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

“Or that it kills you?”

“Well, I think that’s a bit harsh, Ms. Barnes. It just makes you evaporate, which is quite different from killing you, I assure you. But we could stand here and quibble all day.” He kept walking. “Come on.” They passed the fortune-teller room. “Now, here I can give you a really accurate fortune. I can even change it up if someone asks. That cheating husband that I see in your palm? He’ll be as faithful as a nun on Sunday… but it’ll cost you.”

“Let me guess.” Lara straightened her skirt. “Poof?”

“Nah, just your soul. You’d be surprised who takes me up on it.” He stopped for a moment, then spun around like a real estate agent walking her through a showing. “This,” he said, “is the Room of Truth. No one ever wants to go in there.”

“Why not?”

“The room is filled with mirrors that strip out all illusion, so all you see before you is the truth. As you can imagine, no one wants to see things as they really are. People have gone mad in that room.” He shook his head gravely. “Oh, we say we want to know the truth. But do we really?” Like a stage magician, he produced a stick of aqua, pink, and white cotton candy that appeared out of nowhere. He held out the stick. “Cotton candy?”

“No, thanks,” said Lara, her stomach still settling from the ride.

Shane shrugged and began tugging at the fluff. At the end of the hall was an even bigger set of aqua doors, which opened as they approached. Through the doors was the big top, labeled LE HIPPODROME. The sun was shining in the Grand Promenade when Lara stepped into the big top. Unlike the sunny rooms in the hall, the night sky and stars peered through the glass-and-gold ceiling of the hippodrome. Baroque carved box seats with gold reliefs lined the inside walls, with large baroque chandeliers dripping down from the ceiling, the largest in the center dome; additional clusters formed over the seating groups closest to the ring. It was like the inside of a jewelry box. To Lara’s surprise, the seats were all elaborate velvet chairs. In the center ring, the wood floor had an ornately carved and polished chevron pattern. She’d seen this circus before, in the painting Sylvie on the Steed.

“The seat of honor.” He motioned toward a teal velvet chair—what looked like a throne—located in the empty front row.

Shane walked over to the center of the ring and stood there. The room went dark, and then a spotlight appeared on him. “Ladies… and, well, Lady… may I introduce your ringmaster tonight. The creator of this circus…”

There was a drumroll, followed by the smash of cymbals—the spotlight searching, circling until it finally focused on a set of double doors that opened. No one emerged.

“Oh fuck,” said Shane. “I’ll be right back. Time for a costume change.”

The spotlight went dark and the doors shut tightly. Then the spotlight flashed again and this time a man emerged from the doors. He was dressed as the ringmaster in a gold top hat and tails. His black boots and jodhpurs shimmered. He greeted Lara as a late-night comedian does his studio audience. It’s him! Althacazur.

“Welcome, my dear.” His voice echoed in the empty arena. “I know.” He looked down at himself; his brown curls touched his shoulders. “I like this form much better, too. You’ve seen me not only as Shane Speer but also as the janitor from Le Cirque de Fragonard. You see, I can hop circuses pretty easily.” He put one of his polished boots up on the wooden banister that separated the front row from the circle. “Tell me, which one of me do you like best?”

The man who’d rescued her from the lady at the Père Lachaise and had shown her the painting of Cecile Cabot? That had been him? “You said you’d find me,” said Lara, in awe of the entire spectacle in front of her. This world was beautiful. She stared around the big top. It was magnificent!

“And so I did,” he said with a wink.

“Why?” At the gala, he’d said that he’d made her magic strong, but none of this made sense.

“Ah yes… we’ll get to that in a moment.” He bowed deeply, as if Queen Elizabeth stood in front of him, his brown curls tipping over in cascades before he secured his top hat. “I’m so pleased you could join us tonight, Lara Margot Barnes. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am your host, Althacazur. We’re a little out of practice at Le Cirque Secret, so please bear with us tonight. It’s our first show in front of an audience in seventy-some years. We have some new members of the troupe as well, and they’re excited to perform just for you.”

As he circled—or rather pranced—around the floor, Lara saw a small monkey scamper to him. Mr. Tisdale? As if he could read her mind, Althacazur smiled. “Oh yes, you’ve met Mr. Tisdale. Tis, it seems Miss Barnes remembers you. You made quite an impression.”

Mr. Tisdale waved his small hand at her.

She found herself waving back at the little creature.

“Mr. Tisdale says that it would be very rude of me not to explain ourselves to you first. Well, welcome to Le Cirque Secret. Perhaps you’ve heard of us.” He stopped as if on cue, waiting for Lara to reply.

She nodded.

“Good. Try to interact with us a bit, Miss Barnes. It helps.” He circled the ring like it was a stage and he, a modern-day rock star.

The little monkey’s head followed Althacazur’s every move, seemingly as mesmerized as Lara was.

“So other than the complaints you expressed earlier about including warnings on it”—he rolled his eyes—“did you like my carousel, Miss Barnes? If you recall, you tried to pull it through to your world once?”

Lara nodded. “I did.”

“Oh, it’s one of my greatest creations. It goes back”—he stopped, like a