Chapter 11 Esmeralda
Esmeralda
As the train crossed the tracks on the rickety bridge that towered over the canyon, Esmeralda grabbed the cellophane-wrapped gift from ángel Veracruz.
Her greedy hands tore at the packaging and pried open the box.
She sucked in a breath. Lying inside were the most beautiful silk gloves she’d ever laid eyes on.
They were pearly white with intricate needlework of doves flying in a starry sky.
“Wow,” she whispered, before hastily shoving them on.
The stitching glimmered as she raised her arms. She squealed at their beauty. She’d stolen lovely things for herself before, but nothing so striking had ever been gifted to her. Ignacio’s mother’s ring didn’t count.
But what could the gloves do? Camila and Pilar’s cloth cuffs gave them extra strength.
With that sort of help, their strongwoman act would be hard to beat.
The sisters were impressive enough without any sort of enchantments.
Esmeralda needed her gift to be damn near miraculous if she wanted to compete.
She tried to lift her cot to see if they made her exceptionally strong as well, but the bed was as heavy as before. She chewed on her lip, contemplating why the ringmaster would gift her gloves.
Inspiration struck. “If the Sánchezes received something that helps them with their act, I must have too!”
She rushed to her cabinet and pulled out her deck. A thrilling buzz shot from the tips of her fingers down the length of the gloves to where they stopped below her elbows. The cardstock used for her deck began to glow a beautiful kaleidoscope of brilliant purples, blues, blacks, and golds.
She turned the cards over, her eyes alight at the shimmering magic, but there was nothing different about them.
She shuffled the deck. Nothing extraordinary happened. She twirled the cards with her fingers. They looked pretty, casting rainbows against her wagon walls, but that wasn’t anything to brag about. She flicked a card with her wrist, aiming for her bed.
But the card did not spin away.
Instead, it twirled in the air, the cardstock folding into itself. Her mouth fell open as the card formed into the shape of a bird. A bird that was now flying in circles around her head.
“King’s toes,” she whispered. She blinked hard, watching the bird flap its tiny wings. “This is sensational.” A laugh escaped her. “This is amazing!”
Her smile faded ever so slightly when she realized the bird was a dove.
She’d only called herself La Paloma Blanca—the white dove—because it was the first thing that popped into her mind when she joined the carnival.
The ringmaster had said a stage name would make her seem more mysterious.
So she gave herself one. But she’d regretted naming herself that instantly.
Because every time she saw a damn dove, she thought of him.
Esmeralda shook her head to rattle all thoughts of Ignacio from her mind. He was gone. If only she could have left her memories of him in that jailer’s cart too.
She threw another card to see if the transformation was a fluke. It wasn’t. A second paper dove fluttered about her wagon. Giggling, she flung the entire deck into the air. A bevy of doves flapped their paper wings.
Her laughter grew.
She raised her arms and twirled in a circle, her skirts whirling around her legs. The doves followed her movement. She lowered her arms. The doves flew low to the floor.
“This is wonderful! Incredible! The bee’s knees!”
She danced, and they danced too.
When her hands fell to her sides, the doves tumbled to the floorboards, landing flat and uncreased as if they had never shifted shape.
“Absolutely astounding,” she said. Her front teeth scraped over her bottom lip as she peered down at the mess of cards on the floor. She rested her hands on her hips. “Now I need to figure out how flying doves will make me so unforgettable that ángel will have no choice but to pick me.”
The next morning, the train slowed to a stop in the undeveloped lands just beyond the next city they were set to perform in.
As far as cities went, it was nothing remarkable compared to some of the wealthier metropolises crowding Costa Mayor’s three coastlines.
But as the locomotive passed by the outer edges of the city, she could tell that it was large, with extravagant cathedrals built in the name of King Amadeo and buildings gleaming with new money, so it made sense why ángel would choose such a place.
Like a swarm of ants finding a picnic platter, the scores of performers and carnival hands funneled out of their boxcars and wagons and got to work. Tents needed to be raised. Games and roller coasters put in place before the day’s end.
The enchantments that fueled the traveling revelry were never as illustrious when the sun was up. Magic was lazy during the daylight hours. Carnival Fantástico had to be built like any other humdrum circus.
Elephants used their trunks to pull the bale ring—a massive steel hoop that helped raise the center poles of the Big Top.
People worked in tandem, singing about pretty ladies and money as they clanked their heavy mallets onto stakes.
The ringmaster’s newest recruits scampered back and forth, running errands for the stars of the Big Top show.
ángel was forever adding new crew to the carnival, needing to fill in the spots of those whose twelve months had come to an end.
When Esmeralda was the lead act, she would have all sorts of new recruits to boss around.
She pictured the scene now. Someone would cool her down with a feathered fan while she lounged on a chaise in her expensive costume.
She’d be eating cherries, just as she told Ignacio she would when they were younger.
People with money were always lazing about eating grapes in the pictures she’d seen.
But cherries? Now those were a luxury indeed.
She’d only had cherries on a few occasions in her life. Each time it had been with him.
She stomped her foot. “Stop letting your thoughts drift to that rodent of a boy,” she told herself. “You need to stay focused.”
Wit and panache wouldn’t earn her the lead spot alone. Her personality would only take her so far. She needed a glamorous new costume to fit the bill. It might bite into her savings, but this was an investment for her future.
Esmeralda slinked out her wagon door and headed straight to the tailor virtuoso. She burst through his tent with the full breadth of her excitement on display.
The tailor yelped, and the bolt of fabric in his arms thumped to the ground.
She winced. “Sorry, Jorge. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
He fanned himself with his fingers. “I thought you were one of my creditors finally come to do me in!”
She giggled and bent down to retrieve the fabric. It was a stunning shade of pearly white. Her thumb brushed over the cloth.
“This is perfect,” she whispered.
“It is!” He took it from her, scratching at his strawberry blond hair. “But for what, I haven’t decided.”
“Good thing I am here, then, because I just decided for you. I need a new dove costume.” Something that was as beautiful as her gloves. She couldn’t wear her old getup now. She’d look ridiculous.
“This material isn’t cheap, you know?” he said.
“I can’t expect all reward with no risk.”
“Might you have other reasons for wanting to dress beyond your means?” He wiggled his brows.
“Like what?” she asked.
He chuckled to himself and made a zipping motion on his lips.
She ignored him. She never trusted someone who spoke in riddles and exclamations. “I’ll need a new mask too.” To herself, she grumbled, “Some weasel made me break mine.”
When her purchase was completed, she skipped toward the very rear of the carnival where her wagon was normally placed by a team of horses. Esmeralda halted. She blinked at the empty space.
The rata who was forever pestering her about walking through Clown Alley stomped by. She grabbed his arm. “Can you tell me where my wagon has gone?”
“Moved you to the first ring,” he said. He looked her up and down with a scowl. “I can hardly see why.”
The first ring? That was where the most prized booths and acts were stationed. It wasn’t as good as having an act in the Big Top, but this was certainly something.
“May I go now?” he asked, his eyes darting to her hand.
“Certainly.” She started to release him, but then she remembered all the times he’d accosted her, the times he called her a third-ringer and tried to make her feel inferior. She clenched her nails into his skin. “Remind me again, where has my wagon been moved to?”
His eyes flared with irritation. “The first ring.”
“Oh my.” Her free hand went to her heart. “It looks like you’ll be seeing even more of me now. I do believe first-ringers have access to Clown Alley. Isn’t that right?”
“It is,” he growled.
“Pardon? I didn’t hear that?”
“You are correct.”
“How fabulous.” She released him and fluttered her fingers. “Off you go. I do thank you for the information.”
Cursing, the rata marched away.
She did a silly dance. The first ring.
Obviously, this upgrade was because she was in the Running to be the lead act.
She could only imagine how many more patrons she would have tonight.
With the tips she’d earn, she could buy herself all sorts of costumes.
Hell, she could get those lacy boots Jorge had on display.
He’d said they were for Anella the Contortionist, but they would look much better on Esmeralda.
With a squeal, she ran toward the center of the carnival.