Rise of the Ringmaster Page 4

  “Just me,” I replied with a shake of my head watching her aura pulse a lovely excited green, but the edges were softer, hazier, as if they melted into the atmosphere around them in a shimmering glow.

  She took my hand, pulling me from my gaze. “You okay?”

  Drawing her near me, I wrapped my arms around her. She was warm and smelled like roses and inhaling her scent calmed my nerves. “I am. Thank you.”

  I knew I needed to step up, so I began making decisions and setting up new shows without asking. I met new acts along the way and hired more people than ever. I also began collecting fireworks, mechanical items that shot tiny pieces of paper into the air, new contraptions that threw flames, exotic animals and dancers, and more.

  Our circus was making a name for itself, and I intended to keep it growing.

  Over the next few months, my circus developed into the show of a lifetime and people paid extraordinary amounts to be tricked and hypnotically entertained. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real—the success gave me a sense of pride that my family had never given me, and I wanted more.

  “I want to run the show tonight,” I announced when my father returned with heavy steps to the tent. The afternoon light had begun to darken as nightfall was approaching.

  “No,” he responded without looking at me. I followed him, his greying hair flying around the satin hat in need of a cut and some gel. Ever since my mother died he had allowed himself to fall apart. With her gone, he forgot to take care of himself.

  I yanked his arm, forcing him to look at me. “Why not?” His eyes were wild and the faded blue made him look almost completely blind.

  “It is not your time,” he growled and his arm habitually wound back to slap me before he shook his head and retreated toward the curtained entrance. I followed, wanting to tell him I was ready, that this was my time, that he needed to let me take total control, but I was absorbed by the river of people entering behind me laughing and pointing at the amazing sights.

  The center stage was surrounded by tiers of stadium seating, metal and hard, but easy to put up, take down, and transport. Every opening was swiftly being filled with another warm body as clowns blew up balloons, twisting them into animals for the children who squealed with laughter. Young, handsome men walked up and down the rows offering goodies—caramel corn, sweet candies, and our special tonics. Music boomed through the speakers set high in the ceiling of the tent. The bass rumbled and shook the stands as lights twirled and spun around the canopy, casting a rainbow of colors to dance around the crowd.

  I moved behind the stands and into the back room where the troupe was preparing for their performances. The acrobats and aerialists twisted their hair into tight buns to ensure nothing would get in their way and their sparkling outfits fit snug against their skin. I found Lottie adjusting her hat and stopped to look at her.

  Her black hair was curled and gently tucked in a low bun allowing a few pieces to fall around her face. She pinned a tiny red sequined top hat at an angle and twisted her neck to admire her work. Taking the makeup brush, she dabbed powder onto her cheeks making the pale skin glow a fresh pink, then covered her lips with a sticky red paste. Lottie’s jacket was simple—black and silver with bedazzled edges—but was open at the top showing a lot of flawless skin I couldn’t move my eyes from. The tiny shorts she wore drew the eyes down to her long legs wrapped in fishnet stockings. Her petite feet were held up with simple black heels. Looking up in the mirror, she saw me and smiled, batting her long black lashes before returning to her work.

  Pulling myself away, I found my father in the back dusting off his jacket and taking a shot of bourbon.

  “Real nice,” I scoffed. “Don’t you do anything sober anymore?” I sat in the folding chair and watched as he buttoned the faded jacket.

  “It’s none of your business how I get through the show.”

  “Don’t you care about these people?”

  He sighed, then reached for his glass and began to lift it to his lips. Before the amber liquid met its destination I slapped it from his hands, sending it shattering into a thousand pieces against the ground.

  “That’s enough!” I yelled, and in an instant, my father turned and slapped me hard across the face.

  “You should have been the one,” he screamed, breathing heavily. “It should have been you.” He poked his yellowing nail into my chest.

  “It should have been me, what? It should have been me that died?” I finally realized what he was saying. He wished I were the one dead, not my mother—honestly sometimes I wished it too. “Well sorry to continuously disappoint you, Dad, but I’m still here and I plan to be for a long time.”

  “Give it back,” he demanded, and I gave him a curious look. “Give. It. Back.” He said louder, grinding his teeth.

  “What?” I asked, but he grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me close. The smell of alcohol burned my nose and sent a shiver down my spine. His breath was hot against my face and I felt his hands trembling on my shirt.

  “Come on, enough of this already.” I heard a man call from outside our small room. I looked over my shoulder and saw the magician—Theo—standing there with his arms crossed. “Do we really need to go through this again?” He looked at my father.

  My father glared. “You’ll give it back to me.” He released my shirt and grabbed the bourbon. “If it’s the last thing you do.” He took a deep swig and set it back down. Heading toward the door, he paused. “You don’t deserve such a gift. It’s wasted on you.”

  It all clicked and I understood what he was demanding me to return—his ability. Even if I could find a way to do it, I wouldn’t. At this rate, I feared he would manipulate someone to kill me to make up for the death of my mother.

  I watched the show from the back, peeking out through the curtain as much as possible. I watched as my father stumbled over his words, tripped one too many times, and placed his hands in inappropriate spots on performers as he introduced them. The aerialists flew through the air, flipping and spinning toward each other while a few dangled down, dropping quickly from thin fabric that caught them at the last possible second. Our fire dancers sent the audience in awe as they caught the stage and even the seats on fire before calling it back to them as if it were their pet.

  When it was Lottie’s turn, I fell into a trance as she called the animals around her. Tigers, lions, elephants, and more surrounded her and she stood smiling with no fear. The crowd fell into a hushed silence as the animals danced and twirled around on the stage. They cheered carefully as the tiger cubs—who weren’t so little anymore—stood up on their back legs and waved their big paws at them, they clapped as the lions balanced on small stands and jumped through different sized hoops, and they whistled with excitement as the group stood together and took a bow before padding off the stage.

  Sparkling confetti fell around them as the magician appeared almost out of thin air. Little did they know, he had been there the whole time, sneaking to the stage as the tigers and lions drew the audience’s attention from him.

  Theo was very talented and could make you see things that couldn’t be possible. He hypnotized a small group of people making them believe they were a football team and huddled together. When he said the magic word “llama” the quarterback began to quack while the others acted like ducklings and followed him around the stage. The audience laughed and cheered for them. Danny, now a chatty six-year-old, stood next to me watching his dad with wide eyes and a grin that reached ear to ear.

  “Someday, I want to do that,” he gleaned pointing at his father. I ruffled his shaggy brown hair and laughed.

  “You will, kid.”

  Together we watched his father pull items out of his hat—impossible items—such as an umbrella that opened up and was raining on the inside, a rabbit, two rabbits, ten rabbits, which he let run around the stage until, with a wave of his wand, they disappeared in a pop, pop, pop. I saw his ability shimmering in his aura as it glistened around the edges. His
power wasn’t something I wanted to take though—we needed him for our show. Looking at little Danny, I wondered if he was special, too.

  VII

  My affection for Lottie grew every day, but I had yet to make any sort of move afraid that she did not feel the same. I watched her one evening as she sat inside the tiger cage, petting the large beast on her lap. We recently acquired a male tiger who had been in another circus but was getting too old for the shows. Lottie insisted we take him in, wanting to provide a safe, comfortable place for him to live the rest of his life.

  She whispered under her breath to the gentle beast while her adolescent tigers curled around her outstretched legs, sleeping peacefully.

  I dragged my feet in the gravel to announce my arrival. The last thing I wanted was to spook a tiger and have them attack. The tiger in her lap raised his ears slightly as I approached. Lottie looked up and smiled.

  “Hey,” she whispered.

  “Come here often?” I winked, leaning against the bars of the cage. She laughed and it pulsed her aura with warm honey that glowed like gold. It was mesmerizing and I wanted to wrap myself in it and never let go.

  “How do you think the show went today?” she asked, carefully avoiding her real question, which was how things were going with my father.

  “Not bad. I think the animals could use some exercise. Jasper here is looking a little round around the thighs.” I pointed to the smallest tiger, who lifted his head when hearing his name.

  Lottie raised a single eyebrow. “Look who’s talking. How many donuts did you eat this morning?”

  “It’s not my fault someone bought powdered ones! Those are my favorite. They are like a drug,” I sighed dramatically. “Their powdery goodness is addictive and I could inject myself with that raspberry filling.” I feigned an elated shiver. Lottie giggled and I felt the edges of her aura touch the spidery fringe of mine.

  “So,” I began, turning toward her and petting the tiger carefully. “What were you two talking about? I hope nothing scandalous.” I raised my eyebrows at the tiger who glared at me. I lifted my hands in defense before crossing them over my chest.

  “Oh, no. Nothing as exciting as a scandal. Although,” Lottie thought, looking into the sky. “I did hear a rumor that Brutus and Chloe were going at it all night in their trailer. Apparently,” she leaned over the tiger and covered his ears before lowering her voice to whisper. “They like to roleplay and the clowns were parked a little too close. They thought a pack of coyotes was prowling around their camp.”

  “Wow, I did not need to hear that.” I groaned, then chuckled. When our shared laughter over the ‘scandal’ faded, we fell into silence as I waited for the real answer.

  Lottie sighed. “I was telling him how sorry I was.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “Just,” she shook her head and stopped petting the tiger. “I don’t know, he has no family. He was just going to be thrown away.”

  “But he didn’t. He’s here, with you,” I offered, feeling the tendrils of my power oozing toward her welcoming aura.

  “I know, but the idea of someone just giving him up, sending him to a home where he would be destined to die because they weren’t raised in the wild, is just...sick. He is all alone now.” She leaned over the tiger’s large head and wrapped her arms around him in a loving hug. The tiger chuffed with adoration.

  “But, he does have a family,” I knelt beside her and reached toward the tiger. Resting my hand on him, I began to pet around his ears. “You are his family now.” I smiled, and Lottie looked at me with sad eyes. “He’s lucky to have such a compassionate person taking care of him.” I watched her face for a moment, feeling the warmth of trust and comfort radiating from her pink aura and saw the ghost-like trails of mine reaching for it.

  The end of my aura touched hers. I felt it begin to wind its way through searching for Lottie’s mind. I stood and stepped back quickly, forcing my ability to release itself.

  “I, uh, I’ll see you later.” I waved at her then swiftly headed back to my trailer not wanting to risk even pulling the tiniest piece of her power away from her. She was too good—too kind— to deserve that.

  Closing the squealing door behind me, I threw the lock and kicked off my shoes. I had passed my driving exam and recently found a small trailer attached to a beat-up old Ford Explorer. I may or may not have persuaded someone to sell it to me for very cheap. My father and I needed our space and if we continued to share a home we would undoubtedly end up killing each other. As he tended to lock himself away with a bottle of bourbon, it was for the best I took matters into my own hands and gave myself some freedom.

  It wasn’t anything special—four somewhat straight walls, a small bed, a tiny table, an even tinier kitchenette, a bathroom that doubled as a shower, and a few petite windows that let in just enough light to let you know it was daytime—but it was mine.

  Throwing myself onto the bed, I rolled my head to where a picture of my mother and I sat. The photo was faded and wrinkled from being packed in boxes, but I’d smoothed it out, found a cheap frame at the local thrift store, and hung it up to always remember her. It was my favorite photo of us—her face beamed with a genuine smile. I had finished playing at the pond and was covered in green algae. My mother told me I looked like an alien, so I chased her around the yard pretending to shoot her with a ray gun until she grabbed the hose and knocked me down with a blast of water. When my father came home and saw us laughing, he grabbed the camera and snapped the photo. It was one of the only times my father seemed to enjoy the family—our life. Even though that night ended with a bloody lip and me crying myself to sleep, the memory of my mother remained unchanged.

  A light tap brought me back from my memories. I sat in bed and waited to make sure I had heard and not imagined the sound. It came again and I scooted off the bed to open the door and found myself face to face with Lottie.

  “Hey, what’s—” I began, but she stepped into the trailer and kissed me. Her lips were cold from the night air and the smell of wet leaves wafted around her. Before I could think, the door clasped shut and she stepped forward, forcing me back, the edge of the table pushing into my spine. A shock of pain sparked up my back, but I pushed it away as I pulled her against me. Her warm hands were on my chest, trailing up and down, sending quivers of delight through my body. I ached for her, I needed her, and I couldn’t stop myself from allowing her hands to roam under my shirt and lift it over my head.

  “Lottie,” I groaned against her soft lips.

  “Shh.” She trailed her kisses down my chest, her delicate skin against mine. As she stood to kiss me again, I lifted her up and her legs wrapped around my waist. I took her back to my bed, laying her down gently. Her long hair was undone and flowing around her. The color and texture mirrored the inky tendrils that flowed from my aura and they mingled together as our hues crashed into each other and held on. Her breath was heavy as I gently lifted her shirt and pressed my lips against her porcelain skin until she moaned with delight.

  Without realizing what was happening, my power began to wrap around hers and began chipping away, pulling pieces of it out and placing them in a safe place in my mind. As we made love, I absorbed her ability and yet she seemed completely at ease as if the pain mixed with our tender kisses were giving her a new sense of pleasure.

  Lottie snored softly in her sleep. I smiled at her delicate features that seemed to glow more in the night time and kissed her bare shoulder. After we made love, we lay in bed wrapped around each other talking about our lives and how different—yet similar—they had been. She fell asleep in my arms and I couldn’t bring myself to wake her, so I had allowed myself to sleep against her silky hair that smelled like fresh rain and peonies.

  As I drifted off into the dream world, letting the Sandman control my slumber, I dreamed of finally being free of my father and living my own life—one I wanted to have with Lottie. Once my dream shifted into a nightmare, screaming began and awoke me instantly. Lotti
e jumped in my arms, startled by the sudden noise and looked around forgetting where she was.

  “What was that?” she asked in a sleepy tone.

  “I’m not sure,” I said as another scream sounded nearby. Exchanging looks of fear, we raced to put on our clothes and leave the trailer.

  “Oh, my god.” Lottie covered her gaping mouth and looked at me with wide concerned eyes.

  Everyone gathered around the trailer where the noise was coming from—my father’s.

  All the lights were off inside, but the moonlight cast shadows against the windows, and as the trailer rocked from side to side, a horrifying roar echoed through the camp.

  No one moved. We were all unsure of what we should do. Surrounding the trailer, we stood like a still from a movie, waiting to see what would happen next. Lottie shifted her weight as if to run forward.

  “No,” I said, grabbing her arm. She gave me a stern look before pulling away and running toward the trailer. I ran after her, my busted sneakers hitting the ground to intercept her. There was no way to know if the animal would attack her—or me—but I wasn’t about to risk her life in order to save my father’s.

  As Lottie reached for the door, a sudden silence washed through the cool night air, leaving us in a haunted haze. Blood pounded in my ears in time with my rapidly beating heart. My breath came out heavy and slow, and I put my hands on Lottie’s shoulders to draw her to me. Pulling her slightly behind my stance, I reached for the door and, as carefully as I could, I opened it.

  Before I looked inside I knew exactly what I would see. I knew the door would be splattered with fresh, crimson blood. I knew the floor would be spotted with pools of red liquid and that as I stepped into the trailer the tiger would be crouched over a body on the bed. I knew that if I looked closely, I would see a severed hand under the table and part of a shredded scalp smeared across the bathroom door. I knew because it was my nightmare.