Алекс Калер - The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels)

“That might have been nice to know.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. His tone isn’t even remotely convincing. There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, he sounds tentative. “As for yesterday…”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I can’t expect your enchantments to ward off snakes as well. There’s no need to apologize.”

He smiles at me. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “You had me worried for a bit there.”

An uneasy silence threatens to come between us, so I pick the first question out of my mind I can think of.

“How’s Mel?” I ask.

“Better. Much better. She’s out of bed today.”

“That’s good,” I say.

What had I been worried about earlier? I look at him and feel a distant sense of betrayal I can’t quite place. Why would I feel that about him? He’s the one taking care of us, all of us. Still, the usual butterflies are out of place. Something just feels off. I try to place it, but the idea doesn’t come, so I just pick up my spoon and start to eat.

He leaves a few minutes later, after inspecting my ankle and throwing a little more magic my way. I should be fine to walk around, he says. Just watch where I step. The door closes behind him and I eat my cereal. Every once in a while, I stare down at my ankle to make sure it’s still there. The puffiness is gone, and there’s only a tiny pink scar from the bite marks.

Every time I look at it, something in the back of my mind stirs, some wisp of fire and pain. Then I look away, and the memory vanishes.

I leave the trailer shortly after breakfast, when it’s clear putting weight on my foot won’t make it fall off and my bladder can’t take another moment’s hesitation. There’s barely even a limp as I head to the Porta-Potty at the edge of the field. The sun is high and the sky is clear. All around us are sweeping cornfields that vanish into the blue haze of the horizon. It’s already sweltering, and the inside of the Porta-Potty is exactly what you’d expect from a small box of excrement sitting in the blazing sun. If Mab had ever mentioned the outdoor toilets when I signed on, the harsh reality must not have sunk in at the time.

I pause on the return trip, feeling infinitely lighter, and stare out at the tent and the trailers spread before me. There aren’t that many people about — a few performers are lying on their backs on lawn chairs, others are taking shelter under the canopy by the pie cart. Penelope is nowhere to be seen, which makes me wonder if maybe I’m no longer such a threat after being felled by a snake. Everyone else must either be inside or in town, wherever that is. The ground beneath my feet is grey, and when I bend down to inspect it, I realize it’s ash. That’s when I notice the char marks on some of the corn, the blackened stalks and crispy husks. The bonfire. We were lucky the tent wasn’t set up when the blaze went off. I’d heard enough horror stories of old tents going up in flames. After the rip in the tent, we didn’t need any more disasters.

The thought makes me wonder if Mab’s already gotten the side wall replaced. I head over to the tent to inspect. Sure enough, every one of the grey and blue panels is intact. Whoever she got to fix it must have worked pretty damn fast.

“Looking for something?”

I turn around and see Melody standing there. She’s in shorts and a loose shirt with a tree sprawling across the front. Her brown hair is messy and her eyes are still shadowed. But she looks better. Thin, but better.

“It lives,” I say, grinning. Seeing her up and about makes me feel like maybe things are finally on the upswing.

She smiles as well and walks the few steps over to me, looping an arm over my shoulders. “I could say the same for you,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone foam at the mouth before.”

I wince and look down at my ankle. “I was foaming?”

“Like a rabid dog,” she says. “Still, that Kingston’s a miracle worker.”

I nod. “How about you?” I ask. “How are you feeling?”

“Meh,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. We start walking toward the pie cart. “Still feel like I’ve been run over by a truck a few hundred times, but it’s better than before.”

She pours herself a cup of water from one of the Gatorade containers when we hit the pie cart, offering me one as well.

“Any plans for the day?” she asks, sitting back on a wooden table still littered with a few bowls of half-eaten cereal.

“Juggling practice,” I say. The words feel like a death sentence. “What about you?”

Her grin widens. “There’s a swimming hole nearby. An honest-to-God swimming hole with rope swings and tetanus and everything. I think a couple of us are heading over after lunch.”

“That sounds amazing.”

She nods. “Don’t tell Kingston I’m going, though. He’d probably say I’m not well enough. I say, however, the promise of gorgeous girls in bikinis is cure enough for me.” She raises her glass in mock toast and takes a drink.

“Yeah, well, at least one of us should get some action.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile going wicked.

“Not like that,” I say. “I mean…you know what I mean.”

“Who is it?” she teases. She looks around conspiratorially and leans in. “C’mon, love, you can tell me. Let me guess. Uma.”

“Who?”

She sighs. “Not Uma, then. How long have you been with us? She’s the Shifter with all the piercings.”

The name’s familiar, but I can’t place it. She must have read something in my blank expression. “Oh, come on, I know you’ve seen her. She said you dropped into her tent a few nights back. You know,” — she raises her hands to her chest and cups her hands, “piercings everywhere. And I mean, everywhere. ”

Then I remember Uma. I blush at the memory of seeing her onstage swaying like a belly dancer to the sounds of violin and shivering metal. What had I been doing there? I was looking for something…

“Ah, now she remembers. Pierced nipples usually jog the mind.” She chuckles to herself, and I punch her on the shoulder.

“Bitch. No, not Uma. I don’t swing that way.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” she says. Her voice sobers. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for Kingston.”

I don’t answer right away, which makes her jump off the table and spin on the ground, one hand covering her mouth to hold back the laughter.

“Oh, no,” she says. “Please, please not him. He’s like my brother.” She looks at me and sees I’m not smiling. If anything, my face has gotten redder.

“Seriously?” she says. Her grin drops.

“I know,” I say. “I don’t have a chance in hell, do I?”

She runs a hand through her hair.

“Not really,” she finally says.

“Comforting,” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be giving me friendly advice?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “And here it is: don’t date within the circus.”

“That’s it? That’s your good advice?”

She holds up her hands.

“That’s my honest advice. Think of it this way: what did you do when you broke up with your past boyfriends?”

“I…” — then I realize, I don’t remember any past boyfriends. I know they should be there, but the idea’s just…blank. She doesn’t seem to notice the stutter in my memory.

“You move on,” she continues. “You stop calling or texting or whatever you do, and you see other people like a normal girl. You can’t do that here.”

She gestures around.

“You fuck up a relationship in here and you’re stuck with an angry ex for the rest of your contract. And trust me, Kingston isn’t someone you want pissed off at you for a few dozen years.”