Lara left Madame Fonseca’s booth feeling a bit dizzy. What on earth was happening? From the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain move. A tiny hand, followed by a small face, peered out at her.

“Mr. Tisdale?”

The monkey looked around as though something had spooked him. Tentatively, like a shy dog, the little creature walked over to Lara. In his hand was a package. He held it out in front of him.

“Is this for me?” Lara bent down. This circus was getting weirder by the minute.

She took it from his hands and he scampered away. Studying it, Lara saw it was an elaborate flat envelope made of a heavy, shiny gold paper. The envelope was addressed to Mademoiselle Lara Barnes. She slid her finger across the top to open it, but the paper didn’t give way. Trying again, she got a nasty paper cut. “Shit.” A drop of blood hit the envelope’s flap, and it loosened instantly. Sucking the blood from her finger, she opened the envelope with her other hand. There Lara found an old composition book, its beige cover so weathered that it was brown.

“What on earth is that?” Audrey found her sucking on her cut finger and holding the envelope at an odd angle. Her mother reached into her purse and handed Lara a tissue before taking the package from her hands.

Lara shrugged. “A monkey gave it to me.”

“A monkey?” Her mother looked at her, curious.

“Trust me, that’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me tonight.” While her mother held the envelope, Lara reached inside and pulled out the composition book.

Eyeing the package suspiciously, Audrey turned it over and examined the flap. “Odd. It was addressed to you. It must be from one of the old circus people. I didn’t know any of them were still around.”

Lara began scanning the pages as her mother looked over her shoulder. The writing was from another time period, the script looping and artistic, unlike the cursive of Lara’s generation that seemed intent on speed. The faded brown lettering was sharp and precise, with heavy loops on the capitals, but time had made the ink nearly the same color as the paper. It was written entirely in French. Lara could make out names like Sylvie and E. Once a fluent French speaker, Lara was surprised to find her skills rusty, but she was itching to open it and begin translating.

Her mother took the book and squinted at the cover. “I need my reading glasses.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I’d say it’s a journal.” Audrey looked at it strangely. She looked more closely at the writing on the cover. “It’s from 1925.”

The journal read: LE JOURNAL DE CECILE CABOT.

Lara touched the pages tentatively, like they could disintegrate under her fingers. “You don’t think it’s odd?”