Page 71 of Magic for Nothing

“I’m okay with that,” I called back.

Sam looked theatrically hurt. “I am not a cheap-ass,” he said. “This is good for every ride we have. Oh, and here.” He dug into his pocket before handing me two more wristbands, one red, the other candy-striped in red and white. “Concessions and games. See? I’m not a cheap-ass. Only the best shit I can get for free by asking my grandmother to give it to me.”

I snorted. “I think you just gave the definition of cheap-ass, dude.” But I fastened the wristbands to either side of the glittery unlimited rides band. It was an oddly touching gesture. Sam could have gotten any of those things by being Emery’s grandson; even the things that wouldn’t be available to all carnies, like open access to the games, were there for the boss’s kid. All he had to do was hold his hand out and it would be filled. The fact that he’d actually acquired the wristbands meant he wanted this to be just the two of us, without the specter of who he was hanging over our heads.

It was nice. Neither one of us was bringing our family on this date—although in my case, it was because he thought my entire family was dead.

We strolled arm in arm onto the carnival grounds, which began with a large circular area ringed in sideshow attractions and booths selling concessions and souvenirs of all sorts. The Ferris wheel rose majestically in the middle of it all, stretching toward the sky. We both looked at it with our own flavor of longing before agreeing, through a silent glance and a mutual nod, to come back later, when the crowds had thinned. Ferris wheels are always magical, but there’s something about riding on one that’s mostly empty that changes the experience. We walked on.

Ananta was outside her snake tent, an albino python wrapped around her shoulders, several nearby children watching with wide, fascinated eyes. She grinned when she saw the wristbands we were wearing, and called, “You’ve proven your sincerity by offering access to our entire show. Now prove your bravery by leading your girl into my den, where serpents slither and sincerity is tested!”

Sam laughed before looking at me and asking, “You wanna see some snakes?”

“Just glad I know it’s not a metaphor,” I said, and laughed at the look on his face. “Let’s go.”

The inside of Ananta’s attraction was dark and cool and smelled faintly rich, that deep reptile smell I will always associate, on some level, with my brother Alex. But the reptiles were thriving; even I knew enough to know that. Two-headed corn snakes, great, lazy pythons, and quick, scampering lizards lined the walls. There was a tank filled with waxy-looking tree frogs the size of my fist.

There was also a tank filled with adolescent cobras that looked at us with interest but without alarm. Two of them exchanged a look before lifting the first third of their bodies off the ground and flaring their hoods, somehow managing to seem bored even in the midst of what should have been a threat display. I leaned a little closer.

“Sons or brothers?” I asked.

The cobras looked surprised, which was a neat trick, since they didn’t have eyelids. Their hoods retracted before they twined around each other. I nodded.

“Makes sense. Nice to meet you.”

I straightened up and turned to find Sam looking at me quizzically.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Just meeting the locals. Do you know their names?”

“Ananta never told me.”

“I’ll ask her later.” Wadjet women look human; wadjet men and boys look like cobras. Wadjet males normally can’t stand one another’s company, although related males too young to mate can sometimes cohabitate when in the presence of an older female relative. Ananta was keeping these two calm just by being nearby.

Sam shook his head. “You’re weird.”

“Is that a problem?”

“You kidding? It’s half of why I wanted to kiss you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the other half?”

“I don’t know if anyone’s told you this before, but you have amazing breasts.”

I laughed. I was still laughing when we left the reptile show, and after that, it seemed like I just didn’t stop. We rode every ride, some of them twice, flashing our wristbands at the ride jocks with wide grins on our faces. At least a few townies went off to buy wristbands of their own once they saw how much fun we were having (and after we’d skipped to the front of the line, which again, we could have done anyway, but you can’t buy “works for the show,” and you can buy “priority unlimited ride access”). Sam ate six hot dogs with the sort of focused intensity that he normally reserved for trapeze practice. I ate two in the same amount of time.

He kissed me in the Tunnel of Love, with giggling townies in the boats to either side of us, separated only by the heart-eyed ducks.

He kissed me in the haunted house, while white-sheeted ghosts popped out of the walls and made moaning noises that occasionally verged on pornographic, and caused me to start laughing mid-kiss. Sam joined in and laughed with me. What else were we supposed to do?

He kissed me in front of a basketball-toss game, after winning me a little stuffed bear, and I kissed him in front of a dart game, after winning him a giant stuffed alligator. The game operators in both cases shook their heads and rolled their eyes and raked in the profits as people queued up for another shot at a task that suddenly seemed achievable.

We traded in the night for kisses, one entertainment at a time, and if the people operating those entertainments smirked and grinned at the sight of us, it didn’t matter. We walked, hand in hand, down the midway as the show was closing around us, watching the townies pouring toward the exit, our stuffed toys in our free hands. All the rides had stopped running, encouraging people to head out a little faster. Sam grinned when he realized that, pulling me toward the Ferris wheel.

“Come on,” he said. “Last stop.”

The ride jock on duty started to wave us off when he saw us coming, but stopped when he realized who we were. “I heard you two were playing townie,” he said, friendly enough, if amused. “Am I supposed to be your last stop?”