Through the Looking Glass (8 page)

"Umm.
Gotcha.
Has he figured out you're not exactly one either?"

"Like you, he thinks I'm strange."

Tina dropped off the barrel and grinned. "But fascinating," she added.

Maggie sighed. "I'm getting a little tired of being fascinating, friend. It's like having a big chest; men stare at it so much they never see your face."

"I wouldn't know about that," Tina said with a mournful glance down at herself.

Maggie laughed and watched her friend saunter away. The spurt of humor faded, leaving her in a mood that was totally unfamiliar to her. Knowing herself thoroughly was the constant that enabled her to keep her balance no matter what lunacy was going on all around her; that easy self-knowledge seemed to be slipping away from her now. Unlike Gideon, Maggie rarely tried to impose control on any situation; her method was far
more simple
and a great deal more risky.

Presented with the unknown or unfamiliar, she merely immersed herself in it. Detached and observant, she stood in the middle of chaos and waited patiently for it to make sense to her. A true chameleon, she let her colors change to match her surroundings by sheer instinct, responding to people as they expected or required her to respond.

But with Gideon, the instincts themselves were chaotic. He said he wanted her to be herself, and that was a requirement never asked of her before. She knew who she was. What she was. The problem was that her instinct was to be what Gideon expected her to be—and he wasn't even sure what that was. As his idea of her changed, she instantly and unconsciously changed as well.

No wonder the man was baffled.

And no wonder, she thought, that her emotions and instincts were short-circuiting all over the place. What he thought of her at any given moment was so clearly evident to her that she responded spontaneously. He had thought her childlike and vague at their first meeting; she had donned those colors automatically. He had thought himself in the middle of an asylum; she had allowed a little madness to show itself. He had looked at her with a man's desire; she had felt the jarring awareness of her body as a woman's. He had expected her to hold him at a distance this morning after the interlude in her wagon last night, and she had. And when he had taunted her in anger, she had lost her temper despite the fact that
she ?
had
expected him to do just that.

It was all her. Everything he had seen in her was her. But he wasn't seeing her as a whole, integrated personality, and because of that it was literally impossible for her to present herself to him the way he asked.

"Strange nothing," Maggie muttered to herself. "I'm as crazy as the rest of them."

Uncle Cyrus had told her the peculiar ability was her strength. He had also said that even though most people would look no further than
their own
idea of what she was—or was supposed to be—one day someone would want to look much deeper, to reach through the reflective surface and see what was there. The duration, he'd warned, would be bothersome.

Uncle Cyrus was sometimes prone to understatement.

Still, it was rather reassuring, she thought, that Uncle Cyrus was always right. He'd said that she would feel disjointed and confused for a bit, but then would regain her balance. There would come a point—a sudden one, he was willing to bet— when that other person's idea of her would clash head-on with some bedrock part of herself, and she would begin reacting for herself, reflecting what she truly was. She wouldn't entirely lose her chameleon colors... but for that other person from that point on, there would never be any doubt as to who and what she was.

Maggie didn't know if Gideon was that person, although it certainly looked that way. She rose and began making her way toward her wagon, trying to stop thinking about it.
About him.
Because, she knew, Tina could easily be wrong. He might not return. She didn't like the way the possibility made her feel. She didn't like feeling it at all.

The morning dragged on—still with no sign of Jasper—and afternoon came. Maggie was kneeling at the edge of the woods potting a wild rose bush that Sean had dug up for her as a present when she heard the car. She sat back on her heels and brushed her hands together as she watched Gideon get out of his car, look around briefly, and then come toward her.

He was carrying a small package wrapped colorfully and sporting a cheerful
bow,
and his expression was very sober. He kept his eyes fixed on her, ignoring the interested stares coming from several points in the encampment. When he reached her, he knelt down and looked at her steadily.

Maggie glanced at the package, which he had set on the ground, then met his gaze.

"A peace offering," he said quietly.

"What is it?" Her tone matched his.

A crooked smile softened his hard face.
"A tasteful selection of noses for Lamont.
There was a novelty shop in town."

It was unusual.
Unexpected.
Maybe even a little bit mad. Maggie felt her own lips curving in a smile. "Lamont will be delighted," she murmured.

"I bought a tent too," Gideon said. "A little bigger, so I won't have to bend my knees. And a fancy collar for Leo, in case Tina hasn't gotten around to making him one."

"It sounds like you're planning to stick around," she said in a neutral tone.

"I want to.
If you’ll let me."
He reached out to touch her cheek very lightly with the tips of his fingers, and his expression suddenly held something fierce. "I'm sorry, Maggie."

Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.

After a moment Maggie drew back just enough so that his hand fell away from her. "Maybe you are. But you're still not sure about my motives. I can tell you that our relationship is quite separate from the fate of the carnival; I can tell you that whatever you decide won't influence my personal feelings, but I can't make you believe it. I could buy Wonderland from you, but that wouldn't be easy for me, and I consider it a last resort."

Gideon looked at her steadily.
"All right.
Let's solve that problem right now. I don't want Wonderland. I don't need the problems of owning it, or the proceeds from selling it. So as soon as I get probate, I’ll deed it over to someone else.
Anyone in the carnival except you."
He smiled. "I don't want to be accused of trying to buy something that isn't for sale."

Slowly, she said, "I suppose we could form a co-op. Let everyone have a share."

He opened his mouth,
then
shut it quickly.

Maggie had to smile. "I know. Then the lunatics really will be running the asylum. But they're a family, and they take care of each other. Tina could handle the business end; she's the shrewdest."

"What about you?" Gideon asked.

"I'm temporary. In the fall I’ll go back to school."

His eyes narrowed. "Then this isn't your life.
Your world."

Maggie dropped her gaze to the rosebush, idly picking off a few damaged leaves. "My world is wherever I am."

"That's no answer."

Her instinct was to be vague because he expected her to be, but she fought against herself; if he was going to see her clearly, she would at least have to try to meet him halfway. It was surprisingly difficult. "You're wrong," she said. "That's the most important answer of all. It's why I fit in here so well, even though I wasn't born carny and never saw this place until a few weeks ago."

Gideon watched her intently, fascinated by what he was seeing. Her face was serene, her eyes limpid, and yet her tone of voice was one he'd never heard before, soft and firm without being at all childlike or ambiguous. He didn't understand the contrast. "Where were you born?"

"In Virginia.
An only child of two extremely practical and logical people.
They didn't quite know what to make of me. Mother still doesn't. Dad was killed ten years ago."

"I'm sorry.
An accident?"

She smiled suddenly, and Gideon felt his heart stop. There it was, that fey smile that was peculiarly wise and tolerant and a little bit mad, as if she knew secret things the rest of the world hadn't begun to discover.

"You could say that. My wonderfully practical and logical parent decided to take up hang gliding. He wasn't very good at it, I'm afraid. But he did enjoy himself, even Mother admitted that. And to be killed while you're having fun isn't the worst way to go."

Gideon decided not to ask. "You—have a unique way of looking at things."

She sent him a glance that was a bit mischievous. "Not so unique in my family."

"I thought you said your mother didn't understand you."

"No, but then, Mother's the unusual one among all my relatives. The rest... Well, put it this way. If I owned Wonderland and they found out, everyone would want to join."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all.
To say that my family is eccentric would be a considerable understatement."

"What am I getting myself into?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry. We don't see much of each other, really. The usual family
gatherings is
all. Other people seem to get nervous when we're all together." She looked at him again, tranquil innocence in her face. "I can't imagine why."

"The hell you can't." This time, Gideon felt on reasonably solid ground. "I may not have figured you out completely, but one thing I do know is that you're a long way from dumb."

Maggie smiled slightly, but didn't comment. "The point I wanted to make is that even though I wasn't born carny, this is my world. I made it mine when I came here. And I'm quite comfortable here. I don't like being logical and practical; it's so uninteresting."

"So you go a little mad whenever you're surrounded by lunatics?"

She chuckled softly. "You are worried about that, aren't you?"

He had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "If you mean I need to be reassured as to the state of your sanity—you're right. Just tell me you aren't dangerously insane."

"Well, if I
were
, I'd hardly admit it, would I?"

"Maggie."

She sighed. "Gideon, I hold three university degrees. I've earned a grandmaster rating at chess, a gourmet rating as a cook, and I'm licensed to fly a small plane—though I have been known to buzz people on the ground. When I was nineteen, I climbed Mount Everest; at twenty I sailed the South China Sea in a very small boat; and at twenty-one I participated in a hot-air-balloon race across Europe—which I won.

"I talk to plants and animals. I generally know why people do or say the things they do even if they don't know why. I'm great with crossword puzzles, trivia on most subjects, and, with only a bobby pin or a rubber band I can fix just about any machine. I hate cheating in any form, shortcuts that miss great scenery, the designated hitter, and asparagus." Shrugging, she finished, "Among my family and in my world, none of that makes me unusual. What does it make me in your world?"

Softly, he said, "Exceptional."

Maggie shook her head and said, "But does it make me sane? You can't prove sanity, not really. We all believe we're sane—or hope so. All I can tell you is that I've never had a problem functioning in your world or mine; no one's ever threatened to lock me up; and that I believe I'm no more insane than the average person. And that will have to be good enough."

"It is.
More than enough."

"I'm glad to hear it.
How about you?"

"What about me?"

She gave him a solemn look. "From my point of view, you know, you aren't exactly the norm."

"I always thought I was sane. Since yesterday, I'm not so sure."

"What happened yesterday?"

Gideon shook his head, smiling. "I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it might later be used against me. Speaking of which, why are we on the ground?"

"I am on the ground because Sean decided to uproot a pretty rosebush for me, and I'm potting it in this old water bucket. You're on the ground because it's difficult to talk to someone who's sitting at your feet."

"Concisely explained.
At the risk of sounding less than manly, I'm getting a cramp in my calf."

Maggie lifted an eyebrow at him. "Men don't get cramps?"

"Only after marathons or strenuous gym workouts; it's considered wimpy to get one simply by kneeling on the ground. Can we get up now?"

"We probably should. The natives are getting restless."

Gideon glanced toward the wagons and tents and encountered a number of curious stares. "True. I forgot about them."

"They didn't forget about you—ouch!"

He looked at her,
then
quickly reached out to take her hand. "Here, let me."

"It's just a thorn—"

"I know. Hold still."

Maggie did, allowing him to gently extract the thorn from her index finger. As she gazed at his bent head she began to feel curiously breathless. Despite being the center of all eyes, they seemed to be alone, isolated. Sunlight filtered by the trees wove a pattern of light and shadow over them, and a warm breeze whispered as it touched the grass and trees.
And them.

All of Maggie's senses came vividly alive in a way she'd never known before. Her sight and hearing were acute, and the feeling of his cool hands touching hers was so intense it felt almost shatteringly intimate. And then he lifted her hand, his lips closing over her index finger, and she felt a totally alien explosion of heat somewhere deep inside her.

Her thoughts scattered like autumn leaves, fluttering unconnected through her mind. He shouldn't be doing this, her hands were dirty... he had a cramp in his leg... and people were watching... why did she suddenly feel naked?

"Don't," she murmured huskily.

Gideon raised his head, looking at her with darkened eyes. A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his hands were still holding hers, caressing it. His strong features held the stamp of that fierce thing she had seen before and heard in his voice, that unconsciously relentless... need?
Determination?
Whatever it was, it triggered instincts far deeper and more complex than those of a chameleon.