For now they have a rotating company of chaperones, and tonight the illusionist is on twin-supervising duty. She is not often assigned this role, though the twins are quite fond of her. But this evening she has enough time to spare between performances to escort them for a while.
None of the patrons recognize Celia without her top hat and black-and-white gown, even those who watched her perform earlier in the evening. If passersby pay her any notice it is only to wonder how the children at her heels ended up with such red hair when her own is so dark. Beyond that she appears to be just a young woman in a blue coat, wandering the circus as any other patron might.
They start in the Ice Garden, though the twins grow impatient with the leisurely pace that Celia prefers to take around the frozen trees. Before they have traveled halfway through the space they are begging to ride the Carousel instead.
They argue over who will get to ride the gryphon but Widget relents when Celia tells them the story of the nine-tailed fox just behind it, which suddenly sounds much more appealing. As soon as they disembark, a second ride is requested. For the subsequent trip through the loops of silver clockwork and tunnels they end up on a serpent and a rabbit with no complaints to be heard.
After the Carousel rides, Widget wants something to eat, so they head for the courtyard. When Celia procures him a black-and-white-striped paper bag of popcorn, he insists he wants caramel as well, and will not eat it plain.
The vendor dipping apples on sticks into dark, sticky caramel obliges him, drizzling it over the top. Several patrons nearby request the same.
Poppet claims she isn’t hungry. She seems distracted, so as they walk down a quieter passage away from the courtyard, Celia asks if anything is bothering her.
“I don’t want the nice lady to die,” Poppet says, tugging gently at Celia’s skirt.
Celia stops walking, putting out a hand to keep Widget, who is oblivious to anything other than his popcorn, from continuing along in front of her.
“What do you mean, dearest?” she asks Poppet.
“They’re going to put her in the ground,” Poppet explains. “I think that’s sad.”
“What nice lady?” Celia asks.
Poppet scrunches up her face while she thinks.
“I don’t know,” she says. “They look the same.”
“Poppet, sweetheart,” Celia says, pulling the twins aside into an alcove and bending down to talk to her face-to-face. “Where is this lady in the ground? Where did you see her, I mean?”
“In the stars,” Poppet says. She stands on tiptoes as she points upward.
Celia glances up at the star-filled sky, watching the moon disappear behind a cloud before returning her attention to Poppet.
“Do you often see things in the stars?” she asks.
“Only sometimes,” Poppet says. “Widge sees things on people.”
Celia turns to Widget, who is eating his caramel-drizzled popcorn in messy handfuls.
“You see things on people?” she asks him.
“Fumtimes,” he mumbles through a mouthful.
“What kind of things?” Celia asks.
Widget shrugs his shoulders.
“Places they’ve been,” he says. “Stuff they’ve done.”
He shoves another handful of sticky popcorn into his mouth.
“Interesting,” Celia says. The twins have told her a great many odd things before, but this seems like more than childish fancies. “Can you see anything on me?” she asks Widget.
Widget squints at her while he chews his popcorn.
“Rooms that smell like powder and old clothes,” he says. “A lady that cries all the time. A ghost man with a frilly shirt that follows you around and—”
Widget stops suddenly, frowning.
“You made it go away,” he says. “There’s nothing there anymore. How did you do that?”
“Some things are not for you to see,” Celia says.
Widget pushes his lower lip out in an impressive pout, but it only lasts as long as it takes him to bring another fistful of popcorn to his mouth.
Celia looks from the twins back in the direction of the courtyard, where the light from the bonfire gleams along the edges of the tents, casting dancing shadows of patrons across the striped fabric.
The bonfire never goes out. The flames never falter.
Even when the circus moves it is not extinguished, moved intact from location to location. Smoldering the entire length of each train journey, safely contained in its iron cauldron.
It has burned steadily since the ceremonious lighting on opening night.
And at the same moment, Celia remains certain, something was put in motion that impacted the entire circus and everyone within it once that fire was lit.
Including the newborn twins.
Widget born just before midnight, at the end of an old day. Poppet following moments later in a new day only just begun.
“Poppet,” Celia says, turning her attention back to the little girl who has been playing with the cuff of her jacket, “if you see things in the stars that you think might be important, I want you to tell me about them, do you understand?”
Poppet nods solemnly, clouds of red hair bobbing in waves. She leans in to ask Celia a question, her eyes dreadfully serious.
“May I have a caramel apple?” she asks.
“I’m out of popcorn,” Widget complains, holding out his empty bag.
Celia takes the bag from him and folds it up into ever-smaller squares while the twins watch, until it disappears completely. When they clap, Widget’s hands are no longer covered in caramel, though he does not notice.
Celia considers the twins for a moment, while Widget tries to figure out where the popcorn bag has gone and Poppet casts thoughtful glances up at the sky.
It is not a good idea. She knows it is not a good idea but it would be better to keep them close, to watch them more carefully given the circumstances and their apparent talents.
“Would the two of you like to learn how to do things like that?” Celia asks them.
Widget nods immediately, with such enthusiasm that his hat slips forward over his eyes. Poppet hesitates but then she nods as well.
“Then when you are a little bit older I shall give you lessons, but it will have to be our secret,” Celia says. “Can you two keep a secret?”
The twins nod in unison. Widget has to straighten his hat again.
They follow Celia happily as she leads them back to the courtyard.
Wishes and Desires
PARIS, MAY 1891
When the beaded curtain parts with a sound like rain, it is Marco who enters the fortune-teller’s chamber, and Isobel immediately flips her veil from her face, the impossibly thin black silk floating back over her head like mist.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Ignoring her question, he holds out an open notebook, and in the flickering light Isobel can discern a bare black tree. It is not like the trees that are inscribed in so many of his books, this one is covered in dripping white candles. Surrounding the main drawing are detailed sketches of twisting branches, capturing several different angles.
