Page 7 of Carnival’s Playground

"Checking for flaws," I sassily reply without turning around right away, taking my time with the coffee first. "Found one. It's ugly."

"That's not a flaw, that's character," he counters, stepping up beside me, close enough that I catch the smell of leather and something like woodsmoke. "Real pumpkins ain't symmetrical either, remember? Your words."

"Don't quote me back at myself. It's annoying." I finally look at him, and he's got that half smile again, the one that makes it hard to stay irritated on principle alone.

"Get used to annoying. I hear it's a permanent condition around here." He nods toward the haunt tent. "Dutch wants us both at the generator bank. Something about Petey and last night's wiring."

My stomach drops a little at that. "You talked to Dutch already?" I probe.

"I talked to Dutch," Carnival admits, starting to walk, and I fall into step beside him because apparently that's just what we do now. "Told him what I saw yesterday. He wants it fixed before tonight's rehearsal."

"You couldn't wait for me to weigh in first?" I keep my voice light, though there's an edge under it. Last night, I told him to handle this carefully, and here he goes handling it in his own, brash way regardless.

"Didn't want a fire to wait on your schedule." He glances sideways at me, and there's no meanness in it, just that same stubborn practicality that seems to run through everything he does. "Relax. I told Dutch you'd want to be there. Figured you'd rather referee than hear about it after."

"How generous of you." I roll my eyes, though secretly I'm glad he thought of it at all.

We find Dutch already at the generator bank, his handy clipboard in hand, looking like a man who hasn't had enough coffee to deal with what's coming. Petey's there too, arms crossed, looking like a kid about to get scolded, which, honestly, isn't far off.

"Morning," Dutch grunts, not looking up from his clipboard. "Carnival here tells me your wiring's a problem, Petey."

"My wiring's fine," Petey protests, his voice coming out defensive, too quick, the way it always does when he knows he's wrong but hasn't accepted it yet. "Worked fine all last season."

"Works fine until it doesn't," Carnival notes, crouching by the generator, tracing the cord runs with his finger. "You got the haunt walk lighting, the fog machine, and the animatronic skeleton all running off the same circuit. That's too much load for cords this thin."

"It hasn't tripped once," Petey insists, crossing his arms tighter, and I can see this heading somewhere ugly if somebody doesn't step in soon.

"Hasn't tripped yet," I offer, keeping my voice even, stepping closer, trying for the diplomacy Carnival apparently doesn't have in his vocabulary. "Petey, it's not personal. Man's just trying to keep the tent from burning down around Halloween. Kind of the whole point of the season."

"Easy for you to say when it ain't your work getting torn apart," Petey grumbles, glaring at me, and I feel a flicker of guilt, because he's not entirely wrong. His pride's on the line here.

"Nobody's tearing apart your work," Carnival conveys, standing and brushing dirt off his knees, meeting Petey's glare without backing down an inch. "I'm adding capacity. Splitting the load across two circuits instead of one. You did the layout right, the amp is just wrong for it."

"That's a nice way of saying I screwed up," Petey mutters, though some of the fight's already draining out of his voice.

"Everybody screws up. Difference is whether you fix it before or after something catches fire." Carnival shrugs like it's the simplest math in the world, and for once, I find myself agreeing with his blunt approach, even if I'd have wrapped it gentler.

Dutch finally looks up from his clipboard, gaze moving between the three of us like he's watching a tennis match he didn't ask to referee. "Alright. Carnival fixes the wiring. Petey, you help him, learn how it's supposed to be done right. Avery, you're on lighting checks once it's done, make sure the haunt walk effects still fire on cue."

"Sounds efficient," I muse, glancing at Carnival, and he's already looking at me, something unreadable in his expression.

"Efficient's my middle name," he grins, and I have to fight the urge to smile back, settling for a flat look instead.

"Thought your middle name was trouble," I tease as I sling my now empty coffee mug's strap over my shoulder and head toward the haunt tent to start prepping the effects for testing.

"Same thing, different context," he calls after me, and I don't turn around, but I'm smiling anyway, where he can't see it.

It takes the better part of two hours for Carnival and Petey to rewire the generator circuits, splitting the load the way Carnival explained, running new cable thick enough to handle the amp watts without breaking a sweat. I spend the time inside the tent, checking every prop, every motion sensor, every string of orange lights along the walk, making a list of what needs adjusting once the power's back on.

Beware the shadows reads one of the signs near the entrance, hand painted, letters dripping like blood. I straighten it where it's crooked, then move on to the next prop, a mechanical raven that's supposed to swoop down on a track when a guest walks under it.

"Power's live," Carnival's voice carries from outside the tent, and a moment later the string lights flicker on, casting the whole haunt walk in a flickering orange and purple glow.

"Finally," I reply, flipping the switch on the raven's track, and it doesn't move, no whir of the motor, no swoop. "Raven's dead."

"Dead how?" Carnival ducks into the tent, Petey trailing behind him looking considerably more humbled than an hour ago.

"Dead like it's not getting power," I answer, pointing at the junction box near the raven's perch. "Check that connection, would you? I think it might be loose."