The Immortal Circus (Cirque des Immortels) Read Free Page A

candy until
intermission, so I sneak to one of the side entrances to catch a glance. I
lean against the cool metal supports of the bleachers and stare out into the
center ring, trying to ignore the kid banging his feet against the seat to my
right. In the aisle around me, keeping out of sight, are a handful of the
performers, their faces set in concentration. Kingston and Melody are on the
other side. I can barely make them out in this light, but Melody’s giant wig is
a dead giveaway.
    The music
changes. Organ music shifts to heavy downbeats, bass floods the tent, and then
the five-piece band kicks in with swinging violins and saxophones. On cue, the
troupe floods into the ring in a swarm of beautiful chaos. Twin aerialists drop
from the air, wrapped in sheets of burgundy fabric, as the acrobats burst from
the back curtain, tumbling and leaping over each other in an intricate dance.
Jugglers flip over the ring curb and toss their flaming knives across the full
space of the ring, creating an arc of fire and steel that illuminates the contortionists
twisting themselves on arms and elbows. I look over just in time to see
Kingston and Melody whirl onstage like salsa dancers, their feet stepping a
quick rhythm perfectly synced to the throb of techno. The moment they spin
apart, Kingston raises his wand and shoots a shower of vivid purple sparks.
Melody does a perfect aerial through it, landing in a split that makes the
crowd roar with applause. More performers crowd into the ring. A pair of women
do a one-arm balance on the heads of their burly bases. Men and women in
leather and velvet wield flaming staffs and poi, swirling the fire in arcs that
sear ghostly traces in my vision. More aerialists drop from the ceiling, this
time dangling and stretching from hoops and a spinning trapeze. My hands already
hurt from clapping so hard. In these fantastic moments, it’s easy to forget
that just this morning, one of our members was murdered right where the
hand-balancers are standing now.
    Almost as
soon as the manic party has begun, the troupe assembles near the back of the
ring. With one quick call out, half the performers leap onto the thighs of
their bases, creating a human wall of color and smiles. The fliers clap and
wave, then spread their hands wide as the music changes once more. Then they
freeze.
    The lights in
the ring dim, and colors fade to black and blue and silver-white. Fog appears
from the thick black curtain in the back, filling the round stage with a pool
of writhing mist. The music becomes haunting again as a pipe-organ chord rises
above the drum’s downbeats and the cello’s churnings. A strobe goes off, and
Mab is there, revealed in a whirl of fog like Venus emerging from the sea. Only
this Venus glitters with a thousand tiny Swarovski crystals and sports a top
hat. And a whip.
    The crowd, of
course, goes wild.
    “Ladies and
gentlemen,” she calls, her voice as thick and dusty as the smoke that curls at
her feet, just as soft and just as overpowering. She strides forward and raises
her top hat, sweeping it down in a bow that seems to encompass everyone in the
crowd. When she stands, her green eyes are sparkling as bright as her outfit.
“Welcome to Cirque des Immortels! Tonight, we have a show to ensnare and
entwine, filled with acts to allure you, hellish and divine. Tonight — tonight
only — we offer you this, a night of ecstasy, a night of bliss. For once our
shows are over and through, for the very select — the most special of you — to
our backstage, we cordially invite, to wine, to dine, relax and…delight.
Curious? You should be. Just ask, and you’ll know. But for now, sit back,
relax, and enjoy our show.”
    With that,
she unfurls the whip from her side and raises it high into the air, snapping
the tail with a perfectly timed crack. The lights flash. And then she’s gone.
The audience applauds as the music resumes and the troupe runs offstage to make
room for the first act — the