by Erin Johnson
She straightened and grinned at me. “Thatta girl.” She pointed at Iggy. “This wee one is precious to my heart—you take good care a him, you hear?”
I nodded.
She shook her head. “But don’t let him get away with nothin’—he’s a tricky little bugger.”
I laughed while Iggy exclaimed, “Hey!”
Nan glanced down at the grave at her feet. “Aw! Yeh brought me favorites—ya didn’t forget.”
“Course not.”
Nan picked up the packet of candy cigarettes and popped a few in her mouth. She exhaled, sending puffs of smoke out the ends. She held the little white tubes between two fingers and pulled them out of her lips as if she’d taken a drag.
“Ah. That hits the spot.” She winked at Iggy. “You know, now that I’m a ghost, I think I can finally give yeh a hug, yeh little bugger.” She swooped down, wrapped her arms around the lantern and tightened her hold to melt through the lantern and give Iggy inside a hug.
She held him and swayed for a few moments. I looked away to give them a little privacy, swiping some tears out from below my eyes.
Suddenly, Nan cursed and yanked back, shaking her arms. “Ow ow ow! Hot!”
I jumped to my feet, ready to help. Except, how did you help a burned ghost?
Nan stopped, winked, and pointed at me. “Gotcha.”
“Oh. Ha ha.” I pressed a hand to my racing heart. I’m not sure I would have survived in the bakery with Nan as Royal Baker. Her pranks might’ve given me a heart attack.
When Nan stopped coughing and hacking through her laughter, she turned to Iggy again. “All right. I want to know—did you figure out who did me in?”
That’s right. Frennie had said the dead didn’t remember their deaths.
Iggy scowled. “Pritney coordinated with some guy who’d snuck his way onto the grounds, to take your job.”
She shook her head. “Pritney—she’s a flippin’ prat! Pratney, they should’ve called her.”
I gave an embarrassed wave to the staring family down the row. Even their ghost looked over and gave us the stink eye. “Sorry,” I mouthed.
Nan paced. “At least tell me the police caught her.”
Iggy nodded. “Shipped ’em off to Carclaustra this morning.”
She stopped and crossed her arms. “Hm. Good riddance.” She nodded at Iggy. “And tell me how you’ve been, me little flame.”
As Iggy and Nan chatted, I moved to the side a bit to give them some time together. I leaned on the stone wall beside the path and gazed out over the graveyard. Green spirits conversed or partied with their loved ones as the wind whipped through the rustling cedars and the clouds raced across the sky, revealing patches of stars here and there.
As I stared, eyes unfocused, at Nan, something tugged at the back of my mind. Something about her seemed familiar. Maybe I’d just heard so much about her from Iggy. I bit my lip. No, it was something else. It felt related to that nagging feeling that I’d missed something related to Madame Zerna’s death.
As I stared at Nan, something clicked, and my heart picked up its pace. I thought of Madame Zerna’s act. Before she’d predicted her own death, she’d conjured up that man’s dead turtle. I thought of speaking with Riga in the dressing room as she removed her makeup, then of what Frennie had said about breath stealing, and suddenly a dreadful cold crept through my stomach.
I bolted forward, and Iggy and Nan turned to me, questions on their faces.
“How much longer do you get?”
Nan swallowed. “The whole of the witching hour.”
I nodded. I wanted to give Iggy as much time with Nan as possible—after all, it was the last time he’d see her. “Nan, it was beautiful to meet you, and I promise I’ll be back for you, Iggy, but I have to go.”
“Wait! What are you doing?”
“It’s about Zerna.” I already jogged a few steps away, bouncing on my toes to run.
“You can’t go alone.” Iggy frowned at me. “Take me.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to worry him, but tonight was the last night of the carnival—Riga and Scullivan might leave anytime, they might have already left, and I had to go now to test my theory. “You need to enjoy your time with Nan—I’ll be safe.”
I dashed off, ignoring Iggy calling after me, his voice soon blown away on the wind. I rounded the low stone wall and sprinted down the lantern-lit path back to the streets of Bijou Mer.
An icy horror ate at my stomach, and I dearly hoped I was wrong. My mind raced through the evidence again, and still I felt it likely. But could Riga really be… dead?
24
Bound
The wind buffeted me this way and that as my sandaled feet slapped and scuffed along the cobblestoned streets. I wound through back alleys, hoping I remembered the way back to the carnival, and gasped with relief (and lack of aerobic fitness) as I burst onto the long pier.
The vista of the night sea and the lighted boardwalk stretched out in front of me. As the last night of the carnival, the rides and shows ran late and plenty of magical tourists still milled about, laughing, eating, and trying to win balloons in the shape of dirigibles and bags of disappearing goldfish. I ran, spun, and slid my way through the crowd to the baking booth.
I huffed with worry to find “Closed for a break” written on the blackboard and Maple gone. Where could she be? Maybe grabbing dinner… she probably hadn’t gotten a chance to eat. And as I knew the hard way, after a few breakfasts, lunches, and dinners of pie, you got sick of it.
Bouncing on my feet, heart racing, I spun this way and that. I’d try to find her on my way to the big tent. I rose on my toes to look over the heads of the crowd, and checked the food stands and stalls I passed. No Maple.
I continued on until I was in front of the tall purple-and-black tent. I bit my lip and joined the short line snaking its way through the tent flaps. Guys in striped vests stood at the entrance checking tickets. When I got to the front I looked past them toward the stage. A striped vest slid in front of me, blocking my view.
“Show’s for paying customers, lady.”
Annoying. I held back an eye roll. “Has it started yet?”
The bald guy shook his head.
“Great. Okay, thanks.” I got out of line and backed up, still trying to see past them. I managed to make out the stage and Scullivan in his top hat, parading around on it. No Riga though. Maybe that meant she was alone.
I skirted around the edge of the tent, keeping one eye on the bouncers. They were focused so intently on the ticket taking, they didn’t notice. Iggy and Maple would not be happy with me confronting Riga alone, but maybe by herself she’d be more willing to talk. Scullivan always seemed to be running interference with her. At first I’d thought him overly protective, but now I wasn’t so sure he wasn’t holding her captive.
I found the employee entrance and slipped inside. The dark dressing room stretched out in front of me, the lumpy shadows of clothing racks, mannequins, and steamer trunks cluttering up the corners. Riga sat, as if in a spotlight, in front of her big round lighted vanity mirror. I crept forward, checking left and right. It seemed we were alone.
“Riga?” I whispered.
She sat slumped forward, her shoulders rounded, knees knocked together and feet splayed. Her long ponytail hung in front of her face.
I scratched my ear. Maybe she hadn’t heard me and my horrifying theory was incorrect. I could hope, right?
A roar of laughter sounded from the big tent next door as Scullivan warmed up the crowd. I stepped cautiously forward and touched one fingertip to her icy shoulder. I gave her a poke. “Riga?”
Still no response. A shudder skittered through me and my breaths came faster. I inched forward and picked up a white cotton pad, and poured some clear liquid from a crystal bottle onto it. I gulped, then brushed her ponytail back from her face with a trembling hand.
My heart pounded in my chest, and it took every ounce of nerve not to recoil when she continued to st
are, dark eyes unseeing, straight ahead. I swiped the cotton pad across her forehead, removing a swath of makeup. Underneath, her skin glowed green. Green as Nan, and green as the ghost turtle.
I stumbled back, and her ponytail swung back into place. I braced myself against the bucket of mannequin hands. Why would they even have that? Come on! I pressed a hand to my chest and rubbed, trying to calm my heart.
I held both hands out toward Riga and closed my eyes. I took a few calming breaths and imagined myself in Edward’s caravan practicing our revealing spells. I concentrated on revealing Riga as she truly was.
I felt my hands warm and tingle and a rush of energy surge through me, pulling from the laughter of the crowd in the tent and funneling through my heart, down my arms, and out my hands. When I opened my eyes, I shrieked, then covered my mouth to stifle it. Riga’s entire body glowed poison green, and a noxious haze of the same color surrounded her.
Glowing strings dangled from the air and wound around her wrists, ankles, and neck, as if she were a puppet. Her face, reflected in the mirror, looked skeletal. Her eyes sunk back in dark pits, her cheekbones jutted out in flat planes, and her shriveled lips peeled back from her teeth. Guess it really wasn’t easy being green.
I looked toward the opening that led to the big tent. How much time before Scullivan came to collect her? I needed to find help, but I didn’t know how to send up one of those police signals yet. And in the time it took me to find someone who’d believe me, Scullivan might find her in this state, realize his cover had been blown, and escape.
Riga was dead… or undead, or however you said that. And I suspected that Scullivan, whether he killed her or not, had stolen her last breath and now controlled her body. My stomach twisted with the sickness of it—making her perform in his act, night after night. Who knew how long this had been going on?
I staggered as a wave of nausea rose up and burned my throat. No wonder he could cut her in half and then reform her—she was already dead. How many times had he hurt this woman?
Maybe Madame Zerna’s vision meant that her death, which she framed Scullivan for, would reveal his true crimes and free Riga. But I’d revealed that she’d killed herself, and now Riga was still under Scullivan’s control.
I grabbed the petite girl under the arms and tried to lift her to her feet, but she was dead weight. Pun not intended. There was no way I could carry her to safety. I
stared at her, thinking hard, and pressed my hands to my cheeks. A thought occurred to me. Maybe I could pull the strings away and release her from Scullivan’s control using my swallow powers—she might be able to walk on her own after that.
I lifted my palms toward her again, my eyes closed in concentration. I imagined the strings, and I could feel the malevolent nature of the power—like someone whispering down my neck. It made me shudder, but I continued. I found the five strings in my mind and pulled. They held fast, and I pulled harder, and harder—they gave a little, bowing under the force of my magic.
I closed my hands into fists, and leaned my body back, pulling with the full weight of my body and my magic. I felt the green bindings slipping. My arms trembled and I struggled to catch my breath, but I gritted my teeth and kept tugging. The magic ties slipped—then slipped a little more—then—
“What have we here?”
Scullivan’s voice startled me. I opened my eyes to find him standing at the entrance to the big tent, and as I lost my concentration, I lost my grip and stumbled backwards, tumbling to the ground on top of a steamer trunk and a pile of clothes.
Reeling, I pushed my bruised arms against the trunk to stand up, but Scullivan moved quicker. He shot his arms toward me and growled, “Praligo.”
Like I’d been hit by an invisible wrecking ball, I slammed back onto the trunk and clothes. My heart and mind raced as Scullivan took his time walking across the room to loom over me. I was bound, completely. Unable to move or speak or even swallow; terror gripped me, icing my stomach.
He glanced at the glowing green Riga, and fury darkened his features. He worked his jaw, then with flared nostrils and blazing eyes turned to me. He cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest.
“What are we going to do with the nosy baker girl, darling?” He glanced at Riga, then turned back to me, a humorless smile crinkling his eyes. “Ah, right. She’s dead.” He cocked his head to the side. “But yous already figured that out, didn’t you?”
I tried to shake my head, but a disconnect between my brain and muscles wouldn’t allow it. Then again, it was too late for playing innocent.
“And who else did you tell?” He cocked his head, considering me with those dark eyes ringed in black.
My heart raced. Would it be better if he knew that I alone knew his secret? Maybe I could negotiate my release if I promised not to tell anyone. No. He’d made it pretty clear the depths he had sunk to. Better to pretend lots of people knew, and that killing me wouldn’t solve anything.
I gulped. You knew things had gotten bad when you were thinking of ways to convince someone not to kill you.
“Oh. Right.” He made an unzipping motion, slashing his hand horizontally, and suddenly my jaw relaxed and my lips parted. I opened my mouth wide, gasping in a shallow breath. “Again. Who else knows?”
I still couldn’t control the rest of my face. I wanted to glare but had to keep my dry eyes wide open. “Who else knows you killed your wife and stole her last breath so you could control her corpse?”
I waited, wondering if I’d guessed right.
He gave a dry chuckle. “I guess you did figure it all out, didn’t you?”
My stomach clenched, as if I’d poured a gallon of ice water into it. That was one time I didn’t want to be right. “Why?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Who else knows?”
“Everyone!” I blurted out, my heart racing with fear. “I told everyone I know, and they’ll be here any moment to arrest you.”
His eyes widened for a moment and he darted to the employee back entrance, peeking out the tent flap. The normal, raucous sounds of the carnival reached my ears. He listened and watched for a few moments, then walked back to stand over me, grinning.
He shook a hand in one of those stupid fingerless gloves at me. “You got me, for a second. But if you told everyone, why would you be here alone?” He crossed his arms, and used his tongue to pick at something in his teeth. “I think you told no one. You weren’t sure yourself, were you, till you saw her? That’s why you came here—you had to be sure.”
My breaths came in short pants. Even if he hadn’t frozen me, the terror alone might have.
“And now, no one else will ever know.”
On the other side of the striped fabric, in the big tent, a chant started. “Scullivan, Scullivan!”
He glanced at Riga and sighed. “You’ve turned her all green. Can’t have her going on in that condition, can we? What to do, what to do.”
He looked at me and an evil grin pulled his mouth wide. “How about you, miss? Come up to the stage.” He chuckled. “We’ll pretend you’re a volunteer. I’ll saw you in half—it’ll be gory, but that’ll play well after I steal your breath and put you back together. Voilà! I’ll have a new assistant. We leave tomorrow for a new town, and no one shall be the wiser.”
“I have friends—they’ll know!”
He shook his head. “No, because you’ll be my puppet, saying and doing whatever I tell you to. And you’ll explain to them, convincingly, that you fell in love with the carnival life and are leaving it all behind to join. In any case, I could use a new assistant.”
He jerked his head toward Riga, still slumped over on the stool. “She’s decomposing alarmingly. It takes a lot of energy and magic to hide her wear and tear, you know. Quite troublesome.”
I racked my brain, thinking of any way to stall this. “But the spell—you’re not ready to perform it. You’ll simply kill me on stage and everyone will know you’re a murderer.”
He chuckled. “My de
ar, you forget. Every night, I bring a woman back from the dead.” He swept an arm toward Riga with a flourish. “The protection circle is drawn, the runes are ready—I just have to be in place to inhale your last exhale and say the right words, and presto—you’ll be mine.”
I screamed. “Help! In the dressing room! Help me! Hel—”
With a slash of his hand, Scullivan sealed my mouth shut.
The impatient crowd continued to chant, “Scullivan! Scullivan!”
He leaned down and grinned into my face. “Showtime!”
25
The Big Show
Scullivan used his powers to levitate me, stand me right side up, then float me toward the tent flaps. I struggled with every ounce of my mental will.
Scullivan, walking beside me, grunted. I felt the magical bindings cinch tighter around me, my ribs aching in response. “If you stopped struggling,” he ground out, “I wouldn’t have to hold you so tightly.”
Not a chance, I answered in my head.
We burst through the tent flaps into the packed tent. “Well—I’m here already! Scullivan! Scullivan!” He pumped his arm in the air and the crowd cheered. No one seemed to notice or care that a paralyzed woman hovered next to him. He threw an arm around my shoulders.
“Apologies for the delays, folks. My beautiful assistant, Riga, has fallen ill tonight.” He pouted, and the crowd, aahhed. “But this young woman from the crowd has bravely volunteered to take her place.” He pinched my cheek hard, and gave it a shake. “And to be sure she doesn’t chicken out or try to run away at the last minute, she’s even agreed to be bound. Let’s give her a round of applause.”
The crowd clapped and cheered. My heart pounded against my ribs. He walked down the gently sloping path (and I floated) to the circular stage in the center.
The box Madame Zerna had killed herself in lay atop the wooden table under the glowing chandelier that hung from the peak of the tent. A white circle of runes lay scrawled on the stage around it. But my eyes fixated on the enormous, gleaming blade tucked under the table.
