The Ladies of the Secret Circus by Constance Sayers (ebook reader with internet browser TXT) 📗

“But there’s no net.” Lara strained her neck to see how far off the ground she was expected to be, figuring forty feet at the highest point.

Althacazur rolled his eyes. “Then make one.” Lara thought he sounded like a teenage boy at the mall. He studied the signet ring on his finger, avoiding her gaze.

Lara plucked at her costume, making sure it covered everything. “I can do that?”

The daemon put his head back and closed his eyes. “Why, why, Tisdale, is this one so stupid?”

“Father!” Cecile barked.

“Yes, yes,” said Althacazur, sounding slightly defeated.

Tisdale patted him on the hand, and she swore she saw the little monkey draw a line with the other hand. A net of gold appeared under the trapeze.

“Better now?” Althacazur cocked his head.

Lara sighed and climbed the fabric ladder. As she made her way up the rungs, she thought that all she wanted was to be back in Kerrigan Falls, taking time to figure out what to do next. When she got to the top and looked down, she was reminded of the scene from Vertigo where the camera panned in and out. This might be harder than she thought. Considering her options, she thought she’d just swing across. This was like some zipline thing she’d done in college. This was no big deal.

“We’re waiting.” Althacazur was sitting back on the purple throne, chomping popcorn. The scent of burnt oil and fake butter wafted up toward the ceiling. She recalled the entry in Cecile’s diary about the first time she’d leapt. Not exactly knowing what to do next, she pulled down the bar from overhead and jumped from the perch. About ten seconds in, the weight of her body and gravity kicked in and she felt her arms strain. It was not unlike swinging on the monkey bars as a kid. She swung back and caught the perch awkwardly but managed to find her footing. Hoping that would be the end of it, she did a little raise with her hands like figure skaters do to illustrate a finished movement.

“That’s it?” Althacazur had draped himself over the velvet throne. “Tisdale, Cecile… do something before I kill her.”

Lara wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but she had little doubt that if he wanted to kill her, he could.

The monkey sighed and climbed the ladder easily. He grabbed the bar from her and shook it, then placed it back in her hands. The bar felt warm, like it was now enchanted. What had he just done? Magic? He chirped something, and oddly, Lara understood him.

Don’t fuck this up. He chirp-pointed to the other side and spun with his finger. We’ll all pay. Get over there.

She searched the ring but did not see Cecile. Again, Lara leapt off the perch and saw that another bar was being sent down from the other side. As if her body knew what to do, she left the first bar and somersaulted—yes, somersaulted—into the waiting hands of a man wearing a pink leotard. She swung again back toward the perch and saw that another man was now on the other side. She somersaulted back to his waiting hands. She landed back on the perch and found she was out of breath.

“Well, that didn’t suck.” Althacazur shrugged like some theater director or fucked-up Bob Fosse critiquing her from the front row. He twirled his finger. “Again. Niccolò, give me Villa-Lobos’s Bachianas Brasileiras Number Five. And I don’t care if you don’t like it and it’s not your composition. Play it.” From the orchestra pit came the sounds of strings.

Lara leapt off the perch, preparing to simply repeat her last swing. She could see Tisdale’s hands twisting and his lips moving. He was helping her, enchanting her movements. This time, it felt easier, her body lighter as she swung. She hooked up her legs on the bar, let her hands go, and shifted her gaze up for the man to catch her. Instead she found Cecile’s sure hands reaching out to catch her. They swung together and Lara went to catch the opposite bar. So preoccupied was she that Cecile had caught her, that in flight on the way back, she missed the next bar. Looking down at the net, she saw to her alarm that the gold net that had once been beneath her was gone.

Gone.

Tisdale squealed.

Althacazur laughed.

Niccolò stopped the music.

A cymbal crashed.

As she fell, Lara thought that this was the stupidest death she could have predicted for herself. She thought about Gaston having to tell her mother and father that she’d fallen to her death performing for a monkey while wearing a tutu. “No,” she screamed, then “fuck.” She had her arms splayed and her eyes closed, bracing for impact, then nothing. Then she opened her eyes to find that she was hovering like a freeze-frame on a TV about six feet from the ground.

“Oh, thank God,” said Althacazur, sitting upright in his seat. “I was getting so bored. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Shut up, Father,” said Cecile, sitting on the swing above them.

Lara held herself in place, not sure what to do. Recalling Cecile’s journals, Lara considered the corkscrew move. Completely confused how she could somersault from a frozen position, she rotated and found that her body held the altitude as she spun. Next, she gazed at the perch far above her, where she needed to land. In the back of her mind, she heard Althacazur tell her, Think of spinning this flower. Don’t think of the carousel. She imagined a flower being twirled at its stem. As she pictured it, her body began to rise and spin at the same time, mimicking the movement in her mind. Focusing on the perch, she picked up speed, like a figure skater, twisting vertically back up to the perch.

“In case you haven’t realized it, you don’t need a net.” Althacazur was slow-clapping.

Looking over at the other side of the trapeze, Lara let the bar drop and leapt again, somersaulting cleanly through the