The Fortune Teller's Daughter (5 page)

“Keep your
eyes on me,” she said. “Ready? Here goes nothing.”

The juggler
added a third ball and I almost dropped the whole mess, but somehow let go in
the nick of time. At my save the crowd cheered and I could feel the warmth of
pleasure spread up into my cheeks.

“Bravissimo!”
she laughed. “Ever thought of running away to join the circus?”

“Hasn’t
every little girl?”

“Only the
very naughty ones!”

Two other
acrobats dressed like the girl took position on either side of us and before I
could stop them, they had their own balls passing over and under ours.

“You’ve got
to be kidding me.”

“Don’t let
them scare you, you’re doing wonderfully. You’re a born performer.”

Around us
the crowd
ooohed
and
aaahed
at our dexterity, and when I thought
I finally had it down, one of her tosses slipped past and popped me right
between the eyes. Like dominos, the perfect rhythm collided in mid-air in a
wonderful explosion of color.

All six
balls tumbled around our feet and went dark.

The girl
gasped and covered her face to hide her giggles, but they were too infections
and soon the crowd was laughing and clapping with her.

“Take a
bow!” she urged and even as I could feel embarrassment coloring my cheeks, I
let her take my hand, lift it into the air and pull me into a big, theatrical
bow.

With the
show over, the crowd dispersed and she retrieved her balls before sweeping her
arm through mine. “Which show would you like to see first?”

“I’m
actually looking for Alistair Rook. I was told his wagon was behind the
carnival.”

“Yes, that’s
true.” She nodded and pulled me to where the path into the tents began, the
entryway flanked by two trees with smooth, snow white bark, their foliage
backlit with ethereal blue lights. “But you have to go all the way through the
carnival. Might as well see something pretty along the way.”

“I suppose I
could see a couple of shows before I get to him. What do you suggest?”

“The dancers
are always worth a peek if you’re not easily embarrassed, and the Strange, too,
our version of the 10 in 1. You must not miss the magician.”

“The
magician?”

“Trust me.”
Her lips pressed in a barely contained smile. “This is where I must leave you.
You’ll find your way. No matter what tent you go into, you’ll find what you’re
looking for.”

“Thank you.
For the game. It was fun.” I let go, reluctantly. As soon as my hand fell from
hers, she sprang backwards onto her hands and again to land on her feet in a
pretty pirouette. Someone watching us gasped.

“Hey!” she
cried suddenly. “What’s your name?”

“Serefine.”

“Serefine,”
she repeated. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”

*  *  *

The first
tent to catch my attention had a bodyguard. He stood in front of the entrance,
the show inside hidden by gauzy panels of fabric that allowed colored light and
shadows to pass through.

The
bodyguard, easily six and a half feet tall, had very black skin, jeweled in
tattoos that covered his arms and shoulders featuring epic battles of dragons
and wizards, knights on horseback and beautiful women baring swords and saving
themselves from villains.

Around his
bicep he wore a gold band stamped with a raven to match his faintly Arabian
Nights inspired costume, his face covered in a shiny nickel colored phantom
mask.

He did not
step aside when I showed interest in entering. He stood there, arms like clubs
crossed over his chest, daring me to try and pass him.

“So I just
go in then? I have this.” I showed off the lion charm, which he didn’t look at.
The stoic guard didn’t move. Barely blinked. He reminded me of a scary Djinn
that granted imprisonment and torture instead of wishes. “I was told I should
see the dancers. These are the dancers, right?”

Nothing. Not
a blink or a twitch.

“Unless you
don’t think I should see the dancers, in which case I hear there’s a very
excellent magician I should seek out.”

This time
his mouth twitched, though whether he was amused with me or preparing to have
me thrown bodily from the carnival, I couldn’t tell.

Finally,
without a word, he unfolded his arms, took hold of the fabric panels, and drew
them aside. Afraid he might change his mind, I ducked in.

Hypnotic
music and thick incense smoke drifted in the small tent. The audience sat on
plush red couches curved around a single raised platform. Hanging above the
raised platform was a person-sized birdcage with a small swing inside.

And perched
on the swing was a lovely young woman holding everyone in the room hostage.

Music to
charm snakes by lulled me deeper into the tent, urged me to take a seat. I sunk
into the soft fabric, but the intimacy of the audience made me uneasy. Beside
me, a man in an expensive suit crossed his legs and stared transfixed at the
small woman inside the cage. He did not look like someone who came to a
carnival, certainly not in such an extravagant suit. He looked like a peacock
and not for the first time I wondered what sort of carnival this actually was.

Because it
was not the kind you go to as a little girl.

The audience
was sparse, a few here or there, mostly men. Some of the men wore masks, small
dominos that hid their penetrating eyes. They were different from the
performers I’d seen so far. These masks meant something else.

Gifted with
skin the color of vanilla ice cream, unblemished and smooth as glass, the caged
woman watched us watching her. She was small in stature, petite and girlish,
though there was something about the way she commanded her audience that gave
away her true age. She was magazine ad perfect; everything proportioned and
doled out by artists. Small fingers, graceful as they slid against the chains
of her swing, as gentle as they were tempting.

She wore
red. The dress hung far longer than she was tall to brush the floor of the
cage. The woman sat barefoot on her swing, knees drawn tight to her body though
one full leg all the way up to her hips fell exposed by a single, indecent
slit. Wariness and caution filled her bright eyes, narrowed on certain faces,
widened on others. There was something intense and distant about the caged
temptress, absolutely nothing like the white haired juggler.

When the
music turned bluesy, her eyes lifted, bringing startling blue irises wide on
her audience. The caged woman stretched herself languidly like a cat, muscles
flexing beneath thin arms and very gently she kicked off to let her swing sway,
blowing her skirt back a millimeter further each time.

Then. Then
she started to perform.

The burlesque
dancer, for that was certainly what she was, extended her body in the most
enticing ways, teaching us pedestrians the art of romance. She didn’t look
happy, exactly, to be caged, but that seemed part of the act. The aggression in
the bodies around me, the way they shifted and leaned forward, gave away the
trick of the performance.

Unwittingly,
we were part of the show. Her captors.

Each sweep
and bend of her small body whispered a promise.
Let me out and I will make
it worth your while.
The realization startled me and a part of me felt
guilty and complacent and I blushed. I was clearly not the target audience of
this show, but an envious part of me wanted to see.  

I’m
yours. You’ve caught me. Now what will you do? 

She climbed
to her feet on the swing, allowing her dress to breeze behind her. She pressed
her back to one of the chains and her fingers clasped sensually around it above
and behind her. She stretched, spun, dipped in the most impossible ways. I had
no idea any woman could entrance a whole audience with seemingly simple
movements, tiny gasps, almost imperceptible squeezes of her fists. There was
power in her performance as a captured prize. She was in the cage, but the audience
were the ones imprisoned.

My heart
throbbed, fell in and out of love with her by the second.

She had
something I could never have, would never have.
Power.
I couldn’t
remember the last time I’d been invested in luring any boy with my body, if I
ever had. Certainly not since my breasts had grown noticeably and awkwardly round
in comparison to my narrow waist. My thighs had no business being bared to a
crowd. Bones did not poke through my skin. I didn’t look breakable.

We both
shared white skin, but while hers was fragile and inviting, mine was mottled
with copper and blond freckles. Absently I tugged at my loose red curls, an
absolute mess from the day’s adventure. I wished I’d showered before leaving
the apartment.

How was it
that women like this could draw such longing and wanting from girls like me?
How did they then inspire unflattering comparisons when moments before we
didn’t even realize we were made of lesser things?

Power
.
I ached with envy.

We watched
her mouth part, her eyes close, the wanting, the
needing
. A man sitting
near me dug his fingers into his thigh.

Darkness
finally descended from the tent top to envelope the cage and its captive,
bringing her performance to an end. Her hands strained towards us as if begging
us to release her before being completely enclosed in shadow. The image
squeezed the last of my heart. I couldn’t even remember what she’d done except
that she’d done it beautifully. I shook my head, blinked my dry eyes and
wondered how much time I’d lost hypnotized by the sway of hips and the slow
peeling of clothing until only the most private remained concealed. I
remembered her hair, blonde silk cords, and her blue eyes, and very little
else.

The audience
stirred, rousing from their own trances, and as they began to pack up, a man
from the front row stood, lifted a top hat to his head, and climbed the stairs
to stand where the cage had hung moments before. He spun in a slow circle to
eye us all and hold us all perfectly still. He wore a mask of burnished silver,
like armor but for the intricate scrollwork and edging. It made him look like a
gladiator despite his suit and top hat. I couldn’t see his eyes from my seat,
but still they fell heavy when they crossed each member of the audience. When
they touched me, I
felt
it.

I didn’t
even realize the music had stopped playing until his heels struck the stage,
booming and ordering us to attention. Half standing, I slowly sank back to my
seat and waited for his command.

He took his
top hat in hand, shiny under the bright spot light, and bowed extravagantly.
Beneath his hat fell a mop of very black, curly messy hair.

“Good
evening ladies and gentleman. Right now you may feel drugged by pleasure. Few
tempt us like Lily to love her and obey her and control her. Right now you are
wondering how anything else could compare to what you’ve just seen, because what
could compete with the endowment of the Courtesan?” He paused and crossed one
arm behind his back.

“But she is
only one pleasure. A beautiful one, no doubt, but she only commands your body
while I am here to master your mind.”

With that he
flung his hidden fist into the air and birds … no!
Ravens
! … took flight
from his outstretched hand and beat their mad black wings over his captive
audience. People gasped and covered their heads, but while I swore I saw the
birds, saw their wings and beaks and fathomless marble eyes, they vanished when
we blinked.

Feathers
drifted from the shadows above us. One struck my forehead and tumbled over my
nose to land with a whisper in the palm of my hand. Amazing. I stroked the
black feather between my fingers and delighted in its downy softness.

Murmurs
passed over the audience, fear mixed with excitement and anticipation. Had we
really seen that? Did he create birds and transform them into feathers in the
blink of an eye?

Magic.
I ached to believe in the impossible, the incredible. How could I not? My
mother all but promised me it existed, but after watching her ply the desperate
with what they longed for most, I’d had such a hard time believing she was not
doing the same to me.

This man,
this magician, brought up the same warring feelings inside me. Believe the
impossible, despise the con artist.

The magician
stepped off his stage and strode up the aisle towards the tent entrance, his
audience trailing along behind him at a cautious distance. As he closed in on
my seat, he slowed and dropped his intense gaze to meet mine.

Awestruck.
Dubious. I had no idea what he saw in my eyes that made him pause and reach for
my tightened fist.

“Allow me to
escort you to my stage.”

No. Yes. No.
God yes
.

Words? They
all fell right out of my head.

I let him
pull me to my feet. This close I could see beyond his mask to his grey eyes.
Grey like his mask. Grey like armor.

 “You should
know,” he said in his charming, softly British accent, “I shall show you all
the greatest wonders of the world. Perhaps I’ll even make you disappear.”

Despite the
heat from the tent, I shivered.

__________________

I wasn’t
fooled into believing there was any special reason he’d plucked me from the
audience, but there was something about the way he held on to me that sent
shivers through my body, from our linked fingers to my toes in white bolts of
electricity. For a moment I could allow myself to feel as powerful as the caged
woman.

The
magician’s grip tightened as we ducked inside his tent and instantly lights
faded on around a front stage and spread to brighten the aisles between cobalt
blue, tufted velvet theater seats.