premonitions

My feet rested against the dashboard of the Winnebago as we lumbered down the road, the second vehicle in a small caravan of beat-up trailers and motorhomes.

The sun hadn't completely risen yet, but it was light enough that I could see outside. Not that there was much to see. The bridge stretched on for miles across Lake Tristeaux, and I could see nothing but the water around us, looking gray in the early morning light.

The AC had gone out sometime in Texas, and we wouldn't have the money to fix it until after this stint in Caudry, if we were lucky. I'd cracked the window, and despite the chill, the air felt thick with humidity. That's why I never liked traveling to the southeastern part of the country — too humid and too many bugs.

But we took the work that we got, and after a long dry spell waiting in Oklahoma for something to come up, I was grateful for this. We all were. If we hadn't gotten the recommendation to Caudry, I'm not sure what we would've done, but we were spending our last dimes and nickels just to make it down here.

I stared ahead at Gideon's motorhome in front of us. The whole thing had been painted black with brightly colored designs swirling around it, meant to invoke images of mystery and magic. The name "Gideon Davorin's Traveling Sideshow" was painted across the back and both the sides. Once sparkles had outlined it, but they'd long since worn off.

My eyelids began to feel heavy, but I tried to ward off sleep. The radio in the car was playing old Pink Floyd songs that my mom hummed along to, and that wasn't helping anything.

"You can go lay down in the back," Mom suggested.

She did look awake, her dark gray eyes wide and a little frantic, and both her hands gripped the wheel. Rings made of painted gold and cheap stones adorned her fingers, glinting as the sun began to rise over the lake, and black vine tattoos wrapped around her hands and down her arms.

For a while, people had mistaken us for sisters since we looked so much alike. The rich caramel skin we both shared helped keep her looking young, but the strain of recent years had begun to wear on her, causing crow's-feet to sprout around her eyes and worried creases to deepen in her brow.

I'd been slouching low in the seat but I sat up straighter. "No, I'm okay."

"We're almost there. I'll be fine," she insisted.

"You say we're almost there, but it feels like we're driving across the Gulf of Mexico," I said, and she laughed. "We've probably reached the Atlantic by now."

She'd been driving the night shift, which was why I was hesitant to leave her. We normally would've switched spots about an hour or two ago, with me driving while she lay down. But since we were so close to our destination, she didn't see the point in it.

On the worn padded bench beside the dining table, Blossom Mandelbaum snored loudly, as if to remind us we both should be sleeping. I glanced back at her. Her head lay at a weird angle, propped up on a cushion, and her brown curls fell around her face.

Ordinarily, Blossom would be in the Airstream she shared with Carrie Lu, but since Carrie and the Strongman had started dating (and he had begun staying over in their trailer), Blossom had taken to crashing in our trailer sometimes to give them privacy.

It wasn't much of a bother when she slept here, and in fact, my mom kind of liked it. As one of the oldest members of the carnival — both in age and in the length of time she'd been working here — my mom had become a surrogate mother to many of the runaways and lost souls that found us.

Blossom was two years younger than me, on the run from a group home that didn't understand her or what she could do, and my mom had been more than happy to take her under her wing. The only downside was her snoring.

Well, that and the telekinesis.

"Mara," Mom said, her eyes on the rearview mirror. "She's doing it again."

"What?" I asked, but I'd already turned around to look back over the seat.

At first I didn't know what had caught my mom's eye, but then I saw it — the old toaster we'd left out on the counter was now floating in the air, hovering precariously above Blossom's head.

The ability to move things with her mind served Blossom well when she worked as the Magician's Assistant in Gideon's act, but it could be real problematic sometimes. She had this awful habit of unintentionally pulling things toward her when she was dreaming. At least a dozen times, she'd woken up to books and tapes dropping on her. Once my mom's favorite coffee mug had smacked her right in the head.

"Got it," I told my mom, and I unbuckled my seat belt and went over to get it.

The toaster floated in front of me, as if suspended by a string, and when I grabbed it, Blossom made a snorting sound and shifted in her sleep. I turned around with the toaster under my arm, and I looked in front of us just in time to see Gideon's trailer skid to the side of the road and nearly smash into the guardrail.

"Mom! Look out!" I shouted.

Mom slammed on the brakes, causing most of our possessions in the trailer to go hurtling to the floor, and I slammed into the seat in front of me before also falling to the floor. The toaster slipped from my grasp and clattered into the dashboard.

Fortunately, there was no oncoming traffic, but I could hear the sound of squealing tires and honking behind us as the rest of the caravan came to an abrupt stop.

"What happened?" Blossom asked, waking up in a daze from where she'd landed beneath the dining table.

"Mara!" Mom had already leapt from her seat and crouched in front of where I still lay on the worn carpet. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I assured her.

"What about you?" Mom reached out, brushing back Blossom's frizzy curls from her face. "Are you all right?"

Blossom nodded. "I think so."

"Good." That was all the reassurance my mom needed, and then she was on her feet and jumping out of the Winnebago. "Gideon!"

"What happened?" Blossom asked again, blinking the sleep out of her dark brown eyes.

"I...