The Nightingale Circus by Ioana Visan Page A

Beside the Nightingale, of course.”
Nicholas wasn’t sure that was true, but he didn’t want to reveal
the full extent of his power.
    “Of course.” The circus announcer smirked.
“Any other skills I should know about?”
    “Well, I used to be pretty good at
bookkeeping, but we don’t know each other well enough for you to
trust me with that.”
    The man let out a throaty laugh. “I like you.
All right, you have one week to come up with half a dozen tricks.
Talk to Rake and Spinner about any mechanical parts you need.
They’ll help.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Okay, let’s go meet the crew before we both
freeze. You can leave your luggage in here for now.”
    Nicolas followed him to the door.
    “Oh, and you can call me Big Dino. I’m your
new Boss.”

The Swan

    The air left Anya’s lungs with sounds of
wrinkling paper. She lay on a plushy chaise near the wide window,
facing the terrace, and waited to die. She’d been doing it for a
while, and it was a boring and exhausting activity. Throwing an arm
over her eyes, she squeezed the handkerchief in her other hand and
wished for a nap during which she wouldn’t feel like she was
drowning in her own fluids. No such luck.
    The door opened, and Masha came into the
lounge with the medicinal tea, dragging her feet on the marble
tiles. She had also assumed the role of a nurse during Anya’s
sickness, in addition to her duties as a maid, and she always
arrived with the medicine with the precision of an atomic
clock.
    Anya tried to ignore the shuffling and the
clinking of the china set more fit to be displayed in a museum than
put to any use, but arranging everything was taking too long. When
the minty scent hit her nostrils, she wrinkled her nose and gave up
hiding. The medicine didn’t vanish by itself, and while it didn’t
seem to do her any good, it was probably going to last longer than
her. She raised her head and stared at the tea set. Two
cups?
    “You have a visitor,” Masha said, her hands
propped on her large hips. All those dinners that Anya barely
touched had to go somewhere.
    “I don’t want to receive any visitors.” Anya
waved a long, lithe arm and lowered her feet to the floor. She’d
come to St. Petersburg to get out of the public eye, not to parade
her decaying body in front of the whole world. Her image as a prima
ballerina was the only thing she had left, and she was going to
hang onto it. “Tell them to leave.” And not come back.
    “Okay, I will … but it’s Serioja.”
    The cup trembled in Anya’s hand as she
straightened herself up. She hadn’t seen Serioja in over two years.
Their fling had ended shortly after he’d won the Olympic gold in
gymnastics and then got a traumatic brain injury from falling off
of the bar during an exhibition gala. She had been away at the
time, touring with the Balshoi Theatre ballet company, but nothing
had been the same after that. He’d disappeared a few months later,
and the rumor was he’d run away with the circus or worse. All lies,
for sure.
    “You’re not going to throw me out, are you?”
The voice came from the silhouette standing in the doorway, the
same tall, muscled frame, short sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and
empty expression.
    “Serioja, darling!” Anya put the cup down and
outstretched both arms in his direction, her smile sincere. “It’s
so good to see you. Come in…” She gestured for him to come in,
patting the chaise, not trusting her legs to hold her if she got
up.
    “Good, ‘cause I came a long way to see you.”
Serioja leaned in to give her a careful hug, as if fearing she
might break in his arms.
    God, do I look that bad? Anya
suppressed an annoyed grimace. She probably did. She was too pale
and too skinny, a walking ad for a funeral home commercial. Holding
Serioja’s light gaze, she discreetly pulled on the sleeves of her
silk robe to cover the bruises left by the IV needles on her arms.
“What are you doing in town? Where have you been? Tell