The Ladies of the Secret Circus by Constance Sayers (the little red hen ebook TXT) 📕

and the reason she was spending money for this goddamned kid to fondle her hand. “Who are you?”

In a swift motion, Shane Speer grabbed Lara’s wrist and slapped it down. The cheap table shook and nearly toppled. The boy leaned in so close that Lara could tell he’d been chewing cinnamon gum. She was worried he was trying to kiss her and the thought of it repulsed her. The prospect seemed to repulse Mr. Tisdale as well, because the monkey slid off Shane’s knee and scurried out of the room chirping.

“I see the dark magic… the Dark Circus in you, girl. It is your destiny.” His voice wasn’t a boy’s anymore; it was deep like an opera baritone. And was that a Russian accent? “You’re part of the Devil’s Circus. You’re the key—the one. But you must beware. She knows and she is coming for you. She wants you dead.”

Shane shook his head and peered up at her through greasy bangs. “What did I say?”

“You don’t know?” Lara cradled her sore hand in the other one, studying it to see if anything had been bruised.

“It comes on that way. It’s why I prefer the hands.”

“Well, you were gibbering on about a Dark Circus. And you sounded Russian, too.”

“The Secret Circus?” The boy’s eyes widened. “I was?” The boy looked off, sick almost. “I bet Madame Fonseca is channeling me again. I hate it when she does that. I can do this on my own without her meddling in all my fucking sessions.”

“You called it the Dark Circus, not the Secret Circus,” said Lara, looking up at the ceiling and expecting the ghost of Madame Fonseca to be hanging up there.

“Same thing.” Shane shrugged. “Some call it the Secret Circus, others the Dark Circus.”

“So how does this circus relate to me?”

“Dunno. Depends on what I said.” The boy looked around, distracted, like he needed a cigarette. “Hey, what happened to Mr. Tisdale?”

“He fled when your voice got weird.”

“Oh fuck, really? He ran out?” Shane dipped his head and raised it, looking for the little monkey. “Oh no, I gotta find him. He gets into mischief when he’s loose.”

“That’s just great,” said Lara, rolling her eyes. She could see he was sweating. “You also said that I was in danger and that she wants me dead. Who wants me dead?”

The boy was still distracted, but he swallowed hard. Lara could see his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “Ma’am. If I said that, then you are in very grave danger. I’m sorry to tell you I’m never wrong about these matters. Madame Fonseca said I had the gift and I do.” He reached under the table and pulled out a gray cashbox, thunking it between them. “That’ll be twenty dollars.”

Lara left Madame Fonseca’s booth feeling a bit dizzy. What on earth was happening? From the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain move. A tiny hand, followed by a small face, peered out at her.

“Mr. Tisdale?”

The monkey looked around as though something had spooked him. Tentatively, like a shy dog, the little creature walked over to Lara. In his hand was a package. He held it out in front of him.

“Is this for me?” Lara bent down. This circus was getting weirder by the minute.

She took it from his hands and he scampered away. Studying it, Lara saw it was an elaborate flat envelope made of a heavy, shiny gold paper. The envelope was addressed to Mademoiselle Lara Barnes. She slid her finger across the top to open it, but the paper didn’t give way. Trying again, she got a nasty paper cut. “Shit.” A drop of blood hit the envelope’s flap, and it loosened instantly. Sucking the blood from her finger, she opened the envelope with her other hand. There Lara found an old composition book, its beige cover so weathered that it was brown.

“What on earth is that?” Audrey found her sucking on her cut finger and holding the envelope at an odd angle. Her mother reached into her purse and handed Lara a tissue before taking the package from her hands.

Lara shrugged. “A monkey gave it to me.”

“A monkey?” Her mother looked at her, curious.

“Trust me, that’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me tonight.” While her mother held the envelope, Lara reached inside and pulled out the composition book.

Eyeing the package suspiciously, Audrey turned it over and examined the flap. “Odd. It was addressed to you. It must be from one of the old circus people. I didn’t know any of them were still around.”

Lara began scanning the pages as her mother looked over her shoulder. The writing was from another time period, the script looping and artistic, unlike the cursive of Lara’s generation that seemed intent on speed. The faded brown lettering was sharp and precise, with heavy loops on the capitals, but time had made the ink nearly the same color as the paper. It was written entirely in French. Lara could make out names like Sylvie and E. Once a fluent French speaker, Lara was surprised to find her skills rusty, but she was itching to open it and begin translating.

Her mother took the book and squinted at the cover. “I need my reading glasses.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I’d say it’s a journal.” Audrey looked at it strangely. She looked more closely at the writing on the cover. “It’s from 1925.”

The journal read: LE JOURNAL DE CECILE CABOT.

Lara touched the pages tentatively, like they could disintegrate under her fingers. “You don’t think it’s odd?”

“Well.” Audrey took her keys out of her handbag. “I wouldn’t be telling anyone a monkey gave it to me. It’s just…”

“What?”

“I never knew Cecile to keep a diary.”

“From the looks of this, she was a young woman when she wrote it.”

“To me, she just wasn’t particularly reflective in that way. I lived with her a long time and I never once heard her mention a journal,” said Audrey with a shrug, “but who knows. Maybe she was a different