The Magic Carnival Box Set: Books 1-3 Read online

  The Magic Carnival Series Collection

  Ringmaster

  The Gift

  Tilly’s Secret

  Wrecked (bonus short story)

  By Trudi Jaye

  www.trudijayewrites.com

  If you’d like to be updated when my next book is out, get behind the scenes information on the Magic Carnival, and go in the draw to win prizes and giveaways, please join my Readers Group. I’d love to hear from you!

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  Other books by Trudi Jaye

  High Flyer

  Hidden Magic

  The Magic Carnival Series Collection is published by Star Media Ltd

  Published 8 December 2015 (as a box set)

  Copyright © Star Media Ltd, 2014-2015

  All rights reserved.

  Urban Fantasy

  Cover Design: www.Ravven.com

  All books in the Magic Carnival Series Collection are works of fiction. Names, places and incidents, except those clearly in the public domain, are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to names, places or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Ringmaster

  The Magic Carnival Series, Book One

  CHAPTER ONE

  The red-and-white tent roof shuddered in the wind and rain. Ropes and canvas flapped in the storm, as if Abacus himself were objecting to his final resting place.

  Rilla swallowed hard around the lump that had been stuck in her throat since she’d been told of her father’s death. Seated around her were Carnival folk—all shapes and sizes, some dressed in their finest performance outfits, others as if they were about to break down the tents. But they all had their heads tilted upward, tears streaming down their faces. Everyone had loved their Ringmaster.

  Rilla clenched her fist. It couldn’t be true. Her larger-than-life father was limitless, unbeatable. Certainly not meant to die in a stupid car crash.

  Over their heads, Missy crawled along the high-wire rigging toward the top of the massive tent. The silver of her leotard sparkled under the lights, and her long legs clung to the ropes with an elegance that hid powerful muscles. Every pair of eyes in the tent watched as she completed the tradition that had been started three hundred years before, by the nine original families.

  The ashes of almost every member of the Jolly Carnival who’d passed on were contained in one of the two huge round tent poles. They literally held the very essence of the Carnival. And now her bright and brilliant father was another collection of ash in the Carnival tradition.

  Rubbing at the tears running down her face, Rilla felt her anger flare again. She’d been keeping it at bay, but every so often it burned its way up her throat. She wanted to shout at someone, hit them, cry out at the injustice.

  It wasn’t right. Her father shouldn’t be dead.

  Next to her, Barb squeezed her hand and leaned a little closer. Rilla glanced in her direction, taking comfort in the older woman’s graceful features, the long grey of her hair down her back and the beautiful golden-sequined leotard she was wearing in honor of Abba.

  Barb’s daughter Missy was the one performing the final ceremony, and Rilla was glad it was her childhood friend. It felt right to have someone who loved her father almost as much as she did placing him in his final resting place.

  Looking around the tent from her perch at the top of the wooden audience bleachers, Rilla tried to memorize the faces. Everyone was there, from the newest greenhorn to the oldest hand, crowded into the massive space. She took a breath. She was their leader now, the next Ringmaster to step into the Jolly family tradition. The weight of that responsibility pushed down on her shoulders, even in the midst of her grief.

  From somewhere in the tent, a violin began to play a slow, haunting melody. The tune hit the chorus and she recognized it. She tried to smile. From her other side, Christoph’s muscular arm clamped around her shoulders, and she listened silently to the rest of the ABBA song being played in slow time.

  The song was a lovely idea, but her father would have hated the slowness. He loved the speed of the tunes by the Swedish band. He’d always said the tents went up faster to the beat of “Mama Mia.” And he’d always preferred the nickname Abba to his full name Abacus.

  “He wouldn’t want you to be sad, little one,” said Christoph carefully as he gave her another squeeze with his massive arm.

  She looked up at Christoph’s lined face. He was the strongman of the Carnival in more ways than one. “I know. But it doesn’t help.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He glanced around the tent, then back down at her. “Come, we should go now.” He pulled Rilla to her feet, and the crowd parted silently as he led her down the steps. His mustache twitched, and she knew he was trying not to cry at the loss of his friend.

  As they walked toward the closest exit in the massive tent, a flash of blue hair caught her eye. A man stood near another side entrance, his expression a strange mix of anger and excitement. His shock of blue hair stood at attention on his head, a bright contrast to his black shirt and pants. A ripple of unease washed through Rilla. The stranger caught and held her gaze. Then he turned and disappeared out into the storm.

  Rilla frowned. She opened her mouth to question the man’s presence and then closed it again. Her father knew literally thousands of people. He’d been a big, charismatic personality who’d lived his entire life on the circuit. There could be any number of people she’d never met who could claim a relationship with him.

  The blue-haired man might have seemed out of place, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be there at her father’s funeral. She was just paranoid because of the damn sabotage attacks—she’d been jumping at shadows lately and it wasn’t helping anyone.

  Rilla glanced up at Christoph again and for the first time noticed the grey hair mixed with the black on his head. Her father and Christoph had grown up together, lived their lives together. The big man had helped Abacus raise Rilla when her mother had left. He was going to feel the gap left by Abacus just as she did.

  A small hand pulling on her elbow interrupted Rilla’s thoughts.

  “Rilla, there’s a problem.”

  “Pardon?” Rilla turned, trying to focus on the scruffy, brown-haired teenager who’d stopped her. She blinked and recognized Joey, one of the younger runners. Around them, people had started to talk and the noise was echoing through the tent.

  “There’s a man. He says…” Joey trailed off as an older man strode past him, straight up to Christoph and Rilla. He held a black cane in one hand and an old-fashioned bowler hat in the other, and pushed out his white-bearded chin toward Rilla. “My name is Blago Knight. I’m here to claim the title of Ringmaster.”

  Rilla shook her head as if to clear it. Surely, she’d heard wrong. “Sorry? What did you say?” She frowned at the old man in front of her.

  “I’m here to challenge you for the title of Ringmaster. As is my right,” he said again, louder this time. The people standing nearby stopped talking and looked their way. A hush settled over the whole room.

  The world swayed for a second, and Rilla was glad of Christoph’s comforting arm around her. The shock was like a punch to the stomach. But then anger swirled in its wake. Just who the hell did he think he was?

  Her gaze narrowed. “You do realize this is my father’s funeral?” she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat and pulled herself together. She was the Carnival leader now.

  “Of course I realize, young lady. But it doesn’t change the fact that I demand to speak to the Nine. You must convene an emergency session.”

  “This isn’t the time, Blago. You’ll have to wait.” Christoph’s
voice boomed unnaturally loud. Every eye in the crowded tent was focused on Rilla and the stranger.

  “I know the rules as well as anyone, Christoph. I have to announce my intentions to the Nine immediately or it’s too late.” He glanced at Rilla. “If you stand in my way, you forfeit your rights to the Ringmaster claim.”

  Goosebumps raised along her skin as she stared at the old man in front of her. Bushy eyebrows covered bloodshot eyes, dark and fierce at their center. The lined face was surrounded by a seething mass of white, frizzy hair.

  How could he have a legitimate claim? She’d never even heard of him.

  A knot of tension pushed against her temple, and a headache crawled across her scalp. She lifted one hand to her forehead and rubbed at it, trying to break up the pain that was crashing against her skull. She just needed a moment to clear her head, time to think without this grief filling her up until she was ready to burst with the agony.

  But rules were rules. “Come with me. It will be informal but enough to judge your claim and if you’re valid.”

  “‘Course I’m valid. Just ask ol’ Christoph here. He’ll vouch for me.”

  Rilla looked at Christoph in shock.

  Her oldest family friend nodded and she realized he’d used Blago’s first name a moment ago. Of course he knew him.

  But how? And why had she never heard of this stranger? “Fine.” She gestured to the others in the Nine. They would meet immediately to determine his claim.

  ***

  Jack stood in the shadows of the tent, trying to keep out of the worst of the rain. Pulling his coat around him, he crossed his arms over his chest. He watched the entrance where his father had disappeared with irritable intensity. He couldn’t believe he was actually here.

  “Terrible weather, isn’t it?” said a smooth voice.

  He jumped slightly and turned to see a blue-haired man smirking at him. Jack sighed. What was wrong with ordinary old brown hair? Typical circus freak.

  “Sure is,” he said warily.

  “Did you know Abacus?”

  Jack shook his head. “Old friend of my father’s,” he said.

  “He was a big influence in my life,” said the blue-haired man.

  Jack struggled for something to say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The man laughed with a strange manic intensity. “Those people in there wouldn’t agree,” he said with a dismissive gesture toward the tent. “But I thank you for your words.” He bowed mockingly.

  Jack frowned, glancing toward the tent as the canvas gave a particularly rough snap in the high winds. It seemed like it might blow away with everyone inside.

  “What do you mean? Are they not good people?” he asked, turning back to the blue-haired man.

  But there was no one there. He’d disappeared.

  Jack rolled his eyes. Circus people. Always so damn dramatic. His father was exactly the same.

  Jack shrugged and turned his attention back to the tent. He was glad he hadn’t grown up in a carnival. His mother had been a good influence on his scatter-brained father and kept their life stable and normal. He didn’t care about the crazy politics around here.

  As he watched, a small group of people exited through a canvas flap, pushing aside the thick material to return to the stormy weather. His father was in the middle of the somber group of men and women—some wearing bright performance outfits and others stained work clothes. It was a strange mix.

  The last to leave the tent was an attractive woman dressed in jeans and a thick black jacket, her razor-straight dark hair cut in a dramatic bob. Her face was haunted by grief, and Jack felt a stirring of pity for her before he clamped it down.

  As they strode past, he tried to catch his father’s eye, but Blago ignored him. That didn’t surprise Jack, either. His father had said he would need to pave the way before Jack would be allowed into the wake.

  “Secretive bunch, carnies. They struggle with outsiders. You should be fine, ‘cause you’re with me, but it never hurts to set things up the right way.”

  Meanwhile, he got to stand out here in the rain. He shoved his hands deeper into the padding of his pockets and thought longingly of his nice warm, dry apartment. Not to mention all the work he still had to do on his manuscript. His editor had been justifiably annoyed when he’d phoned him; he would have felt the same. It was gratifying how enthusiastic they were to get their hands on the book he’d pitched to them. After five years as a consultant, he’d decided it was time to make a move. The book was his brainchild, his baby; the project that was going to take him to the next stage of his career. And now, instead of focusing all his attention on it as he should have been doing, he was standing in the rain, talking to blue-haired weirdos and hoping they’d reject his father out of hand.

  How the hell had he gotten into this mess?

  ***

  Viktor’s face was shocked at first, his grizzled features motionless before a smile spread across his face. “Blago, old friend! I didn’t recognize you with all those wrinkles.” He reached over and clasped Blago in a tight hug, his strong hands overlapping on Blago’s back. The rainstorm pummeled the canvas over their heads and the small lights tied up around the edges of the tent swayed with the wind, giving off an eerie, fluctuating glow.

  “I hear you’re Thrillmaster these days, Viktor?” Blago clapped him on the back.

  “For my sins,” said Viktor.

  Rilla watched the reunion from one corner of the meeting tent, her hopes dashed that Blago might be somehow fake. If the taciturn Thrillmaster was willing to accept him, then it was real.

  “You remember Alfie?” Viktor gestured at the Beastmaster, his regular partner in crime.

  “Little Alf? Always looking out for the animals? Of course I do.” Blago grinned at Alfie and shook the smaller man’s hand. “Good to see you.” He turned to Tami. “And who’s this vision of loveliness?”

  Tami blushed and swatted Blago on the shoulder. “Blago Knight, you old flirt. You know quite well who I am.”

  Blago hugged her. “Tami, how could I ever forget my first love?” he said.

  “I thought it was my fresh apple pie that was your first love,” said Tami wryly.

  Blago shrugged, a twinkle in his eye. “Either way.”

  Rilla watched with a sinking heart as the other members of the Nine hugged Blago like a long-lost friend. Even Christoph and Barb gave the stranger a smiling official welcome.

  “I’m glad to be back at the Carnival. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you all,” said Blago grinning around at everyone in the room.

  “What’s this about challenging Rilla for Ringmaster?” said Viktor, blunt as usual.

  Blago glanced over at Rilla. “First of all, I want to say I’m sorry for your loss, Amaryllis. It’s a terrible thing when someone is ripped away too early.” Tears appeared in his eyes, but didn’t fall. He cleared his throat.

  “When I saw the newspaper clipping, I knew it was a sign. I wish I’d come back earlier when Abba was still alive, but I’m here now, and that’s what counts.” He stared around the room, his gaze landing on everyone in the group. “And what I’ve seen so far makes me think my coming back here was more than just fortuitous. It makes me think the Carnival was calling me back.”

  There was a small inhalation of breath from several people around the room, and Rilla’s head began to spin. He was claiming some kind of Carnival magic? She glanced at Viktor, but his face didn’t give anything away.

  It was all happening too fast. Her brain couldn’t think through the implications with her usual quick calculations. She sank down onto a small wooden chair, trying to concentrate on the meeting. Her father would have wanted her to know what was going on.

  “That’s a mighty big claim, Blago,” said Christoph.

  “I’m looking at a Carnival in mighty big trouble, Christoph. We need a shocking solution to haul ourselves out of this hole.”

  Garth took a step forward, and Rilla blinked. She hadn’t even seen him
amongst the group, but she was relieved he was here. “I’m not sure you’ve earned the right to say ‘we’ like that, Mr Knight. I understand that the older members of the Nine know you well, but I don’t, and neither does Rilla. You’ve yet to prove yourself to the rest of the Carnival.” Garth was the youngest of the Nine—if you didn’t count Rilla as acting Ringmaster—but he was the one closest to the beating heart of the Carnival. Everyone would listen to him.

  Blago smiled. “Of course, of course, you’re right.” He nodded graciously at Garth. “I’m happy to prove my worth to the group and to the Carnival. But my claim is legitimate, and that’s all you need to vote on tonight. Tomorrow, you can get to know me, make sure I’m the right person for the job.”

  Garth flicked an unreadable glance at Rilla, but she could only stare back. It felt like a bad dream. She pinched herself, trying to wake up in a reality where her father hadn’t just died, and a stranger wasn’t trying to steal her birthright.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rilla paced the narrow aisle in her caravan, clenching and unclenching her hands. “How can someone I’ve never heard of have a claim? It doesn’t make sense,” she said.

  Christoph was sitting with his large muscled frame squashed into the small table and chairs at the top end. He lifted his head from his hands. “I’d never have thought…” He cleared his throat. “Abba… your father would never have expected him to come back. Not that he… It was just so long ago.” He looked at her with sad eyes that didn’t explain a thing.

  “What was so long ago? What is this all about?” Rilla felt like she was bashing her head against a brick wall. She still didn’t understand what was happening, and Blago had made his claim a good few hours ago now.

  He glanced up again, shaking his head. “Blago was your father’s best friend growing up. He was in the show crew, probably would have been Showmaster instead of me if he’d stayed. But he was thrown out, thirty years plus three.”