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spooky-ghostwriter · 7 years

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Dressed to Kill - Chapter Nine

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Tsukiko parted the curtains of her trailer window. It had been a full day's drive around Lake Erie. All of the driving had been done by non-performer employees – particularly those with the drivers' licenses that Tsukiko herself lacked – so from her perspective, it had been a fairly uneventful period. Still, despite not having any of the stress that she imagined came with driving around trailers full of ghost lions and elephants, she was happy to see that they'd arrived at their destination.

Tsukiko hadn't considered it at first, but in retrospect, it had been incredibly obvious – circus performers' trailers were not large. Her new bed was smaller than she was used to and even it took up a good third of her available space.

Still, her trailer had felt empty. Her bedroom at her parents' house had had Gary's enclosure as a centerpiece, but now Tsukiko's snake was in the care of Pierre and his crew. The props and costumes that had once littered her room's floor were now in storage somewhere. Tsukiko had to admit, they were likely more organized than she'd ever kept them.

And so, Tsukiko's trailer contained only a bed and a mini-fridge; both of which were already in the trailer when she'd walked in. She made a mental note to see how Galen was using his trailer's space and copy it.

As she sat on her bed, imagining the walls covered in posters, there was a knock at the door.

Oh, speak of the devil, Tsukiko thought.

She pushed open the door. As the thought was still on her mind, she greeted her visitor with a question. “Hey Galen, would it be weird to put a picture of Gary on my wall?”

Vercingetorix blinked.

“Oh, you're not Galen,” Tsukiko realized.

“Indeed I am not,” Vercingetorix confirmed. “Gary is your snake, right?”

“...Yes,” Tsukiko admitted.

“You're free to do whatever you want with your trailer, as long as we can still move it from city to city,” Vercingetorix explained. “Most performers here decorate their trailers with mementos from their favourite or most important shows.”

Suddenly remembering the reason he was there, Vercingetorix opened the briefcase he was holding. It was the very same metal briefcase that Vercingetorix had held the Tank Top in. For a moment, Tsukiko was breathless – she imagined the wonders of a second Religalia that Vercingetorix might give to her.

“I have the schedule for this week's shows.” Vercingetorix passed a stapled set of papers to Tsukiko. “You'll be performing one show a day.”

“O-okay...”

“Is something the matter?” Vercingetorix asked. “If you're worried about having fewer shows than the other performers, that's just because you're new. Once you're used to the routine, we'll bring you up to an alternating schedule of two shows one day, one show the next.”

“No, it's not that,” Tsukiko tossed the schedule onto her bed. “It's just that...” She scratched the back of her head, trying to word her question appropriately. “Is the schedule really the most important thing right now?”

“Of course!” Vercingetorix said, sounding affronted. “One cannot have a circus without some semblance of order.”

“What about the plant monsters?”

“Dryads.”

“Whatever. What are we doing about them?”

“It's a little cool for dryads this morning,” Vercingetorix said, looking up to the overcast. “I don't think they'll be a problem.”

“You don't think – ” Tsukiko stammered. She sighed. “Okay. Fine. I don't want to fight any plant monsters anyway. But can you at least show me the other Religalia?”

Vercingetorix nodded to himself. “I suppose. Meet me at Stage 1 during Pierre's show. I'll make some time.”

Stage 1 was the largest of the four. The tent around it stood almost 40 feet in the air; it was the beacon that attracted people to the circus as a whole. Two towers of scaffolding held the tent in place, with a large 'Alesia Circus' logo between them. The stage covered most of the available space, with seating for over 700. Tsukiko would have loved to watch Pierre lead his ghost lions around – or, for that matter, to perform on the stage herself. Instead, she stood backstage, awaiting Vercingetorix.

Still, even if the sights and sounds eluded her, the smells and tastes were up for grabs. Tsukiko passed the time by shoveling caramel corn into her mouth as fast as her unfortunate need to chew and swallow would allow.

Finally, a few handfuls into her third bag, Vercingetorix stepped out of the Stage 1 tent.

“Ah, there you are,” Vercingetorix said, noticing her.

Tsukiko swallowed two cheeks' worth of caramel corn.

“Free circus food is one of the greatest perks of working here, wouldn't you say?” Vercingetorix asked.

“This is the best caramel corn I've ever eaten!” Tsukiko said, pointing ecstatically at the few kernels remaining. “What's your secret?”

“It's not something that should be disclosed to the public,” Vercingetorix said, his voice suddenly low and ominous. “But, sufficed to say, dryads come in many shapes and sizes.”

Tsukiko pictured five ears of corn stacking together to create a behemoth, just as the pumpkins had. With no emotion on her face, she dropped her current handful of kernels back into the bag.

“I'm joking,” Vercingetorix said with a smirk. “I don't know what the secret is. And, just like I won't ask how you perform any of your magic tricks, I won't ask our chef how he makes his caramel corn.”

Tsukiko tentatively ate another kernel, but her eyes narrowed in a suspicious glare.

“Now, onto the Religalia,” Vercingetorix said, unlocking his briefcase.

A shiver of eagerness crept up Tsukiko's entire body. The Tank Top had caught her attention even before it transformed into a mobile cannon. She remembered the strange allure it had; some glimmer of specialness emanating from every stitch.

As Vercingetorix reached into the briefcase, she stared at it in anticipation. Finally, he pulled out his hand.

Tsukiko felt her eyes widen.

Vercingetorix held a woolen sweater. It was a garish pink, with a needlessly bright yellow 'J' knitted on the chest. On its sleeves were flame designs that graduated from the same yellow of the 'J' to a bloody crimson.

It was hideous.

“This is the Jumper,” Vercingetorix introduced. “The second Religalia I'd like you to try.”

Tsukiko said nothing, and decided it best to hide her expressions behind a final handful of caramel corn.

“Now,” Vercingetorix continued, oblivious to Tsukiko's pained reaction. “To truly master a Religalia, you must be able to believe in it, no matter how impossible its abilities seem. Think of it like an actor being fully immersed in their role. To get the greatest performance, the actor must believe that they are the character they are trying to represent.”

“Are you sure? I had no idea what the Tank Top would do.”

“Precisely,” said Vercingetorix. “At the moment you activated the Tank Top, your mind was full of desperation, not doubt. You didn't know what the Tank Top would do, but you believed it would do something to save yourself, Galen, and your audience. And no matter how impossible that sounds, you believed it.”

Once again, Tsukiko didn't know how to respond to this. What he said was true, but she couldn't help but feel that he was calling her naive.

“I truly respect that conviction in the impossible,” said Vercingetorix. “The Tank Top is, in fact, one of the hardest Religalia to master. Most people don't believe it can transform into a tank.”

“Even after they see it happen?” Tsukiko asked.

“One's eyes can be deceived. You, of all people, should know that.”

“Well sure, but after fighting living pumpkins, what else is there for people to think is impossible?” Tsukiko asked.

“That is exactly the attitude I was hoping for from you,” said Vercingetorix. He passed Tsukiko the ugly sweater. “That's why I'm not going to try to trick you with this Religalia. I will tell you exactly what the Jumper does, and hopefully, you won't doubt it for an instant.”

Tsukiko turned the garment over in her hands. The back side had another knitted fireball and was no less ugly than the front.

“Try me.”

Galen made his way through the field reserved for Pierre's animals. An L-shaped tent lined one corner, housing the enclosures of a few small animals. As he passed through it, he stopped at the tank that now housed Gary. The snake was coiled under a hollowed rock, but he poked his head out as Galen approached. Gary flicked his tongue up in greeting.

“Hey, buddy,” Galen said softly. “Sorry, I don't have time to play right now. I have to help wash the elephant.”

He was relatively sure that Gary didn't understand what he said, but the python seemed to relax and stretched itself out under its heat lamp.

Along the way, Galen rested his arms on the railing surrounding Pierre's alligator pit. Some shows involved Pierre or an assistant sticking their head in the largest alligator's open jaws. Now, the three of them looked no more dangerous than Gary. In fact, they were stretched out under a bright heat lamp just as Gary was.

Before he could enjoy the view too much, a monkey jumped onto him and grabbed the back of his head. Galen recoiled as the monkey began to howl; he wondered just how much force he could use to remove it without causing it any harm.

While flailing, Galen turned; Pierre was standing a few feet behind him.

Pierre snapped his fingers; the monkey bounced off Galen's head and ran up to sit on Pierre's shoulders.

“Th-thanks,” Galen said, breathlessly. “I don't know what got into that monkey.”

“I told him to do zat,” Pierre said. “You are supposed to be washing ze elephant. Now move!”

Galen muttered some vague apology and ran off.

Betsy the elephant didn't appear to have noticed Galen's lateness. She had a large, fenced-off field to herself, and was frolicking around enjoying the free space while she could. She toyed with a tree branch, swinging it across the autumn leaves on the ground as if raking.

A senior stagehand, by the name of Jeffery, waved both the elephant and Galen onto a raised platform. It was a simple basin that had nothing more than a drain in it, but it was large enough for Betsy to lie down and stretch. Galen and his elder took turns spraying the beast with hoses connected to some water system Galen didn't yet understand.

“You're late, Mark,” said Jeffery, watching Betsy play in what was rapidly becoming mud.

“Sorry about that – ”

“Ah, don't worry about it,” The large, bearded man said cheerfully. Galen mused that, if it weren't for Jeffery's harsh Boston accent, he would have made a perfect Santa Claus. “Did Pierre hit you with the monkey?”

Galen nodded. His boss laughed.

“It's fine. Just don't mistreat any of the animals and he'll warm up to you eventually.”

Galen looked past Betsy to the pen that housed the ghost lions and beyond even that back to the alligator. “I was sort of worried when I heard how many animals were kept here. But it looks like they're all taken care of properly.”

“Of course. Y'know, Pierre is the only reason we're allowed to have an elephant in the first place.”

“Oh?” Galen asked, deciding that continuing the small talk would improve what seemed to be a good first impression.

“Yeah. Pierre started as an exotic vet, then a zookeeper,” said Jeffery. “By the time he joined the circus, he had so many licenses that he can keep any animal he wants. Including some that aren't even supposed to exist.”

“Like ghost lions?”

“Like ghost lions.”

The two of them continued to wash and admire the elephant for a few minutes. Then, Galen saw something out of the corner of his eye.

“Jeff...” Galen said. “How many monkeys does the circus have?”

“Just one. Why?”

Galen now looked in the direction of Stage 1. It was hard to tell from a distance, but it looked like a humanoid figure standing on the 'Alesia Circus' sign.

“Well I'll be,” Jeff said, shading his eyes with his hand. “That's no monkey! That's a person.”

“One of our guys?”

“Must be! But they're supposed to use the crane to take that thing down.” He took the hose from Galen. “I'll finish up here. Go check out what's happening and radio Vercingetorix if there's an issue.”

Galen tapped the walkie-talkie on his belt.

“Got it.”

It was a jog of annoyance that drove Galen across the field to Stage 1. He wondered how someone had even managed to climb the tent, let alone why. It should have taken the crew's cherry-picker to even reach the scaffolding.

Whoever it was, Galen was sure it must have been some determined idiot.

He approached the base of the tent. Galen and the climber were still separated by the entire height of the tent, but they were close enough for him to recognize the climber's long, black hair flowing in the breeze.

“Oh goddammit it's Tsuki,” Galen muttered.

“Hey Galen!” Tsukiko cried from above.

“What are you doing up there?!” Galen demanded. “And how – ”

“Check it out!” Tsukiko said gleefully. She let go of the scaffolding tower and bent her legs.

“No, don't – ”

It was too late. Tsukiko leapt off of the sign. She flew a surprising height before clearing the ten. Then, gravity remembered its place and she began to fall.

Galen's instincts took hold. It was clear where Tsukiko would impact the ground. He sprinted to that spot as fast as he could manage.

As he and Tsukiko both sped towards the point of impact, he heard Tsukiko scream something.

Galen stretched out his arms. He hadn't had time to think about whether or not this would help and, in hindsight, he would realize that it wouldn't.

One loud, painful crash later, Tsukiko and Galen were a collapsed heap.

For a moment, both were silent.

“Why did you catch me?” Tsukiko asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“No, seriously. Why did you catch me?!” Tsukiko demanded, managing to get herself onto all fours. “You're no softer than the ground!”

“I had to do something,” Galen said, struggling to his feet. “Why did you jump?!”

“Because of this!” Tsukiko stood up fully, then tugged the bottom edge of her fiery pink sweater. “It's the Jumper!”

“It's ugly!”

“I know. But it lets me jump super high. And then not die when I hit the ground.”

“You could've told me that.”

“Believe me, if I knew you were going to try to Superman me, I would've!” Tsukiko rubbed her neck. “I think it only works properly if I land on my feet. And it doesn't protect you at all!”

“You don't say.” Galen muttered, rotating his wrists to ensure they still worked. While doing so, he took a long look at his left hand.

“Hey, Tsuki?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Does my pinkie look all right to you?”

Tsukiko looked at Galen's left pinkie. The finger itself looked fine. The angle it was sticking out of his hand did not.

Tsukiko let out a short terrified scream.

“Yeah that's what I thought,” Galen said. “It's just that it doesn't hurt, so I was – ”

Tsukiko released a second, completely identical, scream.

One of the two screams managed to attract Vercingetorix, who sauntered over from the far side of the tent. He looked at Tsukiko's pained expression, then to Galen's more stoic, confused expression. Finally, he noticed Galen's sideways finger.

“Well,” said the manager. “I think it's time to introduce you to the next Religalia. It heals injuries.”

Vercingetorix led Tsukiko, Galen and Galen's dislocated finger to a trailer, very similar to the one Tsukiko had began her day in.

It even had an identical insignia on the front – a stylized top hat and magic wand.

“This where you keep the Religalia?” Tsukiko asked.

“It is.”

“I was expecting something more... I dunno, magical,” Tsukiko said. “Like a wormhole to an alternate dimension where tanks and clothing are one and the same.”

“That is a very healthy imagination you have,” said Vercingetorix. “One moment.”

He stepped into the trailer, closing the door behind him.

“How's the finger?” Tsukiko asked Galen.

“Still sideways. And it still doesn't hurt.” Galen said. In curiosity, he poked it with the index finger of his other hand. In an instant, his face contorted in pain.

“That looked like a bad idea,” Tsukiko said, wincing.

“It was,” Galen said quietly. “It really was.”

In the moment Vercingetorix promised, he emerged from the trailer. He held a pair of red, sparkling shoes. Their hue and sheer size of the heel made Tsukiko think of something Stiletto the knife thrower would wear.

“These,” said Vercingetorix. “Are the High Heals.”

“Of course it's a pun. Sure. How do they work?” Tsukiko asked, taking the shoes. “Do I wear them, or does Galen?”

“You do.”

“Darn,” Tsukiko said, kicking off her current footwear. “The other way would have been way funnier.”

Galen gave her an annoyed look, no doubt exacerbated by the pain in his hand.

“Now, place your hands around Galen's injury like so.” Vercingetorix extended his index fingers and thumbs, tracing a diamond. “You can heal as big of a wound as you need to by spreading your hands further.”

“You should have shown me this one first!” Tsukiko said. She placed her hands as Vercingetorix showed her, ensuring that Galen's distorted pinkie was in the middle of her hand formation. “Now, I just need to believe that it will heal Galen, despite how impossible it seems?”

“You have to click the back of your heels together to activate it, but yes, that is what you must believe.”

Tsukiko closed her eyes and cleared her mind. She concentrated on her breathing, and nothing but the idea that Galen's finger would be repaired. Then, she clicked her heels.

She felt a slight shifting in her footwear, as she had with the Tank Top. She opened her eyes slightly to allow herself a brief glance at her feet. Wires emerged from the High Heals' lining. They slithered down around her ankle and conglomerated on the shoes' toe box. In seconds, each shoe had a shining silver cross on Tsukiko's toes.

“This is incredible,” Galen said. He watched in awe as his finger twisted back into place. In an instant, his finger was back to normal. He curled and extended it a few times, without any pain. “You need to tell hospitals about this!”

“We can't do that,” Vercingetorix said solemnly.

“Why not?” Tsukiko asked. “You can't just keep something like this locked up in a trailer!”

“No one knows how to make another set of High Heals,” Vercingetorix explained. “I'm sure you understand that dissecting a pair of shoes looking for some miracle cure would only risk damaging the Religalia.”

“Have you studied them at all?” Galen asked.

“Of course, but all we have learned are that they have some limitations.” Vercingetorix held up fingers as he listed, “Number one – they cannot cure diseases, even the mildest stomachache. Number two – they cannot heal injuries that are too old. We're not sure what the cutoff is, but it seems that injuries that the body has already begun to heal of its own accord are unaffected by the High Heals' power. Number three – they cannot replenish blood. They will fix the damaged tissue and prevent further blood loss, but someone who has lost too much blood already will still die. And, of course, number four – they cannot bring someone back from death.”

“The shoes are still pretty far above modern medicine,” Galen said, still enchanted by his working finger. “I still think you need to take them to a hospital.”

“And tell them what? That a circus has magic footwear that can mend broken bones?” Vercingetorix asked. “In the past, we did take the shoes around hospitals. Unfortunately, the surgeons thought we had planted fake injured victims as a publicity stunt. Quite a frustrating affair.”

Vercingetorix shook his head.

“You're welcome to try, whenever we're set up close enough to a hospital,” He said. “Just don't be late for your shows. Hospitals have doctors that can help patients without you, but we need you here for your magic shows.”

“Believe me, I won't be late,” Tsukiko promised. “In fact... I think I'm going to go get ready for the next show.”

She looked back at Galen.

“Come find me when you're done washing elephants or whatever!” She said cheerfully. Then she departed, bouncing dozens of feet into the air. After a few leaps across the field, she vanished completely out of sight.

Galen watched her depart, then sighed, staring at his finger.

“Is something troubling you, Galen?” Vercingetorix asked. “Your finger is back to normal, isn't it?”

“It's completely fine,” said Galen, wiggling it to make sure.

“Then what's the matter?”

Galen leaned against the banister of the trailer's stairs. He looked across the field, and in the distance, he saw a shape that looked distinctly like Tsukiko leaping a few dozen feet into the air.

“Tsukiko and I are partners,” Galen said. “She's said it before – that her magic shows wouldn't be as good without me. It really meant a lot to me to hear that.”

“Oh?”

“Do you ever feel jealous of the circus performers?” Galen asked. “Well, maybe jealous isn't the right word, but – ”

Vercingetorix nodded before Galen could even think of a way to reword his question.

“The performers are truly something special,” said Vercingetorix. “They do things that no one else can possibly comprehend. Myself and the crewmembers, we tend to sit on the sidelines and watch the magic. We are, to be blunt, ordinary people. However close we are to them, it can feel like we're worlds apart.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” Galen said. “But I wasn't always so far away, you know? Tsukiko and I were... eight, I think, when we met. Even then, she could do card tricks and sleight of hand. But I understood all of that. I only learned the tricks I needed to do, and even then I was never as good at them as she was, but it was always possible.”

Vercingetorix continued to nod.

“Now there are all these Religalia in the mix,” Galen continued. “And now she's jumping fifty feet in the air and healing my broken finger and...”

“And turning into a tank.”

“Especially turning into a tank! How's an ordinary person like me supposed to keep up?”

“Tell me, Galen,” said Vercingetorix. “Why did you decide to be Tsukiko's partner in magic? And why did she decide she wanted you over anyone else?”

Galen shook his head.

“I can't answer the second one. I mean, I don't get stage fright and we can bounce jokes off each other. Maybe that's all it is.”

“Well then, what about the first question? Why did you get into stage magic with Tsukiko?”

Galen paused. He had thought this would be the simpler question to answer, but he had to think back to each and every magic show he'd been a part of to find his answer.

“It's fun,” Galen said simply, a faint smile on his face. “I wouldn't have thought of doing it if it weren't for Tsukiko, but it really is fun. Tsukiko once tried to describe it as showing people impossible, amazing things, and letting them forget how boring reality is. I thought it was silly at the time she said that, but I guess that's really what we do.”

“And now she's doing what even you think is impossible.”

“Yeah. It's like I'm just an audience member now.”

“The thing is, Galen, the things Tsukiko does now are feel as impossible to her as they look to you. It's her conviction that makes it possible.”

“And the Religalia.”

“Well, here's a much simpler question,” said Vercingetorix. “Do you have the same conviction as Tsukiko? If you were to wear a Religalia, do you think you could make it respond to you?”

Galen turned to look at Vercingetorix, eyes wide.

“Are you asking what I think you're asking?”

Vercingetorix smiled.

“There are a couple Religalia left,” Vercingetorix said. “Two of them even have the dubious tradition of being worn by the magician's assistant as opposed to the magician herself.”

Galen paused.

“Why didn't you start off by telling me that?”

“I was curious,” Vercingetorix said with a shrug. “I wondered if your thoughts were the same as those of their previous owner.”

“Oh? Who was their previous owner?”

Vercingetorix scratched his chin. It was a contemplative reply when he said, “The man gave up his magician's assistant ways many years ago. And considering how he, like you, tended to give the fame to the magician herself, I think he may prefer to remain anonymous for the time being.”

“Doesn't sound exactly like me, then,” Galen said. With a grin, he added, “I told Tsuki I'd steal her show at some point.”

Vercingetorix laughed. “Let's see how well that translates into a conviction in the impossible, shall we?”

#dressed to kill #tsukiko #original fiction

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