The Girl Who Joined the Circus

“He’s killed him!” I whispered, barely able to speak.

“It’s all right.” Halfrieda caught me with a deep chuckle and added, “It’s all part o’ the act, love. Jist keep watchin’.”

I didn’t want to keep watching, but morbid curiosity forced my eyes back to the performance. That and I wanted to make sure for myself that Rex wasn’t actually dead or dying. Blood glistened brightly, cascading down Rex’s torso and soaking the waistline of his pants.

A hush fell over the crowd as everyone studied Rex’s reaction, expecting him to crumple to the floor or yell in pain. But The Incredible, Indestructible Man didn’t even flinch! As a matter of fact, he plucked a book out of the shadows, opened it, and casually started reading, as if he were relaxing at the beach.

Laurent stabbed him once more, this time in the back of his shoulder, as the crowd gawked, their murmurs rising with their shock. Rex comically turned the page of the book, yawned, and continued reading, which resulted in a nervous chuckle from the amazed crowd.

My heart was pounding so hard, I could barely hear the audience beyond the roaring of blood echoing through my ears.

Then, in a flash of smoke, two jars appeared on small tables before Rex, courtesy of what I could only term: Laurent’s magic. One jar glittered with shards of broken glass; the other held rusted nails.

“This is a rare chance, ladies and gentlemen,” Laurent announced, a sinister tone tainting his voice, “to cleanse yourselves from any depraved, unhealthy thoughts that exist in your mind. You must purge your sins, purify your mind and body by punishing the flesh of our Indestructible Man! I now ask for any volunteers to come onstage and try your luck at injuring or destroying our Indestructible Man.” He held his arms out wide at his side as he faced one side of the audience and then the other. “Any takers?”

The crowd whispered amongst themselves. Rex snapped his book shut, staring straight into the crowd before gesturing to a pair of teenage boys sitting in the front row. The boys exchanged nervous looks, but stumbled out of their seats and headed toward the stage. A hesitant round of applause sounded from the audience and Rex waved toward the two jars. Another silence fell, as a general understanding settled heavily over the tent.

“They wouldn’t really…” I whispered.

One of the boys, who looked to be eighteen or nineteen perhaps, stepped forward, taking Rex’s hand and dragging it toward the jar of broken glass. He shoved Rex’s hand into the jar, shaking and twisting Rex’s hand violently, until blood was gushing, filling up the jar and making it near impossible to see inside it.

I gasped, echoing the gasps and shouts that filled the air, as some spectators covered their eyes. My stomach turned at the sight and I had to look away briefly and suck in a gulp of cold air before bracing myself again for the unpleasantness.

And yet, Rex calmly pulled his hand from the jar, brushed the glass off onto his pants, and bloody shards tinkled to the floor. Encouraged by his friend, the other boy eagerly grabbed Rex’s uninjured hand and roughly shoved it into the jar of rusty nails, achieving the same results as with the broken glass.

But this time, I was watching.

This time, I saw what happened.

Just like Laurent and the dancing woman from the other night, something snaked across Rex’s hand and settled onto the wrist of the boy. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was—some sort of half-circle, a horseshoe maybe—but it remained on the boy’s skin after Rex pulled away from him, an inky mark just like I’d seen happen with Laurent.

The show continued, but I barely noticed it until the final stunt. I was too stunned by the realization that what I’d witnessed the night before was now repeating itself, only with Rex instead of Laurent.

The final part of the act featured a tiger.

The creature was wheeled out in a large cage of sturdy metal bars, growling and roaring all the while, clearly agitated by the cheering crowd. Rex walked right up to the cage and leaned against it nonchalantly. The tiger lunged at him, its claws fully extended, and shredded the side of his arm. Rex showed no pain at all, no reaction, and the crowd’s concern quickly passed. They cheered, inflating the tent with a potent sense of energy.

It was a remarkable act, but as I walked away, I could only think of those two boys who were just on the cusp of becoming men. Rex had marked both of them, just as Laurent had marked his dance partner the night before. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I doubted it was good and I had a haunting feeling I might end up seeing both of the boys on a poster—that is, if I decided to return to the ebony caravan.