Another pull reopens the cut in my palm, and I look down the line of the rope to The Bowl far below as blood drips.
Drips.
My heart leaps into my throat. From all the way up here, I can see the long, dark shapes skulking through the water, disturbing the still, my skin nettling with the thought of them brushing against me.
Shouldn’t have looked down.
I slowly lift my hand to pluck the shard of glass from between my teeth, aware of the crowd’s murmuring as I carefully begin to sever the rope in steady cuts. Every slice frays more of the tawny fibers, and the shard bites into my already ravaged palm.
I wince, more blood dribbling from my bunched fist
Drip.
Drip.
Far below, the water ripples with each fat bead that leaks from my deepening wound.
Once only a few frail strands remain, I center myself so my chest is on the bar for stability, gripping hold of the rope with my spare hand as I cut the final tether. The weight of it falls into my tight grasp. A smile grazes my lips before gasps echo around me, and I realize I’m tipping sideways.
“Crap …”
Scrambling to snatch the bar, I’m forced to drop the glassandthe rope, left hanging upside down with my hands and legs bound around the pole—not quite ready to face the inevitable. There’s a splash beneath me, and all the blood rushes to my head as I let it fall back, seeing the rope now slinking below the surface, its frayed end chased by a slithering eel that bumps at it with rapt curiosity.
I groan.
Just my luck to getcuriouseels.
My skin tingles under the scrutiny of a thousand pairs of eyes watching my every breath, every blink, every bead of blood dripping into that pool. I alter my hold again so both hands are facing the same direction, then draw a deep breath and uncross my legs at the ankle, letting them drop.
My bloody hand begins to lose grip, pinkie slipping free, tension building in my chest like something stretchy bound around my hammering heart.
I stare at the perilous plummet below, at the eel flicking its tail at the surface like a silent threat.
“Pleasedon’t electrocute me,” I plead, drawing my lungs full as I loosen my grip on the bar.
Gravity yanks me down.
Warm water swallows me in a splashing gulp.
I plunge deep and fast, colliding with the stone bottom, pressure bulging my eardrums. A burst of bubbles punch from my lungs, skin tingling with the instant sense that I’m not the only living thing in the dark bowels of this bowl right now.
I fumble around for the rope, stretched arms sweeping until my fingers connect with the coiled lump. I snatch it up and shove off the bottom, more bubbles escaping as I kick skyward, reaching toward the sunlight painting my upturned face.
Breaking free of my inky prison, I draw greedy breaths, treading water, head swiveling, gaze darting for any sign of my slippery friends. An eel pokes its snout above the surface and gulps a mouthful of air less than ten feet away, and a shiver scuttles up my spine.
Make it quick.
I sift the rope through my fumbling fingers, trying to haul the heavy bell toward the surface.
Something bumps against my arm.
My breath flees, like I’ve just leapt into an icy lake that’s seized my chest.
My hands still, gaze rolling down, becoming transfixed on the eel nudging me. My attention whips to a ripple of disturbed water—the other eel rapidly approaching from another direction. The gasps and screams of the crowd fade into oblivion as every cell in my body stands at attention.
Please don’t shock me.
It slows, then disappears below the surface, and I feel it slither against my leg, curl around my foot. It drops away, but the other bumps into my shoulder this time, and the hairs on my nape lift.
