The Seam Sorceress

Rare Specimens, part 2.

Tilly screamed. Her fingers dug into the doorframe as she was pulled back by the waist. She showered kicks and blows at the ghostly white faces that pressed in from the outside.

"What's the matter?" one of them giggled. His red greasepaint smile was at odds with the sneer in his voice. "Got a little stagefright, honey?"

"LET HER GO—" Lavender shouted in a man's voice. She rumbled across the trailer, long nails clawing desperately through the air. Their hands were nearly touching when one of the clowns dragged Tilly clear of the doorway. Suddenly, Lavender was powerless. Her fists pounded against an invisible wall. "She's changed her mind, she doesn't want to do this—"

"Just a case of cold feet, Lav," one of the clowns said. "Thanks for your help."

Booger picked herself up on woozy legs. She rushed for the door, but it was too late. It closed heavily, finally, with a click of a lock. Her owner was gone.

Blinded by stage lights, Tilly pushed and struggled against the carnies as they descended but it did her little good. One untied her kerchief and tore loose her braids. Two more grabbed her by the arms. The cloak fell to the floor, a puddle of fabric red and bright as blood. Her arms were fed through leather straps. She slumped under a strange new weight along her spine.

The sound of applause swelled. Her eyes began to adjust to the light, vague shadows and objects swimming in her vision.

"And next up—a local legend makes her magical debut right here." Tilly could dimly recognize the voice on the other side of the curtain as GP's but it seemed wrong somehow. Like someone else's poor imitation. "You might've heard whispers, maybe some rumors, about the feybloods still in Rhyme county—well, here she is: The Coleville fey!"

Someone shoved her out as the curtains opened. It was a full audience. The noise of the crowd faded to anticipating silence.

"She might not be much to look at, folks, but she packs a mighty powerful punch," GP continued. He gestured to a barbell resting at Tilly's feet. "Watch as she deadlifts five hundred pounds!"

Tilly couldn't move. A drum roll started. She still didn't reach for the weight. A murmur of apprehension rippled through the crowd.

GP waved off the drummer. He took a step closer to her.

"What's the matter?" he asked in a low tone.

"What's the matter?" she hissed. "I can't do this."

"Oh, everyone says that at first." He nudged her chin up with a cupped finger and flashed a smile that belonged to the boy she had met at the fair the day before. "I meant what I said, Tilly. The magic's here. You're what we're looking for."

"No, I mean—" She sighed as she stooped for the barbell. "I really can't do this. Told you before: I'm a seamstress."

"—Modesty, folks, that's all." The facade slipped away as he turned to face the audience once more. "The feyblooded are secluded folks. Backwater and anti-social. But she's warming up now—"

The drumroll started again and Tilly gripped the barbell. To prove her point, she pulled with all of her might. The weight didn't budge. The murmurs turned into a full chorus of discontent. Someone booed. A bottle flew towards the stage. It missed Tilly by inches and cracked instead against the trailer, splintering into a dozen glittering pieces.

"What're you doing?!" GP shouted.

"The best I can!" Tilly answered. "I'm a seam sorceress. The magic was in the dress."

"And you didn't tell me?" His expression darkened. Waves of trash rained down on the stage. "That's a lousy way to repay somebody's generosity, you know. Free food, all those rides, the money I gave your kid sister. You led me on."