Le Cirque de l'Enchantement

A short story by Lou Kane 

This story contains: her and her, fantasy, enemies to lovers, cunnilingus  

Chapter 1

“I need one more minute.”

“Take your time, darling,” the ringmaster said.

Miri scrambled after the balls scattered across the floor. She tucked russet curls behind her ears and studiously avoided the ringmaster’s kind brown eyes. Even with his encouraging smile and waxed mustache, she had yet to successfully juggle more than the three balls she could manage without magic.

She slid the brightly colored cloth spheres into her pockets to hide her trembling hands, and returned to the spot in the center of the large, well-appointed tent. Worn rugs covered the dirt ground, and a sturdy oak desk and matching chair served as the ringmaster’s seat. The scent of his magic—sandalwood and hay—filled the room, but Miri smelled only her vanishing future with Le Cirque de l’Enchantement.

With no other job prospects, she’d be forced to take over her parents’ bookkeeping business and get married and have babies and die in the same village where she’d grown up. Her life would be like every other girl who had the misfortune to be born to a small town and a smaller life. 

Planting her feet for the hundredth time on the faded burgundy-and-marigold rug, Miri took a deep breath and held it. She’d spent the past month practicing alone in her room until her magic could hold thirty balls aloft in patterns that defied gravity. Like everyone, she had magic, ready to be formed and used in whatever way she desired. It was just her bad luck that alongside it, she’d entered the world with a crippling stage fright that made it impossible to use in front of anyone but a mirror. She blew out her breath and threw the first two balls in the air.

“I need another three swings added to the tent. I’m bored with the current setup.”

Both balls dropped soundlessly to the ground as a cloud of roses and earthy tobacco swept inside the tent, announcing the arrival of Estelle Delacorte as surely as her husky voice. Since Miri had joined the circus nearly a year ago, she’d only ever seen the star trapeze artist at a distance. She was older than Miri had assumed, perhaps fifty, but the lines of her face only made her beauty more striking. 

“Estelle,” the ringmaster said, smoothing one of his thick black eyebrows. “May we speak about this later?”

“I’d rather not. I have no intention of performing tonight without the situation remedied.” Estelle’s gaze fell on Miri. “What is our little bookkeeper doing in your tent?”

“Nothing,” Miri whispered as a heady mix of shame and surprise colored her cheeks. 

Estelle hummed, slate-gray gaze taking in the colorful balls rolling along the tent’s floor before landing on Miri’s bulging pockets. “Another failed performer, then.”

“Estelle,” the ringmaster said.

Estelle only smiled as she slipped out the tent flap. “Do see about the swings, Robert. Can’t afford to lose your star performer when your replacements keep coming up short.”

Fire consumed Miri, burning so hot she almost expected to see flames licking her skin. But as always, her magic refused to come whenever there was anyone to witness it. Her hands clenched and unclenched, nails digging into soft skin as she fought to regain her composure. 

“My apologies,” the ringmaster said with upturned palms. “Estelle can be rather difficult at times.”

“It’s nothing. I’m ready to try again.” 

“You’re a wonderful bookkeeper, darling. Punctual and accurate. I wish we could keep you on.”

Miri inhaled sharply. “I can do it. I swear I can. Give me one more chance.”

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