Page 43 of Magic for Nothing

To his credit, Sam looked faintly abashed. “Sorry.”

“I mean, inventive, and points for the use of ‘dulcet,’ but . . . harsh. Do you talk to all the new girls like this, or did I get really lucky somehow?”

“We don’t get that many new girls. Especially not ones who wander out of a field in the middle of the week and disrupt my workout.”

“So I’m a novel experience. Goodie for me. It’s always nice to have absolutely no expectations to fail to meet.” I pointed my fork at Sam’s plate. It was laden about three times as heavily as mine, but I couldn’t blame him for that. He was eating like an athlete, and feeding me like, well, a stranger who could damn well get her own second helpings. “You want to call a ten-minute truce while we inhale sufficient calories to keep body and soul together?”

“Sure,” he said, looking relieved that he wasn’t going to need to talk for a few minutes. We set to eating our respective breakfasts.

He was definitely a faster eater than I was: I wasn’t sure he paused long enough to chew between bites. I mashed everything into one big beige pancake of oatmeal and eggs and bready bits, and began to eat, measuring the tent around me as I did. That’s the nice thing about meals: people expect a little quiet, and that can create the perfect opportunity to get the lay of the land.

Not many folks were up yet—it was way too early for this kind of show to be really active—but the ones who were seemed pretty normal for the carnival setting. They wore jeans, sweatshirts, and the occasional long skirt; unlike Sam, most of them had shoes on, proving they were smarter than the average trapeze artist. A few cast curious glances in my direction. None seemed really unfriendly, not the way he did. Leave it to me to find the one person in the show who didn’t like new people.

Despite his triple portions of, well, everything, Sam finished first. He pushed his plate away, eyeing what was left on mine dubiously. “Did you have to kill it before you could eat it?”

“It never hurts to be sure,” I said, before taking another bite. “The oatmeal’s good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Okay, this?” I pointed my fork at him. “Getting old. Dial it down if you don’t want me to accidentally kick you at the first opportunity.”

“You’d never catch me.”

“The cocky always have the farthest to fall.” My breakfast was basically over: there were only a few scraps remaining. I looked under the table. Mindy and Mork had annihilated their cornbread and disappeared, which probably meant they were back in my bag. A quick check confirmed that yup, I had two peacefully sleeping Aeslin mice curled up in my pencil bag. They must have been as exhausted by all the travel as I was.

I looked back up to find Sam watching me, an expression somewhere between wariness and hope on his face. It faded as soon as he realized I was looking at him.

“Come on,” he said brusquely, snatching my plate. “I’ll show you around.”

“Great,” I said, and followed.

There is no “normal” where the American carnival is concerned, especially not when dealing with a hybrid show like Spenser and Smith. But there are certain attributes that remain constant, if only because they represent the most effective way of doing things, and carnivals are all about maximizing effectiveness. The more streamlined the show, the faster it will be to set up and tear down—and when a town decides to change a local ordinance because they want those traveling weirdoes out of the field, it helps to be able to get out in less than six hours. Not as big of a concern these days, when carnivals are rarer and hence a more exciting spectacle, but still, it’s good to know that a quick exit is possible.

With a tent show, the layout frequently goes something like this: the front gate and ticket booth, which will be as secure as needed, given the attractions on display; the midway and entrance to the big tent; the entrances to the smaller, sideshow tents, of which the Spenser and Smith Family Carnival had six; the rides at the back, both to lure townies through the entire show, and to minimize the distance any given component would have to travel. The only exception at this particular show was the Ferris wheel, which was set up right at the end of the midway, where its lights and slow, romantic turn would attract even more people than the greater thrills beyond.

It was a nice little operation. I would have enjoyed attending it, screwing with the people manning the games of chance, and coming away with a few new stuffed toys. As it was, I felt bad for coming in under false pretenses, and wary at the same time. Three teenagers were missing. That was more than enough to justify intervention by my family—and if the Covenant got involved, it was going to be seen as more than enough to justify a massacre. I needed to be on edge until I could either clear the carnival’s name or condemn it once and for all.

Sam said as little as possible during my tour, which was no surprise. He kept looking up like he expected something to drop out of the sky and save him from the necessity of showing me around.

Finally, once we had exhausted the wonders of the closed midway and the powerless rides, he led me back through the tarp to the bone yard. It had woken up while we were walking around: there were people everywhere now, some with plates from the mess tent balanced on their knees, others firing up personal barbeques. A surprising number of people seemed to think hot dogs were an appropriate breakfast food. Oh, well. It was no skin off my nose.

Sam clearly knew the bone yard by heart, and led me between tents and vans without pausing. If he’d been marginally friendlier, he would have been the perfect guide. As it was, I sort of wanted to punch him in the throat, just to see if it would get something out of him other than a scowl.

He stopped at a small RV. “Here,” he said brusquely.

I Spocked an eyebrow at him. “You might want to use a few more words. This sentence no verb. This sentence barely nouns.”

“Oh, my God, could you be more annoying?”

“Yes. I assure you, I could be more annoying.” I looked at the RV. “What is ‘here’? Is this my temporary home?”

“Yes,” he said. “Umeko moved in with her boyfriend, and since they seem pretty stable, you get her room for the time being.”

I blinked. “I was sort of expecting to be sleeping on someone’s floor. New girl, and all.”

“We don’t trust you enough to let you sleep on someone’s floor.” He smiled for the first time, showing me all his teeth. “See, quarantine is a useful principle that you should probably get used to.”

“Social quarantine. Nice.” I tried the door. It swung open to reveal a narrow room slightly bigger than my closet at home. It contained a bunk, a counter, two cabinets, and a microwave. I’d be able to change my clothes, if I wasn’t too picky about needing to stand up straight. “Cozy.”