Free The Pilo Family Circus by Will Elliott

fortunes.’
    He stepped past Jamie with the utmost courtesy. A smile came to his thick lips which seemed almost kindly, perhaps the way a werewolf smiles at a cub. Jamie looked away from him, shivering, and for a second there was none of the intoxicated good cheer left in him, only cold fear of a world made of traps and snags and dark places people stumble into.
    The huge man pushed through the rattling beads, stooping beneath the top of the doorframe, and was gone. The chill passed.
    What had been an almost overpowering smell of sandalwood outside the hut was merely a mild flavour in the air inside it. The atmosphere was different from the rowdy good cheer outside; cooler and quieter, like sleep. A gypsy woman sat at a round table, fingering a deck of tarot cards and gazing up atJamie with a hint of a smile. She had smooth light-brown skin, sparkling eyes and straight black hair falling from her head in silky waves. Behind her there were bookshelves stacked with nameless tomes, and charts of bright stars hung from the walls, filling the air before them with a faint white glow. A glass ball sat on the table before her, balanced upon a small wooden base shaped like a claw. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ the fortune-teller said, nodding after the monster. ‘He is harmless. That is Kurt Pilo. He owns the circus.’
    ‘He doesn’t look harmless,’ said Jamie.
    ‘That is true,’ said the fortune-teller. ‘When angered he looks like harm itself.’ She stared into the distance for a moment, the smile fading from her lips. ‘But it takes a good deal to anger him, and if you tried he would probably only find reason to be amused. Please, be seated.’
    Something about the sound of her voice made Jamie think of rich colourful liqueurs being poured into crystal glasses. He sat on the wooden crate beside the table. ‘I am in something of a hurry today,’ she said, ‘I have half a dozen visitors who need their fortunes read, so I must make this brief. Your hand, please?’
    Jamie held out his hand and she traced her finger lightly over his palm. Her fingers were cool and sent little shivers through him wherever they touched. ‘Look into my eyes, Jamie,’ she said quietly. He did, and grunted in surprise; it appeared her irises were changing size, one growing while the other shrank, then vice versa. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said, ‘just watch my eyes dance. Aren’t they pretty, Jamie? Can’t you feel yourself walking down a long dark tunnel, through my eyes? You can feel my cool finger on your palm, guiding you, drawing a map to find the pathways through my eyes. Just my eyes, Jamie … Just watch my eyes …’
    The voice slipped inside him like a drug, the sweet voice telling him secrets, words he could hear but not understand, and before he knew it his eyes had glazed over and closed.
    She’s hypnotising me, was his last thought before he succumbed.
    A voice hammered as hard as a rock into his head.
    Tomorrow afternoon. You are going to go out, leaving the house at exactly twenty past three, but you will leave your watch at home. You will go to this address: 344 Edward Street. You will wait outside the pub there. On the footpath you will see a blonde woman pushing a pram, waiting to cross the street. You will ask her what time it is. You are going to scratch your wrist nervously as she says something flirtatious.
    Jamie’s drowsy head nodded.
    You will say, ‘Thanks a ton.’ Then you will come straight home. You will not remember her face afterwards. You will not think back on the incident in any way.’
    ‘Why?’ Jamie murmured like someone talking in his sleep. ‘Can’t … leave me … ’lone?’
    There was a pause, and the feeling of eyes pressing into him, huge and painful like twin suns. Jamie squirmed and moaned. Don’t question me, said the voice. How are you able to question me? Did you … Have you swallowed some of the dust?
    Jamie nodded.
    Oh, for crying out — Who gave you the dust?
    ‘Just