The Night Circus(89)

“I’ve tried,” Marco says, cupping her face in his hands. “I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you. Do you not feel the same for me?”

“I do,” Celia says. “I have you here, all around me. I sit in the Ice Garden to get a hint of this, this way that you make me feel. I felt it even before I knew who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.”

“Then what is stopping us from being together now?” he asks. He slides his hands down from her face, following the neckline of her gown.

“I want to,” Celia says, gasping as his hands move lower. “Believe me, I want to. This is not only about you and me. There are so many people tangled up in this game. It’s becoming more and more difficult to keep everything in order. And this”—she rests her hands over his—“this is extremely distracting. I worry what might happen if I lose my concentration.”

“You don’t have a power source,” he says. She looks at him, confused.

“A power source?” she repeats.

“The way I use the bonfire, as a conduit. Borrowing energy from the fire. You don’t have anything like that, you work only with yourself?”

“I don’t know any other way,” Celia says.

“You are constantly controlling the circus?” Marco asks.

Celia nods. “I am accustomed to it. Most of the time it is manageable.”

“I can’t imagine how exhausting that must be.”

He kisses her softly on the forehead before letting her go, staying as close to her as he can without touching.

And then he tells her stories. Myths he learned from his instructor. Fantasies he created himself, inspired by bits and pieces of others read in archaic books with crackling spines. Circus concepts that would not fit in tents.

She responds with tales from her childhood spent in back rooms of theaters. Adventures in far-flung cities the circus has visited. She recounts events from her spiritualist days, delighted when he finds the endeavor as absurd as she had at the time.

They sit and talk until just before dawn, and he leaves her only when the circus is about to close.

Marco holds Celia to his chest for a moment before he stands, pulling her up with him.

He takes a card from his pocket that contains only the letter M and an address.

“I have been spending less time at Chandresh’s residence,” he says, handing her the card. “When I am not there, this is where you’ll find me. You are welcome any time, day or night. Should you ever be in the mood for a distraction.”

“Thank you,” Celia says. She turns the card over in her fingers and it vanishes.

“When all of this is over, no matter which one of us wins, I will not let you go so easily. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Marco takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the silver ring that conceals her scar.

Celia traces the line of his jaw with her fingertips. Then she turns, disappearing before he can reach out to pull her back.





An Entreaty

CONCORD, MASSACHUSETTS, OCTOBER 30, 1902




The sheep are in a terrible mood today as Bailey attempts to usher them from one field to another. They have resisted prodding, swearing, and pushing, insisting that the grass in their current field is much nicer than the grass just on the other side of the gate in the low stone wall, no matter how much Bailey tries to persuade them otherwise.

And then there is a voice behind him.

“Hello, Bailey.”

Poppet looks wrong, somehow, standing there on the opposite side of the wall. The daylight is too bright, the surroundings too mundane and green. Her clothes, even though they are her incognito-wear and not her circus costume, seem too fancy. Her skirt too ruffled for everyday wear; her boots, though dusty, too dainty and impractical for walking across a farm. She wears no hat, her red hair loose, whipping around her head in the wind.

“Hello, Poppet,” he says once he recovers from his surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you about something,” she says. “Ask you something, I mean.”

“It couldn’t wait until tonight?” Bailey asks. Meeting up with Poppet and Widget almost as soon as the circus opens each evening has become a nightly routine.

Poppet shakes her head.

“I thought it would be better to give you time to think about it,” she says.

“Think about what?”

“Think about coming with us.”

Bailey blinks at her. “What?” he manages to ask.

“Tonight is our last night here,” she says. “And I want you to come with us when we leave.”

“You’re joking,” Bailey says.

Poppet shakes her head.

“I’m not, I swear I’m not. I wanted to wait until I was sure it was the right thing to ask, the right thing to do, and I’m sure now. It’s important.”

“What do you mean? Important how?” Bailey asks.

Poppet sighs. She looks up, peering as though she is searching for the stars hidden behind the blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds.

“I know you’re supposed to come with us,” she says. “I know that part for certain.”