Chapter 4
Lottie
The lights go down, right here on the first night of the Sterling and Sons Circus as the entire tent plunges into darkness.
A hush falls over the crowd, and for a moment, the only sound is the collective intake of breath from a thousand people waiting for something magical to happen as the scent of sawdust and popcorn permeates our senses.
The spotlights explode to life in red, blue, purple, and gold, swirling across the center ring like a kaleidoscope on steroids.
The music swells, dramatic and bombastic, and suddenly Jump is there, standing in the center of the ring with his arms spread wide and his crimson tailcoat catching the light like fire, as if he somehow materialized from thin air.
A round of oohs and ahhs circles the crowd, already regaled by the sleight of hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” His voice booms through the tent and rattles everything, right down to my underwire bra. “Boys and girls! Welcome to the world-renowned Sterling and Sons Circus!”
The crowd erupts in applause, and Lyla Nell bounces so hard in Noah’s lap I’m worried she’s going to launch herself into orbit.
“For one week only,” Jump continues, spinning on his heel, “we bring you the most spectacular, death-defying, awe-inspiring acts this side of the Atlantic! Each night, a new show! New wonders! New thrills! So come back tomorrow, and the next night, and the next, because I promise you, you’ve never seen anything like what we have in store! ”
More applause. More cheers.
Jump tips his top hat. “And don’t forget, next Saturday night, our grand finale, we’re inviting YOU, the good people of Honey Hollow, to join us in the ring for our Local Legends Circus Benefit!
All proceeds go to the Honey Hollow Youth Athletics Program, so sign up at the door and show us what you’ve got! ”
The crowd goes wild, and Lyla Nell nearly claps her hands right off. The boys look bewildered, as if they’re assessing if they should break out in an all-out scream or simply call it a day and nod off. Heaven knows they have a strict no shut-eye policy as soon as we get within a block of the house.
Jump gives a bow and sweeps his hat in a grand arc. “But enough about next week. Tonight, we give you a show you’ll never forget! Let the circus begin!”
He vanishes in a puff of smoke—or at least that’s what it looks like—and, just like that, the ring is full of performers.
Acrobats tumble and flip across the sawdust, their sequined costumes catching the light as they twist through the air as if gravity is optional.
A trio of clowns stumbles into the ring, tripping over oversized shoes and throwing confetti that somehow lands in everyone’s hair.
One of them pulls a never-ending scarf out of his pocket, and Lyla Nell shrieks with delight.
“Lottie,” she calls out. “I want pretty blanket!”
I nod her way and try not to frown, or heaven forbid smile and egg her on. “I’ll get right on it.”
Lottie is not amused.
Soon enough, the elephants appear, and I’m oohing and ahhing right along with the crowd. And the best part? These elephants seem to be of the living and breathing variety. There are three of them, massive and gray, and each one wears a sparkly headpiece that makes them look like royalty.
They lumber into the ring with a grace that shouldn’t be possible for creatures that size, and the crowd gasps as one of them stands on its hind legs, balancing on a platform no bigger than a dinner plate. I couldn’t pull that off on my best day, and I have considerably less of me to balance.
“Can you believe this?” I say to Everett, who’s watching with careful attention, scanning for danger even while trying to enjoy the show.
Judging by the resigned look on his face, Everett will believe just about anything these days. And honestly, that’s pretty much a byproduct of being married to me.
Once the elephants trot out of the arena, Lethal Lavinia takes center stage, sporting a lone dark braid running down her back and deadly aim.
She hurls knife after knife at a spinning wheel with a very brave and perhaps very terrified assistant strapped to it.
Each blade lands with a solid thunk, outlining the assistant’s body in shiny, gleaming steel.
And I hold my breath through the entire act.
Some people get paid to be strapped to a target.
I find bodies for free. We all have our callings.
The aerialists come next, climbing silk ribbons that drop from the top of the tent like threads of spun sugar. And thank goodness there’s a safety net that spans the entire arena in the event they accidentally decide to take a plunge anyway.
They twist and spin and drop in ways that make my stomach lurch, and I have to remind myself that they’ve done this a thousand times before and probably won’t plummet to their deaths tonight.
Probably.
Poppy, the redhead we met earlier, is up there with her bright curls streaming behind her as she flips through the air as light as a feather.
Her glittery green leotard sparkles and catches the light like an emerald.
The woman is breathtaking—nothing but grace and control and fearless precision.
Of course, the crowd eats it up, as do I.
Act after act, the circus rolls on. Jugglers toss flaming torches, a contortionist folds herself into a container about the size of a shoebox, and a strongman lifts what appears to be an actual anvil over his head.
Oh good gracious, no wonder I saw that spectral elephant earlier this evening. With this many death-defying acts, something is bound to go wrong. The only real question is which act gets the honor.
Jump reappears between acts with his voice booming out introductions and commentary, keeping the energy high and the audience on the edge of their seats.
He really is good at what he does. I’m not sure what went on with him and Suze, but I’d venture to say between Suze and the circus, he made the right move.
And then, just as I’m starting to relax for once this evening, the lights flicker again.
Jump strides back into the center ring, his grin as wide as ever.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be taking a brief intermission!
Please, stretch your legs, grab some snacks, perhaps a handful of those delicious animal cracker cookies from Honey Hollow’s very own Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, and get ready for the second half of tonight’s spectacular show! ”
Everett and Noah cheer twice as loud as the rest of the crowd after Jump mentions my sweet bakery, and I’ll admit, I’m bursting with a touch of pride myself. To be asked to cater any event is an honor. And, well, with my track record, it’s sort of a miracle too.
The house lights come up, and the crowd starts to stir as people stand and stretch and head toward the exits in search of bathrooms and concessions.
I lean over to Noah. “How is Suze doing?”
He shakes his head. “She’s not talking. She went back to the bakery booth and told me to leave her alone.”
I frown. “That’s not like her.” I happen to know for a fact that Suze Fox worships the ground both Noah and his brother, Alex, walk on. His sister, not so much.
“I know.” Noah shifts Lyla Nell to his other knee. “I’ll try again after the show.”
I glance in the direction of the cookie booth buried in the heart of the midway. And from the looks of it, the crowd is already swarming, and I can see a line forming near the tent entrance.
“Wow, I’d better go check the inventory,” I say, standing and smoothing my shirt. “I have a feeling we might be running low.”
Everett looks up from the stroller, where both boys are somehow asleep despite the noise. “You want me to come with you?”
“No, you stay here and watch the twins. I promise I’ll be quick.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I take off like a bullet, weaving through the crowd and heading toward the nearest exit.
Except the crowd has other ideas. Bodies press in from all sides, families with sticky-fingered kids, teenagers on dates, elderly couples moving at the speed of molasses. I try to push through, but it’s like swimming upstream in a river of popcorn and cotton candy.
Fine. I’ll find a shortcut. Because shortcuts have historically worked out so well for me.
I veer left, ducking under the red curtain that separates the audience from the performers’ area.
It’s quieter back here, dimmer, and the air smells like sweat and greasepaint and something faintly metallic.
I pass a row of dressing rooms, their doors cracked open just enough for me to catch glimpses of the circus’s underbelly.
Costumes hang on hooks, makeup sits scattered across vanities, and a clown peels off his red nose, looking exhausted.
Basically me at the end of the night.
A woman in a feathered headdress walks past me without a second glance, and I keep moving, trying to find my way back to the outside world.
But the maze of stalls and booths and curtains is disorienting, and I take a wrong turn somewhere because suddenly I’m in a narrow corridor that feels more like a dead end than an exit.
I try a curtain on my left, hoping it leads outside. Instead, it opens into a small room lit by a single overhead bulb. And there, sitting in a black leather chair with its back to me, is what looks to be a man wearing a top hat.
“Oh!” I freeze in the doorway. “I’m so sorry!”
No response.
I step inside, glancing around. The room is sparse, just the chair, a small table, and a rack of costumes shoved against the wall.
“I guess I’m sort of lost,” I say, laughing awkwardly. “I just really need to get to my cookie stand. Do you think you would mind pointing me in the right direction?”
Still nothing.
Apparently, the circus hires mimes, too.
“Excuse me?” I say, inching closer, and that’s when I see it.
The person in the chair is holding one of my cookies—a half-eaten pink elephant.
“Oh,” I say, my voice softening with a little laugh. “I see you’re a fan. I happened to bake those cookies. Well, not all of them—I do have a staff, but believe me, I spent hours piping royal icing on just about all of them for the past few days.”
I walk around the side of the chair and catch a glimpse of his face.
“Jump?” I’m startled at the sight of him and gasp.
Jumping Barnaby Blaze, the ringmaster, sits perfectly still in his crimson tailcoat and top hat. Except he’s not moving, and I have a feeling that knife buried in his chest might have something to do with it.
A breath hitches in my throat.
Jump won’t have to worry about putting on the best show on the planet anymore. Because Jumping Barnaby Blaze is dead.
Something stirs just past his body, and I gasp again as I widen my eyes into the darkness. A figure steps out of the shadows, a face hidden in the dim light—and I just so happen to know that face all too well.
I open my mouth to scream, and the sound that comes out could wake the dead.
Or at least bring the living running in my direction.