Through the Looking Glass (14 page)

"A bout of insomnia."
She shrugged. "It happens. We should exercise the animals today, they're getting fat."

"Another fact.
Start after breakfast?"

Maggie nodded. "I'll do the cats if you'll handle the rest."

"Right.
The horses have grazed down a nice clearing for the big cage; I’ll set it up for you."

"Thanks, Farley." She watched him carry the bag of feed toward the monkeys' cage, then got a small bag of seed and went to feed the birds. She had just finished and was vacantly watching them
settle
down to eat when Gideon's quiet voice came from behind her.

"Good morning."

She turned to look at him, a bit surprised to realize he'd been up for some time. He had obviously showered and shaved; his hair was still damp. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, the casual clothes making him look rougher, maybe even a little dangerous. And there was something in his eyes, a dark, inward-turned look she'd never seen before.

"Good morning." She was glad her voice was calm; she certainly didn't feel that way. She wanted to hide away somewhere, to catch her breath and find a way to cope with the emotions. And she didn't want him to touch her. If he touched her, she'd never be able to do
it,
she was barely in control now.

Gideon's faithful shadow was at his heels, and she latched onto the distraction gratefully. "Good morning, Leo."

"Wooo," Leo returned politely.

"He slept outside my tent," Gideon said, his voice holding a lightness that seemed a bit
forced
. "And he dreamed. I didn't know cats dreamed. He must have been chasing rabbits."

Leo chattered briefly but emphatically, tilting his head to stare up at his idol.

"Rats, then," Gideon said, abstracted now.

Maggie blinked.
Odd.
She had mentally decided that Leo had said just that. Not that one could be sure of a cat's meaning, but it had felt right to her. Gideon didn't seem to be aware that he had translated Leo's forceful correction about the rats.

"Are you all right?" he asked abruptly.

The question startled her. "I'm fine. Ready for breakfast, though," she added. "Tina should have it prepared by now. Let me put this seed back in the wagon." She went immediately to do that, wondering if she was going to be able to get through this without doing something stupid.

Gideon joined her silently, and by tacit consent they ate their breakfasts out in the open near Tina's wagon rather than in Maggie's.

That set the tone for the entire day. Maggie kept herself busy, distracting her mind as much as possible; Gideon remained near for the most part, watching her.
Always watching her.
She felt his steady gaze and was surprised to realize she had absolutely no idea what he was thinking or feeling—or even what he expected of her. It might have been the strength of her own emotions blinding her, she decided; whatever the reason, her knack of sensing had apparently deserted her.

It was unnerving.

Gideon talked to most of the carnies that day, but hardly at all to Maggie. Whenever he got near her, she always seemed to be just starting some new task designed to occupy her attention fully. It began with the cats—the lions, tiger, and cheetah— all of which were exercised one at a time in a big cage some little distance from the encampment.

The cats were walked on leashes from their own cages to the exercise enclosure, allowed a few minutes to prowl and get the kinks out of their legs, and then Maggie went in with each to put it through a few simple tricks.

Gideon didn't like it. He thought Farley should have been doing this, but the kilted redhead was exercising the horses; apparently, some division of labor had been decided upon. Granted, Maggie was good with the cats, Gideon could see that.

And they obeyed her with no snarls or threatening looks.

Wearing a toga as usual, Oswald strolled up to Gideon. The soon-to-be-profane parrot was on his shoulder. He paused long enough to ask, "Worried about her?" And as always, his voice was a bark, but pitched low enough not to disturb the tiger going lazily through his paces a few feet away.

Gideon kept his gaze on Maggie and held his own voice low. "What do you think?" he snapped.

"Touchy, touchy.
Can't you see it? They'd never turn on her. She's too like them."

"What?" This time, Gideon spared a glance at the aristocratic ex-professor and caught a glimmer of the cool wisdom Maggie had credited him with in the old man's eyes.

"Instinct, man, instinct.
It's how they react, just like her. She feels with them, and they know it. I've often thought Maggie stands in no danger from most living creatures." He snorted suddenly. "But you'll go on worrying, I know. I'm told love does that to a man." He strode off briskly, as if he had somewhere important to go.

Gideon looked after him for a moment,
then
returned his attention to the cage. He didn't really think, or breathe
easily,
until Maggie had led the huge tiger back to his own cage and put him inside it. Rajah was the last of the cats, and when Sarah, talking a mile a minute, hurried up to Maggie and led her away, Gideon didn't follow them.

Instead, he wandered back toward Maggie's wagon, brooding. Oswald seemed to understand her, he realized, and Tina as well. How many others? Had her quarry recognized the threat of her? Did he, too, understand that Maggie fit here only because she wanted to? Because, if so...

Of course he was worried, Gideon thought. How in hell could he not be worried? Lions and tigers, and a faceless murderer who'd killed at least once to protect
himself
.

Love.
Oswald had said that love did this to a man, made him worry.

Awake all night, listening to Leo thrash about and mewl as he dreamed, Gideon had tried to get everything straight. Except that nothing got straight; it was all curves and angles. And this morning, when he'd seen Maggie—wearing faded jeans and a man's shirt, with her hair in a ponytail so that she looked about sixteen—something peculiar had happened to him. She'd seemed terrifyingly fragile, a little pale, her eyes wide and dark, and something lurched inside him with a force that was dizzying.

She wasn't reflecting, he'd realized. Like a curtain drawn over a sunny window, the light was cut off. He had watched her, seeing that she behaved as always with the carnies, her mood and attitude suited to theirs or their needs. It was only with him that she drew into herself. He knew it wasn't a new mood of hers, another color of the chameleon, or even his own inner struggles being mirrored back by her.

This was something else. And because of the change, he realized he was changing as well. Presented, not with a bright and multifaceted surface his mind had to puzzle but with a quiet, still surface that thought would never probe, his senses had reached out of their own volition. He stopped thinking about her because he was feeling about her.

He found himself at Maggie's wagon and sat down on the top step. "Hell of a thing to be doing at my age," he murmured to his faithful companion.

Leo put his paws on a step and rested his chin on Gideon's knee. "Wooo," he murmured in return.

Gideon scratched behind one ridiculous funnel-shaped ear. "She's gone dark, cat. She said she loved me—and then just closed a door somewhere. How do I get it open again?"

Leo lifted his head and chattered insistently and at considerable length.

Gideon was still a rational man, despite the strong new connection with his emotions. For the most part he believed in rational things. There was still a very large part of his logical mind that firmly maintained a human could not understand what a cat was saying even if a cat was saying anything sensible in the first place.

Which was highly debatable.

So, when during Leo's earnest monologue he realized what he had to do, he told himself it was simply a decision whose time had come.
Inspiration, perhaps, or merely the new connections with his emotions.
It had nothing to do with feline wisdom, of course. But when the cat went silent and looked at him expectantly, he patted him on the head nonetheless.

"
Thanks,
pal."

There was no harm, he thought, in leaving room for possibilities.

He waited throughout what became a very long day, watching Maggie, occasionally talking to her about casual things he thought neither of them paid attention to. She kept herself busy, helping

Sarah with a new clown costume for Lamont, spending a couple of hours with the three little boys working on their reading skills, mending a broken teapot that had Malcolm almost in tears.

And Gideon saw her relief when, after searching Jasper's wagon thoroughly, she and Lamont found a scribbled note underneath his pillow saying that he was going to visit family and would catch up with them later.

"It's his handwriting," she told Gideon quietly in passing. "I don't know, but at least it'll calm everyone down."

Gideon wasn't sure about the convenient note either, but knew there was nothing they could do except
appear
to accept it.
At least for the time being.

He waited. He watched Maggie as she sat on the steps of her wagon brushing her long, pale hair dry after her shower that evening. He wanted to go to her, take the brush and do that for her.
For him.
But there were people around.

Always people around.

It was midnight when he crawled out of his tent to find Leo sitting up, funnel ears perked with interest. The camp was quiet, only the night sounds ruffling the silence. Moonlight spilled brightly, and he saw no sign of movement anywhere.

"Wooo?"
Leo murmured.

"On the sleeping bag—not in it," Gideon responded absently, his attention fixed on Maggie's wagon. He held the opening until Leo scurried inside, then let it fall and went to the wagon. He knocked softly on the door.

"Maggie?"

There was silence.

"Maggie, I know you're not asleep."

After a moment there were quiet sounds, and a sliver of light appeared at the bottom of the door.

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright-

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

Gideon came into the wagon, closing the door behind him. The lamp by Maggie's bed was turned down low, but the room was so small that there seemed to be plenty of light. She was sitting up in bed, still under the covers, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped loosely around them. He thought she was wearing just a T-shirt, probably oversize, which explained why she hadn't gotten up.

"It's late," she said.

He crossed the narrow space to the bed and sat down on the edge, looking at her steadily. "I hope it isn't too late. Do you love me, Maggie?"

Her lashes fluttered slightly, as if she would have looked away but couldn't somehow. "Yes."

"I don't believe you," he said softly.

Maggie had endured quite a lot, one way and another, but that simple statement did more to undermine her control than anything yet. She was in love and trying to be quiet about it, to keep herself from overwhelming Gideon with the sheer raw force of her emotions. And here he was with his shuttered eyes and stony expression, calling her a liar.

She couldn't deflect this, couldn't turn away from it and take the time to be calm. He wouldn't let her, and the pressure was building like something alive inside her.

Touch me... no, don't. Leave. But if you go, will you come back? I don't know what you want.... Is this what crazy really is? I don't like it much, at least not holding it inside. It hurts so inside. Don't make me let it out, it'll be worse when it's out, I couldn't bear it if I let it out and you didn't want it....

"I can't help what you believe," she said shakily.

"Can't you?" His voice remained level. "I want to see it, Maggie. All you've done is say the words. Do you know what I think? I think the words are all you have. You're very good at reflecting emotion, I have to give you credit. Just like a mirror. And I’ll admit I was fascinated. The kid in me, I suppose; every child is intrigued by mirrors. The wonder of imagining what might lie beyond the bright, reflective surface."

"Stop," she said.

He ignored her whisper. "I've grown up, Maggie. I know what the back side of a mirror looks like. It's dark and dull. No mystery. And a man doesn't want a reflection, in his life and in his bed. He wants a warm, loving woman, not the cold mirror image of one."

Nobody said it would hurt like this. Don't say anymore. Can't you see it? It isn't cold at all, it's hot... and it's truth... why won't you believe me? Why are you hurting me this way?
Don't... please, don't...

"That's a neat trick of yours, sweetheart. The perfect woman—as long as a man doesn't reach too deep. Smiles when I want them. Anger when I feel like fighting.
Passion on demand."
His voice had taken on a cutting note.

"This isn't you," she murmured, hurt and puzzlement obscuring her thoughts as the pressure of emotions built steadily. "I don't understand why you're saying these things."

Gideon didn't know how long he could keep it up. Her eyes were so wide and dark they seemed bottomless, unlit, the door still closed. Dammit, what would it take? Grimly, he held on to his scornful tone.

"Why? I just wanted you to know that I understand now. It's all been a game, hasn't it?
All the pretty reflections blinding me.
You were the bait, weren't you, Maggie?
The bait to keep Wonderland in business."
He hoped desperately that he was right, that he'd found the key, because otherwise she'd never forgive him for making that accusation a second time.

Bait?
Oh, no... Mirrors... I wish I hated you.