“Go ahead.” He twirled his finger. He picked up a tiny flower—a white clover—and began to spin the stem between his thumb and forefinger. “Here”—he handed her the flower—“instead of thinking of the carousel, keep your eyes on this flower. When magic is new, it’s about drawing on the emotion of what you want most, my dear, not focus. Focus comes later. The magic knows what you want. Just want it harder.”

“You said not to think about it.” Lara watched the flower clumsily turning under her fingers.

“Thinking and wanting are not the same thing, my clever poppet. Wanting comes from your heart, not your head.”

Always a dutiful student, Lara mimicked him with her tiny fingers, and, to her surprise, she could hear the creaking of the carousel as it began to move.

“Bravo,” he said, clapping.

She shook her head. “You did that, not me.”

“No. I swear that I did not, my pet.” He leaned down. “You are the one. The circus—the real circus—it is your destiny. One day, it will need you to do your magic—I will call on you. Do you understand?”

While she nodded, she did not understand the things he said—she had no one, neither Cecile nor her mother, to filter, translate, or put them in context for her. Lara watched in awe as the carousel spun, so engrossed she’d forgotten he was standing there. As it wound down, like the batteries operating it had been drained, she turned to say something to him, but he was already gone.

Turning back, she saw that the carousel was fading and the tent was once again dirty, empty, dull, and limp. The sparkling chandelier was now gone as well, the top of the tent sagging like it couldn’t support the weight of a glass Christmas ornament.

“Come back,” she said. There was something about the man. Even if she didn’t know exactly what he meant, she knew he was telling her the truth. Her mother could also do things—magical things. Lara observed Audrey unlocking doors, making the phone ring, and even stopping the thunder outside when she didn’t know that Lara was watching. Once Lara heard Cecile and her mother discussing a spell. Audrey had been chanting something with Cecile’s guidance. Lara had flattened herself in the wide space between the floor and the old door to get a look at them. She’d tried to memorize what they were saying, but they chanted too fast. The ritual and the language had been secret and exotic, with the candles flickering and the lights dimming then brightening in the house, like Audrey was drawing energy from everything around her. Lara could feel the tug of the chant, the pull of her mother’s words.

When magic is new, it’s about drawing on the emotion of what you want most, my dear, not focus.