Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
“ H ep ! Look out there, Mario! You’re falling behind!”
Paul Gallier’s voice rang out in the Big Top just as Mario completed his twisting double somersault and grabbed the fly bar, swinging to return to the board where their sister, Irina, stood waiting patiently. They were poised some twenty feet above the sawdust covered ground, but the sight was nothing new for either of them. Mario looked down at his older brother, flashing an apologetic smile in the face of Paul’s annoyance.
“Sorry about that,” he called down. Next to him, Irina snorted and reached out to ruffle his mop of hair.
“No, you aren’t,” she teased. “You’re such a drama queen! You live for the audience, watching with their hearts pounding, thinking you’re about to miss.”
“I never miss — none of us do,” Mario replied with a shrug.
She chuckled, but then at Paul’s warning shout, she whirled to catch the fly bar their sibling Jamie swung to her from the opposite board, and then she launched herself into the air for her own practice set. Mario watched her, but with only half his attention. While it was true that none of the Galliers ever missed a catch or a throw, he’d required more practice over the last six years. After over a hundred years of being a young teen, he had gained almost six inches in height, and he was broader and stronger now even than Paul. While his growth was a natural progression over several years, it still sometimes felt almost lightning fast compared to how long he’d been physically younger.
He could barely remember why he’d remained at the age he’d been when his family had joined the Carnival of Mysteries. He’d always been the baby of the family, and perhaps since Errante said the others wouldn’t age if they didn’t wish to, he’d gone along with that as well. Of course, that decision was made with all the wisdom of the child he had been, when offered the chance to be young and free forever. Even when Paul had teased him for being like one of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan, it hadn’t changed his mind. For decades, he had been content with the fact that he’d still found joy and wonder in simple things, excitement in performing and being part of the Carnival. Everyone treated him as a favored little brother, not just his own family. He supposed he’d been a mascot of sorts, and no one seemed to mind his enthusiasm for films and games. It had been a simple, carefree existence, without the cares that adults seemed burdened with, no matter how long they lived or how much magic they possessed.
But then he’d met Ilya and realized that sometimes there wasn’t an advantage to being seen as a child.
Since that day, Mario had no longer felt like a boy. He’d never gotten back that sense of wonder and innocence he’d once possessed, although he’d probably been blessed to hold on to it for as long as he had. The wants and needs of childhood had altered, and even if he never saw Ilya again, he wanted to find a partner of his own. He wasn’t certain if the same Carnival magic that kept him young had also kept him innocent, but despite the number of years he’d lived, sex had never interested him. Meeting a man who’d made him feel longing for the first time may have been the catalyst, but he’d seen enough of his parents’ closeness, and that of Errante and Rafe, to realize he needed more than what perpetual youth had offered.
He’d caught his family exchanging concerned looks a few times over the last few years, but Mario had never said a word about what had caused his decision to age. After a time, his family had accepted his new form and moved on, much as the Carnival moved on. Life changed in some ways, but mostly stayed the same. Only Paul had ever said anything, observing that Mario’s increased inches and weight meant they had to make modifications to their show. Not that Paul had seemed displeased; he’d been more matter-of-fact, so things went back to normal, and no doubt Mario’s lack of enthusiasm for pursuits that had once enchanted him was written off as proof that he was growing up at long last.
After cooling down from his practice, Mario decided to grab something to eat. They were starting with an evening performance that day, as was usual after they’d moved, so he had a bit of time to relax before reporting for pre-show warm-ups. He didn’t bother changing from his tights and tank top, since they would just get sweaty during warm-ups.
He beelined toward the food truck that sold his favorite meatball sub. It was heavy, but he never had stomach upsets when performing — a legacy of a metabolism that would have surprised even most of the people who had known his family for decades. And so he sat down at a table and dove in, enjoying the rich tomato sauce and cheese, washing bites down with ice cold soda and bites of the hot, salty fries that had come on the side.
As he was eating, Paul ambled down the midway, weaving through the press of attendees as he came over to the table and sat down with a sigh. “Too bad we don’t get the evening off today,” he said. “It means we won’t get to go out.”
Mario raised a brow. “What’s so special about this place?” They were often in one location for only a day or two, and Errante didn’t always declare a rest day. But they’d had a few days off in the last world they’d been on, so Mario didn’t feel like it was time yet for another.
“You don’t recognize it?” Paul seemed surprised, and he gestured toward the gate, where eager patrons were streaming in. “This is the world where I took you to the Circo Del Artes performance a few years ago. I was hoping we’d come back one day so I could catch another performance.”
Mario stared at Paul, his food forgotten. Circo? The world where he’d met Ilya?
“Yeah, too bad, I guess,” he said at last, when Paul frowned at him, appearing puzzled by his prolonged silence.
“Well, I enjoyed that show.” Paul snagged a few fries from Mario’s pile. “I thought you did, too. But you seemed different afterward.”
Mario had never shared with anyone the strange things he’d felt back then or the reason behind his decision. He wasn’t even sure if he understood it completely himself.
“It was a good show,” he said, giving a shrug. “We added a strap routine because of it, right? But if you’ve seen it once….”
Paul laughed. “Right, right, and you complain about my need to change things up when you’re just as bad.” He snatched a few more fries as he stood up. “Well, back to the grind. Don’t be late for warm-ups.”
Mario watched him go, and then he turned his attention back to his sandwich. He barely tasted the food as he mulled over what Paul had said. He idly considered, not for the first time, whether he might leave the Carnival for a while, find a world to visit for more than a few days, and try to discover who he was outside of the magical protections the Carnival afforded him. It might be fun to be on his own for a time, and he knew Errante and his family would welcome him back when he returned. It would be dangerous, of course, but perhaps it was time for him to embrace a bit of real danger, rather than performative danger for the sake of their audience.
He was preoccupied for the rest of the day, focusing only when it was time for warm-ups and the performance. Once it was over, and the crowds had dispersed, he showered and changed into jeans and a plain black shirt. It was late by Carnival standards, but as he walked through the dark, quiet Midway, he could see the brilliant lights of Las Vegas illuminating the northwest sky. It beckoned to him like a siren’s song.
Fortunately, he was well-versed in using technology, since many of the worlds they visited possessed similar versions of various devices — and his insatiable curiosity always had him poking at new “toys” to figure out how they worked. Since the Carnival always allowed its denizens to blend in if they went out into the world, he hadn’t been surprised that morning when he found currency for this place on his dresser, along with a cell phone, which he now used to summon transportation. Within fifteen minutes, he was headed toward the lights which shone in the distance, not acknowledging why he was going, but simply accepting that he must.
He had the driver drop him at the foot of the Strip, and he walked north along it, weaving through the crowds with easy grace, unremarked by those he passed. He wasn’t as good as Errante at slipping into shadows, but he had his own set of skills. It wasn’t long before he found himself at a familiar facade, where an ad for Circo Del Artes, different from the one he’d seen before, played much larger than life on the wall of brick and glass.
Relief washed over him. He hadn’t consciously let himself wonder how much time had passed on this world since the last time the Carnival had visited, but it could have been any amount, either forward or backward on the time-stream. But it seemed he was within a few years of when he’d been here last, so he followed the crowd into the Casino and toward the Big Top.
Again there were ads for the acts, but his heart sank when he didn’t recognize Ilya in the visuals for the aerialists. Had he moved on to a different show or a different city?
A burning need to know gripped him, and Mario pulled out the phone, looking for a search engine and then entering “Ilya” and “Circo Del Artes” and “Las Vegas.” The first link that came up was the main page for Circo, but under that was something about employment, and he could see “Ilya Mirov” in the summary. He clicked on it, his heart racing, and found an announcement for auditions for Circo acts. There was a brief description of the requirements that he dismissed as being far below his current abilities, followed by, “selection will be by a panel of reviewers under the direction of world-famous aerialist Ilya Mirov.”
So Ilya was still with Circo. The knowledge eased a panic Mario didn’t even realize he’d been feeling. He looked at the ad once again, noting a date, time, and location given, which he frowned at before looking up the current date on the phone.
Tomorrow morning. The auditions were tomorrow . And something within him burned with the desire to go see Ilya — and to try out.
It was crazy, of course. Seeing Ilya was one thing, but trying to get a job with Circo.… What if he passed the audition? What if, gods forbid, he failed? Then there was the fact that he’d already been thinking about taking a break from the Carnival, spending some time discovering more of a place and its inhabitants than what a few short days could reveal. He’d had brief glimpses of so many worlds, but he’d seen nothing of them more than the people who passed by, crossing his Path but never affecting it.
It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? What did he need to prove to anyone? Was he really just trying to prove something to himself?
He wandered back out of the casino, mind whirling and awash with possibilities. He was barely aware of summoning a ride back to the Carnival, but finally, he was back in his own room in the family trailer. Everyone else was asleep, so none had seen him enter or they certainly would have questioned him about where he’d been. He stripped off his clothes and fell on his bed, still undecided about what he was going to do.
After a time, he must have fallen asleep, since the next thing he knew, the early morning sun was shining in through the windows since he’d not thought to draw the shades. He sat up, remembering dreaming of soaring through the air, sometimes on straps and sometimes with wings. But Ilya had always been there as well, and Mario had reached out a hand toward him, though it seemed their fingers never touched, always falling short of connection. Was it a sign or a warning?
Sighing, he rose from the bed, showered, and dressed in practice clothing topped with a loose tunic before leaving the trailer for the midway. He always thought better on a full stomach.
As he wandered toward the food trucks, he saw Persephone, the seer, walking toward him.
“Break a leg today,” Persephone greeted him, humor in her dark gaze. “You’ll do great.”
“Wait, what?” He frowned at her. Could she possibly know the direction of his thoughts?
Persephone smiled serenely. “You already know, Mario. I must go now. I’m late for breakfast with your mother.”
With that, she walked on in a swirl of purple skirts, leaving him staring after her. It annoyed him sometimes how Errante and Persephone often spoke in riddles. But maybe she’d already seen that he was going to audition today? How could she know when he hadn’t even made up his own mind?
After eating, he pulled out his phone, looking at it with a scowl as he checked the time. He had enough time to make it to the auditions, and maybe he should go. Perhaps all he needed was to see Ilya and prove himself capable, and that would be enough to appease this restlessness inside of him. And in seeing Ilya, perhaps he’d find that the unformed yearnings of an adolescent body would disappear when confronted once again. After all, he was hardly an untouched child any longer, and no doubt he’d laugh at himself for what he’d felt years ago. It wasn’t as if he was planning to do anything — he simply needed to know. Right?
A strange peace settled on him once he’d decided, so he headed toward the gates. Whatever happened now, at least he wouldn’t feel as though he’d been a coward who’d never tried.