Cirque

7: 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍, 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Midnight had never crept up on me so quickly before. I spent nearly the entire day nervously jumping between my house and Carlos', my brain filled with nothing but thoughts of the circus and what lay within. Mum had received one of the silvery posters as well, slipped under our door. I figured they must have been passed around to all the houses in the area.

"Ya ain't gonna find me going there, girl. Bloody hell, no," Mum insisted, banging her coffee cup down so the dark pungent liquid splashed over the ceramic edge. I sighed, brushing my hair in the mirror.

"It's going to be amazing, mum," I insisted, then yelped as I dragged the brush across an especially nasty knot in my hair. I dreamed of the silky blonde tresses and naturally smooth skin that other girls had, but it was no use. Frustrated, I twisted my hair back up in a messy bun at the top of my head.

"Oh, heavens. Stay right here," Mum suddenly got to her feet and dashed to her room, still shouting as she walked. "If you're gonna go, I won't have you going like that. Oh, no I won't." Before I knew what was happening, she was back in the living room carrying a mysterious black dress-bag.

"A dress?" I said hesitantly. I was really more of a hoodie and sweatpants type of girl.

"Blimey, not just a dress, girl," Mum unzipped the bag and held it up for me to see. "This was your gran's."

It really wasn't just a dress. It was a statement, a promise, an invitation to new beginnings. Hanging up from an inconspicuous black hanger was a red jumpsuit made from silky velvet, with sparkling golden hearts, clubs, and diamonds. Thrown overtop was a shining gold jacket that looked like it was meant to be worn when riding a motorcycle across a tightrope. She held in her other hand a pair of black and white shoes lined with sequins like stars, slightly pointed at the toes like if a clown went on the runway.

I gasped, dropping the brush to the floor. "I can't wear that."

"Shush, you," Mum pushed the clothes into my arms. "Of course you can, and you will. Gran will jump for joy out of her grave knowing someone's putting this to use again." We never talked much about Gran, it was like an unspoken rule between the two of us. Knowing that Gran used to wear this beautiful, exotic, tantalizing outfit left me with more questions than answers.

I slipped on the clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. A perfect fit. As I twirled around, a chill passed through me. I was looking less and less like Cassandra Cowl, the London girl with no future, and more like a circus queen.

The clock struck eleven o'clock with a seemingly harmless chime. I pulled myself away from the mirror, slapped on a streak of red lipstick, and whirled out the door. "Bye, mom!" I called energetically. She waved goodbye lazily. Perhaps if she knew exactly what I was naively throwing myself into, she would have dragged me back, screaming and crying, locking me away safely in my room. But she didn't know, and neither did I.

"Woah." Carlos stared at me from the bottom of my trailer steps, his mouth agape. He snapped it shut and ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, looking good, Cass. Shall we?" He held open the door of his old banged-up white-and-black Toyota. I only smiled in response and climbed in.

As we made our way down the cracked pavement, Carlos played a few of his own band's songs on his car's old CD player. I looked at the dark trees flying by out the window as I was enveloped by the melodic sound of Carlos' voice singing about ends of beginnings and beginnings of ends. I hoped our conversation earlier hadn't been our end.

"Looks like we're not the only ones with this plan," Carlos grinned, slamming on the brakes. The small street that the old carnival lay on was packed with cars, lining up and solemnly moving forward like a funeral procession. As I gazed at the crowds pouring out of their vehicles, parked haphazardly anywhere there was room, my eyes began to sparkle and a smile slipped onto my face. It was as though for once, all of humanity had put their differences aside to come here tonight, to see the show.

At least, that's how it felt to me.

Carlos ditched the car and we climbed out into the chilly night. You could hardly tell it was dark outside, however. No moon or stars were needed tonight. The circus was no longer old and abandoned, nor was it boarded up in preparations. No, tonight it was alive. An inferno of lights blazed across the sky like an explosion of fireworks. Carnival music pierced the air with its jubilant charm and the sounds of laughter and cheers sparkled across the sky. I skipped forward, pulled in like a fish caught in a current. Already I could smell buttered popcorn and smoke from the torches of fire-eaters.

"Hold up, Cass!" Carlos pointed at the contrastingly black sign hung above the cherry-red gates that had been thrown open and that the crowd was pushing through. "Cirque de la Mort...do you speak French?"

"No," I responded. I didn't want to stand around here talking!

"Neither do I," Carlos shook his head and followed me forward, but I couldn't help but notice he looked a bit uncertain. We pushed our way into the crowd flooding through the gates, when I suddenly felt a hand tap me on the shoulder.

"Early the first time, now late the second, whatever shall we do with you, finingen?" I knew that voice! I whipped around, but Karl had already vanished from sight. I felt another tap on my shoulder and I jumped around just in time to see that confident smile staring right at me. He was wearing a loose green silk suit and had his blonde hair slicked back and tied behind his head. Karl wagged his finger at me. "Being punctual is your alter ego, I suppose?"

"It's not even midnight yet!" I protested. Karl gave a small bow and then suddenly swept my hand into his and gave it a cheeky kiss, winking at me. I felt my cheeks flush.

"But you are not just a regular guest, finingen, now are you?" He said smoothly, and I wished that I had some ice to cool down my cheeks.

"Hey there man," Carlos suddenly wrenched my hand away. "Get your hands off of her. Creep."

I couldn't believe that I was about to defend this stand-up comedian stalker. Fortunately for my already struggling relationship with Carlos, Karl didn't give me a chance. He jumped backwards, gave a small bow, and then waved us forward. "Krype? I'm afraid I don't understand, my friend. Now, to the big top. He doesn't like to be kept waiting." Then I blinked, and Karl was gone.

I practically had to drag Carlos through the crowd, towards the huge tent rising up in the center. It certainly hadn't been there when I snuck in this morning. The majority of the crowd was meandering in that direction as well, urged on by clowns in masks and fortune tellers with veils hurrying them forward.

Whoever he was, we were about to find out.

We scrambled to get seats right at the front of the huge circular stage surrounded by hundreds of red cushioned benches. Soft lights illuminated the smooth, empty stage, and I could feel the air of exhilarated anticipation that was shared by everyone there.

Well, everyone except Carlos. He kept grumbling under his breath, even as we took our seats.

And then, somewhere outside in the glittering night, a clock chimed midnight. I sat with bated breath as I counted down each chime, waiting for the twelfth strike. A great gong shook through the air and the lights flashed off, plunging the tent into complete darkness. Every single light in the carnival had gone off, like a candle being blown out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have been warned. Nothing here is real, and nothing here is fiction. So please, surrender your sanity and step into the court of the circus king."

The voice was as smooth and sweet as caramel, with a delicate french accent, and it caressed me like a kiss. I felt my heart flutter.

A single spot light turned on, the only light in the entire carnival. Standing cast in the ghostly glow was a tall, thin man, facing the ground, a gold-tipped cane held in front of him. He wore the outfit of a ringleader, only it was pitch black, from the ends of his coattails to the tip of his top hat. The only bit of color was his clean white gloves and the flowing lace of his cravat.

He looked up, straight into my eyes. His pale face was obscured by a black masquerade mask, and I noticed with shock that his hair was as white as snow.

Even with the mask, he was one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. Or he would have been, if it wasn't for the undeniably cruel smile he wore on his flawless face. He extended one gloved hand like a conductor beginning his magnum opus. The room was silent as he struck an invisible note.

"Now, shall we begin?"