Blood Is Silent

1

You need to worry more about the world, he warns as his eyes flick over to me. You’re not invincible, Sienna.

Neither are you, Ephraim.

He eyes me with a grin. Actually, that’s exactly what I am, madam. Ephraim motions down to his abs as he tightens them.

Just because they advertise you as the Invincible Man, doesn’t mean you are, Eph. I’ve seen you in training, don’t forget.

Spinning, I twirl my silks around me like a cape, clutching it under my chin. I consider sticking my tongue out at him but decide to pretend to be mature instead.

I don’t think that’s how that’s supposed to be used. He smirks.

"How would you know? You’re on the ground all the time."

I wrap my foot around the fabric and begin to climb using my other foot to hold the fabric in place, pushing myself higher as Ephraim watches me. My hands and feet take turns pushing and pulling my body into position.

"You’ve had me in the air enough times that I can pretend to do your job, Sienna."

Yes, and flawless as you may be, I still look prettier up here, I counter playfully. I separate the silks and lift myself up into a double foot lock. Josephine starts the organ music across the tent as we all warm up for the evening’s show. It’s muggy in the tent and the crickets have started chirping early this evening.

Indeed. Ephraim turns and makes his way over to a bench where he starts curling his arms as he lifts his weights, showing off as several of the girls walk by. They ignore me in favor of ogling Ephraim.

Can’t he just practice throwing knives instead? He has more than one job here.

Where is she? An icy voice cuts through the organ’s deep tones.

Turning, I find Samuel standing in front of me. I lift both hands above my head, leaning forward as I cross the silks behind my back. Moving my hands to grasp the fabric, I lean back to invert, legs out to the side as I dangle upside down from the silks.

Who? I reply, facing away from him.

Ida, of course, he snaps. She’s been gone for three days. Where is she?

You know as well as I do that she’s out in the woods working on a new routine. Or something. We don’t ask questions about Grandmother’s magical ways. She always returns with something new that changes the face of the show though, so we let her get away with being mysterious.

Your grandmother can’t just go running off whenever she feels like it. I don’t have to see him to know his fists are clenched at his side. Samuel’s reactions are as dependable as rain on the first night of the show in a new town.

Of course, my grandmother can do whatever she wants. She’s responsible for three-fourths of the acts that perform in this tent. Samuel may own the place, but Grandmother is the one who keeps it running. If she wants to wander off to one of her many cabins along the route, no one is going to stop her—she comes back with magic every time she leaves and makes Samuel a ton of money.

If she’s not back by tomorrow, you’re going after her. He’s most definitely clenching.

Mhmm, I murmur, pulling my legs back up from the sides to lift myself to face him again. He glares at me for a moment before looking around at the other’s warming up under the enclosed tent.

We don’t have time for that! Samuel shouts to them. The people are here. We’re starting early tonight! Places!

I can hear one of my grandmother’s many little sayings float through my mind. She’s always coming up with strange things to say that make the most perfect sense…and then she uses them over and over as reminders to the crew.

Smoke for fire, she always says about Samuel. For as much as he tries to breathe flames, he’s all talk.

Josephine’s playing only slows for a moment as she registers his words, transitioning into the song she reserves for signaling the performers to hide from the incoming audience. We still have time before the people make their way to the tent, but many of us aren’t allowed to be seen by the public until our appearance in the show, and have to get out of the main part of the tent.

Several of the men and women walk out of the tent to engage with the audience who has come to see the show before they take their seats inside the tent colored by yellow-tinted lights. I duck behind a curtain that separates the main ring from the area we’ve designated for the performers and walk toward my dressing room.

My trunk sits in the corner of my fabric-encased square room. There’s enough space to change wardrobe and do my makeup. The walls of the tent don’t block the sound, so Josephine’s swelling music crashes through the backstage area loudly enough that it sounds like I’m in the center of the ring.

Ready, Sienna? Fannie’s voice frightens me. I whip around to face the closed curtain that acts as a door.

Almost, I answer, dipping my shoulder down as I slip the sleeve over my arm. The flesh-colored fabric settles snugly against my body, ribbon-like strips of red fabric wrapping around me dramatically to mesh with the silks as I perform. I loop the elastic over my finger to hold the sleeve in place, a sharp point dividing my hand in half.

The curtain moves as I push it open and step out in front of Fannie and Blanch. The two sparkle in deep purple tones adorned with silver accents. Both girls wear curled hair pinned back to the sides, the only difference in their ensembles is their hair color—Fannie a chestnut brown and Blanch the darkest raven-black I’ve ever seen. Grandma Ida did the girls a favor when she chose purple as their signature color.

Trying to impress someone tonight? Blanch muses, kicking her hip out to the side as she raises an eyebrow.

No more than you are, I counter, releasing the curtain behind me.

A rush of wind passes by as Harriet rushes through with her batons. Had they been ablaze, she would have burned the tent down with the way she is moving.

Slow down, Harriet, opening act isn’t for another two minutes! Fannie calls after her playfully. The girl ignores her.

One of these days she’s going to turn around and breathe fire at you, I warn with a laugh.

You mean I’d finally get a solo act? Blanch grins. I’m in.

She winks conspiratorially at me before turning to playfully yell, Hey, Harriet!

Fannie shoulders her friend like she does when one of the horses is being stubborn. Blanch holds her ground, barely swaying. Rolling my eyes, I push between the two toward the main part of the tent, ribbons in hand.

Time to go, ladies.

Someone shifts the curtain concealing the backstage area from the main tent, allowing me to glance through it for just a moment. People file in, taking their seats as they wait for the show to begin. Josephine pounds out the notes on the organ, swelling enough to get the crowd ready for our grand entrance.

I heard Ida still isn’t back, Harriet murmurs, shifting anxiously next to me. She always arrives at the entrance before the rest of us, even though she’s near the back of the lineup. She’s supposed to be changing my act when she gets back.

For a girl who works with fire for a living, she certainly is nervous before a performance. Working with fire may be the only time she’s confident.

If she’s not back this evening, I’m being sent out to find her in the morning, I promise. She nods.

Suddenly, the music stops—our cue.

The lights on the other side of the curtain dim and the crowd falls silent. The lights go out completely, leaving us in the dark. Fabric rustles as Orville or one of the other boys whips open the curtain. As one, we rush into the ring and take our places, bathed in darkness.

Whispers fill the room from the audience as they wonder why it’s taking so long without the lights on. Josephine presses one finger lightly on the organ key, followed slowly by another.

Deep breath.

Lights.

Roaring music crashes over the audience as the lights go on at full strength, drenching the ring in yellow. Throwing my hand up into the air, I release the ribbons. My face follows my initial move and I catch sight of rows of sparkling lights running from the center of the tent to the edges, mixed among chiffon fabric that matches my silks in an array of colors.

Looking back down, I see the crowd as the other performers start swirling around us. I dance with my ribbons, twirling them into the air to catch the attention of the onlookers. Most of us can’t give our acts away yet, but the opening number still has to shock and awe the audience.

Fannie and Blanch find their horses across the tent and mount, standing on their saddles as they race around the outside of the ring. Ephraim juggles knives, concealing his true abilities for later.

Fire spins in the air as Harriet beams brightly, getting just close enough to the children to make their eyes grow wide. Orville leads in one of the elephants who circles the tent. Everyone glitters in the wardrobe picked by Grandma Ida for each individual person—no act has the same color or outfit design—we’re all unique.

Red.

I’m only allowed to wear red when I perform. Grandma saved the color specifically for me. It was my mother’s color before me and I inherited a different shade of it when I started my own act.

Blood. Fire. Intensity. Passion.

Grandmother always told me red was the color of war and strength, power and determination, desire, love, and passion. I love and loathe it all at the same time.

Grandma is a bit of a kingmaker. If the