By Emily Grant

When Becky falls off the tightrope after her daily dose of Balancing Brew, I know something’s wrong with my elixirs.

Fortunately, it’s just practice, and Becky lands safely in the net. But if that had been the actual show? I shudder.

“Charlotte!” Val, the ringleader, runs to me after checking on Becky. “What happened? Balancing Brew never fails! None of your elixirs do!”

I shake my head helplessly. “I… I don’t know. The Contortion Cocktail seemed a bit weak this morning, too, but I just thought Neal forgot to stretch again.”

Someone taps my shoulder. “Hey, Charlotte, I hate to be that guy…”

I turn to see Neal, the contortionist, and gasp.

“Ever since I took that elixir today, I don’t feel so good.” His lip curls as though he might vomit, but that’s the least of my worries.

“Neal, how long have you been purple?!”

“Purple?” Neal’s eyes widen, and he holds out his hands and yelps. His skin has turned a vibrant purple, but it hasn’t quite reached his fingertips. “Am I gonna die?”

“No, you just drank cross-contaminated elixirs. When different elixirs are mixed, they lose their effectiveness and turn you purple.” Knowledge from my elixir courses floods back, reminding me we don’t have much time.

“Cross-contaminated?” Val exclaims. “How?”

I wrack my brain for an explanation, then snap my fingers. “Iris!”

“The parrot?” Val blinks.

“Iris has been trying to mess with my elixirs for weeks now. He was in my tent watching me make them one morning, and he kept trying to pour Dragonbreath Draught in the Balancing Brew. I said, ‘Stop, Iris! Are you trying to turn the whole circus purple?’ And ever since, he’s been trying to sneak into my tent and sabotage the elixirs.”

Understanding dawns on Val’s face as his gaze travels across the big top to where our Violet Vanishing Parrot is with his trainer, practicing his disappearing act. “Of course he wants to turn everybody purple! He says ‘Purple is prettiest! Purple is prime!’ at least fifty times a day.” He rubs his temple as though just the thought gives him a headache.

“He was sneaking in and out of my tent all morning. He must’ve made himself invisible and mixed the elixirs when I wasn’t looking.” I groan. “I can’t believe I was so careless.”

“But Becky’s not purple,” Val says.

“Not yet, but she and everyone else who’s had an elixir today will be very soon. The effects spread fast once they start.” I whistle, sharp and shrill. “Hey, Iris, get over here!”

The parrot pivots toward me, clearly happy to take a break from training. He disappears in a puff of purple feathers mid-flight and reappears on Val’s shoulder a few moments later. “Awk! Hello, Charlotte! Awk!”

“Don’t play nice with me, birdy. I know what you did.” I wag my finger at Iris, and he hides his face behind his wing feathers. “Neal was the first one to take his elixir this morning, and he’s about half purple, so we have maybe thirty minutes before he’s stuck looking like a grape forever. I need you to fly to the magic drugstore immediately and buy charcoal, turmeric, and unicorn tears. Here.” I shove some money into his beak. “Now, hurry, and meet me back in my tent!”
Iris takes off, giving an inhibited screech that I interpret as displeasure that his purplification plot was intercepted. A muffled “Purple is prettiest! Purple is prime!” fades into the distance.

I grab Val’s bullhorn and march to the middle of the ring. “Everybody, listen up! If you’ve taken an elixir today, follow me immediately, even if you’re not experiencing symptoms. You’re in danger of being purple permanently.”

Everyone murmurs in alarm behind me as I rush outside to my workshop tent and start up the Bunsen burner. Iris arrives with a squawk five minutes later, dropping a small paper bag on my worktable.

“Back already? Oh, yes, you sneaked some Superspeed Syrup this morning, didn’t you?” I dump the whole vial of unicorn tears in a beaker, toss in some turmeric, and let it start heating while I crush the charcoal into powder. When I add that, the mixture almost immediately tints lavender, which means the healing magic has activated.

A crowd of performers has gathered outside, many of them sporting various phases of purple skin. “Neal goes first!” I pull him inside and tip a spoonful of the antidote into his mouth. A few seconds after he swallows, his face relaxes.

“Oh, I feel much better already. Thanks, Charlotte.”

“I’m glad.” I don’t tell him his color hasn’t changed. “Now, remember, you don’t have the help of an elixir tonight, but you can still perform! Go finish your stretches and prepare to put on a plum good show!” I usher the next person in and give each one a dose of the antidote in turn. Finally, everyone has been treated, some of them before the purple has even appeared.

When the last one leaves, Val rushes into the tent. “Charlotte.” He casts a worried glance backward. “They’re still purple.”

 “Well…” I smile sheepishly. “The effects have been stopped in time and the nausea cured, but unfortunately it’ll take twelve hours for their coloring to go back to normal.”

He groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Charlotte, they have to put on a show tonight!”

“They still can. Their performances just won’t be magically enhanced.” I smirk at the visual in my mind. “But I don’t think the audience will notice. After all, what’s more entertaining than circus performers?”

He raises an eyebrow.

I giggle. “Purple circus performers!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Grant doesn’t remember the first time she wrote a story, but she’s never looked back. She gets way too passionate about fictional characters and fantasizes about her dystopian WIP making people cry one day. Emily loves coffee, rainy days, Disney musicals, and her dog, and while she currently resides in Missouri, her dream is to be a hobbit and live in the Shire.

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