Page 44 of Magic for Nothing

“It’s that or sleep in the field.”

“Given that glorious range of options, cozy sounds good to me.” I stepped up into the RV. Then I frowned. “This is about half the size I expected from the outside.”

“Yeah, the other half is where we keep the pythons.”

It took me a second to realize he wasn’t kidding. “Lovely,” I said. “I’m assuming since Emery told you to put me here, she’ll be sending someone to get me when it’s time for my audition?”

“Yeah,” said Sam.

“Fantastic,” I said, and took great pleasure slamming the door in his face.

Of course, this left me, my suitcase, and my backpack in a room barely large enough to deserve the name. I hoisted the suitcase onto the bed before wiggling out of my pack and putting it carefully on the counter. I didn’t want to wake the mice if I could avoid it.

A cabinet door next to the microwave concealed a minuscule closet with a mirror on the inside. I squinted at my reflection: the frizzy braids, the deep circles under my eyes. I looked the part of someone who’d been beating the road for months, looking for a new place to belong. So why the hell was Sam so reluctant to believe me?

The bed, though narrow, looked comfortable. I decided to test it out by sitting down. Just for a minute. The mattress was thin. That didn’t matter. I yawned, closing my eyes. I wasn’t going to sleep, I was just going to take a second to center myself. I wasn’t going to sleep, I was just—

Someone was hammering on the door of the RV. I opened my eyes. The light slanting through the tiny window over the bed had changed, becoming brighter and more direct than should have been possible, considering the early morning fog.

“Uh-oh,” I said, and sat up.

My entire body ached. It felt like I’d been doing Pilates in my sleep, working my core until it gave up completely. I stood on shaky legs and staggered to the door, opening it to reveal Sam. He was wearing jeans and a different sweatshirt, this one much less shapeless and sleepwear-esque. He still wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Do you have some sort of religious issue with the idea of shoes?” I blurted.

He blinked. “If that’s what passes for ‘hello’ on your world, it’s no wonder you’re an exile on ours.”

“HAIL!” squeaked the mice. I looked behind me. Mindy and Mork were standing on the counter, under a little mouse lean-to they’d constructed from four plastic forks and a paper plate.

“Not going to ask where you got those,” I said, and turned back to Sam. “Sorry. I guess I was more exhausted than I thought. I crashed like the Hindenburg. What time is it?”

“Almost three,” he said. “Grandma wants you.”

“Do I have time to change into something that smells less like I’ve been sleeping in it for the last six hours?”

Sam actually smiled, thin-lipped and chilly. “No,” he said. “If you’re going to work this show, you’re going to come when my grandmother calls.”

“Goodie,” I said, and hopped down from the RV. I was still wearing my shoes. Hooray for the unexpected nap. “All right: take me to your leader.”

If the bone yard had seemed populous before, it was nothing compared to now. There were people everywhere, from the thickly muscled men and women in overalls moving heavy equipment from one place to another to the tattooed, strikingly-dressed performers, ride monkeys, and pitch men. There were also children, a surprising number for a show this size. Several of them went racing past, too caught up in their game of tag to register the fact that I was a stranger. I watched them go, feeling oddly wistful.

“Hey.”

I turned to Sam. He was looking at me, a surprising degree of understanding in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Just a little homesick,” I said.

“Well, don’t worry,” he said, the moment of understanding passing as quickly as it had come. “Grandma’s going to work you until you don’t have the energy to be homesick.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I said, and followed him through the tarp, onto the great sawdusted backbone of the carnival, which was lumbering to life around us. None of the rides were running yet, but they were swarming with carnies, checking the bulbs and the bolts, making sure that everything was good to go. About half the games were unshuttered, their pitch men going through their paces. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn drifted on the wind, sweet and close and demanding my attention. You could belong here, it said. Just breathe in, and belong.

I wasn’t the first person to hear the siren song of the carnival. I won’t be the last. I followed Sam into the big tent, where Emery Spenser stood with her hands on her hips, watching critically as two trapeze artists with half Sam’s skill flew through the air. She turned as we approached, seeming to intuit our presence, and smiled thinly at the sight of me.

“You look better after a few hours of sleep; less ‘resurrected corpse,’ which is always a good thing. The rubes don’t pay out for a sickly girl, remember that. Now. We don’t have time to change the performance schedule for tonight, and I’m not going to ask anyone to give up their slot for you. Understand?”

Well. That was getting right to the point. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Whatever you need me to do.”