The Night Circus

every turn he took through the twisting striped pathways led to more tents, more signs, more mysteries.

He had expected it to be a show. Something to sit in a chair and watch. He realized quickly how wrong he was. It was something to be explored.

“Bailey,” his mother says, managing to turn his name into a disappointment-laced admonishment.

Isobel hesitates, glancing around at the clientele, a mostly bohemian crowd sipping absinthe and arguing about art.

They are set within circular paths, contained within a circular fence. Looping and continuous.

But the competition is clear, so much so that everything else is tied to it, past and future.

First a C is distinguishable, followed by more letters. A q, oddly, and several e’s. When the final bulb pops alight, and the smoke and sparks dissipate, it is finally legible, this elaborate incandescent sign.

If the magic is still there in the daytime, he cannot feel it.

Chandresh’s guests remain there until just before dawn, and when they do finally depart there are three times the number of diagrams and plans and notes than there had been when they arrived, strewn and pinned around the study like maps to an unknown treasure.