Spectacular! - ON HOLD

Chapter Five

"There are three rules of performing," Cyrus declares, raising three fingers into the air, like a showman delivering his grandest secret. His eyes glint with mischief as he holds up his index finger. "The first," he says, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, "is that the show must always go on, Kenna."

"The show must always go on," I repeat as I memorize the words, letting them sink into my bones.

"Ruined costume?" He asks, tipping his head toward me, his brows raised in challenge.

"The show must always go on," I respond, more confident this time.

"Hurt body part?"

"The show must always go on."

"Feeling unwell?"

"The show must always go on."

"Crowd gets out of hand?"

"The show must always go on," I say again, realizing the mantra is quickly becoming second nature.

Cyrus grins, clearly pleased. "Good." He snaps his fingers and, with a flash, his indigo shirt is replaced by one of deep scarlet. "Now, the second rule," he continues, as if this transformation were merely part of the lesson. "Be on time."

"Be on time," I echo.

"The show must always start at seven sharp," he insists. "No exceptions. Ever."

I nod, committing the rule to memory. "And the third rule?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.

Cyrus clicks his tongue at me, his lips curling into a smirk. "Patience, Kenna. I was getting to that."

I raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin of my own. "Well? What is it?"

He leans in, and whispers conspiratorially, "Never, and I mean never, outshine the Ringmaster."

I blink, momentarily taken aback. "That's it?"

Cyrus straightens, looking slightly offended. "What do you mean, that's it?"

"I was expecting something a little more..." I search for the right word. "Exciting."

"Exciting?" He quirks an eyebrow at me, as if the very notion is absurd. "What could possibly be more exciting than me?"

I try not to laugh. "I just thought it was a given that the Ringmaster is the most important part of the show."

Cyrus puffs out his chest, clearly relishing the affirmation. "I am," he agrees, his tone grandiose.

"Then why the need for a rule making it so?" I question, fascination getting the better of me.

He snaps his fingers again, and suddenly his trousers shift into shimmering gold silk. "Because," he says, a sly smile creeping across his face, "there are some performers who think they're bigger than the circus."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Who would think that?"

"You'd be surprised," he says, his smile turning slightly sour.

"But you're Cyrus Hardgrove," I remind him. "Everyone comes to see you."

He swells with pride, and he tilts his chin up. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I answer without hesitation.

Cyrus grins, his honey-blond hair falling perfectly into place. "Kenna," he says, his voice warm, "I think you and I are going to be the best of friends."

I smile back, feeling a strange comfort in his words. "Tell me about your first show," I say as I sink into a nearby chair, feeling the plush fabric beneath me.