CHAPTER THREEEmma BaldwinHARLEM, 1943
As we barrel into the dressing room, I glance up at the conjured clouds that form the ceiling. I’m stunned by the way this night has gone, and my thoughts loop, the screams, the fog, the stardust. Demetri yanks me forward, and we barge through curtains of crystal raindrops hanging from the ceiling clouds.
“Over there.” Demetri points to the corner. “Let’s go.”
“Murderer!” someone shouts not far behind us.
“Get them!” another voice rages.
A mannequin swings back and forth in a gilded cage in the corner. Demetri reaches through the bars to grab the swing and yanks down on it hard. A flap door materializes.
“Come on!” he barks.
I follow Demetri inside.
This emergency exit will transport us to the other side of the circus, where the rest of the family should be—where we should be safe. We always need to be able to leave quickly if the Davenports show up. But this is the first time we’ve had to use it in a while.
We get swallowed by blackness.
An intense, cool rain greets us in the small closet. Papa spelled this entry with raindrops that’ll sting the flesh of intruders but don’t harm us. The water coats our faces in a cold sheen and makes my clothes cling to my body. “I can’t believe this happened,” I say. “That he died, and I—”
“You better believe it.” Demetri’s boots slap an irritated rhythm as he strides. “Your screwup killed a man.”
My heart plummets at his words. Rain runs down my face and hides my tears. The gravity of my mistake rushes over me as I prepare for the looks on Mom’s and Papa’s faces. Anger and sadness and frustration braid together inside me.
“You put us all at risk,” he says.
I reach for my brother in the dark, but the trapdoor beneath our feet opens.
We’re falling fast. I look up as the trapdoor closes. Wind whips through my hair. My chest burns. I hear my brother grunt, and my eyes adjust until I can finally see his flailing silhouette in the dark. The grits I ate for breakfast threaten to come up as we plunge.
We smash into blinding light before being tossed into the family tent. The hole in the roof closes behind us, vanishing like it was never there. My brother crashes down onto a mountain of furry blankets. I land on him. We are a mess of arms and legs.
“’Bout time you got here!”
I look to the right. Chunky heels tap on the fluffy rug. My eyes trail up to light brown muscular calves and then to a flowing red dress with white trim. Mom’s balled fists rest on the curves of the sequined fabric. She scowls, her fur stole clenching her neck. “If that trapdoor spell didn’t get you here fast enough, I was gonna drag you by force.”
Rain drips in my eyes. My victory rolls probably look a lot less victorious now. I can feel my hair frizz. My hand rises to my neck, confirming that my necklace is okay. “Mom… I—”
“I know what you did,” Mom interrupts. She takes a few steps back. A star-shaped clock pin clings to her dress. “Get up.Now!”
Demetri and I scramble to our feet. The mountain of fur blanketsvanishes, and a sound whirls through the tent. Over my shoulder, I see a giant silver theater mask, embossed with swirls of metallic gold, materialize on the wall. Gold teardrops fall from its eyes as it purses its lips, blasting warm, caramel-scented air through its mouth like a vent. It dries our clothes and restyles my hair.
“Why, Emma?” Mom raises her voice over the whooshing hum from the mask’s mouth.
Because I’m not perfect. I’m not Grace… I suck in as much air as my lungs can hold before I exhale and answer her. My anger is loose. “Do you ever get sick of doing the same thing every night?” My voice shakes.
“No.” Mom lines the suitcases and trunks in a row, cursing. “I want to keep you breathing.”
I throw up my hands, hoping she understands my frustration, but knowing she won’t. I tug on my trousers, button my blouse over the crumpled costume, and slide into my saddle shoes.
“You killed someone with your gift, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?” Her eyebrows lift.
My voice gets raspy and pained. “I messed up.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the large glass clock that stands near the door flap. Its sparkly black hands click the hour. My reflection looks terrible, my nostrils flaring, and my eyes are full of vine-like veins. I look like I toured hell and barely made it back.
“I know it’s been hard for you since Grace—” Mom’s voice cracks. “It hasn’t been easy for any of us. You’re not alone in your grief. But we have too many problems to deal with already. We don’t need you going rogue and making more, like you did tonight.”
“She’s always pulling stupid stunts.” Demetri helps Mom open the lids. “Won’t toe the line.”
