Page 48 of Magic for Nothing

The Scrambler was scrambling and the Bumper Cars were bumping, but I ignored them both, heading for the first and most important goal a girl can have at the carnival: the Ferris wheel. It was a tall, glowing monument to the show, and from the top, I’d be able to see absolutely everything, from the shape of the bone yard to the movements on the midway. I couldn’t think of a better way to officially start my stay.

There was a short line at the ride. The townies who had to work the next day were drifting out, and many were stopping to blow their last few ride tickets on the big wheel. (Many, but by no means most. The majority would wind up taking a fistful of tickets home, to act as the most expensive useless souvenirs in the whole place. There are many ways to make a profit, if the people running the show know what they’re doing.) I stepped into place, waiting patiently until it was my turn to step up to the ride jock and say, “Excuse me, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” said Sam, turning and scowling at me. “If I let you on the ride, will you not talk to me anymore?”

“For at least ten minutes, sure,” I said.

“Then get on.” He jerked his chin brusquely toward the swinging seat that had just descended into place.

Staying and arguing with him about whether I was going to leave seemed counterproductive. I flashed him a sickly sweet smile and skipped over to the ride, climbing up and pulling the safety bar—such as it was—into place. The Ferris wheel began to spin. I relaxed into my seat and watched the carnival unfold before me like a beautiful picture.

The midway had been a ghost in the daylight, gray and waiting for the night. It was alive now, resurrected in lights and sound and the moving feet of carnies and townies alike. From up here, as the Ferris wheel took me higher, there was no difference between the two. Most of the people I’d known from both camps would take offense at that, but that didn’t make it any less true. Seen from a great enough distance, all the little differences smooth away, and only the big picture remains.

The big tent was a striped shadow behind me, and the lights of the bone yard twinkled past the carnival bawn, turning the field into a spray of stars. It was beautiful, and it was fragile, and it was up to me whether this place would be protected or have the Covenant fall upon it like a ton of bricks. That was more responsibility than I’d ever wanted.

Speaking of responsibility . . . “Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse,” I muttered, as the Ferris wheel moved toward its highest point.

The seat rocked, hard, from the extra weight of Mary appearing next to me. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that way,” she said, words doing nothing to conceal her relief. Her arms were around my shoulders a second later, pulling me close. “I was so worried about you. When did you get back to North America? And what are you doing . . .” She seemed to register her surroundings for the first time. “. . . on a Ferris wheel?”

“It’s a long story, and we only have until we make it back to the ground; someone might notice that I’ve suddenly acquired a passenger,” I said. “Can you let my parents know that I’m not in Europe anymore, but that it’s not safe to look for me or try to make contact?” Asking Mary for things has to be done carefully, to avoid triggering her connection to the crossroads. Fortunately, she’s been a babysitter longer than she’s been a ghost, and checking in with the parents is almost always allowed.

Mary’s eyes widened. “The Covenant still has eyes on you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” I laughed mirthlessly. “They’re the reason I’m here. They have me undercover with this carnival, to find out whether it’s, quote, ‘harboring monsters,’ unquote. My life is a Shakespearean comedy.”

“Wait.” Mary leaned away, eyeing me. “You’re telling me the Covenant is watching you right now?”

“Yes. Hence my calling you while I was at the top of a Ferris wheel. The lights will screw up anyone watching me with a telephoto lens, and if I was under that kind of scrutiny, I’d already be dead. They would have noticed the mice.”

“Wasn’t there someplace more private?”

“I have a room in an RV, but I don’t know how secure it is, and I can’t risk the carnival hearing me say the word ‘Covenant’ in mixed company. Not unless I want to find myself buried behind the bone yard.”

Mary shook her head. “And here I used to think your grandmother was trouble.”

“We get better at complicating things with every generation. Which, speaking of, I set myself on fire earlier tonight. Do you know a way to make this stop?”

“Honey, we’ve talked about this. If you’re a magic user—”

“Yeah, the ‘if’ is off that sentence. Now it’s more ‘if I’m going to survive learning to control this crap.’ Isn’t there a way to put it on hold until I get home and can safely work on it?”

“I’m sorry. Not that I’ve ever heard of. Just try to stay calm, and it should be all right.” The Ferris wheel was gliding into its downward arc. Mary pressed cool lips against my temple. “I’ll tell your parents you’re alive.”

Then she was gone, and I was alone when the motion of the wheel carried me back to ground level. Sam was still manning the ride. I nodded to him, and he scowled to me, and I went around again, back up into the star-spangled carnival sky. All my troubles were on the ground. If it had been up to me, I would have stayed up there forever.

Thirteen

“They called me the Flower of Arizona. A name like that, it never dies. It just keeps moving forward, into legend. If you’re lucky, it’ll take you along.”

—Frances Brown

The Spenser and Smith Family Carnival midway, the following afternoon

THE SUN WAS WARM on my shoulders as I carried boxes of stuffed animals down the midway, pausing at each open game to check their stock. There were subtle differences in the prizes offered by the various pitches, but most were variations on a theme: brightly colored plush toy, great for your girl, make a memory for your kids. Some rotation was necessary during the week, to make it look like things were being won. The pie-in-the-sky prizes could stay—the giant teddy bears, the crystal unicorns, the things virtually no one ever expected to win—but the little day-to-day things had to move around. Otherwise, someone who came to the show often enough might start to do the math and come up with an answer they didn’t care for.

The pitch men and games operators were strangers. Most of them didn’t take the time to introduce themselves, just rooted through my box of toys, snatched a few they thought might earn a dollar, and tossed in the requisite number of returns to keep the numbers up. About half the midway games were privately owned, rather than part of the carnival proper: their operators were parked on the far side of the bone yard, and while they mingled with the rest of us when necessary, they also kept to themselves a surprising amount, cooking in their own RVs and gossiping with each other, rather than the rest of the show. It made sense. Better not to get attached if you weren’t planning on staying.

After I was done with the games, I made for the supply tent next to the reptile trailer. That was where the pythons that roomed next to me were displayed during the day, for the delight and edification of the masses. Alex would have been in heaven. I didn’t really see the point—you can find a wide assortment of snakes at most pet stores, to say nothing of zoos—but there were kids dragging their parents into the tent whenever the show was open, so it must have held a certain appeal for some people.