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

but she’d had a good head start. Ignoring her pounding lungs, Lara started up again, picking up her pace in a steady run down Avenue de la République, dodging and ducking around crowds of people. She stopped and bought a hat and T-shirt, changing into them as she ran, and tried to blend in with a flock of tourists. Craning her neck, Lara could see that the woman was still on her trail, but the quick costume change had worked—at least for now.

She ducked into the kitchen of a café. Catching her breath, Lara realized that everything Audrey had said was true. The faulty guitar wire, the scooter in Rome—all of it had been designed to kill her. A tightness started in her throat, and recalling the words her mother had made her memorize, Lara began to chant them, almost choke them out:

Bracatus losieus tegretatto.

Eh na drataut bei ragonne beate.

It was just as Audrey had described. Despite it being a sweltering day, a heavy breeze rolled down the boulevard. Trees began to shed their leaves, the lindens sending a sweet perfume past her. Rather than relying solely on the magic, Lara searched for an escape.

She ran to the traffic circle. Coming down the hill, she saw the woman spy her and pick up her pace to catch Lara. Remembering what Margot had done, Lara considered the cars circling then took a deep breath before darting in front of traffic. As her foot left the curb, she realized just how risky this was, but she trusted the magic. The cars had to stop. She took off running, drivers swerved and slammed on their brakes to avoid her, and she was able to cut across four lanes. From over her shoulder she saw that the woman had gotten caught in the tangle of traffic. Lara turned down another street and ran past a tall iron gate, chanting quietly under her breath as she looked around for the woman. She stopped so suddenly she could hear her shoes squeak. Her lungs were burning, and she wasn’t sure she could run much more without a break.

An old man with Coke-bottle glasses looked up from sweeping an empty courtyard. He noticed that she was breathing heavily and looked panicked. Quickly, he motioned for her to come toward the gate, opening the door a crack. Looking behind her, Lara didn’t see a taxi; nor were there any Métro signs in the area. The man’s offer was as good as any. As she heard the gate clank behind her, she wondered if this was another illusion she’d just conjured, but the gate felt real, so she shut it tightly behind her.

Wordlessly, the man pointed toward a converted railcar that sat parked in the otherwise vacant courtyard. A railcar? Lara quickly stepped up into the car and shut the door behind her, crouching down near an open window, a cool breeze rustling the white curtain. The woman ran past the gate as the man continued to sweep. From her vantage point, Lara could see the ponytailed blonde double back to ask the man something in French. Lara’s heart sank. Had this been a trap?

The man nodded, saying “Oui” to something. Lara’s breath caught. She looked around the cramped railcar, wondering where she could go if she needed to escape. The windows might open wide enough to send her out the back, since both doors opened to the front. Crouching down by the table, she began chanting again in a whisper. She watched as the man pointed across the street, indicating that Lara had cut through the park. Satisfied, the woman ran in that direction.

Sinking into the seat, Lara closed her eyes and exhaled. So it was true: She really wasn’t safe outside of Kerrigan Falls.

Inside the railcar, Lara noticed it was a museum of some sort. Lining the walls were black-and-white photos, all of vintage circuses. She spun, realizing the entire car was a shrine to the Paris circus, featuring vintage photos of Cirque Medrano’s famous Boum Boum the clown, the curious wig shaped into two points on his head making him resemble a rabbit. Another showed Jumbo, the famous elephant whom Lara knew eventually ended his career in the United States. In a case near the door hung a gold-and-red vertical-striped leotard. The inscription read: LEOTARD OF MISS LA LA. It was the costume from the famous Edgar Degas painting. She studied each photo—together this had to be the largest collection of circus memorabilia in the world.

“Vous êtes un fan?” asked the man, who had come in through the door. Now Lara could see he was older—perhaps in his seventies. He was tan and wiped sweat from his brow with a hankie that he kept in his back pocket. His glasses were so thick, she wondered how he could see anything.

“Oui,” said Lara. “What is this place?” She motioned around the room.

“Ah, the Musée de Cirque Parisian.” He pointed to the sign behind him. “You are American, oui?”

“Oui.”

“My English is not so good.” He sat down rather heavily in one of the wooden seats that was part of a booth. “This is the rear entrance of Le Cirque de Fragonard.”

Lara looked out the window to see the famous hexagonal building of Le Cirque de Fragonard’s Paris location. She was so busy running that she hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“The woman?” He pointed outside.

Lara shook her head. “Je ne la connais pas. Elle m’a suivi de Père Lachaise. Merci.”

“A pickpocket, perhaps?” the man asked in better English than Lara expected.

“Oui,” said Lara, not believing that the woman’s intentions were that innocent. She turned to the photo. “Is this from the 1920s?”

“Earlier.” The man stood up and walked toward the photo. “This was the famous clown Boum Boum. Le musée has photos and paintings from all the circuses in Paris, not just Fragonard. The circuses were very competitive, but le musée is for all.” His hands gestured around the room. There was a pride in his expression, like this