The Nightingale Circus by Ioana Visan Page A

club—okay, a sex
club, but still a respectable one—not a circus. Risking injury to
herself was not supposed to be part of the act. There would be
repercussions for sure, even though Riella never fell. He pointed
somewhere in front and quickly back, signaling her to get off the
stage.
    Riella turned to look ahead, and her foot
slipped. Pain shot through her ankle. Damn. She’d been fine
for almost a week and hoped the injury left by her nightly activity
had healed. No such luck. But the ankle bothered her less than the
sight of the wire thin man advancing between the tables. Despite
him not granting her a second glance, a block of ice settled inside
Riella’s stomach.
    His reputation as one of Tena's clients
preceded him. He paid well but left the girls unable to dance for
several days after each session. Riella could do without the money,
but she needed the job. If she refused to join the brute in the
back room, the boss would most likely fire her. She bit her lip.
There was no escape.
    Faking a big smile, she did a twirl, blew out
a couple of kisses, and left the platform, trying not to limp. She
failed.
     
    * * *
     
    “Damn these riots,” Spinner said and downed
his drink. It was his fifth. Or sixth? He couldn’t remember.
    “We should have returned through the north,”
Rake said with a shrug.
    “Right!” Spinner bounced in his seat. “Did
you notice only the poor countries are big on peace demonstrations
lately? We would have been safe two countries higher up the
map.”
    “Eh, north, south, same shit all over.”
Nicholas ran his fingers through his dark hair. “All roads lead to
Rome.”
    Spinner grinned. Watching the magician
getting tipsy was probably the highlight of his week. Nicholas
didn’t drink, so things had to be bad. “Who rained on your
parade?”
    “Parade? Yes, there will probably be a
parade.” Nicholas bobbed his head thoughtfully. “You see, my
brother is getting married, and I can’t go to the wedding … because
I’ve got creditors chasing after me.” He made a bleak face and
waved at the waitress for a refill.
    The creditor story was a cover designed to
fool the outside world, but everyone at the circus knew he was
running away from the draft committee. At least he wasn’t drunk
enough to mix his stories yet. Spinner sympathized with him. As a
telecharger on the run, Nicholas could never go home, not until the
war ended. If he had had a family, Spinner would have missed it
too.
    He patted Nicholas on the back and ordered
another round. Oblivion always helped.
    “I mean I don’t mind a night off,” he said as
if the rest of the conversation never happened, “but they can
barely pay when we do work. We had to cut the ticket prices by half
lately.”
    “Tell me about it.” Nicholas pulled on the
collar of his jacket. “My clothes are threadbare. I used to wear
silk.”
    Rake scratched, distracted, at a scar on his
left hand. His eyes kept darting to the curtain where the redhead
had disappeared.
    “At least there’s still something to eat,
eh?” Spinner elbowed Serioja , who hadn’t
said a word.
    The tall aerialist started from his stupor as
he mournfully watched the blonde with generous curves dancing on
the platform in front of them.
    “She’s late,” he said.
    “Who’s late?” Spinner asked.
    “The dancer,” Serioja said with a straight
face, but he wasn’t looking at the one spreading her legs on the
platform.
    “Eh, she’s probably busy doing private dances
backstage,” Spinner said.
    “No, he’s right,” Rake said. “It shouldn’t
take this long. This place doesn’t rent girls for the night.”
    “And you know this because…?” Spinner
narrowed his eyes at him.
    “You want to check the prices?” Nicholas
pulled a pamphlet out of his breast pocket and handed it over.
Confronted with their raised eyebrows, he smiled sheepishly. “A
waiter slipped it to me when I walked in. He must have thought I
could afford it.”
    Spinner turned the