Chapter 1 Esmeralda #3
“I’m thrilled for you two,” Esmeralda said.
That wasn’t a complete lie. She wanted the best for her friends.
Though, she wanted the best for herself a tiny bit more.
The Sánchezes had joined the carnival at the same time as Esmeralda, but they didn’t need to escape the country like she did.
They didn’t have a one-way ticket to the front lines of war, where all criminals ended up, looming over their heads.
“I didn’t want to join the Running,” Camila admitted. “But you know Pilar, she loves attention. And all the money we’ll make for being the lead act will help our family back home.”
Esmeralda painted a smile on her face and nodded numbly.
Damn Pilar and her brilliant showwomanship.
They moved through the performers gossiping and dressing before the Big Top show began.
They passed beneath a string of bulbous lanterns.
The sparkly lights flickered as Sophia the Juggler’s pickpocket of a monkey swung from left to right.
Esmeralda led Camila away from the pesky primate.
She’d avoided the little beast since he’d stolen one of her broaches.
Granted, she’d nicked the broach first, but that wasn’t the point.
She stuck out her tongue at him. The monkey offered a vulgar gesture in return. Esmeralda gasped.
“My sister is so concerned about catching the ringmaster’s eye,” Camila said.
“She never shuts up about how dreamy she thinks he is.” She jerked her chin toward a poster glued to the back wall of a tent.
Drawn in that same enchanted ink used on Esmeralda’s cards was a painting of the famed ringmaster and owner of Carnival Fantástico, ángel Veracruz.
In the poster, he was bowing, his top hat resting on his trim torso.
The ink shifted like sand caught in a gust of wind.
Now, the ringmaster stood to his full height, a knowing grin on his handsome face.
He was young and charismatic. Half of the carnival’s customers came just to catch a glimpse of him.
Perhaps even more of him if the opportunity arose.
ángel Veracruz was a notorious philanderer.
Then he was gone, and the ink changed once more, revealing glittering letters.
Do you long for fame and glory?
Then you’re in luck!
I am searching for my next main act.
Performers: Add your name to the Running if you dare.
Try your hand, prove your worth, and see if good fortune is in the air.
The posters had been the talk of the carnival since they started sprouting up two weeks ago.
Melanie the Marionette had been the star of the show up until then.
Her act was like nothing anyone had ever seen.
She’d built a massive mechanical dummy, but instead of her holding up the dummy, its strings were attached to Melanie.
She became the marionette, dancing and twirling and soaring in the air.
Until, one day, she disappeared. Some people speculated she’d run off with a wealthy patron.
Others said something suspicious was afoot.
The ringmaster insisted she was simply ready to retire and live her life in peace.
Whatever the case might be, the carnival needed a shiny new performer to lure in the crowds. Audiences were eager for something different. For a fresh face to wow them into oblivion.
Esmeralda was eager to be that face.
Sure, she didn’t perform any daring tricks that would awe crowds. She was only a fake fortune teller, and a pitiful one at that. But she had charisma. She could wow.
Not like Nicola the Escape Artist, or David the Knife Thrower, or the bear trainer, or the trapeze artists, or the Sánchezes’ strongwoman act, or any of the other acts currently performing in the Big Top for that matter.
That was a minor detail, though.
She’d figure out how to be even better as soon as she was chosen.
If she was chosen.
No.
She wouldn’t let an if ruin her night.
When she was chosen. Because she had to be chosen.
She and Camila dipped to the side to dodge a bull elephant’s trunk as he reached for his favorite snack—the fresh fruit bouquets the concessions slinger painstakingly prepared every day.
The elephant swiped three bunches and stuffed them into his mouth, paper packaging and all.
Esmeralda grabbed one for herself and took a bite out of a candy-coated strawberry.
Camila clicked her tongue.
“What?” Esmeralda said with her mouth full. “Krystal should know better than to leave her cart where the menagerie lines up before the show.”
“Good point.” Camila tugged a skewer filled with sour-coated grapes from the bouquet. “I wonder who else will be in the Running,” she mused as they wove around the black-and-white-striped canvas that made up the Big Top.
Anyone could add their name into the Running, but only the very best, the brightest, the shiniest of stars—in the ringmaster’s eyes—got invitations to join.
Those who were special enough to participate then had to pass three separate challenges that started and ended according to the ringmaster’s whims. Until only one remained.
That person would be the new face of Carnival Fantástico.
The gilded feather on ángel Veracruz’s top hat.
“So far, I know of five other acts that got invitations. And ten others who received rejection letters,” Camila said.
Esmeralda winced at the thought. She’d die of shame if she got one of those letters. Or simply crawl into a dark cavern and never leave.
Camila went on, “The ringmaster always picks eight to start with.”
Two acts left, then. Esmeralda still had a shot. She could still be chosen. Perhaps he was saving the best for last.
The best what? she asked herself. You don’t even have an act.
But she was savvy. She trusted she’d come up with something when the time came.
She’d written La Paloma Blanca: Fortune Teller Extraordinaire and Renaissance Woman when she had signed herself up for the Running.
She might have fibbed and said she could perform as an aerialist, singer, fortune teller, cobra tamer, and all-around star.
Upon reflection, the cobra-tamer part might have been too much.
Camila eyed Esmeralda with a raised brow.
Esmeralda did the same. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You seem awfully distracted this evening. Normally, you’re going on and on about everything and everyone.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She shoved two berries from the stolen fruit bouquet into her mouth, chomping noisily.
She hadn’t told Camila or Gabriel that she had added her name into the Running, for fear of not being chosen. She had just over two months left with the carnival; she couldn’t live out the rest of that time with them knowing she wasn’t good enough to be picked. Knowing she wasn’t special enough.
She was forever being pushed aside for something or someone better.
Her parents did it when she was ten. The boy she once loved did it even after he told her he’d love her forever.
Even Gabriel, who had also joined the carnival with her on the same day and was also on the run from the law, didn’t entertain the idea of fleeing with her when their term ended because he had someone he loved more waiting for him on the outside.
She needed to prove to herself that she was worth something to somebody.
That she could be loved and wanted. And chosen.
They exited Clown Alley and continued through the carnival until they made it to the third ring, where the least popular attractions were situated.
They slowed as they neared a shabby wagon.
Esmeralda had painted fortune telling cards on the front to give the impression that a great seer resided within.
That was a scam, of course. She could see into the future as much as the next person. Still, she made do.
Esmeralda peeked around the corner, where a short queue of customers had formed. She deflated. There weren’t nearly as many as she’d hoped. The cotton candy girls were there, at least.
“You’re going to watch the show tonight, right?” Camila asked.
“And miss another opportunity to witness you and Pilar argue in front of the entire audience again? Not a chance.”
“That only happened once.”
“And it was hilarious.”
“Glad you find disagreements with my sister entertaining.” Camila held out her hand. “You’re the bee’s knees.”
“And you’re the cat’s meow.” Esmeralda licked her thumb—gross, but she’d done worse—and sizzled it into Camila’s palm.
She couldn’t exactly remember why or how they had started that tradition, just like she couldn’t remember why or how Camila had decided Esmeralda was worthy of her friendship.
But Esmeralda supposed that was how friendships worked.
They weren’t forced; they simply were. Not that she was an expert on the matter.
Esmeralda had had three close friends total throughout her nearly nineteen years, one of whom was now dead to her.
She started for the metal steps leading to the back entrance of her wagon but stopped abruptly. She blinked hard. Rubbed her eyes. Then blinked hard again.
Her eyes were not deceiving her. A black envelope was waiting on the top step. Beside it sat a box wrapped in shiny cellophane.
Her pulse began to race.
She whirled around, searching for Camila, but her friend was already lost amongst the throng of revelers in ridiculous costumes. “Drats.” She faced what lay on the step, gluing her eyes to the envelope as if it were a mirage that might melt away. Fortunately, it remained.
With a nervous squeal, she snatched up the envelope. A hand mirror framed in the familiar bell-shaped flowers had been stamped onto the parchment—the official symbol of Carnival Fantástico. She let out another squeal before grabbing the box and racing into her wagon, shutting the door behind her.
She took a deep breath.
“If it’s not an invitation, you will be okay.”
That was a lie.
“If this is a rejection, you will be fine.”
She wouldn’t.
She needed this. She needed to be chosen. To be picked. To be believed in. To be seen as worthy.
No, those things weren’t practical. What she really needed was the opportunity to earn her weight in gold coins.
Ravenously, she tore open the envelope. She tugged out an obsidian-colored card.
And her heart plummeted to her toes.