Carnival Fantástico

Chapter 1

Esmeralda

A sugary-­sweet breeze whirled in the air. The miniature billboard hanging above Esmeralda’s head swung on its hinges. The glittering words painted on the sign sparkled as they caught the light from glowing lanterns that never dimmed. It said:

To enter Carnival Fantástico, a person must do three things.

1. Pay the ticket fee.

Begging for a discount will not be tolerated. This is a carnival filled with mesmerizing magic, well worth the monies to get in.

2. Wear the most outrageous costume the mind can fathom.

But beware of dressing in something that sparkles. Estefan the ostrich has an affinity for all things shimmering.

3. Be young in heart, body, and mind.

The carnival is a riotous and reckless place, lasting from sunset to sunrise before disappearing into the morning horizon. There will be dazzling dangers, death-­defying distractions, and electrifying explosions at every turn. Our attractions have minds of their own and a penchant for mischief.

No admittance will be offered to bores, fusspots, or sticks-­in-­the-­mud.

Esmeralda Montero was certainly no stick-­in-­the-­mud. In fact, anyone who spent a sliver of a second with her would probably liken the soon-­to-­be-­nineteen-­year-­old fortune teller to a dandelion puff. Which was quite the opposite of any sorts of sticks in any sort of mud.

As for being a bore, Esmeralda had never let a dull remark slip from her tongue. Never forgotten to flirt and wink with charm. Some people might call her fussy, but she could easily make them forget with a twirl of her hair around her finger or a well-­timed jest to lighten the mood.

A bell clanged from the small tower to her right, followed by the familiar roar of excited guests.

Hidden in the shadows, she turned away from the billboard displaying the carnival’s rules and watched as revelers jumped up and down, shrieking and clapping with glee. The man in charge of the strong-­arm game, a worker named Ramón, pretended to be shocked that someone could possibly win. His jaw dropped, his hand flattened over his heart, and he shook his head in disbelief—­as if a hundred other guests hadn’t already swung the mallet hard enough to make the disc shoot up and ping the metal chime.

“We have a winner!” Ramón shouted. He pointed to the victor as the crowd around them swelled. “You must be blessed by magic, señor, for it is rare for one to be mighty enough to make the bell sing!”

The winner in question, a short young man in a Chihuahua costume, beamed sheepishly and toyed with his little brown tail. In a country where the spectacular was outlawed and conformity was required, being told they were special always made the guests of the carnival merrier, which made their pocketbooks open wider in return.

“Care to make things interesting?” Ramón asked with a wiggle of his painted-­on brows, causing them to look like two caterpillars dancing.

The twentysomething man dressed as a dog tilted his head, eyes shining and curious. “What do you mean?” he asked Ramón.

Esmeralda chuckled. “Here comes the hook,” she whispered to herself.

“It is rare for someone to have the strength to make the bell sing once,” Ramón said, loud enough for all to hear. “Rarer still for them to do it twice. How about this?” He leaned close to the man as if to tell him a secret. “For the price of thirty silver bits—­cheaper than the first time you paid for the game, mind you—­you may try again. If you make the bell sing a second time, I’ll let the lovely doll by your side choose any prize she desires.”

A woman sporting whiskers and a long fur coat took the man by the wrist. She batted her long white lashes. “Please try again, cariño. Please. I want a teddy bear desperately.”

The prizes within Carnival Fantástico were rather awe-­inspiring: stuffed animals that could grow to the size of a house when soaked in tea, snow globes that called forth real snow when rubbed just right, tiny toy soldiers that served their ­owner’s every command. Esmeralda’s favorite prize was the wooden pistols, which blasted glitter bombs that stuck to the skin and couldn’t be washed off for weeks.

She pulled her focus away from the crowd. The man wouldn’t win. The mysterious magic fueling Carnival Fantástico never hastily gave up its possessions.

Esmeralda scanned the bustling throng of excited patrons, searching for someone in need of her services. Her heart gave a little squeeze. The carnival had stopped only a town away from Río Norte. The city where she’d grown up, the city that had sharpened that very heart into the prickly thing it was now.

Her only comfort was knowing she wouldn’t be recognized behind her costume. Hopefully, she wouldn’t recognize anyone in return. She couldn’t handle seeing certain people from her past. Especially if they were enjoying themselves. Her nose scrunched up beneath her porcelain dove mask at the mere thought.

But she knew she’d never see him here.

People learned Carnival Fantástico was coming to their town just hours before the train arrived. Bell-­shaped flowers showed up first, fluttering onto the doorsteps of mansions and penthouses. Then the carnival’s flyers would appear and plaster themselves onto lantern posts and building walls and town square monuments. Only those who were starved for enchantments and excitement shoved the monotony they faced to the side and purchased tickets so they could be lost for the night.

He had never had a strong taste for fun nor freedom. He would never be caught dead in a place known for unruly enchantments.

Two young women giggled as they scampered by. They danced and skipped to the music thumping throughout the carnival. The melody was joyfully haunting and played over and over all night, only stopping when the sun rose and the last guest exited beneath the twinkling marquee. There was no band, no maestro to keep the bouncing tune in tempo. The music was simply there, sewn into the fabric of the circus tents and within the floorboards of the wagons.

Ángel Veracruz’s Carnival Fantástico wasn’t the typical traveling circus. It was alive.

Once the stars shone bright in the night sky, the carnival stirred. The young and young at heart poured in at every stop within the sprawling country of Costa Mayor to witness its sparkling magic, spending whatever money they earned or begged for or took just for a few hours of pleasure and a chance to forget about their humdrum lives.

Meanwhile, life before joining the carnival had been far from dull for Esmeralda. So much so that she often fantasized about what sort of girl she would have been if she had grown up with doting parents or simply parents that didn’t betray her the first chance they could. She might have been a teacher. Or a seamstress. Or a dancer. Instead, she became a liar.

At least she was a good one.

The two young women she had spotted stopped before a floss joint. The sapphire-­colored booth sold cotton candy that tasted different with every bite. After paying a few silver bits, the taller of the two girls, who was dressed as an angelfish, tore off a piece of the sugary floss and stuffed it into her mouth.

Her face contorted with disgust. “Pickled eggs,” she complained.

The girl with her, sporting a swordfish costume, laughed. “Let me try!” She snagged a portion. Tasted it. She gasped. “Cream pie!” She giggled as she placed the remainder of the floss on top the angelfish’s awaiting tongue.

“Easy marks,” Esmeralda said to herself.

They were clearly in love, judging by the way they gazed into each other’s eyes, but they wore no courting pins on their costumes. No rings on their fingers. Perhaps their relationship was in a limbo and needed a little coaxing.

“Perfect,” Esmeralda whispered.

She slipped from her hiding spot. Stuffing her mass of black curls into the hood of her cloak, she stepped into the chaos of the carnival. There wasn’t a square inch of empty space; the ticket agent never turned anyone away. Grinning brightly, Esmeralda dipped and slinked through the throng with ease, all the while keeping her eyes locked on the two young women devouring their treat.

When Esmeralda neared them, she pulled out two cards. They were crafted from the prettiest purple cardstock, but it was the kaleidoscopic ink that made them truly exceptional.

Because just like the carnival, the ink was alive.

Bell-­shaped flowers had been drawn onto the back of every card in the deck along with her stage name—­La Paloma Blanca: Fortune Teller Extraordinaire. The flowers fluttered and swayed. Fat-­bottomed bumblebees whizzed on and off the card. Sometimes, Esmeralda swore she smelled something like jasmine emanating from the blooms themselves.

She flicked a card over. The illustrations on the front shifted from stars and the planets to laughing faces to birds in flight. They would continue to transform until a person pressed their fingertips to the iridescent ink. Once touched, the ink formed into a depiction of the person’s deepest hopes and dreams.

Using the enchanted cards made being a fortune teller rather easy. All Esmeralda had to do was try her best to interpret what the pictures meant while putting on a great show for her customers.

When she had customers.

People weren’t often eager to hear their future when they had an entire carnival filled with magic to experience in the present. So, Esmeralda had to take matters into her own hands. She had to go out and find people who looked like they might be stuck in their past or need a push into something new.

Like two young women who required a gentle nudge toward love.

She flicked the cards in the air and watched with greedy anticipation as they fluttered toward the girls. The lustrous ink shimmered like fish scales underwater. When the cards stuck into the remaining cotton candy and the pair gasped, Esmeralda smirked.