“A mimic.”
I gape. Mimics are spirits that take on corporeal form, mimicking—as its name suggests—humans to lure in prey and deceive the unwitting. “How did you know?”
“Experience.” Rafe grabs me by the arm and ushers me to my father’s Bronco.
“Why was it there?”
“If I had to guess—” He opens the driver side door. “—I’d say it was there to dispose of you.”
“Me?”
“You’re not welcome, Selah, remember? Every monster over there that wants to protect its territory—including mimics, including those birds—sees you as a threat.”
“It came from the Overlay.” I crane my neck as though I might get another look while Rafe all but shoves me behind the wheel. “Through a rift.Which means there has to be a rift somewhere near?—”
“Selah.”
“What?”
“You need to get out of here.” He shuts my door.
My arm tingles, tiny pinpricks snaking around my wrist. I rub the lacerations. Somehow, they responded. Somehow, my wounds knew that creature wasn’t Mistress Bramble, but a monster from the Overlay.
And the sketchpad.
I dropped the sketchpad.
Rafe raps loud on the window.
I jump in my seat.
“Go home,” he says.
While I don’t appreciate taking orders, especially not from the likes of him, I start the car with shaking hands and drive to the estate.
Rafe follows me the entire way.
47
A FUNHOUSE OF MIRRORS
Every year between Christmas and New Years, the fairgrounds are transformed into a holiday postcard. Garland winds around the light posts, wreaths hang from wooden stall fronts, and icicle lights dangle from trees. A bluegrass band plays winter-worn folk songs. Steam rises from big iron pots of cider and cocoa, and the air smells of candied chestnuts and fried dough.
People bundled in coats and scarves crowd the thoroughfare, playing games, visiting booths, or buying tickets for the main attractions, which include a Ferris wheel, a Tilt-A-Whirl, a carousal, a funhouse of mirrors, and a skating pond, in the center of which stands a massive evergreen strung with twinkling lights and strands of cranberries.
This year, the festivities are under surveillance.
Officers patrol the main strip. Others station themselves at the entrances and exits. I spot a man in street clothes near the cider stand. He isn’t watching the band, but the crowd—his gaze moving in a slow, deliberate sweep. Every now and then, he touches his ear and mutters to himself. An FBI agent, I think. Which is no surprise. Mayor Ridley said the feds would be here.
I stand in line for the funhouse with Harper and Naomi. A couple groups ahead, Lainey talks animatedly with Brynn Alcott, as though trying very hard to cheer her up. As Caleb’s girlfriend, she’s been in mourning. This is the first time I’ve seen her out and about with dry eyes. And she’s with Lainey Sikes. Harper, Naomi, and I are keeping tabs on them while Twig and Jude keep tabs on Griffin. We were supposed to stick together. This was one of Mrs. Calloway’s precautionary rules. No wandering off. And please, stay together. The problem is, Lainey and Griffin split up, which forced us to do the same.
“What ishedoing here?” Naomi asks, her breath clouding as she hunches her shoulders against the cold. She’s looking at Rafe, who loiters near the Ferris Wheel.
I make eye contact and immediately regret it. He smiles mischievously, like he’s trying to get arise out of me. The muscles in my jaw tighten. I don’t like things that don’t make sense, and lately, Rafe Vandenberg makes none. I know people aren’t all good or all bad. Humanity isn’t so black and white. But it’s pretty confounding that someone with such a sinister past has suddenly made it his mission to keep me alive. I lift my chin and face forward. “Just ignore him.”
Harper bounces on her toes. “I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do if Lainey does something,” she whispers.
“Send out an SOS,” Naomi whispers back.
