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The world shifted.
For a moment my eyes were blinded as if by bright sunlight, hot air seared my nostrils, and I heard birds and babbling water. I swore lips brushed my cheek. Then the dim interior of the carriage came into focus again—and the worried faces of the twins.
“Are you all right, hon?” asked Violet.
“Yes,” I mumbled. I felt foolish.
The coachman cracked his whip, and I half fell, half jumped off the running board. “Thank you,” I called, and waved at the carriage until it reached the end of the long driveway, too stunned by my odd spell to do more.
Finally I took a deep breath and followed the others indoors on unsteady feet. Was I so unnerved by the twins’ leaving that I would have a fit? Did I fear this was the end of life as I had known it? If Faeryland closed down, my parents might have to go on the road again to make a living. They hadn’t done that since I was small. Now I was almost a man, I would have to pull my weight too, but was I afraid I wasn’t up to it? I was so ordinary, after all. I didn’t have an unusual physical difference to trade on; did I have enough talent? Was my knife-throwing good enough?
A crowd still loitered in the lobby, and worry hummed in the air. My parents had come down to find out what the fuss was about, and Phoebe had joined her ma and pa there. The people present were
as firm a part of my home as the furniture: midgets, dwarfs, fat ladies, one of the giants on tottery legs, and Apollo holding on with hairy hands to two of the pinheads, who wanted to dance. They were proud of their skills and defiant about their appearance. I loved them all, but for the first time in my life I felt different—and alone.
“What’s wrong, pretty boy,” said Archie Crum, “you never seen freaks before?”
The laughter around me was meant to be harmless and friendly, but this evening it placed me across the universe from them. I hung my average head, clenched my commonplace fists, and marched myself to my room.
That night I dreamed that I stood beside a garden fountain tiled with a design of lotus flowers. A dusky beauty barely dressed in white linen, the reflection of water sparkling in her eyes, slipped a scarab ring on my finger. She uttered words in a strange language that flowed and clicked; yet I knew what she said. “Wear this to remember me always.” My heart held the heat of the red clay garden walls. The pungent fragrance of flowers and spices enveloped us, and our lips touched in a soft kiss that melted me with desire.
I woke short of breath and smiling, with an ache in my loins.
Where would I find a girl like that? I wondered. Not at home, I was sure.
2
FOLLOW THROUGH, FOLLOW through,” Uncle Jack called across the barn. “You stopped short and flipped the knife. No wonder your aim is east of Bethlehem.”
I tried to concentrate and wipe from my mind the delicious dream kiss that had haunted me all morning, but my next knife went awry like the last and clattered to the boards. I threw my arms in the air with a snort of disgust.
“Maybe you need a heavier knife for distance,” Jack said. “Try these.” He handed me the bandolier he wore over his shoulder.
I strapped it on and tested the balance of the knives, then pushed up my sleeves and walked to my mark.
Colonel Kingston insisted that everyone develop at least one skill, so I had studied with Jack for a year now. That expectation included the human oddities. “Nobody sits on their hind end here and gets by on their pretty looks,” the colonel said. “A two headed man can amaze the audience three times at the most, but a two-headed man who juggles his hats—that’s a show!”
I flipped a knife from each hand, and my scarab ring caught the light, splintering it into shards of sun. Perhaps that was a charm. Each knife pierced the target. I pulled two more from their sheathes and struck in quick succession, then two more; all hit around center. I felt like crowing.
Jack held up his stopwatch. “You need to work on that speed.”
I almost cried a protest, except Jacks lip twitched in amusement, and I realized he was teasing. I was good, and he knew it; maybe soon he would recommend that the colonel let me throw onstage. Perhaps then I could prove I was an asset to the show, even though I had no difference.
Jack’s difference currently hid beneath the billowing front of his white shirt. When he worked onstage, he stripped to the waist to reveal the stunted legs that should have been attached to my father, his twin, if not for some strange accident in the womb. The other night I expressed surprise that the audience had not recognized Jack when he rose from the seats as a volunteer. “Do you think they ever look at my face when I’m onstage?” Jack asked.
At least they saw him. I was too much like the audience to be noticed. In my nightmares I found myself trapped in the seats, unable to find the aisle, forever forbidden the stage. I often wished I were not so ordinary.
My normality made me a useful errand boy, unfortunately. Today I had to go to the post office to collect some packages. They were probably the usual items: special shoes for the giants, custom-made clothes for the midgets—they would rather rot in hell than wear children’s apparel—and, if I was lucky, the books I’d sent for.
Phoebe met me outside the stables. The hair of her face was neatly brushed and held back with ribbons under her ears. “Your mama says to remind you to take Apollo if you go swimming today,” she said, lashes lowered shyly.
I rolled my eyes. Why was I always put in charge of that boy? What if I had plans? Oh, no—dependable, boring old Abel wouldn’t have plans, would he?
Phoebe glanced around the deserted yard. “And she says not to forget her wool.”
I noticed a breathy quality to her voice that hinted of anticipation, and wished I hadn’t. The coast was clear and she wanted me to kiss her. The memory of that dream kiss still haunted me, and I couldn’t bear to erase it with a furry, real-life substitute.
She hesitated; then, “I’d advise you to talk to my father soon if you’ve intentions,” she said all in a rush, and giggled.
