by Erin Johnson
Scullivan guided me to the stage, flipped me on my back, and floated me into the box. He lifted his arms, and the crowd cheered. Then he rubbed his palms together. My dry eyes stared up at the bright circle of lights above me. Surely someone would realize that cutting an incapacitated woman in half wasn’t right. Right?
Fear nearly wiped my mind blank. No. I had to admit that to myself. None of my friends even knew where I was, and he’d convinced the crowd I’d volunteered. No one was coming to save me. I’d have to save myself. Only, I couldn’t move a muscle. “Help!” my brain screamed.
Scullivan snapped his fingers and the lid of the box flew into place, snapping shut around me so that only my head and feet stuck out of it. He bent over, and when he appeared again he held the sharp, terrifying-looking guillotine blade over his head by the wooden handle. The crowd erupted into applause. He lowered the blade and held up one palm, nodding and grinning as he waited for the crowd to quiet.
A bead of sweat dripped down from the brow of his top hat and trickled down his cheek. A spark of hope fluttered inside me. Obviously holding me frozen took effort. If I had more time, maybe his control would relax enough that I could move, or cry out for help.
Though it occurred to me, as the crowd jeered and threw popcorn at each other, that a late-night crowd might be a few sheets to the wind and unlikely to be using their critical thinking skills. Even if I could cry out, they might think it part of the act. No—I had to get away, or somehow incapacitate Scullivan. If only I knew how to use my swallow powers on cue.
Weeks ago, I’d unconsciously knocked out four grown men to save myself. You’d think those survival instincts would be kicking in right about now. Come on, instincts. Anytime now.
I stared at Scullivan’s stupid handlebar mustache and thought of pulling energy from him, so much energy that he’d collapse. But icy fear stole my breath and concentration and left me helpless.
He turned in a circle, addressing the crowd. “Quiet, please, quiet! I need my full concentration to pull off a feat this amazing, this fantastic.” The crowd quieted. The creepy, off-kilter, waltzing accordion music I’d heard during Madame Zerna’s show became audible. And I’d thought this couldn’t get any scarier.
The lights dimmed, blanketing the crowd in darkness, the stage still lit by the chandelier overhead. The effect was that the crowd, which I’d been able to see out of my peripheral vision, basically disappeared into darkness. Leaving me alone with Scullivan.
“Ah. Better!” he announced. He bent over me, the music careening to creepy new depths. “Now for a little privacy.”
With a wave of his hands, a thick fog enveloped the stage. The crowd gasped, then giggled. Scullivan pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped through it, mumbling to himself, “Breath stealing, breath stealing—I know the spell’s in here somewhere.”
Maybe it’d take him long enough to find the correct spell that his hold would release and I could escape. Mentally I tested all my muscles again, trying (unsuccessfully) to wiggle my toes, bend my ankles, roll my wrists—I stopped there.
I couldn’t move my wrists, but they felt strange, as if I had ropes wrapped around them. I hadn’t noticed in all the fear and suddenness of being attacked, but the binding around my wrists felt different, more substantial than the paralysis that gripped me everywhere else.
I mentally felt around for the shape of the ropes and followed the magical trail that wound from my wrists, down the aisle, back into the dressing room and to—my heart stopped—Riga. I gave a mental tug and imagined Riga standing.
The pull of the magic seemed to respond—it felt as if Riga had moved and that tugged at my wrists. When I’d tried to pull Riga free of Scullivan’s control earlier, I must’ve simply pulled her puppet strings out of his hands and into mine. And since they weren’t real strings, but invisible magic ones, no one, not even Scullivan, had noticed.
A spark of desperate hope burned in my chest and I glanced at the dark magician looming over me, his faced obscured by the magical fog swirling around us. “Ah here it is.” He pressed a finger to the page and read, mumbling to himself. He’d found the spell! I didn’t have long.
I mentally willed Riga to move away from the vanity and walk to the tent flaps. I wasn’t sure I was actually doing anything, and not just imagining it, but it was my only chance so I kept with it. The crowd had begun to chatter again, growing restless with the stage surrounded in impenetrable fog.
“Chop her in half!” some guy yelled.
Scullivan looked up from his book and hissed. “Stupid ingrates.” He turned back to the book, skimming the spell. Walk down the aisle, Riga, I commanded in my head. Walk down the aisle to the stage—hurry. Take a step, then another. Scullivan wasn’t lying when he said controlling her took effort; my head began to ache.
The dark magician held a hand over me. “Here we go. Spirit preserve this woman’s soul. Spirit preserve this woman’s body. Spirit, transfer this woman’s will to me, who shall control her every breath and every word. With the essence of her life, contained in her dying breath, give me….”
As Scullivan spoke the incantation, I hoped it would distract him from what was happening outside the fog. Gasps and screams rose up from the crowd. They gave me greater hope. I couldn’t see Riga, couldn’t be sure she was marching down the sloping aisle to me, but I imagined that the crowd would react that way to a glowing green, skeletal woman moving through them.
Hurry, Riga, Hurry!
He finished the incantation, straightened, and then frowned at the screams from the crowd. “Your wait has been long enough.” He lifted a hand and the guillotine blade flew high up above the fog so that the crowd could see it. The sharp knife’s edge hovered right above my middle. “You shall now be rewarded with—” He waved the fog away as he spoke, then stopped midsentence.
Directly in front of him, before the slightly raised stage, stood Riga. Her sunken eyes, shriveled lips, and green rotting flesh confronted him. He stumbled back, the crowd shrieking, some edging their way out of the tent, but most staying rooted to their seats.
“What is this—I—” He looked back and forth between us, and then growled and flashed his eyes at me. “You.”
He slashed his arm through the air, releasing the blade from its suspension. I didn’t even have the comfort of closing my eyes as the blade plummeted toward me, its sharp blade glinting in the candlelight of the chandelier.
With one last-ditch effort, I mentally yanked with all my might on the magical bonds between Riga and me. She lunged forward and shoved the heavy table over, bumping into Scullivan in the process. I flipped to my right, the box sliding off the table, and landed with my back to the blade.
I shuddered as it embedded itself into the stage with a heavy thunk. I stayed still, my chest heaving and tight, like I couldn’t catch a breath. After a few moments of panting, I peeled an eye open. Hey! I could close my eyes. And wiggle my fingers and toes. I was still locked inside the stupid box, but Scullivan had lost his control over me.
“Help me!” I screamed at the shell-shocked row of spectators staring wide-eyed back at me. “Help me! This isn’t part of the act, he’s trying to kill me!”
I became aware of Scullivan screaming, a high-pitched wail behind me. A young couple finally scurried forward onto the stage, the rest of the spectators either filing out or standing now, wands and hands raised toward the stage.
The man and woman unbuckled the box and I tumbled out onto my face and stomach. With my entire body trembling, they hooked me under the arms and helped me to my feet. I nodded my thanks, and the woman turned to the guy. “I’ll stay here—go outside and send up the alert for the police, in case no one else has.” The guy dashed off, and I nodded to the lady.
“I’m all right.”
She gave me a concerned look, but backed up, her eyes fixed on the stage. I turned, my chest heaving. The broken box lay at my feet, the heavy wooden table on its side. And behind the table, Scullivan writhe
d in pain on the ground.
His face had gone ghostly white and he alternately balled his fisted hands against his eyes and then pulled at his long, stringy hair. All the while, he shrieked and moaned. Legs trembling, I leaned forward and looked over the upended table.
Riga must’ve pushed him forward as she lunged to shove me out of the way, and the blade had sliced through his foot, pinning him to the stage. I looked away quickly, afraid the sight of blood would knock me out cold. Instead, I chanced a glance at Riga.
She still stood, eyes open, but unseeing, over Scullivan, her arms limp at her sides. I knew she wasn’t in control and that I’d made her lunge for the table, but I couldn’t help feeling grateful for what she’d done for me.
“Thank you,” I told her. Of course I got no response, but I hoped, somewhere deep down, she could hear me.
At that moment Inspector Bon flew into the tent, trailed by a swarm of officers. I’d never been so glad, or actually glad at all, to see him before that moment.
26
Rip
Inspector Bon and his officers swarmed the tent, wands drawn.
“Everyone remain calm!” Bon bellowed. I took that as my cue to collapse. My legs buckled under me and I sat hard on the stage. See? Calm.
A few young men and women rushed up to the stage, while others dashed into the dressing room. The ones securing the entrance weren’t quick or tough enough to stop everyone, because Maple, holding a lantern, stumbled in and looked wildly around. I went limp with relief. Slumped against the overturned table, I raised an arm.
Her eyes scanned the crowd till she found me. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her blue eyes round. A couple of officers appeared at her sides and cupped her elbows, gently drawing her back. But she shook them off, and like a quarterback running with the ball (as close as I got to a sports analogy. I felt fairly confident I was referring to football) she dodged and spun past the police till she reached the stage.
Not even trying to stop the tears pouring down my face, I reached both arms out for my friend. She dropped to her knees and wrapped me up in a tight hug. She rocked as I buried my face into her shoulder.
Inspector Bon approached, his brows drawn together. He tapped Maple’s shoulder. “Miss, you cannot be here, this is—”
I looked up and shot him the fiercest glare I could manage.
He recoiled. “You.” After a long look, he said, “I’ll need to ask you some questions… in a few minutes.”
I gave a small nod and he moved off. I’d never had a reputation with the police before. Guess he knew I’d make more trouble than it was worth if he tried to pry Maple away from me at that moment. Deep, deep down, under the terror, the shaky adrenaline crash, and the acute sense of how close to death I’d come, I felt a warm little glow in my core. I intimidated the police and had saved myself from a murderer—I was kind of a badass. I replayed the blade falling in my mind and nearly lost my lunch. Okay, a minor badass. I wasn’t at the “walk away from explosions without flinching” level.
Finally, I released my death grip on Maple and we pulled apart, though we still held each other’s arms.
I bit my lip. “How’d you know?” My voice came out raspy from not being able to swallow while frozen.
Tears welled in Maple’s eyes. She nodded at the lantern, and for the first time, I noticed Iggy burning bright.
“Iggy! How’d you get back to the carnival? You should be with Nan.”
He glared at me. “Is that why you ran off like that? How could you?”
I opened my mouth to apologize, but he cut me off.
“You want me to visit you in a year at the graveyard, huh? You think I want to lose another baker?” He gulped and a single tear fell from his eye and sizzled away. “Another friend?”
My stomach fell with guilt. “I’m so sorry, both of you. I tried to find you, Maple, at the booth.”
She bit her lip. “I took a bathroom break.”
I gave her a teasing grin. “How could you?”
“I saw you,” Iggy said. “When Maple got back, I told her you’d run from the graveyard and had come by the booth, looking panicked.”
My brows pulled together. “Wait. How could you have beaten me back to the booth? Why didn’t I see you?”
“A little ember of me still burned in the oven. We magical flames can be in two places at once—my other half is still with Nan. She’s glad you’re okay, by the way.”
Well, my mind was blown.
“It weakens us.” Iggy rocked side to side. “But it’s possible. I tried to call to you—but I was too small and quiet. Plus, you only ever hear what you want to.”
I planted my hands on my hips, feeling slightly more like myself. “Hey. How about we go back to the hugs and we were worried about you stuff.”
Maple and Iggy exchanged smirks.
“Nice try.” Maple bit her lip. All around us, police moved through the tent, interviewing the crowd, arresting the still-moaning Scullivan, and trying to figure out what to do about the guillotine in his foot. Luckily, he lay on the other side of the overturned table. I didn’t think I could bear to see him.
“So… Iggy, you saw me, but how did you know where I’d gone?”
Maple shook her head. “We didn’t. We were panicked. Iggy hopped into the lantern and we went looking for you. But when the police signal went up, we ran here to the big tent and found you—” She pressed one hand to her mouth, holding in a gulping sob, then gestured the other at me. “People—” She choked. “People outside were saying Scullivan had a dead girl on stage, and I thought the worst and—”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head as tears trickled down her cheeks.
I glanced at Riga, still glowing green and skeletal, standing frozen after the last command I’d given her to knock over the table. I sighed. “Well, I very nearly was the second dead girl on stage….”
Maple burst into tears and I instantly regretted the remark. It was my turn to wrap her in a hug and comfort her. I smiled at my sad flame, too.
“You guys are the best friends I’ve ever had. I’m sorry I scared you both. I love you.” I gave Maple a little shake. “But I’m okay now.”
She sniffed and eyed the table, Riga, and looked over toward Scullivan and the blade. She gave me a doubtful look.
“Okay, maybe not 100 percent, but I will be.”
She nodded. “I love you, too.”
I pulled my lips to the side in a half-hearted grin. “You nearly had two of me to love.”
Iggy frowned in confusion, and I filled them in on discovering Riga’s true undead state, Scullivan binding me, and then nearly being chopped in half. Maple dissolved into fresh tears and Iggy narrowed his eyes and shook his head at me.
“Just wait till the other half of me is done with Nan.”
I found that phrase disturbing.
“Once I’m to full strength, you’re getting an earful.”
The mention of Nan gave me an idea. I glanced at Riga, then at the scowling Iggy and teary-eyed Maple. “How much longer before Nan moves on?”
Iggy looked at Maple, who checked her watch. She sniffed. “Another fifteen minutes or so. Till one o’clock.”
I scanned the crowd for Inspector Bon and found him distracted with trying to question Scullivan while the medics, who’d just arrived, tried to extricate the magician from the floor.
Maple glared his way. “I hope he loses all his toes.”
“Listen, I know this has been a crazy night.”
“Technically, it’s morning,” Iggy drawled.
“Thank you, Mr. Technicalities.”
He smirked.
I leaned in and lowered my voice, Maple and Iggy gathering closer as well. “I feel for Riga. Who knows how long she’s been in this state, and having experienced it for all of ten terrible minutes, I can only imagine how she feels.”
“Well, she’s dead, so she doesn’t feel much.”
I shot Iggy a look. “Scullivan could only
control her because he’d stolen her last breath, a part of her soul. So some part of her has to be in there, right? I know this is crazy, but….”
After I explained my idea, they sat silently for a few moments.
“Did Scullivan steal some of your brain?” Iggy shook his head.
I looked at Maple, and gave her my “pleasssee” smile. She sighed and looked around at the police with worried eyes. “The inspector’s not going to like this.”
I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t like anything. Besides, I think we scare him.”
“Fine.” Maple sighed again.
I looked at Iggy. “You in?”
“Like I have a choice.”
I grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I grabbed the lantern and Maple slid an arm under mine to help me to my shaky feet. We slipped off the stage and glanced around. No one paid us any attention, what with the frightened crowd giving animated accounts of what’d happened, and Scullivan screaming, and Bon fighting with the paramedics to let him interview the dark magician while they tried to save his foot.
I nodded at Maple and we skirted around the edge of the crowd, keeping to the shadows. I found the strands of magical binding that tied Riga to me and used my mind to control her. Slowly, she followed us. When we reached the main entrance, two officers stood guard. One threw an arm out.
“I’m sorry, ladies, the tent’s been sealed till Inspector Bon tells us otherwise.”
Maple blinked her big blue eyes at me. I licked my lips, thinking fast. “Yeah, but we’ve already been interviewed and cleared.”
“Plus”—Maple lifted a finger and winced—“I have to go to the bathroom.” She gave me a questioning look, as if to ask, was that a good excuse?
I gave her a tight nod, then shot the officers a pleading smile. They exchanged looks and seemed about to relent, when the glowing, skeletal Riga appeared behind us. Her poison-green light reflected in their eyes. One fainted, cold, and the other stumbled back, muttering. He fished for the whistle around his neck and blew it. I glanced back as Inspector Bon looked around and saw us.
