Chapter 18
Everett
Iarrive at the circus fairgrounds just as the sun is setting, painting the big top in shades of amber and gold. The air smells like popcorn and fried dough and livestock, a combination that has no business working and somehow does anyway.
The parking lot is packed, families streaming toward the entrance, children clutching balloons and stuffed animals, parents looking half-exhausted already. I’m right there with them.
I make my way toward the tent, and I’m immediately aware of the attention. Attention I’m no longer after.
Women crane their necks as I pass. A blonde in a sundress stops mid-conversation to stare. Two mothers near the ticket booth nudge each other and whisper.
I keep walking. There’s only one woman in this town whose attention I’m interested in, and she’s currently up to her elbows in our children.
Inside the tent, the atmosphere shifts. It’s cooler, dimmer, with spotlights cutting through the air like blades. The smell of sawdust mixes with corn dogs, and the crowd is already settling into their seats, voices rising in anticipation.
I scan the tent and spot them immediately.
Lemon and the kids.
I make my way over, weaving through families and vendors hawking glow sticks.
Ava and Olivia spot me first.
“Daddy! Daddy!” they shout in unison, launching themselves at me.
I catch them both, wrapping an arm around each. “Hey, girls. Having fun?”
“The best!” Ava says.
“We’re getting seats with Evie and her friends,” Olivia adds, already pulling away. “See you after the show!”
They run off before I can respond, disappearing into the crowd with Evie trailing behind them.
I turn to Lemon, who’s trying to wrangle the boys. Both of them are crying. Ozzy’s face is red and scrunched, and Corbin is doing that thing where he hiccups between sobs.
“Lemon,” I say, reaching for Ozzy.
Just as I’m about to take him, Noah appears.
“Hey,” he says, entirely too cheerful. “What’s everyone doing?”
I look at him, unamused. “Everyone is kung fu fighting. What the heck do you think we’re doing?”
Noah grins. “Just checking.”
Noah.
Of course, Noah is here. He’s harder to lose than my own shadow these days, and at least my shadow has the decency to vanish at noon. Not that he doesn’t belong here. He is Lyla Nell’s father. One of them, at least.
“Give me one of these cuties,” he says, reaching for Corbin, who immediately stops crying the second Noah picks him up. It’s both impressive and mildly irritating.
I take Ozzy from Lemon, and he settles against my shoulder with a shuddering sigh. His little hand grips my shirt, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest, the one that says this tiny human is my entire world.
It takes another five minutes before we get them situated and put them both back in the stroller just as the lights flicker.
“The show is about to begin,” Lemon trills. “You made it just in time, Everett.”
We make our way to our seats, front row, because Noah apparently signed us up for VIP seating when he joined the circus benefit. I’d object to the arrangement on principle, but it’s hard to argue with a man who managed to get a judge better seats than the mayor.
The tent goes dark.
A spotlight hits the center ring, and out steps the ringmaster.
Except it’s not Jumping Barnaby Blaze.
It’s Milo the Magnificent.
He’s tall, dressed in a black velvet suit with a red silk lining, his handlebar mustache waxed to a point sharp enough to file a brief. He spreads his arms wide, his voice booming across the tent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to Sterling and Sons Circus! Tonight, we bring you wonders beyond imagination, feats of strength and skill, and mysteries that will leave you breathless!”
The crowd erupts in applause.
The show begins.
First up are the acrobats. A troupe of five performers in glittering costumes, flipping and twisting through the air with impossible grace. The crowd gasps as they build a human pyramid, then collapse into a series of backflips that seem to fly in the face of the laws of physics.
Next, the animals take over the ring in an impressive display of showmanship and strength.
Three elephants lumber in, their heads adorned with glittering headpieces.
They perform a choreographed routine, lifting their trunks, standing on hind legs, even balancing on massive balls. The crowd loves it.
The knife thrower is next up to bat. A woman named Lethal Lavinia steps into the ring, her dark braid swinging as she takes her position.
She throws blade after blade at a spinning wheel with a blindfolded assistant strapped to it.
Each knife lands with a thunk, inches from the assistant’s body.
My chest tightens just watching it, even though I know it’s controlled.
Or at least I’m choosing to believe it is.
After that, a troupe of poodles invades.
Six purple dogs in tutus, prancing through hoops and balancing on pedestals while their trainer directs them with hand signals.
It’s absurd and charming in equal measure.
And I think I hear Lyla Nell shouting that she wants a pink poodle.
I have no doubt she could charm one out of Noah.
And if that fails, there’s always Glam Glam.
Or me. I can’t seem to deny her anything, which she figured out roughly the day she learned to say my name.
The elephants return for a second act, this time with a trainer who has them weave through obstacles and dance to orchestral music.
And then, the final act of the night.
Milo the Magnificent steps back into the ring, and this time he’s not alone.
His assistant, Celeste, appears beside him, her long black hair flowing in glossy waves, her silver gown glittering under the spotlights and blinding me every few seconds. She’s graceful, almost ghostlike in the way she moves.
“For our final act,” Milo announces, “I will perform illusions that defy your very understanding of reality!”
He proceeds to do exactly that.
Celeste steps into a cabinet, and Milo closes the door. When he opens it again, she’s gone. The audience gasps. He spins the cabinet to show all sides, empty.
Then he opens it again, and she’s back. The crowd erupts in applause.
Next, he has Celeste lie on a table. He passes a hoop over her body to prove there are no wires, then levitates her six feet into the air. She floats, serene, her arms crossed over her chest like she’s sleeping.
It’s impressive. Even to me, and I’ve seen a fair number of things in this town that have no business being possible.
He lowers her back down, and the crowd goes wild.
Milo takes a bow with Celeste at his side. “Thank you, Honey Hollow! Thank you all for coming out tonight. Please, feel free to visit our merchandise booths. They’ll be open for the next hour. Have a wonderful evening!”
The lights come up, and the crowd begins to disperse.
Ava and Olivia reappear with their hands out, so I give them some money to go load up on whatever merchandise strikes their fancy, and they take off like they’ve been shot out of a cannon.
Lemon’s eyes are already scanning the tent. I follow her gaze and spot Milo standing in the corner by himself, speaking with one of the stagehands.
“I’ll be back in a flash,” Lemon says, already starting to move in his direction.
I catch her hand. “I know what you’re thinking.”
She looks up at me. “Do you?”
“You’re not going without me,” I say.
Noah has the stroller, with Lyla Nell standing on the back bar and catching a ride along with it. She’s begging him to buy her a light-up wand and a cone of cotton-headed candy. Noah nods our way. “I’ll catch up with the girls at the merch stand.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “We’ll be there in a bit.”
He’s on merchandise duty, which means Lemon and I are free to do what we do best.
Investigate.
Lemon smiles, and that little dimple of hers that drives me wild makes its appearance. “Let’s go talk to a magician.”
We make our way across the tent, weaving through families and performers, heading straight for the man who just took over as ringmaster.
The man who might know considerably more about Jump’s death than he’s letting on.
Because in my experience, the best illusions don’t happen on a stage. They happen in plain sight, performed by people who smile and shake your hand and swear they have nothing to hide.