If Magic Were Wishes: The Dark Carnival, #1

By Trudi Jaye

"Wishes are like feathers, floating on the wind. There's magic in how fleeting a wish can be."

At the Carnival, all magic revolves around the power of wishes. But there's also a darker, more twisted magic that seeks only to destroy.

Curse magic.

When curse magic infects the Carnival, it has shocking repercussions. Now the Ringmaster is dead, their magic is all but gone, and their lives are in disarray.

Only two people have the power to save them.

Beautiful and talented, Rilla grew up in the Carnival and loves it like nothing else. She's determined to find a way to restore their magic, and rescue them all.

Intense and aloof, Jack hates everything about the Carnival. It's the last place he wants to be. But he'd do anything to help his grieving father, so he's agreed to come back - if only for a short while.

To destroy the curse magic, they'll have to work together. But first, they'll have to figure out if they're even on the same side...

Join Rilla and Jack for a thrilling adventure in the Dark Carnival, where wishes come true and curses are real...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Star Media
• Release date: Mar 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994104809

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Rilla took a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears.

Above her head, the massive red-and-white tent shuddered in the wind and rain of the unexpected late summer storm. Ropes and canvas flapped noisily, as if the big top itself were objecting to her father’s death.

He wouldn’t want you to be sad, little one, said Christoph carefully as he gave Rilla a squeeze with his massive arm.

Rilla looked up at Christoph’s lined face, taking strength from his familiar features. I know. But it doesn’t help.

No, it doesn’t.

She swallowed hard around the lump that had been stuck in her throat since she’d been told of her father’s death. It was so unfair. It didn’t feel real.

Gathered around her in the big top were Carnival folk—all shapes and sizes, some dressed in their finest performance outfits, others as if they were about to break down the tents.

But they all had their heads tilted upward, tears streaming down their faces.

Everyone had loved their Ringmaster.

Rilla clenched her fist. No one had loved her larger-than-life father more than she had. In her mind, he was limitless, unbeatable.

Certainly not meant to die in a stupid car crash.

Over their heads Missy, one of the Carnival’s high-wire artists, crawled along the rigging toward the top of the massive tent.

The silver of her leotard sparkled under the lights, and her long legs clung to the ropes with an elegance that hid powerful muscles. Every pair of eyes in the tent watched as she completed the tradition that had been started three hundred years before, by the nine original families.

The ashes of almost every member of the Jolly Carnival who’d passed on were contained in one of the two huge round tent poles, built from the original mast of the ship—and subsequent wreck—that brought them to the Americas. They literally held the very essence of the Carnival. And now her bright and brilliant father was another collection of dust in the Carnival tradition.

Rubbing at the hot tears now running freely down her face, Rilla felt her anger flare again. She’d been keeping it at bay, but every so often it burned its way up her throat. She wanted to shout at someone, hit them, cry out at the injustice.

It wasn’t right. Her father shouldn’t be dead. They shouldn’t be here, having his funeral. It was a mistake. She shifted restlessly where she sat, and considered just running away from everything, everyone. At least it might hurt less.

From Rilla’s other side, Christoph’s wife Barb squeezed her hand and leaned a little closer. Stay strong, Rilla, she whispered.

Rilla glanced in her direction, taking comfort in the older woman’s graceful features, the grey of her long hair down her back and the beautiful gold-sequined leotard she was wearing in honor of the Ringmaster, Abba.

I’m trying, she whispered. Her gaze shifted upward again. I’m glad it’s Missy up there.

Missy was Barb’s daughter; they’d grown up together, run riot through the Carnival together, learned about the carnival traditions from Abba together. Rilla was glad the person performing the final ceremony loved her father almost as much as she did.

Looking around the tent from her perch at the top of the wooden audience bleachers, Rilla tried to memorize the faces. Everyone was there, from the newest greenhorn to the oldest showhand, crowded into the massive space. She took a breath. She wasn’t just the Ringmaster’s daughter and heir any more. She was their leader now, the next Jolly to step into the family tradition of Ringmasters.

The weight of the responsibility pushed down on her shoulders, even in the midst of her grief.

From somewhere in the tent, a violin began to play a slow, haunting melody. The tune hit the chorus and she recognized it. She tried to smile, but her face felt frozen.

Christoph’s muscular arm tightened around her shoulders, and she listened silently to the rest of the ABBA song being played in slow time.

The song was a lovely idea, but her father would have hated the slowness. He loved the speed of the tunes by the Swedish band. He’d always said the tents went up faster to the beat of Mama Mia. And he’d always preferred the nickname Abba to his full name Abacus.

Christoph glanced down at her. Come, we should go now.

He pulled Rilla to her feet, and the crowd parted silently as he led her down the steps. His mustache twitched, and she knew he was trying not to cry at the loss of his long-time friend.

As they walked toward the closest exit in the massive tent, a flash of blue hair caught her eye. A man stood near another side entrance, his expression a strange mix of anger and excitement.

His shock of blue hair stood at attention on his head, a bright contrast to his black shirt and pants. A ripple of unease washed through Rilla. The stranger caught and held her gaze. Then he turned and disappeared out into the storm.

Rilla frowned. She opened her mouth to question the man’s presence and then closed it again. Her father knew literally thousands of people. He’d been a big, charismatic personality who’d lived his entire life on the circuit.

There could be any number of people she’d never met who could claim a relationship with him.

The blue-haired man might have seemed out of place, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be there at her father’s funeral. She was just paranoid—she’d been jumping at shadows lately and it wasn’t helping anyone.

Rilla glanced up at Christoph again and for the first time noticed the grey hair mixed with the black on his head. Her father and Christoph had grown up together, lived their lives together. The big man and his wife Barb had helped Abacus raise Rilla when her mother had left. He was going to feel the gap left by Abacus just as much she did.

A hand pulling on her elbow interrupted Rilla’s thoughts.

Rilla, there’s a problem.

Pardon? Rilla turned, trying to focus on the scruffy, brown-haired teenager who’d stopped her. She blinked and recognized Joey, one of the younger runners. Around them, people had started talking again and the noise was echoing through the tent.

There’s a man. He wants… Joey trailed off as an older man strode past him, straight up to Christoph and Rilla.

He held a black cane in one hand and an old-fashioned bowler hat in the other, and pushed out his white-bearded chin toward Rilla. My name’s Blago Knight and I demand a meeting of the Nine. I’m here to claim the title of Ringmaster.

Rilla blinked again. I’m sorry? What did you say?

I’m here to challenge you for the title of Ringmaster. As is my right, he said again, louder this time. The people standing nearby stopped talking and looked over. A hush settled across the whole room.

You can’t— Rilla started to speak, and then remembered all the stories her father had told of the competitions for leadership in the Carnival. Anyone was allowed to contest the title of Ringmaster, as long as they were part of the Carnival in some way.

The world swayed for a second, and Rilla was glad of Christoph’s comforting arm around her. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She just needed a moment to clear her head, time to think without this grief filling her up until she was ready to burst with the agony.

But then anger swirled in its wake. Just who the hell did he think he was?

Her gaze narrowed. You do realize this is my father’s funeral? she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and pulled herself together.

She was the Carnival leader now.

Of course I realize, young lady. But it doesn’t change the fact that I demand to speak to the Nine. You must convene an emergency session.

This isn’t the time, Blago. You’ll have to wait. Christoph’s voice boomed unnaturally loud. Every eye in the crowded tent was now focused on Rilla and the stranger.

A whisper of unease settled across Rilla’s shoulders. Christoph had used this man’s first name casually, almost like he knew him.

I know the rules as well as anyone, Christoph. I have to announce my intentions to the Nine immediately or it’s too late. The stranger glared at Rilla. If you stand in my way, you forfeit your rights to the Ringmaster claim.

Goosebumps appeared along Rilla’s skin as she stared at the old man in front of her. Bushy eyebrows covered bloodshot eyes, dark and fierce at their center. The lined face was surrounded by a seething mass of white, frizzy hair.

I’ve never seen you before, she said, her forehead creased. Or even heard of you. How could you possibly have a legitimate claim to be the Ringmaster’s heir?

I grew up in the Carnival, just like you, said the stranger. His eyes darkened with some emotion that might have been anger, but it was gone again so quickly, Rilla wasn’t sure.

She took a deep breath, then another. A headache was crashing around inside her skull like a bowling ball on a tennis court. All she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and try to forget the last few days. Come with me. It’ll be informal but enough to judge whether your claim is valid.

The stranger grinned, showing off a row of perfect teeth. ‘Course I’m valid. Just ask ol’ Christoph here. He’ll vouch for me. He nodded toward Christoph, his white hair bobbing wildly with the movement.

Rilla stared, trying to make sense of his words. She looked up at her father’s oldest friend.

Christoph nodded, a slight flush on his face. He’d used the stranger’s first name a moment ago. Of course he knew him.

I don’t understand, she said.

It was a long time ago, Christoph said softly.

Blago made an impatient sound. The point is that I’m back, and it’s your duty to convene a meeting of the Nine. So let’s get on with it, missy.

CHAPTER 2

Jack stood in the shadows of the tent, trying to avoid the worst of the rain. Jerking the collar of his coat up around his neck against the cold, he glared at the entrance where his father had disappeared.

Another gust of wind blew his hair over his eyes, and with an irritated growl he crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn’t believe he was actually here.

At the Jolly Carnival.

After all these years.

Terrible weather, isn’t it? said a smooth voice.

He jumped slightly and turned to see a blue-haired man smirking at him. Jack sighed. What was wrong with ordinary old brown hair?

Typical circus freak.

Sure is, he said warily.

Did you know Abacus?

Jack shook his head. Old friend of my father’s, he said curtly.

He was a big influence in my life, said the blue-haired man.

Jack struggled for something to say. I’m sorry for your loss.

The man laughed with a strange manic energy. Those people in there wouldn’t agree, he said with a dismissive gesture toward the tent. But I thank you for your words. He bowed mockingly. The canvas behind them gave a particularly rough snap as if to emphasise the man’s words.

Are you part of the Carnival? asked Jack. The blue-haired man was staring at him with the kind of intense expression that tended to halt conversation.

Jack was determined to not let it bother him.

Oh no. I have my own act in Vegas. Nothing like this place. He waved his hand around disdainfully.

Strong emotions were sliding off the man. Jack couldn’t tell if it was just grief over the Ringmaster’s death, or something more. There was something weird about this blue-haired freak in front of him.

Aside from the obvious.

You don’t like it here?

It’s a cheap traveling circus. Tricksters and con artists. Shysters and swindlers. His sneer was worth a thousand words.

Jack looked closely at the tent next to them, and for the first time noticed the repairs on the canvas and the thin, worn patches. They’re not exactly a high-end act, he said.

The blue-haired man laughed like he’d just told the best joke in the world. To say the least. I respected Abba, but the Carnival itself is a tumble-down, no-good waste of space. The words were punctuated by a rumble of thunder overhead.

The wind howled down the tunnel between the tents, and Jack shivered, trying to pull the collar of his coat further up around his neck. This conversation had confirmed his every fear about the Jolly Carnival. The sooner they were gone from here, the better.

The sound of canvas rubbing against canvas interrupted his thoughts, and Jack frowned, turning to glare at the enormous tent behind them. The red and white stripes were distorted into zigs and zags as the storm punished them all for being out late at night. It seemed like the tent might blow away at any moment, possibly with everyone inside.

He felt a moment of fear for his father, still inside the tent, talking to these damn people.

What else can you tell me about this place? he asked, turning back to the blue-haired man. He needed all the information he could get. And a distraction.

But there was no-one there. The blue-haired man had disappeared.

Jack struggled against the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. Circus people. Always so damn dramatic. Always wanted the last word.

His father was exactly the same.

Jack shrugged and turned his attention back to the tent. He was glad he hadn’t grown up in the carnival.

His mother had been a good influence on his scatter-brained father and kept their life mostly stable and normal. He didn’t want blue hair and he most certainly didn’t like the idea of moving around every week. And the crazy politics would drive him nuts.

He’d never been more grateful to his mother for saving him and his sister Hannah from this kind of life.

As he watched, a small group of people exited through a canvas flap, pushing aside the thick material to return to the stormy weather. His father was in the middle of the somber group of men and women—some wearing brightly colored performance outfits and others stained work clothes.

It was a strange mix. Especially as he knew they’d been having a funeral service inside the tent.

The last to emerge through the canvas was an attractive woman dressed in tight black pants and a thick black jacket, her razor-sharp, straight black hair cut in a dramatic bob. There was something extremely compelling about her, and Jack studied her features more closely than he had any of the others.

Her pale face was haunted by grief, and Jack felt a stirring of pity for her before he clamped it down. His main concern was his father, and he wasn’t going to get sidetracked.

As they strode past, he tried to catch his father’s eye, but Blago ignored him. That didn’t surprise Jack, either. His father had said he would need to pave the way before Jack would be allowed into the wake.

Secretive bunch, carnies. They struggle with outsiders. You should be fine, ‘cause you’re with me, but it never hurts to set things up the right way.

So that meant he was still standing out here in the rain.

He shoved his hands deep into the padding of his pockets and thought longingly of his nice warm, dry apartment. Not to mention all the work he still had to do on his manuscript. His editor had been justifiably annoyed when he’d phoned to tell him he had to delay even further.

It was gratifying how enthusiastic they were to get their hands on the new book he’d pitched to them.

The book was his brainchild, his baby; the project that was going to take him to the next level with his IT consulting career. Analysing Complex Systems in Business was about two thirds done, so close to finishing he could almost taste it.

And now, instead of focusing all his attention on it as he should have been doing, he was standing in the rain, talking to blue-haired weirdos and hoping they’d reject his father out of hand.

How the hell had he gotten into this mess?

CHAPTER 3

Rilla followed Christoph into the small, dimly lit storage tent he seemed to pick at random for their meeting. There were eight of them crowded into the tiny space, in between wooden boxes and the build crew’s tools. Everyone was looking between Rilla and the newcomer, who was smiling at them all like they were his long-lost family.

Which apparently they were.

The rainstorm pummeled the canvas over their heads and Rilla shivered, despite the warmth inside the tent. Voices murmured in the background, and in the distance, an elephant trumpeted, probably complaining about the weather.

Rilla felt like a statue, unable to move or talk. She didn’t quite understand what was happening. Her brain was fuzzy and confused, unable to process something that should have made sense.

She stood just outside the circle of carnival leaders, unable to influence or control the events unfolding before her. Small lights tied around the top edges of the tent swayed with the wind, giving an eerie, fluctuating glow to the room.

It was Viktor, their taciturn Thrillmaster, who was the first to approach Blago.

Rilla held her breath and watched him closely, trying to assess the older man’s reaction to the stranger. Viktor frowned at the challenger, his thick grey eyebrows casting a spiky shadow over his face.

At first, Viktor’s grizzled features remained motionless and she allowed herself to hope. Maybe this was all a mistake.

But then a smile spread across his face, almost breaking it in two. Blago, old friend! I didn’t recognize you with all those wrinkles. He reached over and clasped the other man in a tight hug, his strong hands overlapping on Blago’s back.

Rilla sat abruptly on a nearby box.

Instead of being proclaimed a fake, this stranger was receiving a warm welcome from the oldest member of the Nine. She tried to breathe normally, to stay calm, but all she could manage were ragged gasps.

If Viktor was willing to accept him, then his claim was real. Her head thudded painfully in time with her heartbeat, and she closed her eyes, trying to block out what was happening.

How was it possible?

If someone had told her a week ago that her father would be dead, and a stranger would be attempting to pull her legacy as Ringmaster out from under her feet, she would have laughed at them.

Come on girl, buck up. The show must go on.

Her father’s voice in her head made her eyes blink open. It wasn’t real, just an echo of words he’d said to her a thousand times. But it made her miss him even more.

He’d never seemed to feel the sting of the little injustices, the small intricate problems of the carnival like she did. He was always focused on the big picture, the long game.

Still, his words helped her focus, as they always had. She returned her attention to the reunion, trying to gauge everyone’s reactions.

I hear you’re Thrillmaster these days, Viktor? Blago was saying as he clapped Viktor on the back.

For my sins, said Viktor, his eyes crinkling in unexpected amusement.

As far as Rilla could tell, Viktor seemed genuinely pleased to see Blago. The seasoned engineer was usually the toughest nut to crack when it came to outsiders in the carnival, so his easy acceptance of Blago made her heart sink further. She narrowed her eyes at the rest of group, trying to spot something—anything—that was off.

You remember Alfie? Viktor gestured toward the Beastmaster, who was in charge of the animals in the Carnival. Alfie was short and wiry, with work-roughened hands and dark, watchful eyes. He didn’t say much, but he saw an awful lot.

Little Alf? Always looking out for the strays? Of course I do. Blago grinned at Alfie and shook the smaller man’s hand. Good to see you.

Alfie nodded, his manner friendly, if a little reserved. It seemed like perhaps he hadn’t known Blago as well as Viktor.

Blago turned to Tami, spreading his arms wide. And who’s this vision of loveliness?

Blushing to the edges of her curly red hair, Tami swatted him on the shoulder. Blago Knight, you old flirt. You know quite well who I am.

Blago drew her into a warm hug. Tami, how could I ever forget my first love? he said, the charm practically dripping off his words.

Rilla held back the urge to growl. If the old philanderer thought he could win them over with empty words, he’d soon learn otherwise.

I thought it was my fresh apple pie that was your first love, said Tami wryly. She was the leader of the food team, and the best cook in the carnival circuit.

Either way, Blago said, a twinkle in his eye.

Rilla watched with a sinking heart as the other members of the Nine hugged Blago like a long-lost friend. Even Christoph gave the stranger a smiling official welcome.

I’m glad to be back at the Carnival. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you all, said Blago grinning around at everyone in the room.

What’s this about challenging Rilla for Ringmaster? asked Viktor, blunt as usual.

Blago glanced over at Rilla. First of all, I want to say I’m sorry for your loss, Amaryllis. It was a lovely service, you all did him proud. Tears appeared in his eyes, but didn’t fall. It’s a terrible thing when someone is ripped away too early.

There were nods and murmurs from everyone in the room.

I’ve missed the Carnival every day since I left it, he said. When I saw the newspaper clipping announcing Abba’s death, I knew it was a sign. I wish I’d come back when he was still alive, but I’m here now, and that’s what counts.

He stared around the room, his gaze landing on everyone in the group. And what I’ve seen so far makes me think my coming back here was more than just fortuitous. It makes me think the Carnival was calling me back.

There was a small inhalation of breath from several people around the room, and Rilla’s head began to spin again. He was claiming some kind of Carnival magic? She glanced at Viktor, but his face didn’t give anything away.

Blago lifted his black cane and swept it around to encompass the whole carnival. I have the same claim to the title of Ringmaster as Rilla. He paused. Probably more.

Rilla’s eyes widened. More? He thought he had a better claim to the Jolly Carnival than the Ringmaster’s daughter?

A man who hadn’t lived in the Carnival in her lifetime?

She opened her mouth to explode at him, to give him a piece of her mind. But nothing came out. She couldn’t summon the necessary energy.

She didn’t feel anything other than the all-encompassing grief for her father, certainly not the anger she should be feeling toward this stranger.

It was all happening too fast. Her brain couldn’t sift through the implications with her usual quick thinking. The hazy fog over her brain had been in place since Viktor had told her about her father’s death. How long had it been since then? Two days? Three? She wasn’t even sure.

She rubbed one hand over her eyes, and tried to concentrate.

That’s a mighty big claim, Blago, said Christoph.

I’m looking at a carnival in mighty big trouble, Christoph. We need a shocking solution to haul ourselves out of this hole.

Garth took a step forward, and Rilla let out a relieved breath. Maybe he would tell this stranger to get out, save her the trouble. The tall, solid presence of her childhood friend helped slow down her frantically beating heart.

I’m not sure you’ve earned the right to say ‘we’ like that, Mr Knight, said Garth in an even tone, his dark eyes unblinking. I understand that the older members of the Nine know you well, but I don’t, and neither does Rilla. You’ve been gone a long time. You’ve yet to prove yourself to the rest of the Carnival.

Garth was the youngest of the Nine—if you didn’t count Rilla as acting Ringmaster—but as the Giftmaster he was the closest to the beating heart of the Carnival.

Everyone would listen to him.

Blago smiled. Of course, of course, you’re right. Garth, isn’t it? Milton’s boy. He nodded graciously at Garth. I’m happy to prove my worth to the Nine and the rest of the Carnival. But my claim is legitimate, and that’s all you need to vote on tonight. Tomorrow, you can get to know me, make sure I’m the right person for the job.

Garth flicked an unreadable glance at Rilla, but she could only stare back. It felt like a bad dream.

You’ve both got three weeks to prove yourselves, he said, his voice deep and otherworldly. ’Til the end of our stay here in Mountain Springs. After that, we’re headed home with a new Ringmaster.

She pinched herself, trying to wake up from this nightmare.

CHAPTER 4

Jack took a sip of the cider he’d been served when they’d entered the large blue and white food tent.

Blago had found him loitering in the rain outside the main tent and dragged him into the funeral wake to meet some of the Carnival people.

The party was now in full swing around them.

Jack leaned back in his folding metal chair, watching his father talk to Garth. He was still reeling from his father’s announcement that he was running for Ringmaster. He’d tried to talk him out of it, to tell him how crazy it was.

But once he’d taken a shine to an idea, Blago Knight couldn’t be talked out of it, come hell or high water. In the end, Jack had sworn at Blago in frustration, told him he was making a big mistake and changed the topic.

He’d decided to let it lie for now, to assess the situation and see how best to short circuit his father’s plans. Blago was currently absorbed in his attempts to charm Garth, and Jack could tell his father felt the other man was important.

But Blago had introduced him as the person in charge of the clowns, and Jack was having a hard time coinciding his image of a circus clown with someone who might be integral to succeeding in this mad venture.

He also couldn’t picture the inscrutable man in front of him running around the ring being silly.

Garth was tall and lean, probably in his late twenties with a serious expression and intense, dark eyes that made Jack think more of a funeral director than a jester. He didn’t seem soft, or cuddly, or funny in any way.

He was currently listening with quiet concentration as Blago told a story from his childhood about the Ringmaster, Abba.

Maybe he was one of those mimes, the sad ones who were always getting stuck in imaginary boxes?

Jack gave up trying to understand the underlying dynamics of the conversation beside him, and looked around the room.

The only lighting in the tent was from the fairy lights dangling around the edges. Chairs and tables were spread around the room, and people of all shapes and sizes were gathered, talking, eating, drinking and laughing—it was a real Irish wake-style funeral reception.

These were the people his father had grown up with, told stories about. He’d filled Jack’s early years with tales of magic and moonshine from the Jolly Carnival. Jack tried to feel some kind of connection to them, a kinship that might make it easier to sit here in their midst.

Eye patches, sequins, Mohawks, dyed hair, no hair, giant mustaches, tattoos, leotards, big bow ties—all of it was on show. Typical circus types, all wanting to outdo each other with their crazy looks.

He felt nothing for them. Nada.

All he could summon was embarrassment at being at a funeral for someone he didn’t know, and anger at his father for dragging him there.

So Garth, how long ago did you take over from that father of yours? Blago was asking, leaning forward in his chair and placing his arms on the wooden table in front of them.

Garth stilled and became even more grim, if that was possible. Almost thirteen years, I think. He seemed about to say more, then stopped.

Blago nodded, as if that made sense to him. And your sweet mother?

She died. Garth’s voice didn’t encourage more questions down that line, and Blago seemed to sense it as easily as Jack.

Tell me about my competition. Abba’s girl.

Garth’s eyes glinted in the reflected glow of the fairy lights. For a moment he seemed otherworldly, like he didn’t really belong in such a mundane situation. Jack blinked, and the sensation disappeared.

She’s smart. Beautiful. Does an amazing Ringmaster in the show. Garth shrugged. What else do you want to know?

Her weaknesses? suggested Blago drily.

The side of Garth’s mouth quirked to one side as he acknowledged Blago’s joke. I wasn’t expecting to like you as much as I do, Blago, he said grudgingly. You’ve been given more than your fair share of the charm.

Blago laughed, a great big belly laugh. He had been using big gestures and smiling like he’d just won the lottery since they’d arrived at the wake, making Blago look younger and more vital than he had in a long while.

Jack felt a pang of something that might have been jealousy in his chest.

Truth be told, it hurt to see Blago chatting to Garth with such enthusiasm when Jack had barely been able to rouse his father out of his lethargy in recent months.

Right now, his father bore little resemblance to the man who’d been walking listlessly around his home, and nothing like the pale man who’d lain for weeks in the hospital after suffering a major heart attack.

Jack clenched his hand.

A heart attack brought on by his mother’s death a year before.

Blago’s doctors had been clear. Too much excitement could bring on another, potentially fatal, heart attack. Going back to the Carnival for the first time in almost forty years had seemed like a terrible idea in that context, and he’d tried to talk his father out of it.

As always, instead of talking sense into his father, he’d found himself being conned into going as well. The sole reason he’d agreed to accompany him was that he’d been worried about him traveling alone.

He’d certainly not signed up for Blago’s mad scheme to be the next Ringmaster.

At that moment, the noise level dropped and tension thickened the air. Jack turned to the