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Demi and the carnivalleros could wait to tell their stories
Marco ht, Jacinda dressed in herin with the caravan’s audience No steel pith helmet No leather corset or canvas dress No tribal layers and bells and scarves Definitely no Almanican face paint or even desert kohl Just a plain, well-fitting, wine-red dress, a few years out of date but of fine enough est she was a purposeful anachronism She put up her hair as best as coe on her lips Years in the sun with Liaht out her freckles, but she wore the theh it pained her, she left her notebook and pen behind on the desk Brutus, on the other hand, she would keep by her side During the day, the caravan was quiet and safe At night, there was no telling what dangers lurked in the shadoithin the wagon’s circle and on thethree coins into her pocket with the watch, she said, "Brutus, follow," and left the oil lao, she’d turned them off every tier And then, one day, she’d found awith a knife Since then, she risked fire for the sake of illu close whenever she went out after nightfall The cuts on her hands had healed, but she was no longer as trusting of darkness
Outside, she locked the door and took a deep breath The caravan was a symphony of smells now, a mixture of sweet and salt and wars of lights swooping around the perimeter of the cars She could have easily walked doo steps, across the grass, under the lights, and directly into the crowd forh that Cri, wherever he was She wasn’t a liar, and she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t about to break his rules, especially considering his unexpected generosity in regard to her interests She had heard of his famous hatred of reporters and had expected hi her for upsetting his evening routine But instead, here she was, taking the long way around the caravan, averting her eyes politely fro her turn in the queue a with fear and excite at the turnstile, clad in a somber black that made him seem one size s daylight
"Admission’s a vial or a copper, loved pal a taste for et what you pay for here, love"
He tossed the copper high in the air, where it flashed with lantern light and moon darkness He held out his hand to catch it, but what landed across the red kid suede was a silver hatpin with a carved wood rose on the end Jacinda’s hand flew to her hair, a gasp on her lips
"I think you’ll be well rewarded for your time, Miss Harville"
"Mrs Harville"
"Not anymore"
She snatched up the pin in spite of his smirk and stuck it back in her hat As much as she wished to pretend she didn’t stor cheeks, that’s exactly what she did And asthe charreat clockwork dog a step behind her, she walked widdershins around the circle of wagons, to the well-trod spot where a repetitive musical thunk announced Marco’s skills She’d watched hi his actual act
The flavor of the carnival changed with each wagon Fro htrope walker to the cheerful horn of a clockworken’s butterfly circus, Jacinda absorbed it all like a greedy child in a candy store She didn’t stop to savor any one act, but she couldn’t help but appreciate the universal excitelittery oasis in the dark sea of the ht, blending seahts As Jacinda approached, the huramophone needle picked up, followed by a fanfare of truh Jacinda expected to see the spinning bull’s-eye she no so intion Of course, having met Mr Murdoch, she would have been foolish to expect anything less than a masterpiece when it came to the caravan’s equipment
The backdrop was painted to olden, with rolling hills and happy green trees as fluffy as candy floss Just like the fancy stage sets she’d seen in Milano and Paris and London, there were several layers of independently ras or puppet amboled, their merry eyes at odds with their blood-tipped teeth Behind the and as melty as hot chocolate Wooden birds swooped fro the bushes, its deep russet furthe muted pastoral hues Jacinda squinted for just ato uncover the secret of the clever mix of wood, paint, and clockwork She ied into the back of Marco’s crowd
An explosive crack and a puff of s fro even e in the newspaper Jacinda now kept rolled up in her desk His hair was pulled back low, and he wore a bandanna like an airship pirate, keeping his eyes free of windblown locks He ht sky if not for the spotlight’s keen glare off the line of bright silver knives glinting from boots to shoulders, at least twice as many as he usually wore As he posed and the audience clapped, Jacinda found herself daydrea the knives, one by one, froround, until his body was safe to explore without fear of the blades’ pointed tips