Cirque Periculum

Chapter 19

           

Connor sat on the grass, staring at the grave with his skeleton key in hand. The woman had said something about coming back to the inn if he needed anything, but he had barely heard. His heart wouldn't stop racing.

For years, Connor was told his parents were dead. He was twelve years old when he heard it for the first time. They went on business trips often, so Connor didn't think anything of it when they went out of town again. His mother hugged him and kissed him on the cheek like she always did. His father ruffled his hair and said they would be back soon. They asked if he still had his key, and Connor pulled it out of his pocket with a big smile.

"Keep it close," his mother said, a serious look on her face, "and you'll keep us close too." She smiled at him then and gave him another tight hug. Her eyes were wet. Connor looked up at his dad, who gave him a wink and a grin. They were supposed to be back in five days. Eight days later, his aunt, the one babysitting him, came into his room crying. She didn't know what happened. His parents were dead. Gone. He was alone.

Connor fingered his key, reading the gravestone over and over again. Tears welled in his eyes now, threatening to escape.

His aunt became his only family, and she reluctantly took him in. Connor would ask her almost every night if his parents would come back soon, and every night his aunt's response was different. When she was sober, she would pat his shoulder and tell him that maybe they were out there somewhere, or that they were watching over him from heaven. Her responses when she wasn't sober were not as comforting. They would send him to bed in tears, often with a new bruise or two. It didn't take him long to stop asking, and not much longer to escape.

He was crying now. No matter where he went, or what happened in his life, he would hold onto the hope that they were still out there. That he'd find them, somewhere. Cirque Periculum had, in a roundabout way, helped him reach his goal. He knew exactly where his parents were, and it filled him with dread.

"They're dead, you filthy maggot!" Connor's aunt yelled at the trembling boy, swaying and stinking of alcohol. "It was bound to happen. They were going to die soon anyways. They stuck their noses in places they shouldn't have. You're a mutt! Your parents were morons." She cuffed his ear, sending his head spinning. "You're a moron too if you don't get out of my sight! I don't want you here! I don't- I don't want you here."

"You will never amount to anything," Mr. Salem sneered. "Saige was wrong. You're nothing special. You're nothing."

"This might be my only chance to make something of myself," Adam said, looking at Connor with excited eyes, completely opposite from the glazed-over Adam that he left.

Adam was probably dead. His parents were definitely dead. What did Connor have left?

He wiped his eyes and stared at his key again. So many questions, not nearly enough answers.

He looked around himself. Jim had said the bus wouldn't come for another few hours, but Connor didn't really want to go back into town. His gaze fell back upon the gravestone. It would have been a beautiful stone if it hadn't had the names that it had engraved on it. An engraved dove flew frozen above his parents' names, and in it's beak was a long branch that stretched around and became the border of the engraving.

The dove's eye caught Connor's. He leaned closer. Almost too small and faint to see, Connor saw a symbol drawn on the eye. It was a rune.

Connor touched the rune, and it started to glow. The bird twitched, its beak moving and wings ruffling. To his amazement, the bird spread its wings and lurched forward. Where the bird's head was sat a keyhole.

Was one of them a rune mage? Were they a part of this?

Cautiously, Connor inserted his key and turned. The bird flapped and continued its flight around the border of the headstone. It stopped with a click when it reached the bottom, sitting upside-down. The entire gravestone trembled as the border began to unwind itself from the rest of the stone. The face of the stone slid into the ground, revealing a small crevice. Inside was a rolled-up paper tied with a bright blue ribbon. Connor picked it up and pulled the ribbon, unrolling the paper. Familiar, looping handwriting covered the page. It was his mother's handwriting.

My Dearest Son,

Connor, I can't tell you how proud I am of you. From your birth, I knew that you were special, and that you'd one day grow up to be an amazing young man. Your father and I could never have asked for a better son.

If you're reading this, I must assume that you've discovered the magician's realm. I can only imagine what wonderful magic you possess. That being said, I also must assume that you know at least a portion of the key we gave you.

Your father and I have given everything we love in order to keep the Alchemist's Mirror from falling into the wrong hands. I'm afraid that we also had to sacrifice you. My heart still aches when I think of you.

I ask you to be strong. You must continue our legacy and protect the mirror with your life. If it ends up in the wrong hands, it will mean the end of the world as we know it. Be brave Connor. We're with you. We love you.

Mom

Connor's mind raced as his eyes flitted over the page again and again and again. How did his mom know he would find this? Why assume he'd get dragged into the magician's realm in the first place? Did they die protecting the Alchemist's Mirror? Who put the note in the gravestone if his parents truly died? Did they both really die, or was his mom still alive, somewhere? Did she place the note in the headstone? Was she a rune mage? If she really was alive, where was she now?

It was all too much. Ripped away only moments before, now hope started ebbing back into his heart. Were they alive?

Yet it didn't matter in his mind. His mother's charge exploded in his head. Protect the mirror with your life. If it ends up in the wrong hands, it will mean the end of the world as we know it.

His mom had never been the melodramatic type, so it was not a warning that he took lightly. He didn't know if he could trust either Summertin, which was all the more reason to stop the both of them, whatever it took.

The bus pulled up in front of the cemetery just then. He'd take it until dark, then fly the rest of the way and hopefully jump straight on a train to California.

Connor would stop the race to the Alchemist'sMirror, no matter the cost.