A Magician Never Tells His Secrets

I sent Tori a text in the morning, asking her to pick me up at eleven o’clock so we could go to the fairground and enquire about jobs. I was left with the forever difficult task of choosing something to wear. I wanted to look glamorous, professional and fun. A hard combination. Stumped, I decided on dark jeans, a button down white shirt and fitted blazer, throwing my hair into a messy strawberry blonde bun.
At ten past eleven I heard a car beep from outside, kissed my mother on the top of the head, and ran out the door.
We arrived at the carnival at quarter to twelve, though for a minute I wasn’t sure we’d found the right carnival. The aura wasn’t one of magic and thrilling tension; instead it stank of a pounded routine. People moved around diligently, picking up trash, counting money, setting out prizes, smoking as they leaned against the stalls. The whole scenario was so utterly normal I half expected someone to point me in the way of the place of enchantment and excitement I had experienced the night before.
People stared as we got out of the car, probably wondering what these nicely dressed teenagers were doing.
“Different by the daylight, isn’t it?” Tori said as we walked through the gates.
I nodded in agreement, uncomfortable from the intense staring.
“Oiy!” I voiced shouted from an alleyway to my left. “We’re closed, you hear!”
Tori and I turned to the voice, and saw a ruffled looking teenager storming towards us. After a moment’s confusion, I recognised him. It was the guy who knew my name, the one in gold and red!
But that morning he too had lost some of his magic. His costume was replaced with a pair of sweatpants and a leather jacket over a singlet, no top hat to hide that bed-head black hair. He wore no fancy eye makeup, which made his face look proportioned and less like his grey orbs were about to pop out of his skin. After a minute of annoyance, his facial expression became one of recognition.
“Hey, I know you . . .” he began, pointing at me. “You’re that chick.”
Disappointment bubbled in my stomach. It was silly that I thought he’d remember my name, the name he knew without me even telling it to him.
“Meg Woodville,” I said tersely, crossing my arms.
He clapped his hands once. “That’s right. I’m Peter Prescott. What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to see about the position of magician’s assistant,” Tori cut in, obviously peeved at not being included. “We know it’s open and we want it.”
Peter’s eyes widened, brows shooting up. He looked politely stunned.
“You do, do you?” He said, grinning scornfully.
“Yes.” She replied shortly. “Where’s the boss?”
“You’re looking at him,” Peter said, crossing his arms. My mouth fell open.
“You’re the boss?” I asked incredulously.
He shrugged. “In a matter of speaking. My family, the Prescott’s, own the carnival.”
“You can’t be serious,” Tori spluttered.
“Yep. You’d be surprised at the number of families that travel with Magic and Mischief.”
“Can we just see the boss please?” I asked. “Your mom or dad or whoever.”
He grinned and uncrossed his arms. “All you had to say sweets.”
“What?”
“Please,” Peter answered, smirking as he turned and led us further into the carnival.
Tori was fuming as we wound through the walkways and stalls, her eyes straight forward under a bent brow, but my eyes wouldn’t stay still. There was so much to see, even in the light of day. The people who had captivated me last night were simply strolling about, drinking cups of coffee, sweeping the ground, chatting or talking business. I saw people carrying large amounts of costumes, girls practising dance moves, gymnasts stretching, people painting banners. It was all I could do not to ask all the questions on my tongue.
Finally we reached a small collection of caravans. And not the modern type, these were strange wooden contraptions with wheels on the bottom, all with colourful paint and bizarre words spelt out in dazzling letters.
He led us to a more modest one, which had steps up to a little door, with a sign “Mary Prescott,” spelt out in gold paint.
He scaled the steps and knocked on the door.
“Oiy mom,” he shouted. “You’ve got visitors.”