Read Online The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) by A. R. Kahler - Free Book Online

under
shoulders. I looked over to Kingston, who had a smile on his face even though
he’d already admitted to seeing the show a thousand times. He looked over at me
and caught my stare. “You’re a part of this, now. It’s your home.”
    I looked
out again and watched the contortionists stand and take their bows, bathing in
the applause. I closed my eyes and imagined myself out there; I could feel the
pulse of fear and adrenaline and ecstasy, the mix of fight-or-flight that
somehow pushes performers to entertain. The roar of the audience filled me.
Home.

    The first few
acts go off without a hitch. The jugglers begin strong and don’t drop a single
club or dagger. The contortionists follow, dancing their beautiful duet of
entwining limbs and arching backs. I can practically feel the crowd’s
excitement as each act gives way to the next, the anticipation growing with
every performer. Three violet lengths of fabric lower from the ceiling,
rippling like water as the aerialists ascend and begin twisting and dancing
high above, their white costumes flickering in the spotlights. I can remember
only one of their names — Arietta Skye, a girl no older than me with brown hair
and eyes the color of the ocean. She seems to lead the other two in their
dance. She is the first to roll in a dizzying drop toward the ground, and she
is the one who smiles the widest.
     I applaud
louder than usual as Kingston and Melody take the stage. When they take their
bow, I distinctly catch Kingston winking at me. Then he’s waving and running
offstage. It’s not until the next act — Spanish Web — that I realize I’m still
blushing.
    It’s during
the flying trapeze act that I notice her. At first, I thought it was just a
shadow moving high up in the cupola. But then I squint and make out a figure
moving up among the narrow catwalks strung between the lights. Lilith. I shake
my head, trying not to wonder how she can stomach being up there when just yesterday
she was nearly killed by the very poles she’s dangling from. I’m surprised no
one else is pointing up at her, but then again, she’s wearing all black. I have
a feeling that she’s done this so many times before, she knows no one else is
going to see her.
    That one
glance makes my head ring. The scent of smoke fills my nostrils like an
afterthought. Nothing’s burning, though, and the moment I look away from her,
it’s gone.
    The trapeze
artists climb their two tiny rope ladders that attach to the foot-wide platforms
high up above. They are dressed in dark, shimmering outfits that remind me of
dragonfly wings, and the dim blue lights onstage make them look otherworldly.
Mist seethes along the ground as the music changes to something deeper, slower,
more ambient and foreboding. It’s all strings and drumbeats now. The singer,
Gretchen, hums into her microphone as the first performers grab on to the
trapeze and swing out above the crowd’s heads. There’s no net below them. No
one dies in this circus, Kingston had said. Every act is a testament to
that promise.
    The fliers
swing out, then back to their platforms. A simple swing. Then as one of the
fliers lands and poses on one platform for the mild applause, the other is
inverting himself and latching his legs on the bar. He swings toward the other
platform with his hands free. The man who just took a swing changes places with
a girl, who launches herself over the space, swinging toward the inverted man
who arcs toward her with open hands. The girl releases her grip at the swing’s
apex, flips twice in midair, and latches on to the man’s wrists. They glide
gracefully over to the platform, where she dismounts and waves. He grabs hold
of a tether to keep from swinging out again, one arm raised in salute. The
applause is deafening.
    But this is
just the intro. Another man swings out from the other platform, flying through
the air. He inverts as well, while a young man is readying himself on the free
trapeze. With perfect timing,