Page 42 of Magic for Nothing

“That’s a pity and a blessing at the same time. Once you’ve lost everything you have to lose, transition gets easier.” Emery leaned forward. “What can you do? Don’t lie, and don’t exaggerate. You have a pair of Aeslin mice with you. That alone buys you an audition, and possibly a berth, if you don’t need to go terribly far. They’re rare creatures in this day and age. They deserve to be protected.”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m doing my best to do right by them.” Mindy looked up at me, bristling her whiskers into a fan, and I resisted the urge to cup my hands around the mice and protect them from prying eyes. Aeslin mice were pushed to the brink of extinction by a combination of monster hunters and overly-ambitious showmen who thought talking mice were the flea circus of the future. “I do trampoline work, some trapeze—give me a good partner and a solid net and I’m up for almost anything. No high wire or tightrope work. My balance is good, but it’s not superhuman. I’m an excellent knife-thrower, hit what I’m aiming for nine times out of ten, even when I’m in motion. Um. I know how to make coffee, I can change the tires on a car, and I roller skate.”

Emery raised an eyebrow. “You . . . roller skate.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sometimes while throwing knives. It can be pretty impressive if I do it right, and it’s definitely fun for the crowd. Um, I know how to rig most throwing games, and can play the plant if I’m not doing my own knife-throwing act.” Playing the plant meant being the one to walk the midway, looking delighted by the chance to show my skills. It meant winning a lot of stuffed rabbits that would then go back into the general pool to be won again. And it meant not doing anything more public-facing, since the rubes tended to get pretty pissed off when they realized the girl who’d shilled them into plunking down five or ten or twenty dollars on an unwinnable game was also the carnival marksman.

“You realize I’m going to ask you to prove every skill you’ve just listed for me,” said Emery. “Are you sure this is the resume you want to go with?”

I paused to do a quick review before offering, “I also mend my own clothes, don’t snore, don’t smoke, and mostly don’t bite people.”

“The standards were very low at your original show, weren’t they?”

“I work to my strengths,” I said, and shrugged. “Not attacking people without cause is a strength.”

“I see. And how did you come to acquire your traveling companions?”

“They’ve been with my family for generations. They need me.” Still not a lie. Still not the entire truth. “I guess this is where I tell you that I know the mice aren’t the only strange things in the world, and that it’s not my business if not everyone with the show is entirely human. Ma’am.”

Emery’s eyebrows rose. “That’s blunt.”

“I try to be.”

Sam’s return cut off her reply. Emery flashed him a smile and relieved him of a plate, which she set in front of me. “I’ll want a demonstration of the things you say you can do after lunch. Until then, eat, rest, and try not to make too much of a nuisance of yourself. Sam, show Timpani around, and take her to Umeko’s old trailer, I think. Umeko hasn’t used it in months, and Timpani will need a place to sleep for as long as she’s with us.”

“But, Grandma—” Sam began.

“No arguments. Breakfast and tour guide. That’s a good boy.” She stood, kissed him on the temple, and walked away, leaving me to blink after her.

“I guess my interview’s over,” I said.

Sam scowled as he sat in her vacated spot. “Did you fail it? Please tell me you failed it.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, pulling my plate closer. The theme of the meal seemed to be “beige.” Scrambled eggs, oatmeal—with brown sugar and butter, at least, which elevated it to the level of “actually food”—two pieces of cornbread, and a glass of orange juice. I gave one of the pieces of cornbread to the mice, who cheered enthusiastically before vanishing under the table with it. Like most mice, Aeslin do not enjoy having humans watch them eat.

“Damn,” said Sam.

I raised both my eyebrows. “Are we going to have a problem?”

“It depends. Are you going to leave?”

“I told you, I’m looking for a permanent show.”

“Then yes, we’re going to have a problem.” He scowled harder at me.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being scowled at. My siblings have been doing it for as long as I can remember. I picked up my fork and began mashing my scrambled eggs into the oatmeal. “Too bad. You’re not totally unfortunate on the trapeze. Your form isn’t great—”

“Hey!”

“—but that doesn’t mean you don’t have potential. We could have had a lot of fun.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. Actually scoffed. “Like you could keep up with me?”

I shrugged broadly. “You could try me and find out. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Or maybe you’ll drive me insane with your insistence that you belong here, and your voice will magically become the dulcet humming of the spheres.”

I blinked. “Harsh.”