Airs Above the Ground (Carnival of Mysteries)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

“ W ow, this is huge !”

Mario Gallier stared up at the enormous fa?ade of the casino, where a projected image at least twenty stories high advertised the featured show. They’d only been in Las Vegas for a couple of hours, but he found the lights, noise, and frenetic energy of the Strip almost overwhelming, even after over a hundred years in the Carnival of Mysteries. The Carnival was powered by magic, which was dazzling of course, but after so many years it was also familiar and rarely filled him with wonder any longer. He’d been told there was very little magic in this world, but the technology almost made up for it, and what he’d seen so far was incredible, rivaling even Nik’s talent at lighting up the midway. Everything here was bigger, louder, and bolder, designed to grab a person’s attention and bludgeon it into submission. But the video billboard was larger than anything else, dazzling against even the lights of the crowded roadway called the Strip.

The video shifted to display tantalizing glimpses of acrobats, dancers, and jugglers, trying to whet the appetites of the thousands of tourists passing by in search of entertainment, and Mario watched raptly until the images of the performers were replaced by colorful script proclaiming “Phantasma — Come Live the Dream,” followed by “Circo Del Artes.”

He glanced at his brother, Paul, who was regarding him with amused tolerance. “It kind of makes the Carnival look like a kiddie show, doesn’t it?”

“It’s impressive,” Paul admitted.

Paul was handsome, with the same dark hair and green eyes shared by all the members of their family. He looked like someone in his late twenties while Mario appeared to be in his mid-teens, but their true ages would have shocked anyone who discovered them. Although their actual ages were so close that it barely mattered, Paul still seemed to consider him the “little” brother, and his smile was rather patronizing.

“But it’s no better or harder than what we do. It’s just different. But I think you’ll enjoy the show. Maybe we’ll even pick up some new tricks we can incorporate into ours.” Paul created most of the choreography for the Flying Galliers, and he was always changing things to make their show more amazing. Given how long as they’d be performing — and with their family’s unique talents — Mario had to admit, Paul’s ability to keep their act fresh was pretty damned spectacular. But he rolled his eyes for show.

“Work, work, work.” Mario heaved a dramatic sigh, as though Paul’s attitude were a surprise. And while it wasn’t, Mario was also pleased Paul had invited him to visit Las Vegas when Errante, who ran the Carnival, had given everyone a couple of days off to enjoy themselves when they’d arrived on this world. The Carnival was stationed in a small nearby town, one they’d been to a few years before, but that had been before Errante and Rafe, the Ringmaster, had defeated Set, who had been Errante’s nemesis. That time, only Paul had gone out exploring, and Mario had stayed behind, happy to watch movies in his room and hang out with the roustabouts. But he’d found himself less content with his own company lately and beset with a restlessness he’d not felt before. So Paul’s invitation to accompany him to the much bigger city had been a godsend, getting Mario out of the Carnival for a while to experience something new.

Paul snorted. “Do you want to see the show or not?”

“Yes, of course!” Mario moved along with the crowd that was pushing its way toward the casino entrance. He had to grab hold of Paul’s arm to keep from getting separated, and he raised his voice a bit to be heard above the laughing, excited people around them.

Inside the casino, the high ceiling soared up at least thirty feet, and it had been painted to resemble the sky. Clouds seemed to shimmer with reflected golden light, as though the sun were setting. In the distance, however, he could see a recreation of a circus tent, striped in red and white similar to the one where his family performed. It was only a fa?ade set into the wall where the “sky” curved down to meet the floor, but it was still an impressive sight.

Further conversation became impossible, but Mario laughed, almost giddy with excitement at the party atmosphere of the crowd. The scent of the enthusiasm and anticipation of so many people slammed into his senses and heightened them to a degree he’d never felt before.

“Watch yourself.” Paul smacked Mario’s hand that was curled around his arm.

Mario glanced down and gasped when he saw his fingernails had lengthened and sharpened into claws. The sight sobered him at once, and he drew in a deep breath and steadied his emotions. It wouldn’t do to let his inner nature out here — in fact, it would be disastrous for his entire family. Chastened, he admired the swirl of feelings around him without getting swept up in them.

Everyone appeared to be headed, as they were, toward the famous “Biggest Top in Vegas!” that housed Circo Del Artes. When they reached the entrance, Paul pulled two tickets from his pocket and presented them to the ticket-taker, who was wearing a rather skimpy “clown” costume consisting of facepaint, a short, harlequin patterned skirt and matching corset, along with fishnets and high heels. Mario preferred the outfits of the Carnival’s clowns, which relied on artistry rather than a blatant appeal to baser instincts.

Once they were inside, the space opened up, and Mario felt like he had room to breathe again. He glanced around eagerly at the life-size posters showing the various circus acts. There were no animals; instead, Circo Del Arte used people made up like fantastical creatures in their place. Now these costumes were incredible, consisting of body paints, feathers, elaborate headpieces and contact lenses, which were far more interesting in his opinion. But it was the images of the aerialists which drew him like a magnet, and he dragged Paul over to a photomosaic depicting them in action.

“Look at this,” he said, pointing to an image of a man and woman wrapped in fabric, dangling high above the stage. The female partner was suspended by only the grip of her partner around her ankles, and her body was arched fluidly in flight. “No nets! Just like us. They must be fantastic.”

“They are,” Paul replied as he studied the images, his face alight with interest. “They’re doing a different show from when I was here last. That should be interesting.”

Mario glanced around in fascination, not knowing what he wanted to look at next, but before he could decide, Paul was herding him along to the entrance to the main performance area. They found their seats near the stage, and Paul bought popcorn and sodas from the vendors who were walking up and down the aisles, hawking the snacks on their brightly painted trays.

The show began, and Mario found himself in thrall. He couldn’t believe the way the contortionists twisted their bodies into impossible positions or how the jugglers kept so many varied objects in the air, never missing a beat or dropping a single one. His whispered question to Paul was met with the assurance that no magic was involved, but Mario had his suspicions that at least a few of the jugglers must be more than what they appeared.

The gymnasts were similarly amazing, even though he watched them with a critical eye, waiting to spot any errors. But it was the aerialists who completely enchanted him, soaring high above the stage as lightly and effortlessly as though they had wings. He could imagine himself soaring with them, defying gravity and thrilling the audience.

A group of four women performed a beautiful routine on the silks. The long strips of fabric were suspended from the ceiling, and the women used them in ways Mario had never seen before, wrapping themselves, swinging, doing splits and somersaults. They tangled themselves in the fabric, and then they plummeted toward the floor, only to be stopped by the way they’d wrapped themselves before they could fall to certain death on the stage below.

The sight was mesmerizing, and Mario clapped as hard as he ever had, awed by their skill. But as the lights went down, Paul nudged him. “That was just the warmup. This is what I really wanted you to see. It’s something I think we could add to our act, you and me.”

Curious, Mario returned his attention to the ring, where a set of spotlights illuminated the center. As he watched, two figures emerged from the shadows opposite each other, moving slowly as the music began a rhythm like the beating of a heart. The two men were dressed in only long black pants that clung to their legs; they both wore black masks over their faces, and their oiled, muscular chests gleamed in the light.

The first man was blond and slightly taller and more slender than his partner, but the shorter, more muscular man held Mario’s attention. He’d seen plenty of well-built men before; Rafe, the Carnival’s Ringmaster, was very buff indeed, and of course Samson, the strongman, was like a walking wall of muscle. But this man, with his face hidden and his dark hair a close-shorn cap around his head, drew Mario’s gaze, and he couldn’t look away.

He watched while the men circled each other, as the tempo of the music increased. Then an apparatus descended from the ceiling: two sets of chains, a bar separating them at the top, with long, thick fabric straps dangling from either end of the bar. Each man grasped a pair of the straps, placing one hand into loops on the ends. They continued to circle one another, moving faster, before the apparatus ascended once more, lifting the men from the ground by the straps around their wrists.

And that was when they began to fly.

Mario couldn’t describe it any way other than “flight.” The men rocketed out over the audience with their arms at their sides before they twisted and hurtled back toward each other once more. When they crossed paths, they each reached out one arm and grasped hands so their momentum drew them into a rapid spin around their center. In perfect synchrony, they released each other and parted as the apparatus rose even higher into the air. Their movements were perfect mirrors of one another: spins, drops, intricate twists and tricks that made Mario gasp, certain that one of them would lose their grip on the straps and plummet to their death. But they didn’t, and after an eternity that ended too quickly, they were lowered back to the ground. Once they released the straps, they clasped arms and bowed to the thunderous applause.

Mario surged to his feet, clapping so hard his hands hurt, but he didn’t care. He kept his eyes on the shorter man until he took his last bow, ran off the stage, and disappeared into the shadows with his partner.

“What did you think?” Paul asked, leaning close to Mario and lowering his voice. “They call it aerial straps. It’s very different from the trapeze. Do you think we can do it?”

“Of course we could,” Mario said. He felt a pull toward the sensation of flight and to the connection the two partners had shared. It was something almost magical, and it made him yearn for a connection beyond the current limits of his life. There was more magic in the multiverse to be found beyond even something like the Carnival.

The rest of the performances barely registered with Mario. His mind kept replaying the movements of the strap duo, especially the dark-haired man. To soar the way they had would be a joy, and he longed to experience it for himself. After the show ended, Mario was still preoccupied with thoughts of the aerialists, and he rose to his feet to follow the rest of the audience out as if he was on autopilot. Once he reached the aisle, however, Paul took his arm and stopped him in his tracks.

“There’s a special after event I got for us,” Paul said, tugging Mario off to one side as the happy, chattering crowd continued toward the exits. “Want to meet the performers?”

The mere suggestion was enough to make Mario catch his breath. “Even the men from the straps?”

Laughing, Paul guided him toward one side of the stage, where a short line had already formed. “If we’re lucky. Come on!”

The others in the line had bought the same package Paul had, and Mario could feel their excitement and anticipation echoing his own. The wait was only a few minutes, but to Mario, it seemed ages before they were escorted backstage.

The scene was far more chaotic than Mario was used to, but then Circo had more performers and didn’t have magic to help move set pieces about. There was an energy to it all that he liked. As he followed along behind Paul, he caught snatches of conversation from the performers they passed, some teasing each other for tiny mistakes or bragging about their perfection. It was both familiar and yet subtly different as well.

As they neared a small area that was roped off, he saw a group of people obviously waiting for them. They were still in costume, but their masks were off, and Paul took Mario’s arm again.

“They’re here!” he said, and Mario was beyond excited to catch sight of the performers they’d both hoped to see.

Paul practically dragged him to the aerialists, and as they drew closer, Mario could see that the taller man was handsome, with a razor sharp jawline and bright blue eyes. He was powerful and elegant, and no doubt both men and women panted after him in droves, so Mario wasn’t surprised at all when Paul immediately struck up a conversation with him.

Yet Mario once again found himself drawn to the man’s partner. Up close, the shorter man wasn’t classically attractive. His features weren’t finely carved, and his nose was hawkish rather than patrician. But there was a magnetism to him, a leashed power that seemed to call to Mario and made his heart race. And when the man turned his hazel-eyed gaze toward him and smiled, Mario felt like the sun had risen. He’d never seen a more handsome man in his entire life, and it made him yearn in a way he’d never felt outside of certain vivid dreams and fantasies. He was probably staring like an idiot, but he was caught in the man’s gaze like a fly in a spider’s web. Fortunately, Paul rested his hand on Mario’s shoulder, startling him and breaking the spell.

“This is my baby brother, Mario,” he said. “Mario, meet Derek and Ilya. I was just telling Derek about our little troupe.”

“A family of performers? That sounds great,” Derek said, giving him a grin. But as stunning as Derek was, his smile didn’t affect Mario the way Ilya’s — and wasn’t that a sexy name — had.

Mario returned the smile. “It can be a lot of fun, but also annoying when you have a brother who is a taskmaster like Paul.” He found his attention drawn back to Ilya. “I’m an aerialist, too,” he said, straightening to his full height. He was proud of his family and of his own place in their show. “We mostly do trapeze, but Paul is thinking of us adding straps to our routine, because we liked your performance so much.”

Ilya raised a brow. “It isn’t easy,” he warned, though his voice was kind. “It takes a lot of strength and endurance. I suggest you add weight lifting to your routine if you don’t do it already. Then, when you are older, it will be easier.”

For a moment, Mario frowned, confused by the comment. He was over a hundred and twenty. Wasn’t that old enough? Then he remembered Ilya was judging him by his outer appearance and seeing him as no older than mid-teens.

Stung by the words — and by the slight condescension of Ilya’s tone — Mario protested. He was at least four times Ilya’s age, and he didn’t want to be regarded as some typical, star-struck adolescent. “I assure you, I’m not?—”

Before he could say anything further, Paul slung an arm around his shoulders. “Being older does make a difference,” Paul said. “It was a pleasure to meet you both. We should let you greet the rest of your fans. Thanks for talking to us!” With that, Paul steered him firmly away.

Mario looked back over his shoulder and saw others quickly took their place to speak to Derek and Ilya. He felt a pang that Ilya had already turned his attention to a young woman who was gushing at him animatedly.

When they’d moved off a short distance, Mario shrugged off Paul’s arm. “What was that all about?” he asked, annoyed. “I’m not a child, Paul!”

Paul dropped his voice. “They don’t know that, remember?” He shook his head, drawing in a deep breath before taking Mario’s arm once again. “This world isn’t for us, my brother. We’ll take from it what learning experiences we may and leave it be. Let’s go home.”

Mario, for once, was silent as Paul guided him through the casino and then called for a car to take them back to the Carnival. Perhaps Paul was correct, and this world wasn’t for them. But the thought didn’t stop him from looking back through the rear window as they drove away from the massive hotel, and he felt he was leaving some small part of himself behind. It was a thought that disturbed him, but there didn’t seem to be any help for it.

When they reached the Carnival, Mario was still unsettled. Paul left him to his mood and headed off toward his own trailer. Mario walked slowly beneath the archway and meandered down the silent midway. He wandered aimlessly for a time, not really seeing the familiar tents, until he became aware of someone walking toward him. His night vision was far better than a normal human’s, so he recognized the tall, slender form of Errante, the owner of the Carnival.

Errante drew near him and then paused. “I sense your Path is changing,” he said. “What is it you seek, my friend?”

Mario wasn’t certain what was wrong with him, but when he looked into Errante’s dark eyes that whirled with possibilities, he found himself speaking. “I need to grow up,” he said. As soon as he heard the words come out of his mouth, he felt a sense of peace and clarity. “I want to grow up.”

“And so you shall,” Errante said. “Do not be afraid to embrace what you will become, Mario. At some point, we must all leave behind what no longer serves us.”

“Yeah, I get that now,” Mario said slowly. “I guess it just took me a while to figure that out.”

Errante reached out to touch Mario’s shoulder, a brief pressure that felt almost like a benediction. “Even if it isn’t entirely clear to you now, have no fear. Trust that your Path will lead you to where you need to be.”

With that, Errante stepped past him, but when Mario turned to say good night, Errante was already gone.

“Easy to say when you’re some kind of god,” he murmured. Then he chuckled and headed toward the trailer he still shared with his parents, wondering what his mother would say to the thought of her youngest child deciding that he was finally ready to become a man.