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

those days, we were cared for by Doro and Hugo and all of them. Le Cirque Secret was a fun place for us, where people loved us. It was always tense when Father came back and we were paraded out to see him. We started toward him. It was supposed to be a surprise for him that we could walk. Madame Plutard had made us a satin dress—pink with a lace collar—just for the occasion. She’d taken the iron to our long ringlets and placed matching bows on our heads. Everyone was there—all the performers, Madame Plutard, Sylvie. I still recall how much joy we felt to be able to do that on our own—that one little fucking thing on our own.

“Well…” Marla laughed sadly, looking down at the courtyard. “In gazing up at him for approval, I forgot my step and we fell in front of everyone. You have to understand that it was difficult when we fell—we didn’t exactly move together as one unit, so we struggled on the ground for what seemed like a long, long time. At first, no one moved a muscle. Then the Doros and Hugo came to help us, lifting us back on our feet while Madame Plutard ran to get our chair. I’ll never forget the look on his face, Cecile. It is bored into my memory forever, and it fuels me. I’m so sorry you can’t recall it, because if you did, you’d despise him as I do. He was repulsed by his own children,” said Marla. Small sobs erupted from her, and she stopped speaking until she could regain her composure. “He told Madame Plutard that from then on we were to be wheeled to him in a chair, covered with a blanket, like dolls in a carriage.”

Everyone was silent. Lara found the story so horrible, so shocking that she couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, Esmé.” Lara spoke, her voice breaking. “What he did to you was simply unspeakable. I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”

“Thank you, Lara. I appreciate that,” said Marla. “Soon after the incident, he decided, against the advice of everyone, to cut us in two. It was a terrible thing to endure, Cecile. The pain was unbearable.” Marla closed her eyes as her body tremored. “Even with magic, we barely survived. You were the worst. Your screams were so loud that Madame Plutard begged Father to take your pain away. So he did. The problem was that the enchantment required fealty, so one of us had to remember to keep the spell up. From then on, I had to keep the illusion of us inside Le Cirque Secret going. But even I made the grave mistake of forgetting that it was all an enchantment.” Her voice trailed. “Remember when he sent me to the White Forest, Cecile? Oh, of course you do, you tattled on me like some spoiled brat. Do you know what they do to you in the White Forest? There are no illusions there. Dumped off there and separated from you, I crawled on my belly for three days across the forest floor. Defenseless, I had to fend for myself against all kinds of creatures. I ate twigs and sucked on leaves. I recall wondering what I had done to have our Father hate me so much.

“Finally, I got to the gate at Le Palace Noir, thinking I would be safe. I didn’t know then that the other daemons look down on cambions like us, so I was tortured. I endured unspeakable things, until Lucifer found out and put a stop to it. No matter what anyone says about him, I’ll always be grateful to Lucifer. He sent me back to the circus and rebuked Father horribly. Until I’d heard the gossip in the palace, I didn’t know that the other daemons loathe our father.”

“I never forgave myself for what happened to you.” Lara could feel Cecile’s sobs, causing her own heart to race.

“Well, we’re even. I never forgave you, either.” Marla’s voice was hollow. The story had taken its toll on everyone, yet it hadn’t made Cecile more empathetic to her sister.

Lara could feel Cecile’s anger, mixed with shame, heating up inside her. “It wasn’t my fault, Esmé,” spat Cecile. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t my fault that Father placed that unfair burden on you. You cannot blame me for something I didn’t know. And you’re wrong about Émile. Father enchanted the painting so you’d love him. I gave him up for you.”

“You’re wrong,” said Marla. “He would have chosen me, if not for you being pregnant with Margot.”

Marla had walked around behind Ben, and Lara instinctively knew what she was maneuvering to do. She was about to hit him over the head with the shovel. Ben knew it, too, and squirmed and twisted, but inside that hole he was a sitting duck.

“We didn’t want to be separated from each other. We begged him not to do it. Madame Plutard went to the White Forest for throwing herself on us to try to stop him. Each fortnight the circus ran, I had to kill a man to keep up the illusion he wanted. I had to do whatever was required to get them near. When I first started killing, we were ten and I’d feign being hurt. I felt bad because it was always the kind ones who came over. Then as I got older it wasn’t the kind ones. Yet our father didn’t care about me. He didn’t care about us. Once, I asked if we could send you instead. Just for one night. Do you know what he said? ‘Cecile couldn’t bear it.’ All because you looked like our mother.” Marla laughed.

Something occurred to Cecile. “It was you who sent the mirror to me, wasn’t it? I thought it was a trick—some poor creature was trapped in there.”

“That poor creature in the mirror of truth was you, my dear. That’s why we couldn’t be drawn. We weren’t real. Like the way you