“My parents aren’t bad people.” I feel like it needs to be said. “But I needed to leave. Not because of them, but because of me.”
“Well, lucky you. My parents were assholes,” Simon says, erupting with laughter. He goes back to drumming his fingers to the beat of the music. “But Maison du Mystère is family. And now we’re your family too.”
* * *
We stop for gas once, and again for burgers at some random diner outside of the Mojave Desert. After another couple hours on the road, Simon pulls off the freeway. The truck rumbles onward for a handful of miles, and eventually we enter a large clearing that’s part desert, part abandoned parking lot. An outlet mall looms in the distance.
“Just in time for load-in,” Simon remarks.
I look ahead and see the flutter of red fabric still lying on the ground and a mess of metal poles, scaffolding, and thick cables, all spread out like an array of puzzle pieces.
A dozen or so men are moving around with machinery and tools, and beyond them is an entire community of trucks, buses, trailers, and motor homes.
It’s a neighborhood on wheels, lost in the middle of the desert.
No, I think. Not lost. My eyes drift to a sign lying on its side, a row of sleeping bulbs outlining every letter, each painted in vibrant cranberry red.
MAISON DU MYSTÈRE
A tiny flame bursts to life inside me.
Simon drives around the center field where a dozen or so people are setting up the big top. “That’s the ring crew,” he says with a nod. “We call them the Lucky Thirteen. Good guys, but a few of them will almost definitely hit on you when they realize there’s a new girl around. If the phrase ‘fuck off’ isn’t already in your vocabulary, I suggest learning it now. You only need to tell them once, and they’ll get the hint, but if they don’t—you come and tell me. I don’t tolerate harassment of any kind.”
I guess my face must have changed, because Simon raises a brow and looks at me curiously.
“That surprising to you?” He tuts, smirking. “I might toe the line between varying legalities when it comes to business, but human nature is a different beast. We have to respect each other’s boundaries. That’s how you keep a family happy—you draw your lines, and you stick to them.”
He parks the truck next to a massive trailer. There’s a pot of flowers outside the door, with a pinwheel stuck inside.
“This is my trailer.” He motions toward the metal home. “I’ve got an open-door policy, but I encourage people to talk to Sasha before they come to me. He’s my right hand around here, and if you’ve got a question, nine times out of ten he can answer it for you.” He points across the lawn to another trailer, where a few chairs and a grill are set up beneath a white awning.
Sasha must’ve heard us talking through one of the windows because the door opens and a man in his midtwenties hops down to the grass, bouncing on his toes the way so many acrobats do. Like the entire world is one big trampoline, and they’re merely waiting for the next opportunity to perform. He runs a hand through his wild blond hair, his thick muscles visible even through his shirt.
When he speaks, he has a subtle accent that makes his words string together. “Picked up another stray?” His blue eyes dance with laughter.
Simon motions a hand between me and Sasha. “This is Harley; Harley, this is Sasha. He was one-third of the Kosovich Brothers, until one brother had some visa issues and had to go back to the Ukraine, and the other decided to leave our family for another troupe.”
Sasha shrugs. “But now I get a big trailer all to myself, and nobody steals my good wine.”
“I’d prefer to still have my act,” Simon says dryly.
“Are you a performer or crew?” Sasha asks, raising a pale eyebrow curiously.
I look at Simon, not knowing if I fall into either category.
Simon looks like he’s not sure either. “She’s here for a mentorship—I’ll explain later. For now, I need you to show her around, get her settled into a room. I have to check in with the ring crew.”
Sasha nods. “You want her in the bunkhouses?”
Simons pauses, scratching at his dark beard. He looks at me like he’s considering something, then drops his hand with a sigh. “No. Maggie will want nothing to do with her