Authors: Deva Fagan
Gulping down air, I crouch inside the Freak Show tent, letting my eyes adjust. The only light is the weak golden glow from the glass display cases jammed in everywhere. I move farther in, checking out the labels as I go. It's some crazy stuff.
CONSULT THE DRAGON ORACLE. WONDER AT THE LAST BREATH OF PASHFALLASARDOO.
There's some disgusting green oil that's labeled
OOZE
. But no Hall of Mirrors. Probably way at the back. This place is bigger than I thought.
The gold lights near the front of the tent flicker. I duck instantly behind the nearest display, holding my breath. Was that a footstep? I retreat deeper into the tent.
I'm backing up, eyes peeled wide, when my heel crunches onto an empty popcorn tub. The breath catches in my throat as some instinct throws me down. A dark shadow whooshes over me. I come up with my fists clenched to confront my attacker. It's Nyl.
"Oh, wonderful. I needed a few more dire-yet-vague warnings." That's right, Trix, keep up the snappy lines, and maybe you'll forget how terrifyingly weird your life is.
Nyl stares at me. I realize my kerchief is gone, lost in the shuffle. "Your hair..." His shoulders droop slightly. "You should have given me the stone when I asked for it, Beatrix. I could have stopped this."
"Don't tell me my pink hair is going to destroy the universe. I mean, it's a little bright, but it's not radioactive."
"If you understood what is at stake, you would not joke."
"Okay, then enlighten me. Are you trying to tell me some space rock turned my hair pink?"
"Yes. And now you need to give it to me before it corrupts you further. I can still help you, Beatrix. We can cleanse you of the taint. You can be one of us."
"Cleanse me, huh?" I take a step back. He's trying to sound smooth, but I can hear the teeth in his words. This is about to get ugly. "How 'bout I get back to you? I'd like a second opinion, preferably from someone who isn't attacking me."
"There is no more time!"
As he makes a grab for me, I kick the legs of the nearest display. Glass crackles across the ground. A tide of oily green ooze slops out from the smashed display. Nyl sees it, but not in time to avoid it. His foot lands right in the middle of the puddle, and the next moment his legs go flying out from under him.
I run. I don't care about the Hall of Mirrors anymore. I just want out of here. Please, please, let there be an emergency exit.
I can see the rear wall. There's no way out. Only a red-curtained doorway under a big, shimmery sign that says
HALL OF MIRRORS.
Do I dare go in? What if I get trapped inside? Nyl's breathing rasps so loud I could swear he's right behind me. I risk a look back. Nothing.
In the distance, something clicks, and a whole row of display cases go dark.
Click.
Another row blinks out.
Click.
And another. Pretty soon it'll be pitch-black in here. He's driving me with darkness. I've got nowhere else to run. I push through the curtain.
Warped reflections goggle at me. Turning one way, I see myself impossibly thin with a head like a watermelon. Another, and I'm a potbellied string bean. There's a wiggly Trix, a short Trix, a tall Trix. The only thing they all have in common is hot-pink hair and desperate eyes.
"Okay, I'm here," I whisper to the mirrors. "Where are my answers?" I spin, searching the reflections. "Come on! There was secret writing and everything. It must have meant something. I can't just be going insane."
Nothing happens.
"There's nowhere to run, Beatrix. Stop fighting me."
I bite down hard on the scream that tries to force its way out of my throat. It sounds like he's right on the other side of that red curtain. I back away, until my shoulder blades meet the undulating coolness of the farthest mirror. Nowhere else to run.
The curtain trembles. A gray-gloved hand pushes through. My splayed fingers brush the smooth surface behind me. Then, suddenly, I'm falling backward. Right through the mirror.
I STUMBLE, trying to figure out what happened. Narrow corridors twist away on either side, cluttered with boxes and bins. An oblong of dark glass fills the wall in front of me.
You dork, I tell myself. It's not a magic portal. It's some kind of secret sliding door. Judging by the jumble of sequined costumes, hoops, and bowling pins, I must be somewhere backstage, inside the big top itself maybe, since I can hear the distant beat of music. Question is, am I safe?
I lean closer to the dark glass, trying to see the room beyond, then leap back. Nyl's right on the other side of the glass, staring at me.
My heartbeat throbs in my ears, the only part of me that isn't frozen, for a long, long moment. Nyl lifts a hand toward the glass. I get the impression he's trying to touch it. Then he clenches his fist, swinging it down to his side.
Can he even see me? I force one arm to move, waving it in front of the mirror. Now that I think about it, this stuff looks a lot like that one-sided glass you see in cop shows.
No reaction. Nyl stands there, staring. Then he turns and stalks out of the room. I don't breathe until the red curtains swing closed behind him. I back away from the mirror door. There's no way I'm going out that way. Besides, the poster promised me answers, and I'm not leaving until I've got some. There's got to be someone here who knows something. The music seems louder to the left, so I head that way.
As I pass the heaps of boxes, I squint at them. The labels are in another language, some crazy alphabet I don't even recognize. But it's that same silvery paint as on the poster. I reach out to touch the letters, only to snatch my hand back. The gibberish is gone, replaced by a perfectly recognizable word:
FRAGILE.
Whoa. I try another.
HIGHLY DANGEROUS.
I back away, and not only because of the warning. This is freaking me out almost as much as the stalker in the gas mask who wants to "cleanse" me. Maybe it's some kind of optical illusion. I keep going, but I make a point of checking all the boxes as I pass by. Who knows? Maybe one of them will be labeled
ANSWERS.
The music is louder, so I must be getting somewhere. I've just found a large barrel to be used
IN CASE OF WEEVIX INFESTATION
when I hear voices. I can't make them out at first, but as I get closer the words grow clear, like I'm tuning in to the station. I skulk behind a tower of hatboxes labeled
PROPERTY OF THE GRAND WAZEER OF DENEB
-5, listening.
"I said I would take care of it! Don't worry. No one will find out," says a girl's voice. "I have to go. I'm on next, and they'll miss me if I'm not back soon." A buzz of static crackles, then winks out.
I scope things out over the topmost hatbox. After Nyl, I'm not taking chances. Thankfully, this girl seems relatively normal, or as normal as a person can be wearing a skintight sparkling body suit. She doesn't look very menacing, slumped against the wall with her head in her hands. I think she's crying.
I step out, clearing my throat. "Um. Hi. I'm sorry, but I'm sort of lost back here, and I was wonderingâ"
The girl whips around, her long black braid lashing the air, trailing red sparks. "Intruder!"
"Hey, I didn't mean to! I'm trying to get out."
"Too late for that, spy. What did you hear? Who are you working for?"
"Nobody!" I back up, closer to the hatboxes. "What, you think I'm some sort of Ringling Brothers secret agent? Look, if you don't want random people showing up backstage, you shouldn't put hidden doors in your Hall of Mirrors."
The girl stares at me. She shakes her head, setting fire to the crimson fiber optics again. "That's impossible. You're an Earther."
There's that word again. "Fine. I guess I'm not finding any answers here. I'll keep looking." I turn back the way I came.
I've gone three steps when something whooshes overhead. The girl lands lightly in front of me, blocking the way. I stare. That was one amazing leap, even for an acrobat.
Sparkles crosses her arms. "No, you're coming with me. You've got questions to answer, Earth Girl."
"I don't know anything! That's why I'm here. You guys said you had answers!"
The girl's eyes narrow. When she jumps this time, I'm ready for her. I scoop one of the hatboxes off the pile and hurl it at the figure flying toward me.
Sparkles tries to twist out of the way, too late. The hatbox explodes on impact with her nose, filling the air with brilliant blue-green feathers. The girl crashes onto the floor. I spin around and hightail it down the corridor.
Each footfall jabs my fury into the ground, propelling me forward. I can't believe I was such a moron! All I've learned about my true self is that I'm angry as a hornet's nest and probably going insane. Nyl was right. That poster was one big lie wrapped up in a pretty package.
I check over my shoulder. Sparkles is chasing me. What's she going to do, turn me over to security? Send me back to Primwell? No way. I put on a burst of speed, skidding around a corner and right smack into someone.
All I see is a pair of eyes that glitter like my memory of the desert sky. Then we collapse in a tangle of elbows and flashy clothing. I struggle to get free. My feet connect solidly with something.
"Have a careâthat's fine Denebian silk you're treading on." Even without the loudspeaker, his voice fills the hallway with liquid sound.
I stare. I can't help it. That poster was
nothing
compared to the real thing. Della and her girls got one thing right: He could totally be a movie star. He'd melt a million hearts with that smile. It's not only good looks; it's something more, a spark so raw and powerful it shakes my core. I feel like my universe suddenly got a whole new dimension.
"And who do we have here?" he asks, quirking a brow at me. Pounding feet announce Sparkles.
"Ringmaster!"
He looks away from me, finally, and I try to shake off the feeling that I've been standing there for hours rather than seconds. "Yes, Sirra? Is there a problem?"
"This Earth girl was snooping around the back corridor!"
"Snooping isn't necessarily a bad thing. I encourage a good snooping now and again. Keeps us on our toes." He doffs his electric-blue top hat, bowing low. "Welcome to the Big Top. I'm the Ringmaster. And you are...?"
"Beatrix Ling," I manage to get out.
"She's a spy," insists Sparklesâor Sirra, if that's her name. Her nose is red and starting to swell, and she's got blue-green feathers stuck in her hair. She looks like an angry parrot. "And she's a liar. She said she came through the mirror."
"Did she? That
is
interesting."
"It's impossible. She's not one of us!"
"The Tinkers' Mirror never lies. And it's time we had a new recruit to liven things up around here."
"No," protests Sirra. "You're going to bring her
with
us? We're in enough trouble already without taking home souvenirs."
"Hey!" I interrupt. "Nobody's bringing me any where! First you make me think I'm crazy with your secret messages, and now you're going to kidnap me?
We have answers,
hah! For all I know, you're the ones who gave me this bubblegum dye job, not myâ" I stop myself before I mention the meteorite in my pocket. I've got enough trouble without these bozos coming after it, too.
The Ringmaster cocks his head. "You mean to say your hair isn't normally pink?"
"Of course not! No one has pink hair
naturally!
"
"I grant you it is rare, yes. The Mandate were so dreary in their color choices." He tugs out a lock of his own dark brown hair and studies it mournfully.
My anger is starting to wear off, which isn't a good thing, because that'll leave me with just the fear. My legs tremble. "Please, let me go. I won't cause any trouble."
"I find that hard to believe," says the Ringmaster, casting aside his lighthearted humor with such absolute suddenness it catches the breath in my chest. "You've been causing trouble all your life, haven't you? Asking questions that weren't in the textbooks. Saying things other people were afraid to say. There was always something off about you, something different, something that made other people stare and whisper and maybe even laugh ... Isn't that right?" His eyes pull on mine, demanding an answer.
I swallow against the boulder that seems to have lodged in my throat. "How ... how do you know?"
"I know because it's the story of every person who walks through that mirror. It's the story of the Tinker-touched. That's what we are. That's what you are. It's why your hair is that remarkable and quite fetching color, and why you were able to find your way into the Big Top."
I shake my head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm ... nobody. A weirdo. A freak."
"Just like the rest of us."
Sirra snorts. The Ringmaster ignores her, his eyes fixed on mine. Then he grins, twirling his jeweled baton from hand to hand. "But I've gone about this all wrong. You should see the show first. Speaking of whichâyou'd better get back to the stage, Sirra, before Nola has a fit looping that intro."
I realize that the music has started to repeat, going from a trembling hush to a triumphant burst of synthesized trumpeting over and over again, with a grating fuzz of static in between. Sirra hurries away down the corridor, shooting me a backward glance that says pretty clearly she'd rather be bashing my face in.
"Well? Do you want to see the show?" The Ringmaster waves for me to follow.
I cross my arms. "Who are you guys, really? You said you had answers. I want answers before I go anywhere."
"We're exactly what it says out front. The Circus Galacticus, bringing acts to delight and amaze across the universe."
"Across the
universe.
Seriously?"
"Of course not!" He gives a huff of disdain. "Do I look like the serious sort? Across the universe stupendously. Across the universe
insouciantly.
Wonderful word,
insouciant,
isn't it? I love Earth. All the brilliant, maddening words. Did you know there are more than six thousand languages on this planet? Drives the translator to distraction."