The sound of laughter and music grew as Rory and Izzy stepped into Market Square. All of the vendors’ stalls had been cleared away to make room for the circus. Torches were staked into the ground, and soft moonlight touched the tops of the surrounding trees, spreading a glow among the festival goers. Several red-and-white tents dotted the space. On any other night, Rory would have admired the beauty of it all. But not tonight. Tonight was different. They were on their way to Foxglove Manor, and Market Square was simply in their path.
“Never seen a real circus before,” Izzy admitted.
“Me either,” Rory said. “Only in a few books.”
“What books?”
“I don’t know. Just books.”
Ahead of them, on a raised wooden stage, musicians with stringed instruments and drums played a festive tune, the melody drifting up into the night sky. Rory noticed that no one from Gloom danced though.
Izzy looked out at the crowd. “They don’t know,” she said. “Do they?”
“No,” Rory replied. “They don’t.”
That was all they needed to say. They both knew they were speaking of shadows.
On their right, a man nimbly walked across a cable strung from one makeshift platform to another, his arms spread out for balance. Izzy looked on in wonder. Her red hair was tied up in a knot. Rory knew what that meant. She was ready for a fight again. For a moment, he felt his eyes sting. Her bravery made his stomach pitch. She was the best friend one could ever hope for. He noticed a cloth pouch hanging at her waist.
“What you starin’ at?” she said, catching him off guard.
He pointed to the pouch. “What you got in there?”
She turned away from the spectacle and followed Rory’s eyes. “Stuff,” she said cryptically.
“Uh, what kind of stuff?”
“Stuff that’s gonna help us out if we run into trouble.”
Rory would have laughed, but he was too anxious. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”
“Depends,” Izzy declared.
“Oi! Rory!”
Rory turned to see Ox Bells lumbering up the road. A minute later, he was standing in front of them. Mum’s comrade wore a leather vest with no undershirt and pants that ballooned at the very bottom. A forest of thick black hair covered his chest. Rory was reminded of a bear he once saw from a distance when he was exploring in the Glades and way too far from home.
Ox Bells clapped him on the shoulder. He winced.
The big man nodded a greeting. “Rory. Isabella.”
Izzy smirked at being called by her proper name. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.
Ox Bells looked at her. “I’m built like a bear,” he said, slapping his broad chest. He waved his big hand in the air, grinning. “Sight to behold, innit? This is me old troupe, Rory. Met the new ringmaster the other day. Good fellow. Said he’d decided to come to Gloom to make a little coin.” He paused and looked around with admiration at the festivities. “No greater show than the Circus of Fates.”
“How long will they be here?” Izzy asked. “And why did you leave the circus, anyway?”
It was a good question, and Rory realized he had never asked it.
Ox Bells twirled one end of his mustache, something he always did when thinking. “Cannonball fell on my head. Knocked me clean out for a week. Never felt right after that.”
Rory shot Izzy a glance and tried not to chuckle.
“Back in my day,” the former strongman continued, “the Circus of Fates would set up for weeks at a time. Made more money that way.” He placed a heavy hand on Rory’s shoulder and bent down a little. “Now, if ya wanna see somethin’ magnificent, find the mermaid.” He finished with a wink.
Izzy rolled her eyes.
Ox Bells rose up and peered into the distance. “Bless my britches. I think I see old One-Handed Nick. Excuse me, if you will.”
Rory nodded absently and watched Ox Bells make his way down the road, bellowing a greeting as he did so.
“Maybe Ox Bells could knock down the door to Foxglove Manor,” Izzy suggested, watching his retreating figure, the muscles on his bare arms rippling.
“I thought the same thing,” Rory said.
They were interrupted by the arrival of a group of men and women, all dressed in beaded costumes of green, red, and gold, who quickly climbed atop one another, forming a triangle of bodies, the one at the very top standing with hands on hips.
A man on wooden stilts clomped by, his face a mosaic of painted stars. A girl, paper wings spread out behind her, carried a gilded cage holding an exotic bird boasting a spray of blue feathers. Rory’s head spun. And then he caught sight of a painted wooden ship held aloft by bare-chested strongmen on either side. At the front of it stood a boy about his age with skin just as dark, but with golden curls on his head.
“Goldenrod,” Rory murmured.
And that’s when he noticed it.
Torchlight cast the boy’s shadow on the cobblestones beneath his feet.
“Izzy,” he whisper-shouted. “He has a shadow!”
Izzy watched as the boy who played Goldenrod passed by. Her eyes grew wide. “Look at the others!” she said urgently.
Rory did. Mingled within the crowds of the shadowless Gloomfolk, he saw that every carnival player had a distinct shadow.
He turned and met Izzy’s eyes, which mirrored his own surprise.
“If these people still have shadows . . .” she started.
“That means they can still be stolen,” Rory finished.
“Do you think Foxglove knew they were coming to Gloom?” Izzy asked.
“A great harvest is coming,” he whispered, as it all clicked into place. “Gloom’s shadows weren’t enough. They need more. Much more.”
A horse galloped by, hooves pounding the cobblestones, its rider sitting high in the saddle. Rory and Izzy jumped out of the way, then moved back toward the edge of the square, where the woods met the town. Trees towered above them, their heavy branches creaking in the wind.
“Could it be?” Izzy asked, looking out at the crowd.
“We have to warn them,” Rory said.
“How?” Izzy questioned, turning to face him. “Just go up and tell them they have to leave Gloom or their shadows will get stolen? That’s mad, Rory!”
He knew she was right, as usual. The treetops above them continued to creak and groan.
She is coming. I can feel her upon the wind.
“The only thing to do is head to the manor,” Izzy declared. “I’ll fight Foxglove myself if I have to.” She looked at Rory and smiled.
They locked eyes, and Izzy’s courage spurred him on. “Right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
They stepped out of the darkness beneath the trees, ready to face who knew what. Rory was determined to meet it, though, come what may.
A group of jesters wearing brightly colored masks and red robes was approaching. A little girl tugged on one of the jester’s sleeves, who then reached down and dropped a treat into the eager child’s hand. She turned and ran back toward the crowd, holding aloft her prize as if it were a gold coin.
But something didn’t feel right. Rory tensed.
“What are they doing?” Isabella said, backing up. “Why are they walking toward us?”
One of the jesters held up a hand in greeting.
Rory sighed in relief, but as they drew closer, a sense of danger suddenly buzzed around his head. He caught a glimpse of two oddly colored eyes beneath one man’s silver mask.
“This way,” he said, steering Izzy to the right and toward the crowd. They needed to get closer to the activity before—
But it was too late.
One of the jesters closed the distance between them and grabbed Rory. Strong arms lifted him off his feet.
“Run!” he shouted. “Run, Izzy!”
The other masked attackers surged forward, their robes flapping in the wind. Izzy struck out with her small arms and legs, kicking, scratching, and cursing the whole while, but she was swatted away like a fly. “Help!” she cried out, rising to her feet. “Ox Bells, help!”
But all the music and commotion of the carnival goers drowned out her cries.
Rory struggled, but he was held tight.
“Got you now!” a familiar voice hissed in his ear.
Malvonius.
“No!” Rory shouted. “Ox Bells!”
But no one heard him.