Алекс Калер - The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

“But they can’t, right? It’s Mab. You heard her. The show will go on.”

Melody answers, her words laced with bitterness. “Don’t gloss over the details, love. With or without the lot of you, she said. She’s only concerned with the show. I have no doubt that she’s willing to accept a few casualties if it means she can keep playing ringleader. Never stopped her before.”

She looks like she’s about to say more, but Kingston glares at her, which shuts her up instantly. No one says anything after that. It’s clear that she’s overstepped a line in the sand I’m not supposed to see. Apparently I don’t deserve to know everything. I can only hope that what I don’t know doesn’t get me killed.

As they promised, Richard and Vanessa find me at lunch that afternoon. I’m sitting across from Kingston while Melody rests in her trailer. I hadn’t said much to him during the meal. What was there to say? Sorry one of your friends died like one of Vlad Dracula’s victims, but hey, I hear you’re single so maybe we can go out to dinner sometime? By the way, what is it that you’re so obviously hiding from me, because I’m getting tired of waiting around, and I might be the next to go? There’s nothing to say, and the silence just grows and grows between us. Not that anyone else in the troupe is talkative. Today’s meal is even quieter than when Sabina was killed. So I just eat my salad and pasta primavera, and stare at Kingston’s left arm, where the head of his serpentine tattoo has suddenly taken up residence.

Vanessa spots me first. She sits down on my left side, setting her tray with a half-eaten salad and juice next to mine. The distraction is an immediate relief that I know won’t last long. She smiles at me, and I can’t tell if it’s friendly or laced with you-can-never-replace-him undertones. It makes me wonder if she and Paul ever had a thing in those ninety-two years of service.

“So,” she says, barely giving Kingston a second glance. “Do you actually know how to juggle?”

“Kind of,” I say. I try to think back, try to remember juggling oranges in my kitchen or something like that. The images are there, but they don’t seem to piece together quite right. It’s like looking through someone else’s childhood scrapbook. “I think so.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “If we can’t train you, Kingston can always bewitch you into stardom.”

Kingston coughs slightly. “You know it doesn’t work like that, Vanessa,” he says over his mug.

Vanessa waves her hand, “Fine, fine, whatever it is you do, then. I’m just saying, with my skill and your magic, we’ll have no problem turning her into a young star.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Okay, I know I probably couldn’t juggle if my life depended on it — and my life probably does depend on it — but I don’t think I’m that hopeless.

“I think it’s best if he explains,” Vanessa says. “I’d just get it wrong.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Kingston says evenly. “How about you just do your job and train her. When that inevitably fails, come find me.”

Vanessa opens her mouth, but Richard’s arrival spares us from whatever she’s about to say. He steps up behind her and puts his broad hands on her shoulders. He looks maybe ten years older than her; he’s probably in his late thirties. But when she looks up at him, her face instantly becomes all smiles. If that isn’t an I’m-sleeping-with-you look, I don’t know what is.

“Hey, guys,” he says. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Kingston replies.

“Good,” he says. “I was hoping I could steal Vanessa. We’re going to have to piece together a duo act for tonight.” He turns to me. “Unless you think you’ll be ready by then?” He grins.

I decide in that moment that if I had to choose to save either him or Vanessa from being eaten by sharks, I’d choose him. Neither of them act fazed by the fact that their partner was just aged to death in front of their eyes. Maybe Kingston was right; maybe everyone is only looking after their own asses.

“Only if you want it to be a clown act,” I say. I can no longer remember if it was juggling I was good at as a kid, or unicycling. Or maybe I’d just wanted to be able to do them.

He chuckles and helps Vanessa to her feet. They walk off, leaving me, Kingston, and Vanessa’s half-empty tray.

“Bitch,” Kingston says the moment she’s out of earshot.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

“She’s still pissed that I slept with Richard a few decades back. In my defense, they hadn’t been seeing each other for at least a year. Girl can hold a fucking grudge.”

My stomach does a flip and I can’t tell if it’s because he just admitted to sleeping with a guy or because he just said he’s at least a few decades old. Then again, after watching Paul turn to ash, the notion that Kingston is much older than he appears isn't as shocking as it should have been. My mouth is hanging open like a fish, which just brings a smile to his face.

“What? It gets boring here. You can’t blame me for playing both sides of the field.”

Which just makes me wonder how many people he has slept with. I mean, I can’t judge. Even though I can’t remember my sexual exploits — which doesn't speak very highly of them — I know I’m no virgin. But still… how many? I didn’t even really care about the genders.

“I…That’s not what I meant. What did she mean by that whole bewitching me to stardom thing?” I say.

“Oh.”

Kingston picks at the food on his plate, then looks up at me and points his fork at my face.

“How do I put this? You’ve seen The Matrix, right?”

“Sadly.” I’m not certain how that memory stands out, but it’s there, swimming in the haze of my past.

He smiles, but his voice is serious. “Well, it’s sort of like that. If necessary, I can…download, if you will, things into your memory. Make you know how to do things you couldn’t do before.”

“You what?”

“It sounds bad,” he says. “But I don’t use it if I don’t have to, and even then, I only use it if the person asks. And even then , only if Mab allows it, and writes it into the contract. But she almost never allows cutting corners.”

“So you could make me think anything you wanted.”

Like making me fall madly in love with him. The moment the thought crosses my mind, I push it away. After all, if Disney taught me anything, it's that love can't be forced through magic. Thank you Aladdin.

He raises an eyebrow. “In theory, yes. In practice, no.” His voice drops. “Consider me reformed.”

Then he points his fork at Vanessa’s salad and it bursts into flames, instantly disintegrating into ash.

“Don’t fool yourself, Vivienne,” he whispers, almost to himself. “I might have the magic, but the others…they’ll get into your head way before me.”

Practice is a disaster.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the black eye and three bruises on my chest from missed passes. So after about twenty minutes of having clubs thrown at my face and torso, and subsequently missing every single one, Richard and Vanessa give me three juggling balls. They scoot me over to one corner, where I can practice without interrupting them and they can keep an eye on me.

“It’s like trying to keep a beat,” Vanessa says in a voice most people reserve for very small and very stupid children. “You have to imagine a rhythm, and throw at the proper time.” She demonstrates by throwing the balls in the air, while saying, “One, two, three, catch.”