Carnival Magic Read online

  The woman riding looked over at Tess for a moment and nodded and then seemed to race along with them, keeping pace with the Bentley, until a wide open field came into view and the woman guided the horse to make a right turn and then raced away, leaving a trail of brown dust in their wake before they seemed to disappear.

  * * *

  • • •

  Aunt Evie drove for a while down the highway, then unexpectedly made a peculiar turn, almost a U-turn but not quite, a turn around a roundabout and then a right turn into a driveway and past a sign on a building on the left that said Paignton ZOO. The word ZOO was in capital letters. “I thought we’d stop and get tickets,” she said, “so we can go here another day.”

  Max tried to explain to Aunt Evie that you probably didn’t need to buy tickets in advance, that it wasn’t like a concert or the theater.

  “Yes, I know that,” said Aunt Evie. “I just thought, we’d have to wait in line the day we went to the zoo, and what would be the fun of that when you could already be animal-watching?”

  Sometimes it was hard to argue with Aunt Evie’s logic. They obediently hopped out of the car the moment she parked and followed her to the ticket line. There was a line. She was right about that.

  Tess said to Max, “Stay with Aunt Evie. I want to take a little walk around. Is that okay, Aunt Evie?” Tess’s legs were tired, cramped, from so much travelling—the plane, the taxi, the train, and the car—and she thought it might do her some good to stretch her legs and take a tiny peek at the zoo . . .

  Tess walked down the paved walkway toward the entrance and made a left turn to where an Indian gentleman, wearing a gray-and-white pin-striped suit, who spoke in a very proper English accent, was guarding the entrance. “Do you have a ticket, Miss?” he asked, when he saw her lingering by the turnstile.

  “No,” said Tess, “not yet. My aunt’s waiting to buy advance tickets.” She gestured to Max and Aunt Evie standing in the line at the ticket booth. “Tickets for another day,” Tess added just to be clear.

  “I guess your aunt”—he said it the British way, the way Evie insisted, awnt instead of aunt—“believes in pre-planning. I could let you go in for a peek, if you want,” he said. “But you have to be back in six and a half minutes. Exactly six and a half minutes.”

  The gatekeeper did look like someone who would be incredibly precise.

  “Got it,” said Tess, checking her iPhone for the time. “Thank you.” She gave him a thumbs-up and a smile. He gave her a thumbs-up back.

  Tess practically ran through the glass doors. She wanted to see the giraffes. Tess’s mother had told her once that she thought giraffes were an animal with perfect posture! Tess smiled when she remembered that. Tess wondered if giraffes ever danced and if they did, what that would look like.

  She hurried past the flamingos and the somewhat other-worldly aviary enclosed with netting and glass, filled with tropical trees and flowers, and a funny mist, and an extraordinary assortment of birds. Two egrets were apparently having a fight in the air, but she didn’t stay to watch that.

  She walked a little farther and watched a pair of chimpanzees swinging on a version of a jungle gym, mostly constructed from branches. The chimpanzees were grunting and making funny noises, panting—hooting as if they were deep-voiced owls—seemingly speaking to each other. The bigger of the chimpanzees hung by one arm. He turned and stared at Tess, as if he was trying to stare her down, and seemed to break into a chimpanzee laugh. Tess laughed, too. They were really funny. He got bored with staring and swung off to meet his sibling. She assumed they were siblings; their coats were the same color and they had such an easy familiarity with each other.

  Tess heard a faint sound up ahead. It sounded as if there was a little kid in distress, whimpering, as if he (or she) were lost or hurt. She hurried down the walkway.

  Tess turned and, in a cage to the left of her, saw three baby tigers lying on a bed of straw. Two of them were perfectly content, it looked like. The third one, the tiniest of the three, was writhing on the straw, as if he or she (Tess couldn’t tell if it was a girl or boy tiger) was in pain. The baby tigers were so beautiful, their coats soft and shiny, their stripes not quite formed so that it looked as if there were spots of black against their pale, golden fur, dark, bright eyes, almost sparkly, the tiniest wisp of whiskers, and their pink tongues, like the most beautiful baby cats. The smallest one was definitely in some kind of pain.

  Tess looked to see if there was a zookeeper or anyone vaguely official-looking around, but all she saw were other visitors to the zoo. The baby tiger looked up at her sadly and cried again, this time distinctly, so there could no mistaking that it was a cry for help.

  Tess couldn’t stop herself from trying to help.

  She kept very still and approached them very quietly. She thought that was a good idea. She sat down cross-legged in front of the chain-link fence, barely taking a breath, so as not to alarm any of the baby tigers. And then, very slowly, she reached her hand out, palm turned upward, almost the way a tiger would expose its paw.

  The baby tiger followed her and held out its paw, too, and turned it over, almost as if it was imitating Tess. Not really. Almost as if she wanted Tess to look at it. Tess was sure it was a girl tiger now, although she couldn’t have explained exactly why she thought that. The tiger continued to hold her paw out, as if it was the paw that was the problem . . .

  Tess took a deep breath—Tess knew that what she was about to do was dangerous—a baby tiger wasn’t like a baby kitten, and technically there were three of them.

  Tess reached her left hand through the bars and into the tiger cage, steadily and slowly, so slowly, until her fingers were lightly touching the toes of the tiger’s right paw and the tiger’s toes were touching Tess’s fingertips. Tess dropped her hand below the tiger’s paw and gently held it up. She leaned in and looked closely, examining it, studying it, turning it to the side and back again, at no small risk to herself as the baby tiger’s nails shot out as if it might be about to scratch her.

  “Shssh,” Tess said softly and surprisingly calmly, “I’m not going to hurt you.” She turned the paw back again and saw something reflecting from it.

  There was definitely something shiny sticking up between the second and third toe, something that Tess thought shouldn’t be there at all. She didn’t think tigers were supposed to have metal-looking things in their paws. She wondered for a moment if it was a tag or something, a kind of tracker or identifying mark that had been put there by a zookeeper, but if it was, it wasn’t put in to the proper place or in the proper way because Tess could see it must hurt every time the baby tiger walked. It might hurt even when the tiger cub wasn’t walking. It looked as if it was very sharp.

  Tess instinctually reached into her back pocket for the skeleton key. She wasn’t sure why she did that. But sometimes the key was illuminating. She held it in her right hand and moved it close, like it was a flashlight or something. And then the key seemed to have a power of its own, as it almost magnetically drew itself to the tiny piece of metal and Tess heard a click as they connected.

  She whispered to the baby tiger, “This might hurt a little bit.”

  She pulled the key back gently, stopped for a moment, held her breath, and then with rapid precision and amazing aim, she pulled out of the baby tiger’s paw what turned out be to a silver needle seemingly magnetically affixed to the key.

  She pulled the needle off the key and quickly deposited the key back into her jeans pocket, hoping that nobody had noticed. She then looked closely at the needle in the palm of her hand. She was quite certain it was a needle as the top end was slightly larger than the sharp, pointed bottom and seemed to have an eye. She thought it was silver. Steel? It was very strong for a slip of metal, tiny as it was, almost unbendable, and the point was razor-sharp.

  As Tess held it up, it seemed to give off sparkles, bright sparkles, yel
low, silver, gold, blue tinged with orange, and back to gold, as if it was reflecting in the sun. The light it gave off was so bright, it occurred to her it might have a power of its own. There she was, imagining things again. She closed her hand around the needle tightly, being careful not to poke herself, as it was awfully sharp.

  She held the needle up again and it seemed to embrace the sun, reflect it, so that she and the tiger were bathed in a halo of light. The chain-link fence was no longer visible. It was as if she was sitting on a wild field of grass with the baby tiger and all around them were trees, flowers, and the sway of a tropical breeze. The tiger seemed to stand slightly above her on a hill as if they were or had been for a moment transported to India, the sound of an elephant in the distance and some kind of exotic music. She must be imagining it. She put the needle down and it was as if the image disappeared, the chain-link fence was back, and Tess was sitting still in front of the tiger’s cage. Tess quickly slipped the needle into the right front pocket of her jeans.

  Of course she’d imagined it, and why wouldn’t she have heard an elephant in the distance? After all, she was at the zoo.

  But Tess could still feel the vibration of the exotic music, hanging in the air like a tropical heat wave infused by the scent of exotic flowers, the rhythmic pounding of some kind of string instrument accompanied by a drum. Yet, there was no music playing, just the sounds of “Oohs” and “Ahhs” and sighs of relief as Tess realized a small crowd had gathered and had been silently, as if they’d all been holding their breath, too, watching her interaction with the baby tiger. She could hear some of them whispering now. One little boy saying to his mother, “Did you see what she did?”

  Tess heard a noise in front of her in the cage as the mother, or was it the father, tiger appeared right next to the bars and opened the jaws of his or her mouth and roared so loudly that the sound almost seemed to shake the cage. Tess stepped, well, actually she jumped back, frightened, and then looked at the tiger and realized it might be a triumphant roar, sort of a thank you and a celebration, if there was such a thing. She figured she’d better not stick around to find out. Tess started running quickly—not as if she was running away but running back, as she’d promised the man at the entrance that she would be back in six and a half minutes and she was worried that she might be late.

  As she ran back through the open glass doors, the elegant Indian gentleman, the gatekeeper, or zookeeper, or whoever he was, shook his head and gave her a curious smile.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt in there,” he said.

  Tess wondered if there were cameras inside the zoo and he had a monitor, some way he could see what was happening inside the zoo. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? That could be a logical explanation. But there weren’t any cameras visible and no screens. And, well, it was curious, because it was almost as if he knew what she’d done . . .

  “Thank you,” said Tess as she passed him.

  “No, Miss,” he said, bowing slightly when he said it, “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  Aunt Evie and Max were waiting at the car. Tess slid into the back seat and fastened her seat belt. “The gatekeeper let me into the zoo for a minute,” she said.

  “And?” asked Aunt Evie.

  “And . . .” said Tess. She hesitated. “They have an aviary, giraffes, but I didn’t get to see them, and I don’t know what else, three adorable baby tigers. They’re really adorable,” she said.

  She decided not to tell about exactly what had happened. It was sort of hard to explain. They might think that she was imagining things again. Or else Aunt Evie might think she had unnecessarily put herself in danger. Her dad said sometimes she didn’t think long enough before acting, that she just operated on instinct, which was a good and a bad thing. “They’re very adorable,” said Tess again.

  “Apparently there’s a crocodile swamp and pythons,” said Max, who was reading a pamphlet.

  Tess wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but Max was pretty excited. “I’m very glad we’re going back,” said Max.

  Evie held up the envelope with the tickets in it as proof. “Any time we want,” she said.

  As Evie drove down the winding road, the sun was just beginning to set. Tess took the needle out of her pocket and held it up. It looked exactly like a needle, it had an eye, and it was the brightest color of silver. And, as the sun’s rays reflected off it, it definitely seemed to give off sparks, yellow, gold, red, blue, almost like a halo around it. Tess shut her hand around the needle quickly and carefully slipped it back into the front pocket of her jeans.

  She tried to think how she could explain it to Aunt Evie without making her nervous, but she didn’t think she could explain it, at all.

  ~ CHAPTER THREE ~

  waking up in devon

  The next morning, Tess discovered that there weren’t any curtains on the window in the attic bedroom. Nonetheless, she’d managed to sleep until half past ten. The light was streaming in, making criss-cross patterns on the white down quilt, not multicolored but black-and-white, as if the sun’s rays had been filtered, washed out through the gray cloudy sky, and there were similar spots of light, black and white patches, on the hardwood floor. She snapped a picture with her iPhone. When she looked at it, it looked like a black-and-white photograph from the thirties. Tess checked. She hadn’t added a filter to it by mistake, and the absence of color in the photograph was startling, as was the absence of color in the room. It was a little strange.

  She made her bed. Both she and Max had taken baths the night before at Aunt Evie’s insistence that they wash off all their dirt from travelling. Tess carefully hung her pajamas on a hook that was conveniently placed on the door, pulled on her navy-blue bathing suit, the straps of which crossed in the back and was ideal for swimming. Then she slipped on a pair of jeans and a blue-and-white striped T-shirt—what her mom would call perfect beachwear. By the time she was dressed, the sun was peeking out from behind a cloud, and the color seemed to have returned to the room. She could see the sea, small waves rolling in almost like clockwork. She wondered how cold the water was . . . She looked at the picture she’d taken again—it was still black-and-white. She must have hit a filter by mistake.

  She ran downstairs to find Max and Aunt Evie sitting at the kitchen table. There was a basket of warm scones, fresh butter, and a jar of strawberry jam on the table. There was also a tiny jam jar filled with violets and peonies, a cheerful centerpiece, and a pitcher of orange juice, which Aunt Evie had squeezed fresh that morning. There were seven kinds of yogurt—seriously, seven, including coconut and pineapple—and a bowl of cut-up strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries in the refrigerator. The beach umbrella was folded up by the back door, propped up next to the folded beach chairs. There were beach towels and a beach blanket stuffed into an oversized beach bag that inexplicably said Miami, Florida on it in big orange letters. The bag also contained sunscreen, Aunt Evie’s book, and gosh knows what else. Next to it were three boogie boards.

  “I know. I thought we might go to the beach,” said Aunt Evie, “but the sun hasn’t quite come out today. It keeps disappearing behind the clouds. And, what is it, Max, a thirty-two percent possibility of rain?”

  Tess resisted giving Max a dirty look. Did he really have to check the weather app?

  “Your grandmother used to say,” said Aunt Evie, “the first day of vacation is best used to get organized. So, how do you feel about doing some shopping?”

  “Okay, Aunt Evie,” said Tess politely, as she tried to hide her disappointment.

  “And who knows,” said Aunt Evie, with a mischievous grin, “who knows what we’ll find by the side of the road.”

  ~ CHAPTER FOUR ~

  shopping for summer

  As they pulled onto the highway, there was the funniest wagon parked in a field. “Oh, the traveller’s wagon,” said Aunt Evie, pointing to the old-fashion
ed wagon, which had been perfectly restored and not modernized, as there was a very beautiful black Friesian horse idling in the field that was obviously its mode of transportation. “He comes here every year,” Aunt Evie said, referring to the man sitting on a folding chair by the horse, playing a violin. “He never talks to anyone. He just parks by the side of the road and lives there. Your Uncle John and I used to have long conversations about who we thought he really was, whether he was just some eccentric person who liked to camp by the side of the road and this was where he summered. Uncle John said he’d heard that he was a musician, which sort of makes sense since he’s often playing a violin. We stopped by one day to see if he had a hat out and was accepting donations, but he was very standoffish and seemed to be playing only for himself. Quite peculiar. But there’s something reassuring about the fact that he comes here every year. I’m quite happy to see him,” said Aunt Evie.

  “Did you used to come here every summer, Aunt Evie?” asked Tess, as she’d never heard about Devon-by-the-Sea before.

  “I used to,” said Aunt Evie, “when I was first married to your Uncle John. We used to think it was good luck to see the traveller’s wagon.”

  “Then I’ll take it as good luck, too,” said Tess, who always felt as if they needed it.

  They took a left turn down a single lane that zigzagged up a hillside. An actual single lane so that if you did run into another car going the other way, one of you had to actually back out. Aunt Evie said it wasn’t going to be her because she wasn’t very good at driving backwards. The lane was curiously lined on both sides by years-old hedges.

  “Don’t say it,” said Tess.

  As Max said in a very scary voice, “Beware of the hawthorn trees.”

  “Stop it,” said Tess. “That isn’t even funny.”