The Night Circus - Page 46
Widget stops suddenly, frowning.
“You made it go away,” he says. “There’s nothing there anymore. How did you do that?”
“Some things are not for you to see,” Celia says.
Widget pushes his lower lip out in an impressive pout, but it only lasts as long as it takes him to bring another fistful of popcorn to his mouth.
Celia looks from the twins back in the direction of the courtyard, where the light from the bonfire gleams along the edges of the tents, casting dancing shadows of patrons across the striped fabric.
The bonfire never goes out. The flames never falter.
Even when the circus moves it is not extinguished, moved intact from location to location. Smoldering the entire length of each train journey, safely contained in its iron cauldron.
It has burned steadily since the ceremonious lighting on opening night.
And at the same moment, Celia remains certain, something was put in motion that impacted the entire circus and everyone within it once that fire was lit.
Including the newborn twins.
Widget born just before midnight, at the end of an old day. Poppet following moments later in a new day only just begun.
“Poppet,” Celia says, turning her attention back to the little girl who has been playing with the cuff of her jacket, “if you see things in the stars that you think might be important, I want you to tell me about them, do you understand?”
Poppet nods solemnly, clouds of red hair bobbing in waves. She leans in to ask Celia a question, her eyes dreadfully serious.
“May I have a caramel apple?” she asks.
“I’m out of popcorn,” Widget complains, holding out his empty bag.
Celia takes the bag from him and folds it up into ever-smaller squares while the twins watch, until it disappears completely. When they clap, Widget’s hands are no longer covered in caramel, though he does not notice.
Celia considers the twins for a moment, while Widget tries to figure out where the popcorn bag has gone and Poppet casts thoughtful glances up at the sky.
It is not a good idea. She knows it is not a good idea but it would be better to keep them close, to watch them more carefully given the circumstances and their apparent talents.
“Would the two of you like to learn how to do things like that?” Celia asks them.
Widget nods immediately, with such enthusiasm that his hat slips forward over his eyes. Poppet hesitates but then she nods as well.
“Then when you are a little bit older I shall give you lessons, but it will have to be our secret,” Celia says. “Can you two keep a secret?”
The twins nod in unison. Widget has to straighten his hat again.
They follow Celia happily as she leads them back to the courtyard.
Wishes and Desires
PARIS, MAY 1891
When the beaded curtain parts with a sound like rain, it is Marco who enters the fortune-teller’s chamber, and Isobel immediately flips her veil from her face, the impossibly thin black silk floating back over
her head like mist.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Ignoring her question, he holds out an open notebook, and in the flickering light Isobel can discern a bare black tree. It is not like the trees that are inscribed in so many of his books, this one is covered in dripping white candles. Surrounding the main drawing are detailed sketches of twisting branches, capturing several different angles.
“That’s the Wishing Tree,” Isobel says. “It’s new.”
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