Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The circus arrives without warning.

No announcements precede it, no paper notices on downtown posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisements in local newspapers. It is simply there, where yesterday it was not.

The towering tents are striped in white and black, no golds and crimsons to be seen. No color at all, save for the neighboring trees and the grass of the surrounding fields. Black-and-white stripes on grey sky; countless tents of varying shapes and sizes, with an elaborate wrought-iron fence encasing them in a colorless world. Even what little ground is visible from outside is black or white, painted or powdered, or treated with some other circus trick.

But it is not open for business. Not just yet.

Within hours everyone in town has heard about it. By afternoon the news has spread several towns over. Word of mouth is a more effective method of advertisement than typeset words and exclamation points on paper pamphlets or posters. It is impressive and unusual news, the sudden appearance of a mysterious circus. People marvel at the staggering height of the tallest tents. They stare at the clock that sits just inside the gates that no one can properly describe.

And the black sign painted in white letters that hangs upon the gates, the one that reads:

Opens at Nightfall

Closes at Dawn

“What kind of circus only opens at night?” people ask. No one has a proper answer, yet as dusk approaches there is a substantial crowd of spectators gathering outside the gates.

You are amongst them, of course. Your curiosity got the better of you, as curiosity is wont to do. You stand in the fading light, the scarf around your neck pulled up against the chilly evening breeze, waiting to see for yourself exactly what kind of circus only opens as the sun sets.

The ticket booth clearly visible behind the gates is closed and barred. The tents are still, save for when they ripple ever so slightly in the wind. The only movement within the circus is the clock that ticks by the passing minutes, if such a wonder of sculpture can even be called a clock.

The circus looks abandoned and empty. But you think perhaps you can smell caramel wafting through the evening breeze, beneath the crisp scent of the autumn leaves. A subtle sweetness at the edges of the cold.

The sun disappears completely beyond the horizon, and the remaining luminosity shifts from dusk to twilight. The people around you are growing restless from waiting, a sea of shuffling feet, murmuring about abandoning the endeavor in search of someplace warmer to pass the evening. You yourself are debating departing when it happens.

First, there is a popping sound. It is barely audible over the wind and conversation. A soft noise like a kettle about to boil for tea. Then comes the light.

All over the tents, small lights begin to flicker, as though the entirety of the circus is covered in particularly bright fireflies. The waiting crowd quiets as it watches this display of illumination. Someone near you gasps. A small child claps his hands with glee at the sight.

When the tents are all aglow, sparkling against the night sky, the sign appears.

Stretched across the top of the gates, hidden in curls of iron, more firefly-like lights flicker to life. They pop as they brighten, some accompanied by a shower of glowing white sparks and a bit of smoke. The people nearest the gates take a few steps back.

At first, it is only a random pattern of lights. But as more of them ignite, it becomes clear that they are aligned in scripted letters. First, a C is distinguishable, followed by more letters. A q, oddly, and several e’s. When the final bulb pops alight, and the smoke and sparks dissipate, it is finally legible, this elaborate incandescent sign. Leaning to your left to gain a better view, you can see that it reads:

Le Cirque des Rêves

Some in the crowd smile knowingly, while others frown and look questioningly at their neighbors. A child near you tugs on her mother’s sleeve, begging to know what it says.

“The Circus of Dreams,” comes the reply. The girl smiles delightedly.

Then the iron gates shudder and unlock, seemingly by their own volition. They swing outward, inviting the crowd inside.

Now the circus is open.

Now you may enter.

~London; April 12, 1891~

The slow, deliberate sound of heels clacking across the floor echoes throughout the theater. The twenty-third auditionee walks to the very center of the stage, a serene smile resting upon her face. Though the proprietor makes a brief fuss at the idea of a female illusionist, after a few basic questions – the most interesting answer being that she is the adopted protégée of the one and only James MacPherson – she is allowed to audition.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and for the very first time in her life, Helena Wells begins to perform for an audience.

***

As soon as Helena does her first trick, removing her jacket and effortlessly turning it into a raven, the color drains from Myka’s face.

Growing up, she had spent so much time wondering who her opponent in this mysterious game would be. Imagining what he or she might be like; where her opponent was; whether he or she was also thinking of Myka.

And now, Myka finally knows. It’s her. Myka’s opponent in the game, set in motion when Myka was just eight years old, is Helena Wells.

The other members of their small audition committee – Mr. Kosan, the proprietor, and Mrs. Lattimer, the costume designer – watch in delight as Helena manipulates her surroundings and even turns Myka’s notepad into a dove and back again. As the others turn to watch the raven above their heads before it flies straight into Helena and turns back into a jacket, Myka cannot take her eyes off of the woman herself. She is quite impressive, but Myka is the only one who fully knows why.

Helena’s tricks are real. There is no illusion, no tricks of the eye. Myka can feel the magic deep in her bones. Other than a few demonstrations by Mr. Nielsen, Myka has only ever seen true magic one other time in her life; when she was twelve years old, sitting alone in a packed theater to watch MacPherson the Magnificent. Helena’s adoptive father.

Color rushes back into Myka’s face as Helena catches her eye, clearly loving Myka’s shocked expression, and winks.

So much time spent wondering, and yet Myka now feels completely unprepared. How can she possibly match, let alone beat, Helena’s obviously advanced skills. Not to mention her beauty and charm, which she exudes with ease. Watching her, Myka slowly sinks lower into her seat.

At least Myka still maintains the element of surprise. She now knows about Helena, but as far as the other woman is concerned, Myka is nothing more than a simple assistant.

Helena will be hired, of course. There is no doubt of that. And somehow, the circus will be their chess board.

Myka still doesn’t really understand the point of the whole thing – Mr. Nielsen has never been clear about that, nor about the exact rules of the game – but regardless, Myka feels a small thrill of excitement in her chest.

After more than sixteen years of preparation, it is finally time for the game to begin.

***

~Marseille; May 27, 1879~

Before this little holiday – Myka is not sure whether that is the appropriate description for her current trip, as Mr. Nielsen talks about it as if it is homework, but she uses the word nonetheless – Myka had never been to any kind of performance. Mr. Nielsen calls them frivolous and foolish. And yet here she is, at her second show in two nights.

The previous night, Myka had been disappointed. She couldn’t understand the awe of those in the audience around her. True, the alleged “magician” had strung together a few decent tricks, but the mechanics behind the illusions – sleights of hand, misdirections of attention, a few well-placed mirrors – were so obvious to Myka, that she spent a good deal of time watching those around her, rather than the man on stage. Why couldn’t they see what she did?

Tonight, however, is a completely different experience.

There is a buzz in the air even before the performance begins. And from the moment that MacPherson the Magnificent steps on stage, Myka is enraptured. The illusionist makes a few cleverly clumsy moves, in order to disguise the true as false, but Myka sees through the deception. The man is truly magnificent, for there is no pretense to his tricks.

The thrill inside her is undeniable. This is what she’s been working towards so tirelessly for the past five and a half years. All those books she’s spent days and weeks poring over, copying notes and passages and cryptic symbols into her journals... It’s all meant to lead to this.

Myka runs her fingertip over the scar at the base of her ring finger. If this “game” for which Mr. Nielsen is preparing her were held today, Myka is the first to admit that she probably wouldn’t stand a chance. But someday, she tells herself, she’ll be able to do what he does.

“How can no one else tell?” Myka asks Mr. Nielsen later. “How can they not tell real from fake when the difference is so clear?”

“People see what they expect to see; what they want to see,” he replies without looking up from his newspaper. “They need to be able to make sense of their world, and that leaves no room for the unexplainable.”

Myka opens her mouth to question him further, but he goes on, “Now you see what you’re up against. You have a lot of work to do, so get back to it.”

“Is he my opponent?” Myka asks incredulously. It hardly seems fair.

“No,” is all she gets by way of reply.

***

~New York City; September 2, 1873~

The first time that Helena meets Arthur Nielsen, she is six-almost-seven years old.

“I thought it was about time for another game,” Mr. MacPherson announces as he enters his dressing room, where Helena has been left to wait.

Helena looks up in surprise; he never plays games with her. But he isn’t talking to her, anyway. There’s another man standing in the doorway. He adjusts his glasses, taking a minute to glance all around the room. His gaze stops only briefly on Helena before moving on.

“I thought you had given up, after the last one,” the man in the rumpled gray suit idly comments.

“Ha! Never!” MacPherson retorts genially.

Helena looks back and forth between the two men, unsure whether she should be there. Mr. MacPherson usually ignores her presence most of the time, especially on performance nights. Suddenly, however, he turns his attention to her, takes two large strides over to her chair, and yanks her to her feet. Helena scowls at him, but doesn’t voice her displeasure.

“Helena, this is Mr. Nielsen, a very old friend of mine,” he says, holding her tightly, almost painfully, by the shoulders and thrusting her out in front of him. He says the word “friend” in such a way that Helena is fairly sure that he doesn’t mean it.

Remaining silent, Mr. Nielsen nods his head slightly and regards her seriously for a moment, but then his eyes return to face her guardian.

Helena can easily hear the smirk in MacPherson’s voice as he continues, “Now, do be a dear, child, and show Arthur what you can do.”

She twists her head around to look at him in surprise – he has always been emphatic that she must never share her ‘skills’ with anyone – but he only pinches her shoulders harder. He isn’t even looking at her as he says, “Arthur is an important exception to the rule. The only exception.”

There have been times when Helena was itching to show off, but knew that she had to restrain herself. Now that she has been given permission, though, she suddenly has no idea what she should do.

Impatient, MacPherson makes a small huff of annoyance before he steps away from her, takes a teacup from a table in the corner, and quite deliberately drops it.

Just before it hits the floor, the teacup stops in mid-air, hovering for a moment before it fights back against gravity and lands back on the table with only a slight wobble.

Mr. Nielsen’s bushy eyebrows draw together just slightly. “Impressive,” he allows, “though quite basic.”

Helena frowns, and although she doesn’t mean for it to happen, the teacup breaks as though it had smashed upon the floor after all. She flinches minutely at the sound, but then still without a word, she focuses her attention on the shattered fragments of porcelain, watching as the pieces quickly fit themselves back together until the teacup sits whole once again, none the worse for wear.

MacPherson grins triumphantly, taking the cup and nonchalantly tossing it in the other gentleman’s direction.

“There you go, old boy!” he calls out as Mr. Nielsen fumbles with the cup for a moment. He just barely manages to not break it a second time, but Helena has no doubt he could fix it himself if it came to that.

Mr. Nielsen clears his throat. “She’s got a temper,” is his only comment this time.

MacPherson winks. “All the best ones do. She’ll learn to control it. I’ve only been working with her for a few months, and already, she can do all that. She’s the most natural talent I’ve seen in quite a very long time.” Helena lifts her eyebrows in surprise. This is the first she’s hearing of it.

Having done her part, however, she is clearly no longer of interest to Mr. MacPherson. He crosses the room again and claps Mr. Nielsen on the shoulder. “So what do you say? Feel like losing? I’ll let you take all the time you want to find someone you think can beat her. I’ll even let you have the first move. Just make sure you don’t get too attached, because I know my girl will come out on top.”

He takes two identical rings out of his pocket and lightly flings them in the air. They stop right at Mr. Nielsen’s eye level, twirling on invisible axes. The light catches on them as they turn, tossing tantalizing reflections of luminosity around the room.

Moving faster than Helena thought him capable, Mr. Nielsen snatches the rings out of the air, letting them rest upon his palm as he considers them.

“Over-confidence was always one of your failings, James,” he says. “I’ve heard tell that she’s your daughter. Are you sure this is a bet you’re willing to take?”

The room dims slightly as one of the lightbulbs shatters, but neither man pays Helena any mind. She has to remind herself to breathe. She’s wondered, of course she has, but-

MacPherson waves a dismissive hand. “Mere rumor,” he asserts. “And like I said, she’s going to win, so anything else is irrelevant.”

A slow smile spreads across Mr. Nielsen’s face. “Then we’ll have ourselves a game.”

No rules or terms of the wager are mentioned, but the two old rivals share a look and shake on it.

“Girl, come here!” MacPherson commands jovially without looking at her.

Shyly, she moves forward. She’s never seen her guardian act quite this happy, and it’s throwing her off.

Mr. Nielsen turns to her with a gentle smile. “Give me your right hand, child.”

Helena does so. She’s trying to remember what they’ve been talking about, but she feels the facts slipping from her mind. She knows enough to understand that the man in the gray suit is making it happen, but not enough to make it stop.

Mr. Nielsen takes one of the rings, which he’d been holding on to, and places it onto her ring finger. The other goes into his coat pocket. The ring is noticeably too big for Helena, but before she can comment, it begins to shrink. So much so, that she can’t help but cry out when it gets too tight. Even then, the ring continues squeezing tighter, and Helena closes her eyes against the burning pain it causes, worse than anything she’s felt before.

Another few seconds, and then the pain begins to fade. Frightened and resentful tears fall down her cheeks, but Helena blinks her eyes open and looks down at her hand.

The ring is no longer there; only an angry red scar remains where the silver dissolved into her skin.

“I’ll be in touch,” the man says with a nod, before he turns and strides back out the door.

***

~just north of Chicago; August 5, 1901~

Claudia Donovan, nine years old, thinks she could probably see Canada from here. Definitely, if she had some binoculars.

She sits as high as she can get in the large oak tree outside her house – the house she happens to live in, at least, even though it doesn’t feel like “home.” Nowhere has felt like home since her brother Joshua disappeared.

Claudia can hear one of her foster brothers yelling for her to get down and come in for lunch, but she ignores him for now. This is the one spot she can find any peace, lately, so she’s in no hurry to climb back to solid ground.

She looks out as far as she can see, and dreams of something better.

***

~Tilburg; September 21, 1898~

Helena walks right into the small package sitting in front of her door in the morning, kicking it out into the backstage hallway. She eyes it suspiciously for a moment before moving to retrieve it and returning to go sit on her bed.

It is lightweight, very carefully wrapped. No note.

She imagines it could be a birthday gift, but this confuses her more than anything else. As far as she was aware, MacPherson is the only person other than herself who actually knows that today is indeed her birthday. She highly doubts that the package comes from him, however.

For one thing, MacPherson has never given her a birthday gift before now.

For another, he is currently a bit too busy being officially-though-not-technically deceased.

The only conclusion is that her ever-elusive opponent has somehow discovered the meaning of the current date. Her birthday has never meant all that much to her, now even more so, given that they all appear to have stopped aging since the circus began. Still, Helena can’t stop the smile and childlike anticipation that spreads through her.

Her first birthday gift, since any time she can remember.

Carefully, she unwraps the package, setting the paper beside her on the bed. Though she pays it no more attention, the wrapping paper proceeds to tear and fold itself into three origami birds, which then take flight and flutter lazily around the room. The raven, sitting on his perch in the corner, squawks at them; one of the paper cranes chirps back.

Inside the box, there is a note. Helena doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but that is no surprise, as she hasn’t had occasion to see many of the circus people write, and she would hazard a guess that this isn’t her opponent’s true handwriting anyway.

To Miss Wells, in celebration of your day of birth
Enclosed, you will find an artifact,
in honor of the country in which you currently find yourself:
Vincent Van Gogh’s paintbrush
Use with care.

“What on Earth...?” Helena questions softly to herself.

Indeed, placed inside the box, a simple paintbrush lies. Helena has heard of the artist Van Gogh, though she is not overly familiar with his work. Thinking only to examine the brush more closely, she picks it up.

A bit of color catches in the corner of her eye, and when she instinctively turns in that direction, she gasps out loud, dropping the brush and letting it clatter to the floor.

Helena blinks, and the effect is gone.

Warily, she stares down at the deceptively plain paintbrush at her feet. Curiosity soon overtakes her, however, and Helena reaches to pick it up once again.

She is better prepared, this time. Little by little, her entire room is turned into a painting.

Broad, sweeping brush strokes; bold colors; swirls of thick paint.

It’s as if an invisible hand were reaching into her room and gradually covering everything in sight with paint. The painting is far from static, as well. One of her doves, now painted, ruffles its feathers and coos at her in confusion, and the paper birds continue unimpeded in their paths of flight, now trailing dashes of paint wherever they go.

Helena can only watch, startled shock turning to awed wonder. Before long, it is done, and her entire room is covered, floor to ceiling and everything in between. Everything save herself, that is. She alone remains as she always was.

Gingerly, Helena reaches to touch the quilt on her bed. She smudges it, and her fingertips come away with what looks, feels, and smells like actual paint. The paint doesn’t appear to stick to her clothing, however, and with a laugh of delight, Helena gets to her feet and practically skips around the room, examining everything. Even her books now contain small squiggles of illegible paint.

She can’t quite imagine what must have been done to charm the paintbrush she still holds in her hand. She isn’t even sure that she wants to know.

Illusions never quite held the same sway over her as they seemed to everyone else. Although she very much does love performing, for Helena, magic is simply a tool, same as any other. There were times growing up when in fact she deeply resented this “natural gift” she has been given.

Now, however... In this moment, Helena experiences the pure joy – the magical enchantment – that so many others have felt when they come away from one of her own shows.

“Thank you, whoever you are,” she calls into the room.

Without question, Helena’s thirty-second birthday is off to a much better start than any of those which came before.

***

“Thank you very much for the gift.”

Myka jumps at the sudden sound of Helena’s voice, whispering directly into her ear. Her gaze jerks around the room, but Helena is certainly nowhere in sight, and Mr. Kosan appears to have not heard a thing, as he remains focused on the ledger opened up before him.

“Your identity continues to elude me,” the disembodied voice continues, “but I would very much like to return the favor next time the circus changes locations. Please let me know where I can leave you your own ‘artifact’ and be sure that you will receive it.”

Myka thinks that the message is over, but after several moments’ pause, Helena goes on, sounding almost shy. “It was truly wonderful,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Why are you grinning like that? Are you even listening to me?”

Myka’s concentration is broken by Kosan’s question.

She clears her throat, forcing the corners of her mouth back into a neutral expression. She clenches her jaw against the desire to keep smiling, even wider.

“I apologize, sir,” she manages solemnly. “My mind drifted momentarily, it won’t happen again.”

“Hm,” Kosan huffs. “Be sure that it doesn’t.”

Myka does succeed in paying sufficient attention to her boss, but a good portion of her thoughts continue to drift towards Helena. She had hoped that her gift would be well received, but she couldn’t be sure. Although Myka herself has stopped seeing their game as antagonistic, she had no idea whether or not Helena felt the same way.

Now, she cannot wait to see what Helena will offer in return.

***

~Dublin; May 30, 1896~

Sam smiles as he sees Myka approach.

“Hi,” he calls out happily. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Myka does not look nearly as pleased.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, glancing back over her shoulder.

Sam nods, looking down at his watch. “Sure. I get a break in-”

“No, now,” Myka interrupts. “I’m sorry, Sam, it’s important.”

“Alright.” He nods again, concerned. “Give me one minute, and I’ll get Wolcott to take over for a bit.”

“Thank you.” Myka turns her back, waiting impatiently, as he quickly goes off to find one of the other security/crew members.

It isn’t long before he returns, sliding up next to Myka and running his hand down her arm.

“It’s been a while since I had the pleasure of seeing you, Bunny,” he greets with a playful flick to the rim of her ever-present bowler hat.

She smiles wanly. “I know. The circus has been traveling too far from London for me to make it.” Myka doesn’t waste any more time on small talk before getting to her point. “Why didn’t you tell me about the new tent?” she asks.

Sam frowns, confused for a moment. Myka opens up her notebook and shows him where she’s sketched out a rough, quick drawing of an expansive tree, with no leaves, but instead with candles standing up along its branches. Her sketch is simplistic, just the barest suggestion of the design, though she’s made some more detailed notes on the opposing page. Myka will have to go back to make a much more comprehensive drawing later.

“Oh!” His face clears. “You mean the Wishing Tree! I like that one. It isn’t your work?”

Myka shakes her head tightly, but jots down the name he’d given.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s fairly new, and I haven’t had time to write to you since it appeared. I didn’t think it was important,” he adds with a shrug.

“It is important!” Myka exclaims. “She made it. I could tell, the very second I walked into that tent. I need to know these things, Sam, if I’m going to keep up with her.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his shoulders stiffening defensively. “I haven’t noticed anything about her. You say she’s making all these moves and changes, but from what I can see, she just goes about her business, doing her performances.”

Myka takes her hat from her head and runs her hand over her hair with a sigh. “No matter what it looks like, she is working against me. Constantly. You’re my eyes here when I have to stay in London, Sam. She still doesn’t know who I am, and that gives me an advantage, but she has the advantage of being here, being part of all this.”

Sam clenches his jaw, but remains silent.

“Did you make a wish?” he finally asks, his eyes staring right into hers. “Do the wishes come true?”

Myka looks away.

“I don’t know,” she says softly, ignoring the first question.

“I miss you,” Sam goes on. He offers a self-deprecating smile, easing some of the tension that has sprung up between them. “Since I’m doing such a lousy job of spying for you, maybe you should arrange it so that you can come and travel with us.”

Myka smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe I will.”

They are both quiet for another few moments, until Myka reaches out and gently squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Sam, I have to go. I’ll stop by again if I can.”

He nods, and with that, she turns and leaves.

She didn’t say that she misses him too, he notes.

***

~London; March 16, 1905~

The Inclement Weather Party is in full swing when Myka enters the acrobats’ tent. That tent is the largest, so it’s where everyone goes on nights when the circus is cancelled due to rain.

She doesn’t see Helena right away, but she can feel the heat of the other woman’s gaze on her. Her first impulse is of course to run and find her, but she manages to resist. Instead, she follows the sound of Pete’s voice, wandering her way through various pockets of people, until her best friend is in sight.

“Mykes, you made it!” the fire juggler calls out when he sees her, stepping forward to envelope her in a tight hug and literally lift her off the ground.

“Hello to you too, Pete,” Myka says with a laugh, reaching for the top of her head to make sure her hat doesn’t fly off. “And of course, I wouldn’t miss this,” she goes on once back on both feet.

They quickly fall into conversation – Pete going on about a few recent changes he’s made to his act, and about the pretty acrobat he’s had his eyes on – but Myka finds that she can’t continue to fully ignore the weight of Helena’s gaze.

Surreptitiously, and with attempted casualness, her eyes begin to move about the tent. It doesn’t take long for her gaze to zero in on Helena, caught up in conversation with the twins. Myka could swear that Helena’s eyes actually twinkle when she notices that Myka is finally looking at her.

No words are exchanged between them, and they each are easily able to maintain their conversations, but they share their own kind of dialogue nonetheless.

I want to be talking to you right now, not him.

It’s not that Helena hears the words, per se. It’s more like she feels them, deep inside.

I want to be kissing you, Helena answers in turn.

She grins when Myka blushes.

***

In a far corner of the tent, but with a clear view of both Myka and Helena, Arthur Nielsen frowns.

“This is unacceptable,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself.

“Oh, I agree completely,” comes the reply. “Your student shouldn’t even be here. She’s become way too much of a distraction.”

“Well you are supposed to be dead, so I don’t think you have the right to tell others where they should or should not be,” Arthur retorts.

To his left, there is a light shimmer, like from a mirage. From some angles, people can almost make out the translucent shape of an elbow, the curve of a jaw. If anyone does notice and begin to look a little closer, they suddenly find themselves interested in something else, and they forget the moment entirely.

James chuckles to himself. “Touché, old boy.”

“I will do my part; make sure you do yours,” Arthur continues. “The two of them need to stay away from each other.”

The ghostly shadow of James MacPherson inclines his head, and then walks through the wall of the tent and out into the rain.

Chapter Text

~Chicago; September 21, 1903~

“Truth or dare?”

The question, directed towards Claudia, is immediately followed by three acorns being thrown at her, each one sent by one of her foster siblings.

Claudia glares up at them through the tree’s branches, sticking out her tongue.

“Well, which is it?” Margaret impatiently asks. “We haven’t got all day, you know.”

Claudia usually asks for truth – though whether she actually says the full truth is another question entirely – but something about the small sting on her cheek where an acorn hit makes her feel defiant.

“Dare,” she calls out loudly, sticking her chin out.

The silence that follows shows that Margaret certainly hadn’t been expecting that one. Claudia smiles to herself.

The quiet is only broken by Alice’s giggles as Frank manages to catch Claudia right on the top of her head with another acorn.

Clearly needing the attention back on her, Margaret finally speaks, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Claudia’s dare is to break into the Night Circus.”

Alice gasps, and Claudia feels herself pale just slightly.

Margaret practically preens, as she commands, “And you have to bring something back, so we know you really did it.”

It’s an impossible dare, and all of them know it.

Before she can talk herself out of it, though, Claudia jumps down out of the tree. “Alright, I’ll do it,” she calls back up at them, before taking off across the field.

It’s been about half a week since the mysterious black-and-white-striped tents appeared from out of nowhere. The last time the circus was here, six years earlier, Claudia was deemed too young to go, and was forced to listen jealously as the others chattered on about it.

Just the previous night, however, Claudia had finally been allowed to go.

It was nothing like Claudia had thought it would be. The Night Circus is something to be explored, something to be experienced, rather than something to be watched. She had only had time to visit a small fraction of the tents, each with a sign proclaiming just the slightest hint of what wonders would be found inside.

There was the carousel – with its gryphons, dragons, unicorns, and other strange creatures – taking a far more complicated course than a mere circle.

The elaborate garden, made entirely out of ice.

The seemingly endless labyrinth, where one room might be made entirely out of playing cards, while in another, it is snowing.

The acrobats, who fearlessly throw themselves through the air, even without a safety net.

When Claudia was forced to leave, she immediately couldn’t wait until the following day, when she would be able to return once again.

Granted, she thinks now as she walks through the field between her house and the circus grounds, her return trip is coming a bit earlier than anticipated.

Although Claudia had set out from the tree full of brave thoughts and imagined admiration from the others, she finds herself growing more intimidated as the tent tops loom higher and higher.

Everything looks different in the daylight. It is completely silent, not even the smallest suggestion of the bustling activity from the night before. There are no lights, no people, no sounds... Nothing but a faint hint of the smell of caramel and smoke in the air.

She stops in front of the wrought iron gate, now closed shut with a complicated-looking lock. A small sign reads:

Gates Open at Nightfall & Close at Dawn

Trespassers Will Be Exsanguinated

Claudia gulps. She isn’t sure what “exsanguinated” means, but it doesn’t sound like a good thing.

She takes a quick look back over her shoulder; she can see the others, three small specks sitting up in the tree, and she just knows that they’re watching her carefully.

Wanting to be out of sight, Claudia turns and slowly walks around to the other side of the fence.

As for actually getting inside the circus, however... Climbing over the fence is unthinkable, as it looks to be well over three times Claudia’s height.

She smiles, though, as she realizes that there are some advantages to being a “pipsqueak,” as Frank often calls her. The fence, though intimidating, wasn’t exactly designed with small-for-their-age-eleven-year-old-girls-on-a-dare in mind.

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but Claudia manages to slip through the space between the bars.

She holds her breath and shuts her eyes, half-expecting to be “exsanguinated” on the spot, but nothing happens.

***

~Vienna; June 27, 1907~

It has been a fair number of years since Leena and Steve required a chaperone whenever they chose to wander through the circus. Nonetheless, there are still times when, in between sets of their own act, their winding promenades take them in search of their favorite companion.

Tonight, they manage to time it just so, going to get some snacks and then wandering aimlessly until they find themselves outside Helena’s tent right as the older woman finishes one of her performances.

“Hello, darlings!” she greets happily when she sees them, her cheeks pleasantly flushed after the usual round of thunderous applause.

“Care for a stroll?” Steve asks, offering his arm.

Helena grins at him. “My, what a gentleman,” she comments. “And to think, just a few short years ago, I was helping to change your diapers.”

Steve blushes, while Leena rolls her eyes. “We’re going to be sixteen this year, Helena. It’s been quite a bit more than a ‘few’ years,” Leena corrects.

“Indeed,” the illusionist acknowledges with a wink. Her expression turns wistful as she adds, “You are growing up far too quickly.”

 “Not quickly enough,” Steve counters, leading the way towards the central courtyard.

Helena nudges him in the side, teasing, “Oh, don’t worry. Before you know it, the two of you will both have plenty of boys flocking to your side.”

Steve chokes on the mouthful of popcorn he’d been eating, earning a delighted laugh from Helena, as well as a smirk and thump on the back from Leena.

“You know, she’ll only get worse if you keep reacting to her like that,” Leena remarks, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve got to learn to ignore her, and then it won’t be any fun anymore.”

Helena winks.

Steve has to clear his throat several times before he can reply. “Easy for you to say,” he eventually declares. “She doesn’t tease you nearly as much as she does me!”

“Darling, I believe that’s her point,” Helena says with a grin. Her smile shifts to one of a purer happiness as she catches sight of a man walking towards them, wearing a black suit with a red rose tucked into the buttonhole.

“Miss Wells,” he greets. “Always a pleasure to see you. I have not yet had the chance to visit your tent, so this is a pleasant surprise.” He turns towards Leena and Steve with a kind smile. “Oh, and how lovely. You are the ones with the kittens, yes? Training those small bundles of fur to jump through hoops and do back flips must take an incredible amount of patience, I would imagine. Exceptionally impressive.”

“Um, yes,” Leena replies after a moment of surprised silence. In all the time since they earned their own act, not once has a single one of the circus patrons recognized them when they were out mingling, without their costumes.

Steve doesn’t appear to share her surprise, however. He grins. “And you’re the man who made our clock!” He sticks out his hand for the stranger to shake. “It’s an honor, sir.”

The man looks pleased at the recognition. “Indeed, yes,” he says. “Has Miss Wells told you about me?”

At that, Steve becomes flustered. “Um. Well... No...” He shoots a sheepish glance towards Helena.

“Mr. Jinks, here, has a particular talent for reading people,” she supplies with a fond smile.

“I see,” the man says, though he clearly does not. “Well, allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Mr. Caturanga. As Mr. Jinks deduced, I am a clockmaker, and general tinkerer.”

He reaches to shake Steve’s hand a second time, and Leena’s a first, as Helena introduces, “And this is Mr. Steven Jinks and Miss Leena Frederic, circus performers extraordinaire!”

Leena gasps quietly as Mr. Caturanga takes hold of her hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Steve turns to look at her in concern, but she simply shakes her head minutely at him.

Her gift doesn’t always work like this, but at the very moment when their skin touched, Leena was immediately flooded with sensation. It will take her some time to make any sense of what she experienced, if any sense is there to be made, but in the moment she is simply overwhelmed with color.

A deep, dark red clings to Caturanga, even as the rest of the impression begins to fade. Leena closes her eyes, glad that the man’s attention has shifted back to Helena, and tries to hold on to as much as she can before it is gone altogether. She has gotten better at this, with Helena’s help, but it is still far from easy.

Satisfied that she has retained all that she can, Leena allows her focus to return to the present. Steve and Helena remain engaged in conversation with Mr. Caturanga, but Leena can sense their worry, as they each keep a concerned eye on her.

Leena smiles to assuage their anxiety, but even so, she cannot quite shake a disquieting feeling that niggles at the back of her mind. The emotion feels entirely incongruous with this joyful, polite man who stands before her, but there is no denying that he is at the center of whatever it is that she just saw.

Without a word, Steve reaches to squeeze her hand, and immediately, Leena feels a sense of balance return to her. She squeezes back. There is no point trying to hide anything from Steve, as he will always see the truth on her, but the emotion is genuine when she turns to him with a small, grateful smile.

Even now, however, when Leena glances once more at Mr. Caturanga, that deep red silhouette lingers behind.

***

~Philadelphia; December 15, 1899~

Myka is in a room with pure white sand beneath her feet and an endless stretch of nighttime sky all around her. The sensation of being out of doors, in a vast and open space, is so complete that it is somewhat of a surprise when Myka puts her hand before her and eventually finds the wall hidden amongst the stars.

She leans back against the wall, content to simply stand still for a moment, before trying to find the door that will take her to yet another room. In order to get to this spot, she went through a plain room with seven doors, a room where it felt like she was swimming, an evergreen forest, a room where it was snowing, and a hedge maze.

She hears a door open, but the sound of footsteps is muffled by the shifting sand underfoot.

Mr. Nielsen comes to stand stiffly next to her. He does not say anything right away, but Myka can sense his disapproval regardless.

Sure enough, he can only manage to stay quiet for a minute before he declares, “This is abhorrent.”

Myka smiles at his predictability. “It’s good to see you too, Artie. It’s been quite a while.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles.

They return to silence for a moment, before Myka gives in and asks, “Which half is abhorrent, mine or hers?”

Arthur bristles. “Don’t you see? The very fact that you can even ask that question is abhorrent! You are not meant to collaborate. I have told you so, many times. You are meant to be working separately.”

“First of all,” Myka sighs, “you can’t punish me for breaking the rules, when you insisted all along on refusing to tell me any rules. Second of all, it can hardly be called collaborating when she still doesn’t even know who I am. And third of all, what better way to compare and judge our own individual skills, than when we are forced to share the same tent?”

“And what about this Caturanga fellow? He now knows who you are,” Arthur replies, managing to ignore all three of Myka’s points. “He isn’t even a member of the circus, and you have him helping you?!”

“Technically,” Myka offers, “I am not a member of the circus either. Mr. Caturanga simply serves as a consultant, to both of us. He helped to advise Helena on the workings of her carousel; he helps advise me when it comes to the engineering logistics of my own rooms in The Labyrinth. This is supposed to be a test of magical skill, isn’t it? It hardly seems fair to hold me at a disadvantage just because Helena happens to be gifted with engineering, and I’m not.”

“So it’s Helena, now?” Arthur asks pointedly. “You cannot trust her!”

Myka is grateful for the darkness, as she feels her cheeks flush. “Miss Wells, then. I apologize,” she murmurs sarcastically.

Arthur grumbles something unintelligible, which Myka doesn’t bother asking him to repeat.

“So is she better than I am? Can you even tell which rooms are mine, and which are hers?” Myka challenges. “We’ve been playing at this ‘game’ for eight years, Mr. Nielsen. Surely by now everyone can tell that our skills are comparable. How will a winner even be determined at this point?”

“That is not your concern,” Arthur practically spits out. “You need only focus on your own work. No more of this debauched juxtaposition. I expected so much more from you. This is highly disappointing.”

Myka doesn’t so much as blink, but there is no denying the sting of hurt that Arthur’s words cause in her. She swallows thickly, but it takes several long moments before Myka can trust her own voice not to break. Her words come out low and harsh as she replies, “Well clearly, when you were looking for lonely, vulnerable young children, you should have chosen someone else. I am sorry that my entire life thus far has amounted to nothing but a disappointment. I have always done my best for you.”

Arthur sighs, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. He looks as though he means to say something, but then closes his mouth again. Myka says nothing more, even as the silence that envelopes them weighs heavily on her shoulders.

Finally, Arthur speaks. “Just... Keep working. And stay away from Miss Wells.”

With that, he turns and goes back the way he came, leaving Myka to sink down and lie in the sand beneath the stars.

***

After visiting few more cities, it’s time for another one of her sojourns back to London to work more closely with Mr. Kosan for a spell, instead of traveling with the circus.

At night, alone in her flat, Myka constructs tiny rooms from scraps of paper. Hallways and doors crafted from pages of books and bits of blueprints, pieces of wallpaper and fragments of letters.

She composes her own rooms, which lead into and out of others that Helena has created, stairs that wind around her halls.

Other spaces remain open, waiting for Helena to respond.

***

~London; February 2, 1899~

Mr. Caturanga looks up from his work at the sound of a polite cough. He hadn’t noticed that someone had entered his shop.

“Ah, it’s you again!” he exclaims happily as he catches sight of the woman who served as the catalyst to his relationship with the Night Circus. “Forgive me, but I’ve forgotten your name. It has been quite a few years, now, and I must admit that my memory is not fully what it once was.”

The young woman, looking just about exactly as she did eight years prior, right down to the pinstripe suit and bowler hat, takes a step forward with a kind smile. “Myka Bering, sir. I am the assistant to-”

“Yes, yes, I remember that much, you can be sure,” he interrupts, waving a hand as though to wipe the rest of her explanation away. “How could I possibly forget the woman who commissioned me to make the clock that would lead me to Le Cirque des Rêves? I must tell you, that wonderful circus has inspired me like nothing else has in a very long time.”

“I am happy to hear it,” she says with a smile. “Your clock is certainly a marvel. I can’t seem to imagine either the clock without the circus, or the circus without the clock.”

Caturanga beams proudly. “Well, now what can I do for you?” he asks.

Myka’s expression turns a bit shy, turning to look down at the floor, as she considers her words.

“This may sound a bit strange, but I was wondering...” she begins. “How much do you know, about the circus?”

Caturanga tilts his head to the side, puzzled. “Pardon?”

Myka worries her bottom lip between her teeth, before she tries again. “How much has Miss Wells told you? About how the circus works.”

Something clicks, and Caturanga smiles broadly. “You are her opponent!” Myka inclines her head in agreement. “I never would have guessed,” he continues. “No wonder she hasn’t figured it out yet. I think she suspects the fortune teller.”

 “So she’s told you about our... competition?” Myka asks.

“Only in the vaguest terms,” he explains with a shrug. “When she told me that everything she does is real, I had no choice but to either take her at her word, or consider her a liar. Though I am sure the lovely lady is no saint – the gleam in her eye is far too mischievous for that to be so – I most certainly do not consider her to be a liar. With that understanding, we turned to a discussion of what one might create if things such as gravity need not be a concern. All the credit undoubtedly goes to Miss Wells, but I assisted somewhat with the creation of the carousel, as I imagine you’ve guessed.”

“My assumptions ran along similar lines, yes,” Myka agrees. “Now, I have an idea, but I’m not the architect that either of you two are. I was hoping to ask for a bit of your assistance as well.”

Caturanga’s smile only widens. “Miss Bering, I would be delighted. I had wondered whether you would approach me – although at the time, I had no idea that it was you, per se. The way I see it, magicians employ engineers all the time to make their tricks seem real. I can help do the opposite, making actual magic appear to be nothing but clever construction.”

“I know that you are friends with Miss Wells...” Myka hesitates. “I can make you forget this entire conversation, if necessary.”

“I am indeed exceedingly fond of her,” Caturanga allows, “but I assure you, no memory modification shall be necessary. I would never dream of betraying either your confidence or your identity.”

Myka nods. “Thank you. I must admit, Mr. Caturanga, I’m surprised at how accepting you are of all this.”

Gesturing with one hand, Myka accidentally hits against a pile of boxes, sending them toppling, and as an apt demonstration of “all this,” the boxes immediately right themselves, settling back into place with hardly a fuss. Caturanga chuckles.

“The world is certainly a much more interesting place than I had ever imagined when you first commissioned me to build you a clock,” he begins. “Is that because Miss Wells can animate a solid wooden creature on a carousel or because you stopped those boxes from falling and could manipulate my memory, or because the circus itself pushed the boundaries of what I dreamed was possible, even before I entertained the thought of actual magic? I cannot say. But I would not trade it for anything.”

Myka’s smile is equal parts grateful, conspiratorial, and excited. She tells him, “I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, my dear,” Caturanga says. “Now, tell me about this idea of yours.”

***

After the first stage is complete, and Caturanga receives a letter from Helena, he worries briefly about her reaction. Will she be upset that he is working with her opponent? Will she ask him for Miss Bering’s identity?

He can only smile, then, when he reads her note, which gets right to the point. Really, he should have known better than to doubt her.

May I make additions to it?

- H.G.W.

The Labyrinth was indeed specifically designed to be manipulated by either side, and Caturanga hurries to write back and tell her so. He decides on the spot that he will have to plan another visit to the circus sometime soon. He cannot wait to see what these two remarkable women will come up with next.

***

~London; October 30, 1908~

Helena stands alone in the middle of the lobby of the Midland Grand Hotel. She has made no inquiries at the front desk; she has not spoken to anyone at all. Guests and staff walk by her, seeming to unconsciously take steps to avoid crashing into her, even as they appear to take no notice of her at all.

She knows that this is where he stays when they are in London. She knows that he will come to her eventually, as long as she is patient enough to wait. Patience is not one of Helena’s strong suits, but this is important. It is time for things to move forward, one way or another.

It is more than an hour, before a man in a rumpled gray suit approaches her.

Other than his expression of mild distaste, Arthur Nielsen displays no reaction and makes no comment while Helena speaks to him. When she is done, he simply nods.

Helena bows to him formally, and then turns on her heel and leaves without a backward glance.

Across the room, Adwin Kosan remains in the shadows, unnoticed and watching. A ghostly figure stands by his side, whispering something into his ear.

***

~Rome; May 10, 1902~

Myka almost gets lost trying to find the café at which Helena has requested her presence. It’s a tiny place, and though it actually appears to be closed when Myka first walks by – blinds closed, no lights visible from the street – it’s fairly crowded inside.

Waiting at a table towards the back, Helena smiles when Myka enters, beckoning with a slight upwards nod of her head.

“So you found the place?” Helena greets.

“Barely,” is the response, as Myka takes her seat. “You’ve certainly taken us off the beaten path.”

Helena seems to take the comment as a compliment. “I’m much more partial to local watering holes, rather than the larger establishments. I hope you don’t mind. I assure you, the food and drink are very good.”

Myka smiles. “Cheers, then,” she says. It is then that she realizes that her own wine glass is quite different from Helena’s, and from every other glass she can see at the surrounding tables. The stem is designed as a column of the composite order; the bowl is round, with grape vines intricately etched around the top of the glass, just below the rim.

With a curious tilt of her head, Myka asks, “Is there a reason why I get such a lovely glass, and no one else does?”

Helena’s grin turns a shade mischievous. “It’s an artifact,” she replies simply, causing Myka to laugh. “Did you think I’d forgotten that it was my turn?”

“I’d wondered,” Myka admits, after they pause to order their meal. “We’ve already been here for a week and a half, and I imagine we’ll be moving on soon.”

“Yes, well,” Helena declares seriously, “it is a very old artifact, you know. Took me an incredible effort to track it down.”

Myka chuckles. “Is that so?”

“Quite.” After another moment of taking in Myka’s happy grin, Helena breaks, her somber expression lightening. “Well really, we’re in Rome! There is so much history here, so much culture! The task of choosing just one thing to give you proved to be quite daunting, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, how very dreadful for you,” Myka sympathizes mockingly. “That must be why you took the circus to an unnamed unincorporated settlement in South Dakota when you knew it was my turn. I understand now, it was obviously so that I wouldn’t be overwhelmed with too much history or culture to deal with. That was incredibly kind of you, Helena.”

Helena laughs in delight, and Myka finds her throat going dry at the light sound. She rubs the back of her neck and takes a rather large gulp of the wine Helena had ordered for them. Their food arrives, and Myka gladly shifts her attention to the waiter for the moment.

“I do apologize for that,” Helena says after the waiter has left again, managing to sound at least slightly sincere. “I was growing frustrated with the fact that I still had not yet identified you. Besides, now that I know you’re a bloody Yank, it only seems appropriate that you get the American locations. And in any case, you did very well! I very much like my Sioux arrowhead.”

Myka, who had been continuing to idly sip on her wine, opens her mouth to respond, but stops when she looks back down at her glass. She frowns. She certainly remembers drinking from the glass, and she doesn’t remember anyone refilling it, but...

Helena laughs again. “So you’ve discovered the artifact’s effects.”

A hesitant smile begins to edge over Myka’s face. “Okay, you got me a bottomless glass of wine?”

“Well surely, Bacchus’ wine goblet can never be allowed to go empty, wouldn’t you agree?” Helena asks in return.

“Ah.” Myka smiles with understanding. “A very old artifact, indeed. So, of all Rome’s endless possibilities, why this?”

Helena smirks. “Oh, have I been too subtle?” she asks with faux innocence. “Surely, my dear, it should be fairly obvious that I’d like to get you intoxicated. You hold your cards very close to the chest, Miss Bering, and I’d very much like to...” She pauses, searching for the right word. “...disentangle you a bit. I thought wine might help,” Helena concludes with a wink.

Myka blushes and finds herself staring down into her glass and idly picking at her food.

She’s not quite sure how to take Helena’s comments. The outright flirting is not at all something for which she had prepared herself, when Helena finally discovered who she was. She enjoys their banter – most of the time, at least, as long as Myka can hold her own reasonably well – but Myka can’t help but wonder what it really means.

Is it nothing more than lighthearted teasing? A genuine expression of friendship? A tactical effort to throw Myka off balance...? Too many possibilities run through Myka’s mind, with no real sense of which one might actually be true. She’s certainly off balance, however, so if that is Helena’s aim, she is succeeding quite well.

Helena, meanwhile, studies Myka’s face as a series of emotions flit rapidly by, too rapidly for Helena to properly identify them, before she schools her face back into a relatively neutral expression. Helena certainly enjoys pushing Myka’s buttons, but there is real truth in her words. It’s been a good amount of time, now, since Helena learned her opponent’s identity at long last, but she still finds herself both fascinated and bemused by the beguiling woman sitting across from her.

Myka jumps slightly in her seat at the sudden feel of Helena’s warm hand covering her own. She looks up and is drawn immediately to Helena’s gaze. Those deep, captivating brown eyes lure her in; Myka knows that she couldn’t have looked away in that moment, even if she’d wanted to.

“You needn’t be afraid of me,” Helena says softly. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Truly, I thought only to supplement the good company I knew I would have this evening with some good wine.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Myka utters, her eyebrows briefly knitting in confusion. “I’m not fully sure what I am,” she admits with a soft smile, “but I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” Helena responds, lightly soothing her thumb over the back of Myka’s hand before letting go and leaning back in her seat.

The light outside begins to grow darker, and soon it will be time for both women to return for another night of the circus. But for now, their conversation turns to safer topics – the city; the twins; the food – even as their thoughts continue to circle around each other.

~Moscow; February 19, 1910~

Helena closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. She can hear footsteps rapidly approaching her, and the corner of her mouth ticks upward for just a moment as a picture of Myka pops into her mind.

Pasting a composed smile on her face, she turns to face the oncoming storm.

“Hello, Myka,” she greets with an inclination of her head.

The unruffled welcome brings Myka up short. “Hello. I-” She shakes her head, flustered. She’d been preparing for a fight; been readying herself to argue and bluster and rant her way to what she wants. The unexpectedness of Helena’s tranquil charm, however, leaves Myka entirely disarmed.

Myka sighs, shoulders lowering, and all her righteous indignation suddenly deflates, leaving her feeling lost and alone.

“I know what you’re planning to do, Helena,” she says softly. She makes as if to take Helena’s hand, but then thinks better of it. Instead, her hand clenches into a fist as she continues, “I won’t let you go through with it.”

Helena has the audacity to smirk. “Is that so, darling? You won’t let me?”

“I... I know that-” Myka tries, but stops before completing her thought. She looks down to the floor and runs both hands through her hair.

Helena betrays no emotion, but allows her gaze to follow the paths of Myka’s fingertips, her own fingers itching to reach out and stroke through those tousled locks. It is so rare that Myka allows her hair down, both literally and figuratively.

Myka grits her teeth, looking up abruptly to stare Helena squarely in the eye. “I know that I hold no sway over you, but you are everything to me, and I am not too proud to beg for your mercy.”

Something inside of Helena cracks, and, no longer able to maintain the illusion of indifference, she steps forward into Myka’s personal space, reaching out to grab desperate hold of Myka’s hand.

“You hold so much more than you know,” Helena counters softly. Her free hand seems to move of its own accord and rises to cup Myka’s cheek. Myka’s eyes flutter closed at the contact, and she turns to softly press her lips to the palm of Helena’s hand.

Helena tries to remove her hand, but Myka reaches quickly to hold it in place.

“Myka.” The name comes out as an exhalation of breath. “My Myka. This is the only way I can think to save you.”

A few solitary tears fall down each woman’s face; neither one makes any move to wipe them away.

“But don’t you understand?” Myka entreats. “Helena, I don’t want to be saved, I just want to be with you!”

Helena looks down to the floor, but says nothing in return.

Chapter Text

~London; October 13 to 14, 1891~

The cauldron sits in the middle of the courtyard, cold, empty, and waiting. It is made of wrought iron, and long, thin strands of it rise from the edges of the cauldron, lifting into a twirling, twisted snarl of metal. People walk around it, thinking it nothing more than an interesting piece of sculpture.

It is almost time.

Myka hurries forward and drops the heavy book – a perfect copy of which remains locked in her office – into the base of the cauldron and then moves to the edge of the courtyard. She looks around at the circus patrons; some walk around still in a daze over some sight or another, some talk animatedly with their companions. No one has noticed Myka and her book.

Sam has volunteered to be Myka’s eyes and ears while she is stuck in London, but, if this works, the book and the bonfire will serve as a much stronger link between Myka and the circus. She’s never done something like this before, nothing on quite this large a scale. But with all these moving parts – with all these people being pulled along on the coattails of this challenge – it seemed wise to set a few safety measures into place.

One minute before midnight, twelve figures silently enter the courtyard and arrange themselves around the perimeter. Though they’ve never officially met, Myka recognizes Pete Lattimer, standing at 9 o’clock. She isn’t sure of the identities of the rest.

As one, all twelve lift their bows and take aim towards the cauldron. In the next instant, the tip of each one of their arrows lights with a small dancing flame. Now people are starting to pay attention, with whispers and nudges and fingers pointing towards the twelve glowing points.

The first archer releases her bowstring, just as the clock by the gates begins to toll.

With the first deep chime, the first arrow reaches the well of iron, igniting the bonfire with an eruption of yellow flame and sparks falling all around.

The second archer lets his arrow loose just a few moments after the first, and as the second bell chimes, the next arrow arches into its target, and the flames turn instantly into a clear sky blue.

The crowd oohs and ahs, as the color of the cauldron’s fire changes with each successive toll of the clock, each successive flaming arrow. A warm bright pink turns into the color of a ripe pumpkin; then scarlet-red; a deeper, sparkling crimson; a color like incandescent wine; shimmering violet; indigo; the deepest midnight blue...

On the penultimate chime, the flames shift into an inky black, and for a moment, it is hard to tell the flames from the cauldron.

Until finally, on the twelfth and final chime of the clock, the flames burst into blinding white, a shower of sparks falling like snowflakes around the cauldron. Huge curls of white smoke float up towards the sky.

The archers melt back into the shadows, as the crowd erupts into applause.

It is opening night, and so far, at least, everything is going perfectly.

***

~Glasgow; January 19 through 31, 1897~

The first time that Myka meets Pete Lattimer, she really doesn’t like him at all.

She’s not sure who has appointed him as her ‘tour guide,’ but it is quite unnecessary, seeing how she has spent a remarkably large percentage of her time over the last nearly six years organizing, studying, and working on the circus. And in any case, he is certainly the wrong man for the job.

Pete is loud, obnoxious, and infantile, and Myka would far rather be alone working than being led from tent to tent, each of which she already knows perfectly well. Still, when it was decided that Myka would start traveling with the circus more often, Mr. Kosan determined that she should have an escort of sorts to, as he explained, “show her the ropes.”

“You know, I have been here before,” Myka protests, as Pete begins telling her of Irene Frederic, the wild cat tamer. “I was even there when the Regents first got together and started designing the circus.”

Pete rolls his eyes; he is clearly not a fan of Myka’s either.

“Well excuse me,” he says, sarcasm dripping. “I’m not doing this for you because it’s my idea of a good time. But I was told to show you around, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Myka is irritable – Sam’s description did not even come close to doing Miss Wells’ remarkable new carousel justice, and having now seen it for herself and sensed the level of skill that must have gone into its construction, Myka is feeling a tad too far out of her depth. She knows fully well that she’s taking it out on poor Mr. Lattimer, but knowing is not enough to get her to stop.

“Yes, and who told you to do so? Your mother? Do you always do whatever she asks?” Myka taunts.

Pete clenches his jaw. Having been present during many of Mrs. Lattimer’s meetings with Mr. Kosan, Myka knows that his mother’s association with the circus is a bit of a sore spot for Pete. He had no idea that she was one of the Regents – the founding members of the circus – until after he had been hired.

“Fine,” Pete spits out, raising his arms in surrender. “You’re on your own.”

With that, he turns and stalks off towards the performers’ living quarters.

They don’t see each other again until the following evening. Myka is fixing herself some dinner, when Pete strolls into the kitchen area. He freezes for a moment when he sees her, but merely shakes his head before rummaging for a snack and departing again without a word.

As the week goes on, Myka begins to wish that she hadn’t been so brusque. Although she certainly keeps quite busy, her life remains a lonely one. Loneliness is practically all that Myka has ever known, but the thought that she might have been able to change that, had she not already begun burning bridges, is a difficult one. She has Sam, it is true, but much to his chagrin, she has decided that their relationship should be kept secret.

A week to the day after their first meeting, Pete finds Myka scribbling in her notebook, jotting down ideas for her own next move in the game. He clears his throat, startling her.

Pete smiles, and though he would never admit to such, he finds the smudge of black ink that stretches across Myka’s cheek quite charming. The woman’s an undeniable pain, but he has a good feeling about her nonetheless, and he’s learned to trust his gut feelings.

“All right,” he begins, “I’ve had enough time to get over my wounded pride, and you’ve had enough time on your own. Have you even left the circus once since you got here?”

Myka blinks, surprised that he is here, that he is talking to her, and that he has noticed anything about her behavior at all.

“Um, well...” She thinks back, scratching the back of her head. “I guess I haven’t, no.”

Pete nods, as if he knew as much. “Glasgow’s a pretty nice place, once you get past the rain, and the cold, and the bad food.” He winks. “So come on; some friends and I are going out for a bite before the circus opens, and you’re coming with us.”

Myka smiles tentatively. “I am?”

“You bet you are, whether you like it or not,” Pete replies with conviction.

It’s how their tradition of eating together begins – well, eating for some meals, at least; Myka swears that Pete could eat ten meals per day and still be hungry – and how Myka begins to meet some other members of the circus.

Though Myka is grateful for Pete’s overture, she is still no fan at all of his childish antics, and things are fairly stilted between them at first.

That changes, however, on their last night in Glasgow.

Pete and Myka are just departing what has become their pub of choice, when a small group of men are entering. Myka has seen them at the pub before, often talking loudly about their favorite football club. She nods politely, but is taken by surprise when one of them, the apparent leader, reaches out and grabs a tight hold of her hand, spinning her around to face him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets with what he must think is a charming smile. “Leaving so early? Surely you could be persuaded to come in for a drink. And you can leave your teetotaler boy,” he says with a derisive jerk of his head towards Pete. “I’ll promise to take very good care of you.”

Myka’s smile is tight-lipped and forced. She lightly pulls her hand back, but the man maintains his grip. “Thank you, but no,” she responds. “I really have to be going.”

“Oh, don’t be like that-” the man begins, before Pete steps forward, glowering protectively.

“The lady said she wasn’t interested,” he murmurs, the warning evident in his voice.

Myka rolls her eyes. “Yes, Pete, thank you, but ‘the lady’ can speak for herself,” she insists. With that, she tugs back hard so that her hand slips loose from the unwanted hold, and catching the man wholly off guard, she shoves him backwards with both hands to his chest.

Myka had really only meant to get him to back off, and show that she isn’t cowed by him, but as the rain earlier that morning has left the ground slippery with mud, the man completely loses his balance, falling right to the ground.

For a moment, time seems to stand still, as everyone turns to stare at Myka, shocked. Then one of the man’s friends snaps out of it and rushes towards Pete, who manages just in time to come to his senses and punch the oncoming threat square in the jaw.

Myka trips the next goon, as Pete ducks out of the way. There’s a moment of hesitation from the few men who remain on their feet, and Myka quickly turns and pulls Pete along with her as she begins to run back in the direction of the circus.

The others briefly give chase, but soon give up as Pete and Myka turn a corner and continue sprinting down the street.

The circus is within sight when Pete starts to laugh. Myka joins in when his foot catches on a slick patch of the dirt road, his arms going round like windmills as he tries to keep his balance. The fight against gravity is a losing one, however. Pete grabs hold of Myka’s jacket in a last-ditch effort, but he succeeds only in pulling her down into the mud with him.

Almost out of breath, Myka finds that instead of being angry, she can only laugh, even as he playfully flicks some mud towards her. She returns the favor, and a handful of mud glances off his shoulder, splashing up to hit the edge of his chin.

“Myka Bering,” he pronounces, caught between laughing and catching his breath, “I have officially never met a woman anything like you.”

Myka grins proudly.

***

~Chicago; September 21, 1903~

Having successfully made it inside the Night Circus, Claudia isn’t sure what she should do next.

There are no signs of anyone; no performers, crew members, or workers. Where they’ve all gone, Claudia has no idea. There must be a circus train somewhere, but no one’s ever seen one, as far as she knows.

At first glance, there’s nothing obvious for her to take back as proof of having completed the dare. There are the signs still hanging outside the entrance to each tent, but she doesn’t quite have the nerve to steal one of those.

So, given no other plan of action, she simply wanders. Before long, she’s no real sense of where she is, or how to get back to the spot where she first entered.

Regardless, Claudia isn’t scared. The feelings of intimidation she experienced as she approached the circus are fading now, replaced by a guarded sense of excitement. Although there’s an eeriness to the circus, permeating the air, she feels at home here, to an extent that doesn’t make any sense.

Claudia stops as she winds her way around yet another corner, finding herself at the edge of the central courtyard. The bonfire burns brightly as ever, but in the pale light of day, the contrast between the white flames and their surroundings is not nearly as stark as it had been at night. She approaches the cauldron, getting close enough that she can feel the heat of the flames.

“Hello.”

Claudia startles noticeably, whirling around towards the unexpected voice which has suddenly appeared behind her.

A girl stands there, alone, dressed all in white. She appears to be older than Claudia, though perhaps not by much.

Claudia opens her mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out. Having no idea where to go, her distinct urge to run yields nothing but a quick search with her eyes for anything resembling an exit.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the girl says. “Not yet.”

In spite of her words of warning, the girl’s smile is kind. Claudia takes a moment to look her over. She is clearly a member of the circus, though Claudia doesn’t recall seeing her the night before. She wears a lacy white dress, white boots, and white gloves, a pleasing contrast to her toffee-colored skin. Her hair hangs loose, with tight curls cascading down to her shoulders.

“Yeah, I know.” Claudia finally responds, sheepishly digging her toe into the sand at her feet. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s all right. We just should get you out of here before anyone else sees you. Which way did you come in?” she asks.

“Uhhh…” Claudia looks around, lost.

The girl smiles again, and Claudia can’t help but smile back.

“Come on, then.” The girl nods her head back towards one of several walkways extending out from the courtyard.

They walk side by side, a relatively comfortable silence filling up the air between them.

Claudia has never been known to stay quiet for long, however, and now is no exception.

“What does ‘exsanguinated’ mean?” she asks curiously.

The curly-haired girl laughs, a soft, sweet sound. Her words, however, make Claudia pale and swallow audibly. “It means to get drained of all your blood,” she replies, a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t worry, they wouldn’t actually do that. I don’t think.”

Still, if Claudia felt a desire to stick around and get to know this quiet girl, it’s gone now. The girl leads her to a break between the tents, where she can once again squeeze between the bars of the fence.

The girl smiles one more time, then turns to leave.

“Wait!” Claudia calls out. Clear brown eyes turn back to face her, and Claudia finds herself blushing as she stumbles through an admission. “I… It was a dare. That’s why I’m here. And, to show that I really did it, well, I need something. Something from the circus. To bring back.”

The girl nods in understanding, walking back to the fence as she peels a glove off her left hand. She holds it out through the bars of the fence, but Claudia shakes her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t take that.”

“It’s no problem, really,” the girl responds. “I have a whole box of them.”

Reaching up, Claudia shyly takes the proffered glove. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

“You’re welcome.”

Claudia smiles brightly, and then turns to head back towards her house.

“Good bye, Claudia,” the girl calls out.

“Bye!” The redhead twists and waves happily, before bursting into a run. It’s later than she’d realized, and none of her foster siblings are in the large oak tree any longer. She can only hope that she won’t get in trouble for being gone this long.

Claudia is half-way across the field when she realizes that she never told the curly-haired girl her name.

***

~Helsinki; March 2, 1910~

Myka takes a deep breath. She’s never managed to do anything like this before, but theoretically, it should work. If she can’t stop Helena, then at least she can work around what the other woman is planning. She can work around all of them; change their stupid rules.

So far, she’s managed to slow time down, but not turn it backwards. She goes over the runes and symbols in her notebook one more time, making sure she’s done everything right up to this point.

Satisfied, she knows that the next step is making some kind of marking on herself, so that she’ll know if it worked or not. She studies the scar around her ring finger, running her thumb over the old wound. She’s not quite willing to do anything that drastic if it’s not necessary, however.

Myka has just decided that she’ll make a small cut in the tip of her pinky finger when a stray bit of wind comes in through the open window and flips to the next page in her notebook. She’s surprised to see the final step to the incantation already written out – they’re the same symbols from the previous page, but now drawn to represent the figure of a clock, with the hands set to nine minutes before the current time – along with a short note, written in her own handwriting.

You’ve already cut your finger, and you’ve already tried the spell. So if you don’t remember doing so, and if there’s no cut, then that means it didn’t work.

With a growl of frustration, Myka takes her notebook and tosses it across the room.

***

~London; November 1, 1908~

Helena quietly shuts the door to the flat and leans up against it with a sigh. She holds Myka’s leather book – a “safeguard,” she had called it – underneath her arm. She has only glanced through it, enough to see that it is full of scraps of paper, each bearing the signature of a member of the circus. Helena can admit to herself that she has absolutely no idea how it works, or what its purpose is, but maybe if she can learn… If she can figure out how to use the book, then she can take some of this tremendous weight off of herself, and make the circus more independent.

She doesn’t know what to feel right now, what to think. She can still feel the warmth of Myka’s arms wrapped around herself; but so too can she still feel the warmth of blood on her hands. She wants to forget, and though she was able to manage it for a little while, the reality of what has happened has come crashing back into her psyche, leaving her trembling and cold.

Helena is seriously thinking of forgetting everything else and returning back into the safe haven behind her, just for a little longer, but before she can make her decision, a harsh voice rings out.

“You deceitful little slut.”

Helena starts at the sound. She had not noticed the man standing, waiting in the shadows. Then again, his nearly translucent nature makes noticing him quite difficult even under the most normal of circumstances, never mind her current emotional state.

She lets her head fall back against the door. “Hello, James. I’m surprised you waited this long to say that to me,” Helena says with a contemptuous sneer.

MacPherson begins to pace across the hall, flickering in and out of visibility, as he steps from shadow to light and back again. “Oh believe me,” he assures, “if I could, I would have marched in there and dragged you out here by force. But this place is so well protected it’s absurd. Nothing can get in without that girl explicitly wanting it there.”

“Good.” Helena nods to herself. “Obviously it’s not so absurd, given that it stopped you. So now you can leave her alone. And me as well, while you’re at it.”

“You should follow your own damn advice. You need it much more than I,” MacPherson argues. He gestures towards the book under her arm and asks, “What are you doing with that? You cannot interfere with her work.”

Helena sighs, pushing off from the door and taking a few steps towards the stairs which lead out of the building. “It is none of your business, but you needn’t worry. I have no intention of interfering. I merely wish to understand her system, so that I can stop having to constantly manage so much of the circus myself.”

MacPherson stops pacing, coming to stand right in front of her. Helena has not seen him look quite this angry in a very long time.

“Her system – Arthur’s system – is of no concern to you.” He shakes his head in derision. “You are so much weaker than I thought. I have overestimated you and your ability to handle this challenge.”

“It’s not about skill at all, is it?” Helena asks. Beneath her simmering anger, she is genuinely curious. “The game is about how we handle the repercussions of our magic, out there in the real, public world. A world that doesn’t believe. It’s a crude test of stamina and control, not ability.”

“It is a test of strength,” MacPherson practically spits out, “and you are weak.”

“So then I’ll lose!” Helena can only shrug resignedly. “I am as competitive as they come, but I am just so exhausted. I no longer care about your stupid game, so go on and do whatever it is you need to do, and just declare a winner already! Win or lose, I have no reason to be ashamed, and neither does Myka.”

MacPherson actually laughs, barking out a harsh sound that contains no amusement. “A winner is not declared, you foolish girl. The game continues until it is over. It cannot be stopped. You used to be somewhat clever; I’d thought you would have figured this out by now.”

Helena opens her mouth to bite back, but the gears in her mind are working, churning through all the vague, obscure words he’s chosen to say to her over the years. It only takes a few moments before something clicks in a way that it never has before.

Helena feels like the air’s been sucked out of her lungs, and she takes a step backward, reaching behind her until she feels the solid form of the door behind her. She spreads her hand wide, as though she were trying to feel the beating of Myka’s heart straight through the wood.

Suddenly, the shape of it all is clear, as everything falls into place.

“The victor is the one left standing after the other can no longer endure,” Helena says, her voice a hushed whisper, the scope of the whole thing finally making a kind of devastating sense.

For just a fraction of a moment, MacPherson almost looks as though he feels sorry for her. But then the expression is gone, replaced with a neutral mask. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” he acknowledges.

Helena turns to gaze longingly at the door behind her, her hand still pressed up against it.

MacPherson scoffs. “Oh, stop behaving as though you love that girl. I raised you to be better than this.”

Helena appears dazed as she turns back to face MacPherson. “Yes, you raised me. And yet you’re willing to sacrifice me.” She looks to him, waiting for him to tell her that she’s wrong; that this is all just one, big, horrible joke. “And for what? To make a point? You’ve played this game so many times before; have either of you proven anything yet?”

MacPherson clenches his jaw, staring at her dispassionately. “Don’t look at me like that; as if you think me inhuman.”

“I can see right through you,” Helena snaps. “Your humanity is most certainly up for debate.”

He offers a one-shouldered shrug, as though to concede the point, but says nothing more.

“And what of the circus? What happens after the game is over?”

“The circus is nothing but a venue,” MacPherson replies. “If you like, you can keep it going after you win. It serves no purpose beyond the game, however.”

“I suppose all the people involved serve no purpose as well, then?” Helena runs a disbelieving hand through her hair. “Their fates are of no consequence?”

The questions are fairly rhetorical, and they both know it. Helena doesn’t know how old MacPherson is – undoubtedly he is very much older than he seems – but she finds herself thinking that he has been a part of this world for far too long. He has lost all sense of responsibility, all sense of human connection to those around him.

He frowns, nonchalant. “All actions have repercussions. That is part of the challenge.”

Helena turns, disgusted. She cannot stand to look at him. “Why are you telling me all this? Up until now, you’ve refused to tell me much of anything.”

“Up until now, it never occurred to me that you might actually be the one to lose,” he says, disappointment coating his words.

“The one to die, you mean,” she amends.

“Death is merely a technicality. A game is completed only when there is a single player left. There is no other way to end it.” He reaches for her, and although his hand is not material enough to grab hold of her, the odd feeling of his hand going through her arm is enough to set her attention back on him. “So I highly suggest that you put an end to your little dalliance with Miss Bering, and quickly.”

Helena’s shoulders slump, all the fight leaking out of her like a deflating balloon. She looks down to the ground, only remembering the previous night’s events when she sees the rust-colored smear of dried blood that coats the bottom of her gown and rises up towards her waist. She thinks of making the stain disappear, but decides to let it stay.

She wants nothing more in this moment than to return to her room, get into bed, and not emerge for at least a month. Before she gives in to her utter exhaustion, however, she has one more question.

“What happens to the one who is left, then? Mr. Nielsen’s student won last time; what has become of him?”

MacPherson offers a derisive laugh. “She is currently playing with the lions and tigers in your precious little circus.”

***

~London; October 13 to 14, 1891~

Helena had expected to feel like a cheap imitation of MacPherson during her first performances.

From the very first moment that she emerges into the ring in a cloud of white smoke, however, her nerves simply evaporate, and the experience is vastly different than the one she witnessed from the wings of endless theaters as a child. Her performance space is small and intimate, and she finds that she can make each performance unique, letting the response of the audience inform what she chooses to do next. It is exhilarating.

Nonetheless, she still very much appreciates the stretches of time to herself in between performances. She removes her top hat, covers her costume in a large overcoat, and emerges to wander around the circus.

As midnight approaches, she decides to see if she can find a good spot to watch the lighting of the bonfire. It is then, however, that she learns that both Mrs. Frederic and Mrs. Jinks have gone into labor.

The area that is already being referred to as backstage, in spite of the lack of stage, per se, is one of somewhat ordered chaos. Evelyn’s baby was due a week prior, and Emma’s isn’t due for another week yet; afterward, people will joke that both children wanted to experience opening night with a friend. Helena does what she can to help, which mainly consists of making tea and assuring people that everything will be fine.

Unlike almost everyone else, Irene Frederic, the matriarch of the cat tamers, is conspicuously calm. She simply stands to the side, keeping an eye on her son, who paces back and forth like one of his cats.

Helena pauses next to the regal woman to catch her breath. “I feel like I’m more anxious than you are,” she comments with a laugh. “Although I suppose one must have a special talent for tranquility when one deals with wild animals every day.”

“Evelyn is strong,” Irene responds simply. “I have no need to worry.”

Helena smiles warmly, before returning to check on the Jinks family.

A few minutes before midnight, the first cry of Leena Frederic is met with sighs of relief and cheers of excitement.

And then something else almost immediately follows.

Helena feels it even before she hears the applause echoing from the courtyard; a wave of energy that spreads through the circus like a stone dropped into a still pond. It flows through her body, hitting her with such force that she almost loses her balance.

“Are you all right?”

Helena turns to see Irene coming up beside her and placing a warm hand beneath her elbow to steady her. There’s a knowing gleam in Irene’s eyes that Helena can’t quite understand.

She takes a deep breath, flustered. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine,” she says, placing her hand to her chest in an effort to calm her racing heart.

Just then, another baby’s cry erupts from the adjoining chamber, as Steven Jinks enters the world.

“They have remarkable timing,” Irene comments. Helena can only nod in agreement.

With that, Irene offers her a cool smile, and then goes to be with her family.

Whatever move Helena’s opponent has just made, it has shaken her. She feels the entirety of the circus radiating around her, as though a net has been thrown over it, trapping everything within the iron fence, fluttering like a butterfly.

She wonders how she is supposed to retaliate.