Inside the show tent, spectators squeezed into rows of satin-coated bleachers, some eating bubblebaker treats, others chewing on white-pearl candies, and still others consuming dark green strings like licorice. The crowd cheered when a man with silver-streaked black hair spun his way onto the stage. Behind him, pure-white lions waited in gilded cages. A chandelier lowered from the ceiling, and I gaped at the four slender elf women draped across it, waving with glittering smiles. When the chandelier reached the stage, the elves climbed off and danced, claret skirts billowing.

“Welcome Rime Folk, wide and tall! Come inside and be enthralled!” The dark-haired man twirled back to centre stage, and Apple squealed down the row.

“I’m your ringmaster, Sigrion Mellstellie! And you’ve just entered a night of fascination, enchantment, and chaos!” the man went on, and the crowd roared. The ringmaster pulled a glass ball from his pocket and tossed it. The ball whipped around, soaring over the seats like a wingless bird. People reached to try and catch it from the air, but it darted left and right, evading everyone.

When the ringmaster lifted his hand, the ball came back, but his eyes stayed on the crowd. His gaze narrowed, head tilting slightly.

Down the row, Timblewon sprang to his feet. “No…” The Patrolman spun to the rest of us. “He knows.”

The ringmaster flicked his hand. We’d barely had a chance to register Timblewon’s warning when the boy gasped like something had hit him, and suddenly, Timblewon disappeared.

The crowd around us gasped and clapped, but Zane, Mirkra, and Wanda jumped from their seats, Mirkra jabbing the empty space where Timblewon had just been.

“Well, what a turn of events this is,” the ringmaster cooed. His fingers grappled at something in the air, and he tugged.

Suddenly Timblewon appeared on the stage, stumbling to catch his footing. His cloak was off, his disguise dissolved, his hair fuchsia.

“Frostbite!” Mirkra leapt over the row before us toward the stage, and Wanda tugged Kilen down the aisle by his sleeve to the exit.

“Time to go.” Zane took my arm and reached for Apple, but Timblewon held up his hand at the front, halting Mirkra halfway down the rows and stilling Zane’s grip on me.

The whole tent was quiet. Timblewon was still half hunched from catching himself, but he glanced up at the ringmaster.

“I thought I spotted tulip hair beneath that patchy disguise.” The ringmaster’s hand remained in the air; his fingers pinched together like they held a leash.

“Patchy?!” Apple whispered.

“What a merry trick,” Timblewon said, finally standing. “Smoke and mirrors, strings and stars…You always had flair, Sigrion.” For once, Timblewon’s voice wasn’t theatrical.

“That’s what the folk remember me for. Isn’t that right?” The man took a bow as people clapped again, likely assuming this was part of the show. “Same as your tulip locks. A folk like you can never hide. Not without real magic.” The ringmaster’s grin spread—too wide to be natural.

But Timblewon smiled and offered a shallow bow to the audience as well. When he came up, he lifted his hands at his sides. “I’m not you, Sigrion. I’m a good measure better.” Suddenly Timblewon yanked his hands together and disappeared into thin air.