed to hit the sky, when Thurston appeared.

“Hello, everyone!” He was in casual clothes, but he instantly put on his air of command. I could picture him in the center ring. “Surprise number one! We can’t just repeat our triumphs, or our tragedies—we must move forward and grow. But we also can’t forget. You may not know that the first Ferris wheel in the world was built in Chicago, for the 1893 World’s Fair. It was the showpiece of the very first midway. Those of you who have been with the Cirque know that we will never return to Chicago, but we will always carry it with us—figuratively and now literally.”

He paused here, and his eyes found us near the front. Remy had his hand on Dita’s arm. Her face was carefully blank. Jules had joined us at some point, on Remy’s other side, and she had tears in her eyes.

Thurston continued.

“This wheel is the largest transportable one in the world, and it will come with us. Which means that we will hit bigger cities for several days, leaving enough time between dates for the seventy-two hours it takes to reconstruct. Luckily, I’m good at math, so it doesn’t take that long to break apart. I want this year to be better than the last. So pick up the season’s schedule, and get ready for a parade tomorrow that will bring all of Jacksonville to the greatest show they’ve ever seen. Midway people, look at the solemn faces around you. I expect you to knock it out of the park, make the Cirque even better. It all starts tomorrow!”

The petite woman who’d checked me in the day before and several of her army were distributing sheets of paper. I grabbed one, aware that I didn’t understand the full story of Chicago—and knowing from the faces of Dita, Remy, and Jules that I wasn’t about to ask them for it now. I did remember that was where I’d first seen Jules on TV, daringly dancing above the downtown. I wondered if it had something to do with that.

A list of cities and dates ran down the page in my hand: Jacksonville, Atlanta, Memphis, Saint Louis, Kansas City, Dallas, El Paso, Albuquerque, Phoenix, San Diego, Los Angeles, and—last but looming largest for me—Las Vegas. Our final city, over Labor Day weekend.

I counted twelve weeks from today until we’d be there. That was how much time I had to figure out how to put together an act that would leave zero doubt of my abilities in Dad’s mind.