Miss Mayhem

by Rachel Hawkins

  There was a little bit of weirdness when Ryan came to pick us up, since I had no idea where to sit. Once upon a time, I would have sat with him in the front, but now that felt too couple-y. Especially since we were both technically uncoupled now. So I surrendered the front seat to Bee, sitting in the back and trying to pretend that this wasn’t all super awkward.

  Once we were parked, I followed Ryan and Bee from the “parking lot”—another field with a few orange cones and pieces of twine marking off spaces—and wrinkled my nose at the smell of horses and hay.

  “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” I said to Bee.

  She was walking a little bit ahead of me, and she smiled as she turned to look at me, flipping a handful of hair off her shoulders. “Because it’s fun,” she insisted, hanging back to loop an arm through mine.

  April in Alabama is usually pretty close to full-blown summer. Hot, humid, all of that. But it was nice now with the sun going down, the breeze cool enough to make me glad I’d grabbed a light cardigan before I’d left. In front of us, the fair sparkled with brightly colored lights, the sound of music and screams greeting our ears.

  Stopping outside the main gate, Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, a broad smile splitting his handsome face. “Now we’re talking,” he said happily, and I couldn’t help but smile, no matter how awkward this felt.

  In that moment, I would’ve given anything to be able to slip my hand into Ryan’s and lean against his shoulder. Not because I wanted him to be my boyfriend, but because he was good at that, being a shoulder to lean on.

  Instead, I hugged myself, walking toward the booth to pay.

  Once we were inside, the three of us kind of stood in the midway, unsure of what to do first.

  The fair was, as usual, way too crowded, and I was a little too out of sorts to deal with things like the smell of farm animals and too many people. Still, I was doing my best to pretend this was the Best Night Ever, so I smiled at Bee and looped an arm through hers.

  “What should we ride first?”

  But Bee was not that easily fooled. “It’s okay, Harper,” she said, patting the hand I had resting on her forearm. “I know you hate every second of this.”

  “I don’t!” I argued, but that lasted all of five seconds before I let my arm fall back to my side. “Okay, I do, but it’s honestly not as bad as I remembered. I mean, they banned smoking! So that’s something.”

  Laughing, Bee rolled her eyes at me. “At least you’re trying,” she acknowledged.

  At my other side, Ryan nudged my elbow, nodding toward the shooting gallery amid the carnival games that lined the center of the midway.

  “You wanna try out one of those?” he asked.

  I almost laughed and shook my head. I had never been a fan of those types of things, and honestly, how many giant stuffed animals does a girl need? But then Ryan grinned down at me and nudged me again. “Come on, I wanna see your Paladin skills in action.”

  That was right. Along with increased strength and speed, I had some seriously excellent accuracy now and, like any girl right out of a breakup, I saw the appeal of making things explode.

  I approached the booth, going to pull five bucks out of my pocket, but Ryan waved my money away. “No, this is on me. Harper Price, shooting things? Totally worth it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I smiled anyway. “Shooting balloons with a bright yellow plastic gun,” I reminded him. “Not exactly superhero stuff.”

  He flicked his auburn hair out of his eyes. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  So for the next ten minutes or so, I shot the heck out of some balloons with a dart gun. And to be honest, it was fun. Not just the shooting things—although I have to admit that was a lot more enjoyable than I’d ever thought something like that could be—but the joking and laughing with Ryan and Bee. It felt so good not to worry about Oracles or Ephors, or if a vision was suddenly going to come out of nowhere, making me have to lie to everyone around me.

  Part of me felt guilty about that, like having fun wasn’t allowed.

  But then I reminded myself that David was the one who had broken things off, David was the one who had chosen the Paladin over the girlfriend, and if I wanted to have a good time with my best friend and my ex-boyfriend, I was more than allowed.

  After the shooting gallery, we went in search of other games that might test my and Bee’s Paladin skills. That thing where you throw balls into goldfish bowls, more dart games, even an archery booth with foam-tipped arrows—I did them all, grinning at the surprise on the barkers’ faces when I hit target after target, laughing with Bee as she struggled to hold all my stuffed prizes.

  Finally, when we’d hit pretty much everything we could, we headed away from the carnival games..

  “Can I stand next to Bee so people think I won all those for her?” Ryan asked, making us laugh.

  “No need to feel emasculated,” I reminded him as Bee handed yet another one of her prizes to a passing kid. “You did win the basketball thingie.”

  “Only because you let me,” he reminded me, and I shrugged.

  “What can I say, I’m a good friend.”

  Ryan stopped, turning to face me. The lights overhead brought out the red in his hair, and once again, I was forced to acknowledge that he was handsome. Maybe he didn’t make my stomach flutter anymore, but there was something nice about feeling this way about him now. Like I actually saw him for the person he was—loyal, stubborn, easygoing—and not the trophy he used to be for me.

  “You are a good friend, Harper,” he said. “And I kind of like being your friend.”

  “Same,” I told him, smiling.

  Over his shoulder, I caught Bee watching us with an expression I couldn’t read. Probably thinking more Parent Trap thoughts, I decided, and went over to take more of the fluffy animals from her hands.

  “Stop,” I told her in a low voice, joking, but she gave me a sort of wan smile in return, handing her last prize, a bright green stuffed frog, to a little boy in an Auburn Tigers T-shirt.

  Once we were out of prizes to hand out, we made our way to the food trucks. “Did all that winning work up a hunger for something super caloric?” Bee asked, tugging at the hem of her light pink blouse.

  Look, I’d love to tell you I was totally disgusted by the fried food on display, but A) some of those trucks were raising money for various charities and schools, and B) deep-fried Oreos were sent from heaven to prove God loves us.

  “Yes, please,” I told Bee. “Preferably something covered in powdered sugar.”

  She laughed at that again, and started tugging me toward the cotton candy machine. As we made our way down the midway, I bumped into someone, and I turned, an apology already on my lips.

  The man I’d bumped was wearing stained jeans and a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, so nothing unusual for the fair, but there was something about the way his eyes focused on mine that had the words dying on my lips.

  “Paladin,” he said with a little nod, and a jolt went through me. It wasn’t the feeling I got when David was in trouble; this was just normal fear, slithering through me, making food the last thing on my mind.

  The crowd swallowed the man, but I stood still, making Bee turn to look at me with a little frown. “Harper?”

  “Something’s wrong,” I told her. “It’s . . . I think it’s a trial.”

  Chapter 22

  BEE REACHED OUT, squeezing my hand. “I’ll come with,” she said, “whatever it is.”

  But I shook my head. “No, you heard what Alexander said. If anyone helps me, I’m disqualified.”

  Which I was pretty sure meant “dead,” even though Alexander hadn’t spelled it out that specifically.

  I could see a white circle forming around Bee’s lips as she pressed them together, but in the end, she nodded. “Okay. But is there anything I can do?”

  “Leave,” I told her immediately. “You and Ryan get out of here, and if you see anyone we know, try to get them to le
ave, too.” The last trial had involved fire, after all. There was no telling what might happen this time, and the fairgrounds were full of people. Kids.

  “Will do,” Ryan said, already taking Bee’s elbow and pulling her away. I turned from them, heading in the direction the man had gone. My heart was pounding, palms slick with sweat, and with every step I took, my knees seemed to go more watery. The colored lights that had seemed so pretty when we came in now cast weird shadows, making me jumpy as I kept pushing my way through the crowd.

  I couldn’t see the man who had called me Paladin, but I somehow knew where to go, walking down the midway before turning left, then taking a right. All the rides on this side of the fairgrounds were crowded, lines of people waiting to get on the Ferris wheel or ride something called the Galactic Centipede. But one attraction was completely deserted, almost like there was a bubble around it, making it invisible to the rest of the people here.

  The Fun House.

  Sighing, I studied the dark building with its garish green door. “Of course,” I muttered, visions of possessed carnies dressed as clowns filling my head. I didn’t have a weapon, and I’d worn low sneakers tonight, so my footwear wouldn’t be of any use.

  Glancing around, I looked for anything I could use, but the only thing I saw was a couple of corn dog sticks, batter still clinging to the ends, stamped in the dirt. Um, no, thank you.

  Then I glanced to the right, dozens of bobbing balloons catching my eye.

  Perfect.

  The guy running the balloon dart attraction was too busy flirting with a redheaded girl I vaguely recognized from the pageant sign-ups today to notice me sneak up alongside the booth and snatch a few darts from the side. Their tips weren’t all that sharp—that had to be a lawsuit in waiting—but I figured they’d do in a pinch. And when I saw a deserted spork lying on the ground, I grabbed that, too, grimacing as I wiped it off on my jeans. Desperate times clearly called for desperate measures.

  Heading back to the Fun House, I saw that it was still deserted, people walking by it like it wasn’t even there.

  Taking a deep breath, I slid the darts into my pocket, keeping the spork in my hand.

  “Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s do this.”

  The Fun House had never been one of my favorite parts of the fair. I’d only gone in it once when I was about nine. Leigh-Anne had gone with me, holding my hand the whole time, pointing out how silly we looked in the distorted mirrors, giggling about how fake the lime-green skeleton dangling from a doorway was. Afterward, she’d told me I was obviously the bravest third-grader in the state of Alabama, and we’d gone to get another cotton candy as a reward.

  I kept that memory in mind now as I slowly made my way through the deserted Fun House. It was eerily quiet, the only sound the creaking boards underneath my feet and my own breath sawing in my ears. What exactly was going to happen here? Were more brainwashed people going to jump me? Ugh, fighting off frat boys had been terrible, but fighting off carnies? Yeah, I definitely wanted to take a pass on that.

  There were a few lights scattered here and there, but it was still dim enough that I had trouble making out the room I was in. Or was it rooms? I felt like I’d gone through a doorway, but I wasn’t sure.

  I turned left, only to run into a wall, but when I turned back the way I’d come, there was a wall there, too. Disoriented, I turned again, passing through a door narrow enough to scrape my shoulders.

  I was in a bigger room now, but it was even darker, and I wiped my free hand on the seat of my pants, wishing my heart weren’t thundering in my ears.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw something move, and I whirled around, spork raised high, only to drop my arm immediately when I saw who was standing in front of me.

  My parents were wearing the same clothes I’d seen them in earlier this evening, Dad in his sweatshirt and jeans, Mom already in her pajamas. They had their arms wrapped around each other, their eyes huge and faces almost gray.

  “Harper!” my mom screamed, and I rushed forward, the spork falling from my suddenly numb fingers. Not my parents. The school had been bad enough, but if Alexander or the Ephors hurt my parents—

  I reached out, but instead of grabbing my parents, my hands hit hard, cold glass. One of the mirrors. Confused, I stumbled back, only to watch Mom and Dad vanish, my own reflection staring back at me. I looked as gray and panicked as they had, my hair coming loose from its braid, my lips parted with the force of my breathing.

  Another movement, and I spun again, this time seeing Bee across the room, still in her T-shirt and jeans. Even though I’d told her to leave, I practically sagged with relief when I saw she was there. “It’s some kind of illusion thing,” I told her. “Making me see things, and—”

  My words broke off in a shriek as something suddenly thrust through Bee’s right side. I saw the glint of light on metal, the circle of red that began to spread across her shirt, her mouth open in a silent scream.

  “Bee!” I practically threw myself across the room, only to come up hard against another mirror. Now Bee was gone, and I could only see myself again.

  Panting, I turned in a circle, looking all around me. Earlier it had seemed like there were two mirrors, but now it was like the entire room was lined in them, reflecting dozens of me, all terrified, all confused. And then I wasn’t in the glass anymore. It was my parents again, crying out for me even though I couldn’t hear them. It was Bee, a sword through her back; Ryan, lying in a pool of blood like Saylor at Magnolia House; my aunts, their eyes blank, their minds not their own. Even Leigh-Anne was there, dressed the same as she was that night we’d gone through the Fun House all those years ago. She was pale, but smiling like she always had been, and for some reason, that hurt the most.

  Swirling pictures of people I loved, scared or hurt or dead, appeared over and over again until I wanted to put my hands over my eyes and curl up on the floor. I’d been prepared to fight someone, but this? This was more than anyone could handle, superpowers or not. The room seemed to have gotten colder, so cold I was shaking, and I felt like my mind was going to snap.

  A glow filled the room, coming from somewhere at the end of the corridor, and when I made myself open my eyes, I saw that there was one more horrible vision for me to take in.

  David floated a few feet ahead of me, but I knew it wasn’t actually David. It was another illusion. But it didn’t feel fake. It felt entirely too real, watching him as he looked down at me, his face blank, his eyes nothing but glowing orbs.

  Then suddenly I stood in front of me. I wasn’t dressed like I was tonight—jeans, T-shirt, cardigan—but in a dress. A white one that looked like my Cotillion dress, but couldn’t be, since I’d burned that thing. It had still had splashes of blood on it, and every time I’d looked at it, I’d remembered what happened to Saylor, how although I’d saved David that night, I’d lost so much else.

  The me in the mirror was standing right behind David, and she was crying. Of course, the me not in the mirror was crying now, too, because I’d seen what was in the other me’s hand.

  A knife.

  Not any knife, but a dagger, the blade shiny and bright, the hilt intricately carved. Somehow I knew that this was a ceremonial dagger, something special.

  Something only used on one occasion.

  I watched golden light spill from David’s fingertips, his eyes, his mouth. I watched the me in the mirror step closer to him, one hand going to his hair, the hair that he always tugged and pulled when he was nervous.

  The Harper in the mirror was tugging his hair now, too, but only to pull his head back.

  The blade caught the light, almost sparkling and looking strangely beautiful.

  It came to rest under David’s chin, and I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling a jolt as the other Harper’s gaze met mine. Her eyes were bloodshot and wet, but her expression was firm as she watched me.

  “Choose,” she said and, with one quick jerk of her arm, drew the dagger across David’s
throat.

  Chapter 23

  JUST LIKE that first night, the door to Alexander’s house swung open the second I was on the porch, and I walked right in, making my way down the hall and toward his office.

  Alexander sat behind his desk, a steaming cup at his elbow, a huge book spread out in front of him. Music was playing in the background, something soft and vaguely sad on piano that I thought might be Chopin. Even though it was past eight o’clock, and he was the only one here, Alexander was wearing another one of those beautiful gray suits, his tie cinched in a tight Windsor knot at his throat.

  He glanced up when I came in but didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me. “Ah, Miss Price.” Gesturing to the teapot at the edge of his desk, he raised his golden eyebrows. “I’m assuming the latest stage of the Peirasmos went well, then. Tea?”

  “He’ll die, won’t he?” I asked, and Alexander blinked once. Twice. Then, sitting back in his chair, he laced his fingers over his chest. The ring he wore on his pinky glimmered in the lamplight.

  “Everyone dies, Miss Price,” he said mildly. “I know American schools are said to be woefully lacking, but it seems this is a fact you would have learned at some point in your educational career.”

  I was seriously not in the mood for this tonight, so I folded my arms and glared at him.

  Finally, with a sigh, Alexander sat back up, the chair creaking slightly. “It’s true that Oracles seem to have a short shelf life.”

  “I don’t mean it like that,” I said, coming to sit in the chair across from the desk. The music switched to something full of violins, the sound scratching over my frazzled nerves. “I mean that if he fully does the Oracle thing, he won’t be David anymore. The Oracle part of him might keep going forever, but the David part, the part I . . . care about. Know. That part will be gone, won’t it?”

  Alexander lifted his hands in an elegant shrug. “That is part of it, I’m afraid.”

  I shook my head. David might not have been my boyfriend anymore, but that didn’t mean that I was willing to let him get all super magicked up and then forget about him. All I could think of was David in fifth grade, his hair a lot blonder, but his scowl just as fierce when I’d beaten him in the spelling bee. David, one corner of his mouth lifting as he’d called me “Pres.” David, sitting too close to his laptop and leaning over it in a way that made my neck ache in sympathy as he worked on the school paper.