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

returned. The best place to find Father was in the gardens. Our circus patrons also love the gardens. They would enter our doors at night and were shocked to find an outdoor setting within the walls, wondering what trick has allowed the sun to still shine. Father says that pacing through the Great Maze gives him clarity, so he can spend days traversing the hedges. As a result of his devotion, the garden was quite fragrant at his request—fresh sprigs of lavender and rosemary mixing with perpetually blooming magnolias and linden trees. As I raced through the meticulously tended shrubberies, I discovered Doro drinking tea with the Crimson Sisters, their red curls shaped into geometric shapes like the surrounding greenery. As if he instinctively knew who I was looking for, he pointed inside to the Grand Promenade, where I could see Father was surveying something intently.

Deep in conversation with Curio, the mortal who serves as the Architect of Rides, he considered the newest creation—a Ferris wheel that went underneath the circus. He frowned and folded up the plans, tossing them back at Curio. Backward and upside down were two concepts that fascinated Father; this ride accomplished both according to Curio, who was hurriedly explaining the features of the ride now being built below us. Neither noticed me standing there.

“It doesn’t travel deep enough,” barked Father, stroking his chin.

Curio’s face twisted like he was sitting on a pin. “But I can’t make it go any deeper, my lord.”

“I can’t see Styx,” said Father through gritted teeth at the mention of his beloved river. “You promised me that I would see Styx. That was the purpose of this ride, Curio.”

“I’ve tried, my lord.” Curio’s face was reddening. “There isn’t enough magic to get that far and hold the circus together. You need to give me more magic.” Just then, Curio did a peculiar thing. As though he’d just discovered me, his gaze traveled to where I stood as if something brilliant had just occurred to him. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “We can use Cecile, too. Why didn’t I think of it sooner. Perhaps there is a way—”

The architect never finished his thought. With his left hand, Father silenced him with a clenched fist. Curio’s face appeared to pucker, like he was chewing on something unpleasant, his eyes wide. His rounded body traveled to the floor, convulsing.

“Never,” said Father, leaning over him. “That will never happen, Curio. Find another way.” The architect’s head rotated and he writhed in pain. With his boot, Father gave him a little tap, then held out his hand. “Now give it to me. This is what happens when you speak before thinking.”

“Curio.” I fell to my knees, holding his fleshy head in my hands, and looked up at Father. “What have you done to him? Make it stop, Father!” Frantically, I tugged at the man’s suit, trying to find a reason for his distress. The portly architect’s head shook back and forth furiously, pushing away from me like my touch burned him.

“This is not your concern, Cecile.”

“Father!” I put myself between the man and Father’s gaze, hoping it would break whatever magic was flowing from Father.

Father sighed wearily and stared up at the chandelier above us, his voice bored. “Curio. Would you like to be the entrée at tonight’s Dinner of the Daemons?” Father leaned over and held his hand out. “Now.”

Reluctantly, Curio spit something red and raw into Father’s outstretched gloved palm. To my horror, I realized that Curio had severed his own tongue. Foamy drool and blood ran down the man’s feverish face and drizzled over his gray chin stubble.

“Oh no!” Immediately, I scrambled, peeling off my sweater to wipe at the little man’s face. With a fury, I turned to Father, the anger coursing inside me. “How could you do this? How?” My voice was now a shriek, and I could see heads poke up from chairs to see what the fuss was about.

Ignoring me, Father put his face close to Curio’s. “You must find a way to dig deeper toward Styx using the magic you have. Let this be a lesson to you. It will be your arms next.” Father opened the window and tossed Curio’s tongue into the garden, where a pair of crows immediately seized upon it with a loud racket.

“Cecile,” said Father. “You must not interrupt me when I’m doing business.”

“This man is in pain!” As I spat the words out, I could see a smile form on Father’s face, which only infuriated me more. He was so much like Esmé that I could feel my hands shaking. I patted at Curio, whose eyes were now bulging as he choked on his own blood. Attempting to sit him up, I was surprised when the man violently pushed me away, sending me tumbling across the floor. By then Doro and the Crimson Sisters had surrounded him, the entire hallway a mad rush of activity. Curio grunted and squealed something to Doro in a strange language that the fellow mute clown seemed to understand innately.

“Cecile,” said Father. “Come.” He stepped over Curio’s quaking torso toward the door that led to the Great Maze.

“No,” I said, my voice deepening so much that he regarded me curiously.

Doro’s eyes met mine. The Crimson Sister with the single pyramid hedge of hair placed her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll take him back to his room. It’s not safe for him with you here,” she whispered.

My eyes moved from Doro to the sister and back to Curio, who all stared back at me with dread. I wasn’t wanted here. Composing myself, I stood and followed Father through the doors and into the gardens.

“What was so important that you came charging out to find me?” The sun was shining high as it always did in the maze, our gardens never requiring rain. As though nothing had happened, Father calmly placed his sunglasses on and tapped his cane, his long black duster coat far too heavy for such a warm