With an acrobat’s reflexes, Dru grabbed for the wire. He caught it and held tight as it swung down, bringing him with it like a huge pendulum.
Everyone rushed forward. They gathered below the tent pole as Dru, white-faced, inched his way down the wire. He dropped the last few feet and stood there trembling with shock.
“I’m all right,” he said, waving away their anxious questions. “These things happen.”
“Not in this circus they don’t!” Collette burst out. “This was no accident. Someone sabotaged that wire!” She turned on Lizzie. “It was you, wasn’t it? You meant that to happen to me!”
“I never!” Lizzie yelled.
“Oh, no? Then how did you know my brother was in danger, eh?”
“I . . .” The words stuck in Lizzie’s throat. How could she possibly explain? “I just had a feeling.”
Collette just snorted at that.
Lizzie turned around, desperate for backup, but Nora and Erin were looking at her with doubtful faces. Surely they couldn’t think she was responsible!
But it was Hari who came to her rescue. “I think you should all look at this,” he said quietly. He held up the end of the fallen high wire, which was frayed and discolored.
“Mildew,” said Dru, shaking his head. “It must have been rotting through for weeks. Collette, how many times have I said we need a new rope?”
Lizzie folded her arms. “I’m waiting for an apology.”
Collette stared at Lizzie as if she were suddenly afraid of her. “You stay away from me,” she hissed. “You spooky little fr —”
She stopped herself just in time, but Lizzie knew what she’d been going to say. Freak. Then, without another word, Collette turned and ran from the tent.
“I’m sorry about my sister,” Dru said, patting Lizzie’s shoulder in a way that made her shiver all over. “She’ll calm down. She’s just upset.”
“You were just worried about Dru, weren’t you?” Nora said to her. “That’s all it was. Just a wee fret. Got yourself all worked up.”
“I s’pose,” Lizzie said.
But deep inside, she knew it had been something more. And by the looks on their faces, the others clearly thought so too.
* * *
Early the next day, when Lizzie went to meet Madame Aurora, the first thing that greeted her was a low groan from inside the tent.
Pa used to sound like that, she thought to herself. After a night of drinking, he’d spend the morning nursing his aching head. It was best to be as quiet as you could around adults with hangovers — she’d learned that the hard way. Softly, she moved the curtain aside and looked in.
Madame Aurora was still wearing last night’s makeup, and her eyes looked sunken and bloodshot. Lizzie had caught her in the act of swigging from a bottle. Their eyes met.
“Morning!” Lizzie said brightly.
Madame Aurora hastily stuck the bottle under the table, which was covered with a spread of tarot cards. Before it vanished, Lizzie smelled the sharp, unmistakable tang of gin.
“Draw that blasted curtain!” the fortune-teller snapped. “Too much light angers the spirits!”
Lizzie knew that the spirits couldn’t care less about the light, but she understood that the bright sunshine was probably hurting Madame Aurora’s throbbing head. She moved into the tent and let the curtain fall closed behind her. There was no sense in making an enemy of her new boss.
“Well, I’m stuck with you, so I’m going to make use of you,” Madame Aurora said. “The customers will be lining up soon. When they do, I want you to keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Open for what?” Lizzie asked.
“Anything I can use!” the woman said, rubbing her eyes. “Do I have to spell it out for you, girl?”
“To get a better connection with the spirits, and such?” Lizzie said carefully.
“Of course. The more I know about the client ahead of time, the more I’ll be able to . . . help them,” Madame Aurora said.
Lizzie nodded slowly. So that was her game, was it? She had to hang around outside the tent listening to anything the waiting customers might let slip, like their job or where they lived, or even what they were planning to ask about. Then she would quickly tell Madame Aurora, who could pretend that the spirits had told her.
“I can do that, easy,” Lizzie boasted.
“You’d better,” Madame Aurora said. “There’s another job you need to do. Do you know what ambience means?”
“It’s a carriage they take sick people off in.”
“That’s an ambulance, you stupid girl,” Madame Aurora snapped. “Ambience means an atmosphere. Creating mysterious ambience helps the client to believe.”
Lizzie nodded. That must be what all the decoration inside the tent was for. Just more show, more illusion.
“I need you to help create ambience, understand? If I say something like ‘Spirits, show your presence!’ then you knock on the table or mess about with the lamps. Make ’em go low and flickery, that’s always a good one.”
“But don’t get caught doing it,” Lizzie added, starting to catch on.
Madame Aurora raised an eyebrow. Her makeup cracked like old plaster. “You’re catching on quick. You might be more useful than I thought. Here, sit down.” She stood, and made Lizzie sit down in her seat. Madame Aurora’s breath stank of gin. “Communicating with the spirits takes a lot out of me,” she explained. “I need to have a little nap now and again.”
“I bet you do,” Lizzie muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Lizzie said quickly.
Madame Aurora began to unwrap the veils and shawls from around herself and drape them on Lizzie. They smelled like old sweat and gin. Lizzie wrinkled her nose but said nothing. This was the only job she had, and she couldn’t afford to lose it.
“While I’m resting, you’ll have to cover for me,” Madame Aurora told her. “Nobody will know it’s not the real Madame Aurora under these wraps.”
“What am I meant to tell them?” Lizzie protested.
“Hold your horses a moment. There! Now you look the part. Can you do the voice?”
Lizzie coughed. “You are troubled, dear,” she said, just as she had the night before.
“Close enough. Now, take my hand as if I was the client. That big line down the middle of my palm is the life line.”
“Got it,” Lizzie said.
“Run your middle finger down the life line. Gently!”
“Like this?”
“That’s it,” Madame Aurora said.
Lizzie frowned. “That’s funny.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“I can see something,” Lizzie said breathlessly. “Pictures in my head.”
“No, don’t sound surprised!” Madame Aurora snapped at her. “You’re supposed to be a psychic! And remember to do the voice. Start with something like ‘the mists are parting. . . .’”
“No, I really can see something,” Lizzie said. An image was forming in her mind, right behind her eyes, as if a magic lantern was shining it there. It was blurred, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, but she could still make it out.
A boy, making a pile of sticks to burn a broken doll on. And a little girl, crying.
“It’s a doll funeral,” Lizzie said.
Madame Aurora nearly jerked her hand right out of Lizzie’s grip. “What?”
“The doll’s broken, and the boy wants to burn it, but the girl don’t want him to.”
“Amelia,” Madame Aurora whispered, looking shocked. “How on earth . . .”
“Now there’s something else.” Lizzie moved her finger further down Madame Aurora’s life line. “The picture’s not quite so blurry this time. It’s that girl again. But she’s older. About sixteen? Wearing a bonnet. In a room, in a house. She’s tying up a stack of letters with a big pink ribbon. And she’s happy.”
“Happy,” Madame Aurora echoed.
Lizzie gulped and blushed a little. “I think they’re love letters.”
Madame Aurora opened her mouth and shut it again.
“Now she’s on a stage, singing a song. The pictures are getting clearer! She’s older now. She’s trying her best, but they’re booing her, poor thing.” Lizzie suddenly realized who it was in the visions. “She looks like you!”
“What song?” Madame Aurora demanded. “What song, you little wretch?”
Lizzie strained to make it out. “‘It was only a violet, plucked from my poor mother’s grave . . .’”
Madame Aurora gasped. “How dare you? You ungrateful, prying —”
“Now I can see you, just like you are today. It’s not blurry at all. It’s so clear, it’s like looking right at you! And there’s bright light . . . you’ve got your robes on, in this here tent, and you’re talking to a bloke. A posh-looking gent—”
What Lizzie saw next shut her up quickly. In her vision, Madame Aurora was quite clearly stealing from her client. Lizzie watched her reach across, lift a pocketwatch from the client’s jacket, and slip it into her own. Then the vision vanished.
Madame Aurora snatched back her hand, and before Lizzie could say another word, she pulled her up by her shoulders, tore the veils and robes off her, and shoved her out of the tent.
“Who do you think you are, eh?” Aurora screeched from the doorway. “I’m the fortune-teller in this show, not you!” Then she bent over, clutching her head and wincing. “I’m going for a nap.”
“What about the clients?” Lizzie protested.
“Forget the stupid clients! And forget you too. Get out of my sight! You’re finished here, do you hear me? Finished!”