Someone bumped hard into her shoulder. She whirled around and sneered, but the woman dressed as a chicken paid her no mind. She was too busy raising her feathered arm and downing a full bottle of glowing liquid. The woman’s eyes bulged as the cerulean tonic slipped down her throat. She wheezed.
Esmeralda snickered.Serves her right for not watching where she was walking.
The magic elixirs were meant to be sipped slowly over days, not taken all at once. Whatever the woman drank would be in her system for at least a month. The tonics sold in the shops did whatever they wanted and often acted like naughty children, forever switching labels from hair growth to nose growth tinctures. From love potions to potions that induced gas. Magic was as devious as it was wonderful.
The woman gasped and coughed. The man wearing a rooster costume beside her patted her back, causing the fleshy red comb on his head to wobble.
“I told you to taste it first,” he shouted over the music and mayhem.
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but the screech of a hen came out instead. She clutched her neck. Her eyes bulged. She tried to say something else, but all she could do was cluck.
Esmeralda pulled the last card from the pocket in her cloak and slipped it into the man’s hand. He blinked in confusion.
“La Paloma Blanca can help you with your troubles,” she said in her most mysterious and alluring tone. She spun away. Laughter bubbled out of her at the thought of telling fortunes to an oversized fowl.
Cutting right, she entered Clown Alley—the backstage area where the Big Top performers readied themselves for the show. Gone were the sugary-sweet scents of the carnival, quickly replaced by skunky smoke and puffs of the powder used by the aerialists.
A hand shot out and grasped her arm. Esmeralda froze.
“How many times do I have to tell you that this area is meant for performers and crew only?” a gravelly voice said.
Esmeralda wasn’t in any of the Big Top actsyet, but this path led directly to her fortune teller’s wagon.
She smiled and batted her lashes at the large rata. She had taken to calling the guards of the carnival ratas because they were like rats—always around to nibble away at anything fun.
“I’m just passing through,” she said sweetly.
The rata’s thick brows furrowed, making him look like a bulldog. “You’re always just passing through.”
“Perhaps so I can see you. I do so love our spirited exchanges.”
He wasn’t impressed. “Go the long way like the rest of you third-ringers.”
She ignored the slight. To have a wagon or booth situated on the outer edge of the carnival meant you lacked luster. But she wouldn’t be a third-ringer for long. And thisratawould be the first person she’d stick her nose up at once she made a name for herself.
“Esmeralda!” a familiar voice called.
Camila jogged toward her with an extra bounce in her step, weaving through rowdy clowns and stretching ax throwers. Her sequined bodysuit was a vibrant shade of lime green and fit her muscular frame perfectly. The costume was nothing like the all-white atrocity Esmeralda was made to wear.
Esmeralda jerked her arm free of the rata’s grasp and raced into Clown Alley. He yelled after her but made no move to give chase. There was no point. He had to know by now that she’d keep taking this route anyway.
“Why do you look like you’re in such a good mood?” she called out.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Camila shouted back.
Esmeralda laughed. “Yes, actually, I would!”
Camila stopped before her, towering over her like always. Her skin was the same golden brown as Esmeralda’s, but that was where their similarities ended. Esmeralda’s black hair couldnever be tamed by a comb. Camila’s was straight and silky and forever parted into two plaits. Esmeralda was small enough to go unnoticed.Everyonenoticed Camila.
“Did the new boy finally sweep you off your feet and give you the smooch you’ve been dreaming about?” Esmeralda teased.
“Har. Har.No.But close. He smiled at me today.”
“Wow.That’s progress.” Esmeralda nodded approvingly but in a sarcastic sort of way. She had been trying to get Camila to make a move since the young man joined the carnival five daysago.
“Slow and steady…or whatever they say,” Camila said.
“Personally, I prefer fast and sporadic.”
