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your worst fear,
a secret you’ve never told a soul.
One dress only cost a recent nightmare, but it was plum, the one color Scarlett couldn’t stand to wear.
“That’s your price, you want me to buy you a dress?”
“No. I want you to purchase three dresses for yourself. One for the next three evenings of the game.” Aiko pulled open the door, but Scarlett did not cross its threshold.
A funny thing happens when people feel as if they are paying less for something than they ought: suddenly the worth goes down. Scarlett had glimpsed the book so she knew it was valuable—this had to be some sort of trick. “What are you getting out of this? What do you really want from me?”
“I’m an artist. I don’t like that your gown has a mind of its own.” Aiko’s nose wrinkled as she looked over Scarlett’s dress, which appeared to still be in mourning: it had even managed to sprout a small dark train. “When it gets emotional, it changes, but anyone who opens the pages of my book might not kn
ow that. They’d just think I’d made a mistake, giving you a new gown mid-scene. I also despise the color black.”
Scarlett wasn’t a fan of black either. It reminded her of too many unpleasant emotions. And, it would be nice to have more control over her clothes. But since she could stay only two more nights, at the most, there was no need for three dresses.
“I’ll do it for two dresses,” Scarlett said.
Aiko’s eyes shined like black opals. “Done.”
Silver bells chimed as the girls stepped into the shop. They made it two feet before encountering a hanging, jewel-encrusted sign that said: Thieves Will Be Turned to Stone.
Below the beautiful warning, a young woman made of granite stood frozen in place, her long hair flowing behind as if she’d been trying to run.
“I know her,” Scarlett muttered. “She was pretending to be pregnant last night.”
“Don’t worry,” Aiko said. “She’ll be back to normal once Caraval is over.”
A piece of Scarlett felt as if she should pity the girl, but it was overshadowed by the thought that Legend had a sense of justice after all.
Beyond the granite girl, every creation in the shop glimmered with Caraval magic. Even the garish ones that looked like parrot feathers or holiday packages with too many bows.
Tella would adore this, thought Scarlett.
But it seemed the enchanted dress Scarlett wore didn’t like the shop at all. Every time she selected something, her gown would shift as if to say, I can look like that too.
Finally, she settled on a gown of cherry-blossom pink, oddly reminiscent of the first garment her magical dress had formed into. Full of tiered skirts, but with a bodice lined in buttons instead of bows.
At Aiko’s insistence she also chose a more modern, corsetless gown. Sleeves that dipped off her shoulders attached to a sweetheart neckline lined with champagne and pale-orchid beadwork—the colors of infatuation. The ornamentation grew denser as it trailed down a slightly flared skirt, which ended in a graceful train that was very impractical but terribly romantic.
“No returns or exchanges,” said the shopgirl, a shiny-haired brunette who looked no older than Scarlett. She made her statement without emotion, yet as Scarlett stepped closer she had a prickly sort of feeling that told her she’d reached the point in the game that marked no returns as well.
In front of her, a pincushion, along with an equal-arm brass scale, sat on the edge of a polished mahogany counter. The scale’s pan for the goods was empty but the tray for weights contained an object that looked disturbingly close to a human heart. Scarlett had the alarming vision of her own heart being taken from her chest and placed on the empty pan.
The shopgirl continued, “For the dresses, that will be your worst fear and your greatest desire. Or you can pay using time.”
“Time?” Scarlett asked.
“We’re having a deal. Tonight it’s only two days of your life per dress.” The brunette spoke matter-of-factly, the same as if she were asking for ordinary coins. But Scarlett felt sacrificing four days of her life was no simple matter. She knew she shouldn’t have been keen to give up her secrets, either, but her fear and desire had been used against her already.
“I’ll answer your questions,” Scarlett said.
“When you’re ready,” the shopgirl instructed, “remove your gloves and hold the base of the scale.”
A few of the shop’s other patrons pretended not to watch while Aiko looked on eagerly from the edge of the counter. Scarlett wondered if this was perhaps what Aiko was really after. Of course, if she’d been watching Scarlett, she should have already known her answers.
Scarlett took off her gloves. The brass felt surprisingly warm and soft under Scarlett’s fingers. Fleshy, almost, as if it were a living thing. Her hand grew clammy and the surface grew slick.
