Beyond the Curtain

03 | rule 98

RULE 98: DO NOT PARTAKE IN LEISURELY ACTIVITIES UNLESS APPROVED BY MISS NYMPHADORA.

✷   C  H  A  P  T  E  R     T  H  R  E  E  ✷

While, admittedly, the night circus was not the most clever of names, Brier, a long-withstanding vampire member, coined our nightly endeavors, and the name stuck ever since. I was not old enough to have lived through this time—where this time consisted of a more dull and dreary outlook, where most members of the circus religiously abided by Miss Nymphadora's rules and regulations.

Because of this, I partially blamed the circus for instilling a rebellious streak within me. While I did not delight in breaking the rules, I did my fair share of stepping my foot over the line. I was no stranger to Miss Nymphadora's punishments.

Rather than feel unsettled when a flash of chills would capture my senses, it felt strange and unnatural to be completely at peace.

"Olive," Julia whispered from her adjacent bunk.

"Is it time?" I asked, peeking my head out from my bed. From our motorhome's windows, I could see the circus had been neatly packed away, all the lights taken and stored elsewhere.

It was time.

Julia giggled in response, and we both leaped to our feet and scrambled out of our living quarters.

Stepping into the fresh air, I soaked in both the sights and the smells. With the circus goers long gone, the circus grounds—or what was once the circus grounds—felt more fresh, more free. Unable to distinguish much of the packed tents and booths from one another, I latched onto Julia as she moved us through the forest.

As a precaution, the night circus never occurred too close to the circus grounds. While we were breaking Miss Nymphadora's rules, we would never do it so blatantly. Otherwise, Miss Nymphadora would be cornered into adding participating in the night circus onto her ever-expanding list of things we were most certainly not allowed to do.

Quiet pitter patters of the drums resounded in my ears as we drew near. Just the wafting scent of people and bootleg alcohol could signify we were close by. Fireflies buzzed in the vicinity, lighting up as if to help lead the way. Julia let go of my hand, trying to grasp one of the lightning bugs.

When she came up empty-handed, she said, "Smells like Randy went off recipe tonight."

Randy, a warlock with too much time on his hands, dabbled in concocting alcoholic beverages. None of them were any good, but they did the job. Now, it probably was not done without the aid of his magic, but his drinks kept flowing, and the alcohol content was high.

As a result, no one dared complain about the unsavory taste of his contraband to his face. Behind his back, when everyone knew his ears were turned the other way, was another story.

"I hope I don't get food poisoning," I whispered, tripping over Julia's heels.

"Can it be considered food poisoning if it's a drink?" She asked, playfully kicking my ankle. "But, Olive, please, get your priorities straight. Sickness is the one thing, Miss N—"

I knew what she was about to say. Illness, of any kind, was almost always a surefire way to get the night off. Miss Nymphadora did not used to be this way. It wasn't until she had forced a couple of yodelers to perform through a nasty bout of the flu that she changed her stance. Not only was some of her crew sick, but they had also infected many of the circus goers. The following days after the yodeler's performance, attendance was at an all-time low, and, thus, Miss Nymphadora, ever the smart businesswoman, decided illness might be her one exception—but only sometimes.