by Sarah Kuhn
“What?” three voices said at once.
I slipped my boot off and held it up, brandishing the hole-y sole.
“Over the years, we’ve hypothesized that the Pussy Queen portal is causing supernatural energies to leak through,” I said. “A steady little trickle of energy, all coming through the same spot.” I tapped the original hole in my shoe. “But if you keep putting pressure on that one spot—which I’ve been doing by continuing to walk around in these broke-down shoes—the hole gets bigger and increases the likelihood of other holes forming.” I tapped the new hole forming mere centimeters from the first one. “And more stuff just keeps getting inside your shoes, period.”
“Take it out of the metaphor for us,” Nate said—something he used to say to me all the time when I was assisting him and would try to explain things via metaphors involving ice cream, nail polish, or, in one particularly dramatic case, the treacherous mechanics of high school social circles.
“I think the presence of the Pussy Queen portal has caused the walls between our world and the Otherworld to rub thin in spots—to make way for more holes and allow more stuff to get through,” I said. “So the source of the energy in certain spots, like the Wave Organ, might be different because it’s a new hole in the wall. Maybe that’s what’s happening in Maui, too. But it all leads back to the same place.” I paused, thinking it over. “Just now, it felt like I could actually see that fabric separating our worlds—and it was extremely thin. Like a gauzy curtain or a light fog.”
“And maybe that’s why you’re picking up that heavy atmosphere around these latest supernatural energy readings,” Shruti mused. “Because the energy is now pressing more heavily against the places where the walls are thin.”
“Yes, exactly,” I said, holding up my hand for a high-five. She grinned and slapped my palm. “And maybe that’s why Mom is able to reach me now. Maybe she’s been trapped all these years, and it’s only just now that she’s been able to get through. Because she’s found a spot where the walls between our worlds are especially thin.” A lump formed in my throat, thinking about Mom being trapped and helpless for so long.
“This is a lot to think about,” Nate said slowly.
My phone buzzed before I could respond. I looked at the screen: Evie.
“Hey, Big Sis,” I said, answering. “Oh my god, things are so exciting over here. I can’t wait to tell you all about it. Actually, why aren’t you and Aveda here? You are missing out on some primo supernatural fun times. Anyway, I’ll fill you in during our mission. Which is happening in, like, half an hour, right? I was thinking: we should go through the letters on the way there again, maybe pick out a couple of specific memories to grill Kathy on. Aveda can drive Lucy’s car, right? Or is Lucy coming, too? You know what, I could read the letters out loud while we’re on our way over—”
“Bea,” Evie cut me off. She sounded rushed, harried. “Annie and I actually have something else we need to take care of. Lucy, too—”
“Oh, okay,” I said, switching gears with ease. “Is it an emergency? Should I meet you . . . wherever you’re going?”
“No, we’ve got this,” Evie said. “I’ll fill you in later. We were thinking it’d be a better use of time if you could still go over to the Market to talk to Kathy? Could Sam drive you again?”
“Of course,” I said, trying not to let my deflated state come through. I knew it was silly to be deflated, but I’d been so excited about the prospect of going on a real mission with them, the three of us finally working together as a team to do some real superheroing. And I’d been extra excited to share my new findings and tell them about my second Otherworld adventure.
I hung up and glanced over at Nate, Scott, and Shruti. They were all conferring over the portal.
I suppressed a long sigh, plastered a bright smile on my face, and pulled up FaceTime on my phone.
“Hi,” I said brightly, when Sam answered. “Guess who gets to drive me to Oakland again?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’D MEANDERED THROUGH the Grand Lake Market the first time, but today I was determined to march through with purpose—I had a mission, after all. And even if it wasn’t the mission I’d originally envisioned, I was still determined to accomplish it with gusto. I tried to mimic Aveda’s purposeful stride, my head held high, and not get distracted by shiny things. (I did spy a table of sparkly notebooks filled with graph paper—I’d need to backtrack and check it out later—but I’m proud to say I stayed strong and kept walking.)
“Be cool, Samuel,” I muttered to Sam, who was doing his best to keep up with my determined march. “Let me do the talking. You’re just here—”
“—because you don’t have a car?” Sam said, amused.
“And to soften Kathy up if she proves to be a tough customer,” I said. “Deploy your manly charms.”
“So I’m here to give you rides and be eye candy.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I love that you catch on so fast,” I said, pretending to swoon. “Anyway, don’t you enjoy being eye candy? Isn’t that your whole thing?”
“I’m starting to doubt my abilities.” He pulled a mock broody face. “Given that someone didn’t respond to a certain text last night.”
“Maybe someone was busy,” I said, my face flushing.
“Too bad,” he said. “I was hoping for more pictures.”
“The one I sent didn’t sufficiently distract you?”
“Oh, it did. It distracted me all night long.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help it—I burst into giggles.
“Oh my god, you are so cheesy right now,” I said. “Dial it back, dude.”
“Always laughing at me,” he said, shaking his head. “So what were you doing before you texted me that picture?”
I shrugged and picked up my pace toward Kathy’s booth, trying to look nonchalant. “Taking a shower. And . . . thinking about some things.”
He matched my stride and leaned in close, his breath tickling my ear. “Did these things involve your detachable showerhead?”
“What! How do you know about—”
“You told me about it, Beatrice. When you first got it put in.”
Oh, right. My flush intensified. This was all so weird, us bouncing back and forth between our usual good-natured sniping and this more charged flirting. One moment he was Mr. Beaucoup Fromage, who I couldn’t imagine taking seriously about anything, the next I wanted to shove him into one of the secluded corners between Market booths and kiss his face off.
But the back and forth also made me feel amped up, excited. Maybe Leah was right—I lived for the in-the-moment thrill. Well, so what? He and I had an agreement, and for now, this was just too much fun. My favorite dragon-shifter lady would totally approve.
“I did make excellent use of my showerhead,” I said, arching an eyebrow at him. “Just indulging in a little harmless fantasizing.”
“Tell me about it.” His fingertips brushed the back of my neck, and I thrilled at that familiar coil of heat in my belly.
“You were in the shower, too—on your knees in front of me,” I said, trying to keep my tone even, like this was the kind of thing I thought about every day. “Your hands were on my hips, holding me in place. And you were—”
“—showing you how good I am with my tongue?”
I swallowed hard and fought like mad to keep my tone even. “Yes.”
“As it happens, I am very good at that.”
“Duly noted,” I said, and cursed my voice for coming out all thin and breathy. I cleared my throat, trying to get control. “But you know, I don’t know if we can actually be naked together. I might be too overcome with giggles, like I am whenever you go into Calendar Sam mode.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
We came to a stop in front of Kathy Kooper’s booth—and I did a double take.
�
�Where are the pretzels?” I blurted out. The giant pretzel booth was empty—no pretzel-preparing staff, no pretzel-heating equipment, no guy dressed as a giant pretzel yelling at passers-by. The sign screaming “GIANT PRETZELS” was still up, but that was about it.
“That’s weird,” Sam said. “It seemed so popular.”
“Bea!” Kathy called out, waving to me. “What are you doing on this side of the Bay? I thought you lived in the city.”
“I do,” I said, giving her a bright smile and moving toward her booth. “But I just . . .”
Hmm. I hadn’t really thought about my in with her. I’d spent all my prep time poring over Mom’s letters, trying to figure out what to ask Kathy.
“. . . had the day off!” I improvised.
“And it’s such a nice day,” Sam said, deploying his heartthrob smile. “I hope it’s been good for business?”
“Oh, indeed,” Kathy said, fluttering her lashes. “I’ve had a steady stream of customers since opening. You’ve caught me in a rare lull.”
“Evie and I wanted to thank you again for that box of Mom’s stuff,” I said, my brain clicking into gear. I silently blessed Sam’s heartthrob powers—they were actually coming in handy. “It turned out to be a bunch of letters to us, and it was very special. I was wondering . . .” I paused, trying to craft the exact right bend of the truth. “She mentioned you a lot,” I continued, deciding to start with something like the actual truth. “It sounded like you were visiting her quite a bit in the hospital?”
“Of course,” Kathy said, looking pensive. “She was my best friend.”
“I was so young,” I said. “I visited her, of course, but I wasn’t . . . around as much.”
“Your sister tried to protect you from the worst of it,” Kathy said, making a sympathetic clucking sound.
“I was wondering if you would mind sharing more from that time,” I said. “If you had any, like, memories you could recall for me. To make me feel like I was there.”
“Are you sure about that, dear?” Kathy said, reaching over to touch my arm. “I think that might be very difficult for you.”
“I want to know what she was going through,” I pressed. “From her letters, it sounds like things were really strange.”
“She knew she was dying, hon,” Kathy said, looking at me quizzically. “That definitely makes things strange for a person.”
Crap. I was striking out, here. I studied her, tried to pick up on some nuance that would give me a clue as to how to get her talking. I could try projecting, try something that would alter her mood . . . but I wanted to make sure what I was getting was total, unvarnished truth. I also wasn’t sure what was going on with this whole implanting specific thoughts thing, and I didn’t want to accidentally give her a thought that was going to muck things up.
Go to the Ferris wheel.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. There it was again, a random little voice in my head, a voice that was maybe Mom, maybe not. What did this one sound like? I tried to listen harder.
What? I thought back.
Go to the Ferris wheel.
I’m kind of in the middle of something important, here?
Go to the Ferris wheel. Now. Please.
It was the “please” that got me. If it was Mom, maybe she was about to let me in on the secret to saving her. Which, for whatever reason, existed right in the middle of a bunch of janky carnival rides.
I focused back in on Kathy. Luckily, Sam had engaged her in a detailed conversation about her artistic process while I’d been talking to myself. Or to the voices in my head. Or to my possibly not-so-dead mother.
What an interesting array of possibilities.
“I, uh, need to use the restroom,” I said.
“Okay,” Sam said, looking at me quizzically. “Shall we take off or—”
“No!” I said, way too loudly. “I’ll just be a sec. Don’t let me interrupt your conversation.”
I flashed him a quick smile that I hoped he knew meant Just keep her talking ’til I get back and took off toward the carnival section of the Market.
My eyes scanned the sky, the massive Ferris wheel looming in the distance. Weirdly, it didn’t seem to be in motion today. In fact, it looked totally empty. Abandoned. It was a perfectly still bit of punctuation in the sky, the lack of movement giving it an eerie quality. I shivered.
I reached the arched entrance to the carnival, guarded by a solitary dude sitting on a stool. He was scrolling through his phone and looked like he was about to fall asleep.
“Hey there,” I said. “One carnival admission, please.”
“Sorry, we’re closed today,” he said, not looking up from his phone. He made a vague gesture toward the entrance—which I now saw was blocked off by a chain and a sign that proclaimed its closed status.
“Closed?” I said. “Aren’t you guys open whenever the Market is? During the warmer months, that is?”
“Usually, but we’re having technical difficulties,” he said with a small shrug, like, “what can ya do?”
So that explained the unmoving Ferris wheel. Maybe if I just stared at it from here, that would be sufficient?
No! The voice was back in my head again, loud and insistent. You have to go to the Ferris wheel. Go to it. Now.
“Um,” I said out loud to the carnival attendant. “Is there any way I could pop in real quick to look at the rides? I’m a huge fan of, like, ride architecture. I’m kind of obsessed.” I made a goofy face, as if to insinuate that rides were my equivalent of boy bands. “I’m visiting from Oregon for just a few days and I came here specifically to see the rides. I’ve heard so much about them.”
“You have?” The guy looked up from his phone, his brow crinkling in confusion. “Our rides? Because they’re pretty much a bunch of rusty old junk.”
“That’s exactly why I’m such a fan!” I enthused. “They’re classics.” I gave him a hopeful smile and tried to widen my eyes in that extra innocent way so many guys are suckers for.
“Huh,” he said, looking mildly intrigued by the idea that something in his tiny corner of the world had fans. “I can’t do that, sorry. My crew’s coming by later to work on the rides, but in the meantime, it’s just too dangerous to let anyone in. Something might fall on you.”
I gritted my teeth. Really? The rides were having technical difficulties and might fall on me, and this was happening on the one day when I actually needed to get inside? Or maybe that’s why I needed to get inside? Maybe the technical difficulties were going to reveal something?
Go to the Ferris wheel, the voice said in my head.
Fuck, I’m working on it, I thought back.
I studied the guy. He was back to his phone, clearly hoping I’d give up. But I couldn’t. Because for some reason it was imperative I look at this damn Ferris wheel, all up close and personal.
I want to let you in, I thought at him.
He looked up, his eyes getting that blank look.
“I want to let you in,” he said.
“Oh, how nice!” I said, like it was a big fucking surprise.
I’m going to go get some food. At least twenty minutes away from here, I thought at him.
“I’m going to go get some food,” he said, sliding off his stool and pocketing his phone. “At least twenty minutes away from here.” He shook his head and made a face, as if clocking that that was a pretty weird thing to say out loud.
These aren’t the droids you’re looking for, I couldn’t resist adding.
“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” he called over his shoulder as he wandered off.
I slipped under the chain blocking the entrance, taking care not to disturb the CLOSED sign. Whatever communing I had to do with the Ferris wheel was best done alone.
As I strolled through the empty carnival, the noise from the rest of the
Market faded to a distant burble and I half expected to see tumbleweeds rolling past my feet. It was creepy to wander around this giant, festive space, so obviously set up for lots of people, when there were no other people around. The Ferris wheel loomed at the very outer edge of the carnival area, so I had to walk through the entire thing to get there. My skin crawled as I wended my way through the maze of rides and games and booths, the air thick with the scent of stale popcorn and cotton candy. The whole affair was pretty shabby. Ticket taker guy wasn’t wrong, it did look like a big ol’ pile of rusty junk. I walked by a games booth featuring one of those simple set-ups where you have to throw ping-pong balls at moving cups. The prizes were rows and rows of stuffed animals strapped by their necks to the back wall of the booth. The effect was ghoulish in the harsh light of day, and I felt like they were all staring at me, a mosaic of beady little eyes following me as I moved.
I passed by a classic carnival ride—I think it was called the Octopus or the Spider or . . . some kind of animal with a lot of appendages, clearly. It was painted a shiny black and had a bunch of curved metal “legs” attached to a central base. Each leg had a bucket-like car that held two passengers, and the whole contraption spun around and lit up and made those with weaker stomachs generally sick. I remembered convincing Evie to go on that ride when we were younger and how she’d nearly barfed over the side. I, of course, had loved it. But now it was all still and silent and almost as menacing as the beady-eyed stuffed animals.
Finally, I arrived at the Ferris wheel. I stared up at it, craning my neck, trying to take in every bit of it. Up close, it was a strange mix of stately and shabby—an old soldier, just trying to stay upright. But the utter stillness totally creeped me out.
“Okay,” I said out loud, feeling ridiculous. “I’m here. I made it to the Ferris wheel. What did you want to show me, pesky, mysterious voice that is possibly my mother?”
I stood there and stared. Seconds passed by. Then minutes. I started to get a cramp in my neck from staring up at the thing. But nothing happened.
