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As I sat in the midst of the crowd, thoughts of what could be inside the vial swirled around in my head. It was better than staring idly at the all-encompassing darkness. The pair of stagehands assigned to watching me sat in the two seats behind me. They tailed me the whole way to my seat, no doubt to make sure I didn’t try to disappear again. I could feel their eyes on me, daring me to do something that would cause them to jump into action.
That unpleasant image turned my attention to my immediate surroundings. The distant glare of the spotlight, now firmly fixed on Laurent in the center ring, provided enough illumination for me to glimpse the faces around me. All those unsuspecting men, women and children I sat among... My previous suspicion that Laurent was testing my self-control earlier in the day was instantly dwarfed by my anxiety. Now that it was time for my first performance since my return, two things ran through my mind. First, I wondered which of these poor souls would be lost to the circus after tonight? While that thought preyed on my mind, I struggled over my second concern. How could I hide my unease and discomfort over their dismal fate as I performed my act?
The sudden appearance of another spotlight pulled me away from my futile thoughts. The spotlight began making frantic sweeps of the crowd, rather like a starving man looking at a feast.
“But wherever can our pretty bird be?” Laurent called out, exaggeratedly putting his hand to his ear. “Surely, she must be here somewhere... I can almost hear her...” A corresponding flute played the appropriate notes while a new spotlight continued its bogus “search.”
A tight knot formed in my stomach. This part of the show had been unaltered since the beginning of the tour. Soon enough, the spotlight reached my general direction, gradually moving over the crowd until at last, it located me. Once, I would have relished all the attention. Now, it felt like the hostile glare of an angry god, preparing to deliver my appropriate punishment.
Undaunted, I rose from my seat and forced a smile as I presented myself to the audience. The drab coat I wore to cover my stage clothes fell away, revealing the brightly colored, sequined costume that was worthy of my avian character. It maddened me to see how little everything had changed: the crowd’s enthusiastic applause, the wonder-struck faces, the fanfare of having the spotlight and the orchestra heralding my presence. Apparently, the only thing that had changed was me. But I had no way to tell or show that to anyone.
With halting steps, I made my way down the aisle, and through the crowd, all the while in a slight daze. Naturally, I did my best to conceal my angst, recalling how Laurent handled things with a good dose of charm and poise. Still, I found it hard to keep from touching anyone with my bare hands. Just before my performance, I realized the gloves I usually wore werenotincluded in my belongings in the new tent.
As to the gloves, they were an integral part of my costume because they prevented skin-to-skin contact with the audience which, in turn, ensured that everyone I came into contact with would be protected from subsequent death. Now, lacking them entirely, I had to restrict my interaction with the crowd to a sincere smile and a wave. And that was difficult because I’d always appreciated their love and support, and every last one of them was a gift to me. It was one of many reasons why I wanted to spare them any injury.
I was nearly to the stage when disaster suddenly struck. A plainly dressed woman whose bulk and rough hands spoke of a hard life on the farm suddenly seized my left hand. That was all it took. The woman’s touch triggered the appearance of the scythe on my wrist. I nearly screamed with horror when she kissed my hand and gave it a motherly pat. Instantly, the mark left my wrist and appeared on hers. By the time she sat down, I saw the omen of doom wink out like a dying ember. So distracted was I by the sight, I failed to notice what was happening on my right side. In short order, my right hand was taken by more fans. My eyes spotted the mark of the scythe on all of their wrists before they, too, resumed their seats.
The last hand to touch me belonged to a small boy no older than ten. The oblivious crowd ignored the storm that raged inside me. Seeing this wide-eyed child, whose scythe mark had faded away, made me stop for a moment. He gave me a curious look mixed with loving concern.
“Is something wrong, miss?” he asked in a truly innocent manner.
All I did, all Icoulddo, was widen my smile and lightly ruffle the hair on his head. “Oh, whatever could be wrong?” came my reply. The pang of apprehension stopped me from touching him again, although I knew in my heart, he was condemned the moment he touched me. What further harm could I cause him by avoiding his touch now? A person can only die once, after all.
By and by, I bounded across the stage to stand under the spotlight alongside Laurent.
“And here’s our pretty bird now!” he said, waving at me with one of his signature flourishes. “Come home to rest and recuperate from her long flight...” He paused for a moment before adding, “Of course, one can always rest more easily at home. And what home could be better-suited for such a magnificent creature than this?”
Gesturing toward the shadows behind him, the spotlight followed the direction he indicated until it fell on the gilded birdcage, which had been discreetly wheeled into place just moments before. The audience uttered a collective “ahh” followed by mutters of wonder and concern. After all, the birdcage would have been a palace to any actual bird, but far too small for even one as tiny as I was. Undeterred, Laurent opened the cage door and gave me a deep bow.
“After you, oh, lovely one.”
The moment of truth arrived, and I slid one foot inside. My routine had the familiarity of slipping into an uncomfortable but favorite dress. The audience grew louder as I bent, wiggled and squirmed my way into the cramped confines of the cage. It remained as tightly compact as ever but there was also something very comforting about it. The cage felt like an old friend, always waiting patiently for me to return.
Like Amelia, a voice in my mind whispered. That made me wonder whether Laurent had begun working on my own doll since I’d left. I tried my best to push those terrible thoughts aside. At the moment, all my concentration was fixed on getting inside the birdcage without harming myself. My one last thought on the subject was how sorry I felt that Amelia had never been able to perform under this same spotlight.
When Laurent closed the cage door behind me, the audience’s applause was long and sustained. Laurent took a moment to let it soak in, raising his hands in grateful acknowledgment. Then, after a suitable pause, he gently resumed his performance.
“Please, please,” he said, “our pretty bird is quite tired, as you can see. Any noise is apt to delay her recovery.” Then he looked at me as if seeing my current position for the first time. “But then again, she hardly looks comfortable, does she?” After the audience responded with a loudNo!, he said, “Perhaps she needs to find a more comfortable position in order to properly rest.”
Those words were my cue to begin the next portion of my act, which was new. I slowly began turning myself around inside the cage, using the cage bars to adjust myself sideways. That was the innovation Laurent devised after the pen incident. It was impressive to watch and also allowed me a safe pause, during which I could fully execute my reversal.
The crowd’s response became louder with each fresh rotation of my body, culminating into an explosive round of applause once I finished turning myself upside down. As the applause died down, I inverted the process, returning right-side up, and carefully pulled myself into the proper position to make my final exit at the orchestral climax.
Laurent then addressed the audience and asked, “Shall we try setting our beautiful bird free?” The predictable, enthusiastic yell in the affirmative from everyone rose like a tidal wave. “Are you certain?” Laurent asked with a chuckle, which got him another yell that was even longer sustained than the last. He gave a dramatic sigh before saying, “Oh, very well...” Opening the cage, he said to me, “Out you come, my pretty one.”
I eventually came out, once more, sliding and twisting my body by degrees. All the while, I worried Laurent would invite more audience members onstage to touch me. Or were the unfortunate victims who were already marked enough for tonight? Once more, my exit was accompanied by the hearty applause of the crowd. Laurent gave another dramatic wave as he added, “Fly, feathered little one, fly away. And may the angels guide you to your proper resting place!”
Looking beyond the spotlight, I could see the stagehands who were guarding my tent waiting for me. Apparently, my role in the show was at an end. I made an exaggerated run off the stage before the stagehands swept me up by the arms once I was hidden in the darkness. Laurent continued his act as they dragged me away from the big top.
Chapter Six
In the dim half-light that filtered in from the outside of the tent, my eyes bounced back and forth between the vial in my hand and the silhouettes of my guards outside.
When they escorted me back to my tent, I realized how truly cut off I was from the rest of the circus. I could make out the festive lights and throngs of people behind us but I was so far away, I might as well have been looking at the moon. I was shoved unceremoniously inside the tent, and my sentries warned me not to make any trouble for the rest of the night.
With nothing left to lose, I retrieved the vial and quietly pulled off the stopper. Giving the contents a quick sniff—being careful not to inhale it, lest it domeharm—a cloying odor tickled my nostrils. Had I been a chemist, I might have recognized the scent. As a contortionist, I didn’t. I put the stopper back in place but kept the vial in my hand.
