“How’d you do that?” Lara looked up in wonder.
“You can do it, too,” said the man. “Try it. Make the carousel spin.”
On cue, it stopped as though it were waiting for her.
She looked at him like he was crazy and giggled. “That’s silly. I can’t do that.”
“But that’s not true.” He smiled, leaning down to face her. “You do move things, don’t you? Ouija boards perhaps?”
Her eyes widened. It was one thing for this man to know her name, but to know about the Ouija board at Caren’s was entirely another. “How did you—?”
“No matter,” he said, brushing her off. “But you mustn’t fear your power.”
Yet she did fear the things she could do. Right here, with him performing for her, it was fun, like a magic trick at birthday parties. She was a spectator of sorts. Left to her own devices, though, this power frightened her.
“Go ahead.” He twirled his finger. He picked up a tiny flower—a white clover—and began to spin the stem between his thumb and forefinger. “Here”—he handed her the flower—“instead of thinking of the carousel, keep your eyes on this flower. When magic is new, it’s about drawing on the emotion of what you want most, my dear, not focus. Focus comes later. The magic knows what you want. Just want it harder.”
“You said not to think about it.” Lara watched the flower clumsily turning under her fingers.
“Thinking and wanting are not the same thing, my clever poppet. Wanting comes from your heart, not your head.”
Always a dutiful student, Lara mimicked him with her tiny fingers, and, to her surprise, she could hear the creaking of the carousel as it began to move.
“Bravo,” he said, clapping.
She shook her head. “You did that, not me.”
“No. I swear that I did not, my pet.” He leaned down. “You are the one. The circus—the real circus—it is your destiny. One day, it will need you to do your magic—I will call on you. Do you understand?”
While she nodded, she did not understand the things he said—she had no one, neither Cecile nor her mother, to filter, translate, or put them in context for her. Lara watched in awe as the carousel spun, so engrossed she’d forgotten he was standing there. As it wound down, like the batteries operating it had been drained, she turned to say something to him, but he was already gone.
Turning back, she saw that the carousel was fading and the tent was once again dirty, empty, dull, and limp. The sparkling chandelier was now gone as well, the top of the tent sagging like it couldn’t support the weight of a glass Christmas ornament.
“Come back,” she said. There was something about the man. Even if she didn’t know exactly what he meant, she knew he was telling her the truth. Her mother could also do things—magical things. Lara observed Audrey unlocking doors, making the phone ring, and even stopping the thunder outside when she didn’t know that Lara was watching. Once Lara heard Cecile and her mother discussing a spell. Audrey had been chanting something with Cecile’s guidance. Lara had flattened herself in the wide space between the floor and the old door to get a look at them. She’d tried to memorize what they were saying, but they chanted too fast. The ritual and the language had been secret and exotic, with the candles flickering and the lights dimming then brightening in the house, like Audrey was drawing energy from everything around her. Lara could feel the tug of the chant, the pull of her mother’s words.
When magic is new, it’s about drawing on the emotion of what you want most, my dear, not focus.
After the man had shown her how to change the tent, Lara began to attempt simpler tricks. She began with the lock on Simon’s office door. It was an easy door, requiring just a small movement of the notch on the doorknob. Closing her eyes, Lara thought not of the lock, but of rotating a penny between her fingers. Then she recalled Simon’s candy jar. He’d filled it with peppermint patties that morning. Most of all, she wanted a peppermint patty. Focusing on her deepest desire for the crisp, sugary candy, Lara heard the lock click.
But now all her corrections were focused on fixing the tent. After a week, she came back to the tent. Starting with color, she focused on the faded blue of the canvas, thinking of the blue of the ocean. Coaxing the worn fabric, she saw it brighten. Next, using her hand to pretend, she lifted the top of it, like she was pulling up the dome of a candy jar. On command the tent lifted and the beige color began to brighten. “Carousel, come back.”
Nothing.
“Carousel, come back.” She barked the command loud enough to make Gomez Addams—now named Squiggy—look up in alarm.
She could see something flicker and could hear the faint echo of an organ as though it were somewhere else, just beyond reach, the volume low. Growing impatient, she said, “Carousel, come back.” Again, she could see it shimmer, but then it faded. With that, the tent sank, returning to its dull state. Lara was exhausted. This was harder than turning locks.
Lara knew what her father and grandfather would say—she was a child with a “vivid imagination.” An only child, she needed one to keep herself occupied. But when she’d gone to the place where the man had stood, she saw the dried,
