The Midnight Market

by Beth McMullen

  “What does it want?” Hannah yells. Oh, I don’t know. To scare us witless? To kill us? To distract us? To ruin us? The possibilities are endless when you think about it.

  I elbow-crawl toward a broom propped upright in the corner, intending to swat the quad out of the air, when it suddenly screeches to a halt and hovers above me, like an alien spaceship preparing to land on my head. But instead of landing, it drops the heavy padded envelope right at my feet and races out the door, knocking the old cocktail glass to the ground, where it shatters into a handful of tiny shards. In the aftermath, the place goes eerily quiet.

  “Are we safe now?” Jin whispers.

  “Are you kidding me with that question?” Hannah replies. “Where did it come from? Why was it here? What did it drop?”

  Slowly, I pull the heavy envelope toward me. Treasure Hunters is scrawled across the front in black marker. Hannah crawls on hands and knees and plops down beside me. “That’s us,” she says definitively. “Hunters.”

  “Open it,” Jin urges. But he cringes back as if he expects the package to explode. This might be worse than vampires. I slide a tentative finger under the flap, but I don’t get far.

  “Time to go,” Zeus suddenly squawks, flapping around in my face so I can’t ignore him.

  “Stop that!”

  “Now!” Zeus insists.

  “Um… Lola?” Jin nudges me, and I follow his gaze. Behind the curtain, a pair of yellow eyes gleam in the darkness. Cat eyes. But it must be a big cat. A really big cat.

  “Now! Now! Now!” Zeus explodes in a burst of feathery impatience.

  “Got it,” I whisper. “Going. Right now.” I grab the envelope, and we back cautiously out of the Phoenix Hotel. Well, not Zeus. He flies as fast as he can.

  The light outside is somehow brighter and sharper than when we went in. Squinting, we run down the alley away from the gritty red door until there is a comfortable distance between us and it. Leaning against a building wall, we stop to catch our breath.

  “What is a mountain lion doing in New York?” Jin asks, wheezing.

  “There was a guy here once who kept a Bengal tiger named Ming in his apartment,” I reply, wiping sweat from my forehead. “He didn’t get caught until Ming mauled him and he ended up in the hospital.” Jin and Hannah both stare at me. “I swear. It’s true. What?”

  “What happened?” Jin cries.

  “To the guy? He was fine.”

  “No! To the tiger!”

  “Oh. He went to a zoo in Ohio. The guy also had an alligator named Al in the apartment. I don’t know what happened to him.” Strange things happen in New York City. Seriously. “I think this envelope is full of rocks.”

  But tucked inside are three yellow-and-blue subway passes, fifteen crisp ten-dollar bills, and a gold bar about the size of a pack of playing cards, engraved with an intricate phoenix, much like the token but more complex, including snakes intertwined with flowers along the bottom. Sparkling in the evening sun, it looks like it belongs in a museum, so beautiful it’s a little mesmerizing. Jin snatches the gold bar from my hands.

  “Hey!”

  “Is it like a gold doubloon?” he asks, peering at it from different angles.

  “Yes,” says Hannah snidely. “Because coins are often rectangular.”

  “No need to be snotty,” Jin says with a sniff. “Clearly the subway passes are for transportation and the money is for food, so what is the gold bar that is not a doubloon for?”

  “To trade for the Helm?” I suggest. Because honestly, no one is going to give us the Helm in exchange for Ping-Pong smoke bombs or a lavender-infused bandanna.

  But who exactly sent it? Lipstick? My dad? Our fairy godmother? Oh right. We don’t have one of those. Lipstick? This is the perfect opportunity for me to explain my late-night conversation, but Hannah pipes up about not being able to figure anything out until she eats, and Jin, in complete agreement, jumps in to suggest cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes from that little place around the bend from the alley. And another opportunity slips by.

  When our last slurp of milkshake is gone, we head downtown to Battery Park, compliments of our subway passes. Figuring out how to ride the subway is no easy thing when you are a newbie. At one point I think we are headed somewhere totally off the wall like Staten Island, but finally we arrive at our intended destination.

  Battery Park is located on the southern tip of Manhattan Island. Ferries depart here to the Statue of Liberty as well as a number of other places. We have time to kill, so we wander over to the SeaGlass Carousel, housed in an enormous steel-and-glass building the shape of a nautilus. Although the carousel is closed to riders, thirty giant fish, illuminated by ever-changing lights, glow in the night. It is like something out of a very weird dream.

  “It looks like the bioluminescence from the ocean,” Hannah says. “Like the light thrown off from living creatures.”

  “It’s cool,” Jin says, tilting his head for a different view. We stand there for a long time, gazing at the huge sparkly fish and thinking our own thoughts. Finally, we leave the carousel and move on, passing a memorial to victims of the Irish Potato Famine and Merchant Mariners’ Memorial, right at the water’s edge. That one makes my mouth dry. There are three bronze sailors on a boat, one reaching for a fourth, who is overboard and busy drowning. I hope this is not a premonition or a sign or whatever.

  Jin reads the plaque. “Check it out,” he says, pointing at the sailors. “At high tide the drowning guy vanishes, and at low tide you can see him.”

  Hannah sighs. “He’s always in some state of drowning. Forever. For all eternity. It’s a drag.”

  “He’s made of bronze,” Jin reminds her.

  “Still,” she replies.

  I glance at my watch. Eleven thirty. Time to focus. Instead of being tucked in our beds, fast asleep, we occupy a bench with a clear view of the ferry terminals, on the lookout for anything unusual. The park is pushed up against the Hudson River, and the water is dark and ominous, covered by a low-hanging mist. There are a surprising number of people milling around, considering how late it is. A group with small dogs congregates about twenty feet away, and another with shopping bags. There’s a lady with a stroller who looks tired and grumpy, and a young guy, headphones on, juggling a bunch of balls. I guess they don’t call it the City That Never Sleeps for nothing. Or maybe it’s just too hot to sleep.

  The clock ticks slowly forward. I try not to check my watch every second, but the thing is obviously broken because time is barely moving at all. One of Dad’s favorite sayings is “A watched pot never boils.” It annoys me. I mean, does staring at water have any impact on the physics of it boiling? No, it doesn’t. It’s science. It just is, whether you believe it or not. I glance at my watch again and growl.

  “Are you guys tired?” Jin asks.

  “No,” Hannah says quickly, eyes scanning the water like she is some sort of robot. “Are you?”

  Stifling a yawn, Jin replies, “No way. I’m good. Totally awake. Ready for anything. What about you, Lola?”

  I wouldn’t describe what I’m feeling as tired exactly. It’s more complicated, a mix of dread and anticipation with a dash of fear that makes my stomach gurgle. But I don’t want to say this to my friends. I want them to think my nerves are steady and calm, even if this is not entirely true. “I’m good. Not tired. Completely awake.” I glance at my watch. Midnight.

  “I wish something would happen,” Hannah complains.

  And in that moment, as if conjured by Hannah, a barge appears out of the mist, like a big metal ghost plowing silently through the water. When it is still about forty feet from the river’s edge, it suddenly explodes with light. Twinkle lights and flashing lights and spotlights, bright as stars. Mounted on the cabin is a spinning disc, about five feet in diameter, comprised of flaming sparklers in red and green. It’s the MM symbol, hissing and spitting and billowing smoke into the night air.

  “What the heck?” Jin shields his eyes. The lights
dim just as quickly as the barge glides alongside the retaining wall. A ramp extends to land. Stroller Lady efficiently folds up the stroller like an umbrella and marches toward the ramp. Headphones Guy stops his exercise and he, too, heads for the barge. One of the dog people tucks his pint-size fur baby under his arm and joins the parade of about twenty random people.

  “This is so it!” Hannah says, leaping to her feet. “Let’s go!” She charges toward the ramp. We run after her. I clutch the gold bar to keep it from bouncing out of my pocket.

  “Is this a good idea?” Jin asks, his voice shaky.

  No. Definitely not. But it never is, and we end up doing it anyway. “It will be fine,” I say. Oddly, my fear and dread are gone, replaced by excitement about what is going to happen next. This is good. Fear is not wrong or bad, but it can get out of control and in the way.

  As soon as my feet hit the ramp, I have a spasm of panic. What if they ask for a ticket? What if they say there’s an age limit? Or a height limit? Or they don’t want us here?

  Chill out, Lola. Stay cool and get on like everyone else is.

  We queue up behind the others. I wonder if Lipstick’s nemesis is here and if we will have to wrestle her for the Helm. A surge of guilt rises up. How would I explain that to my friends exactly? It’s completely silent as everyone shuffles forward at the same slow pace. Even the sounds of the city—honking horns, sirens, shouting—seem muffled. At the end of the ramp is a young man in a crisp white uniform, a sparkly badge of the MM symbol fixed to his jacket. Silently, he holds out a silver bowl. As passengers board, they silently place the small pink balls, just like the one we got from the Grab-n-Go, into a silver bowl, where they jingle like bells. Hannah extracts ours from her pocket and tosses it in, and just like that, we are on the barge.

  “You know,” Jin whispers, “if we fall overboard and drown, there will be no record of us having been here. It will be like those scuba divers that got left behind at the Great Barrier Reef in Australia because the captain didn’t take attendance before going back to land. They got eaten by sharks. Just FYI.”

  “I don’t think this river is infested with sharks,” I whisper back.

  “It has to connect to the ocean somewhere,” Jin points out. Currently, sharks are very low down on my list of concerns. I hold a finger to my lips to silence him. I’d hate to get kicked off the barge because we have somehow broken the golden rule of no talking.

  As soon as everyone is on board, the ramp rolls up and the barge lurches away from shore. No turning back now.

  CHAPTER 32 THE MIDNIGHT MARKET

  IN THE DARKNESS, THE PASSENGERS seem like ghosts, with blurry edges, blending into one another. There are many more people on board than who got on with us. Maybe the barge makes stops, like a bus? I jump when Hannah appears beside me, grabbing my hand.

  “This is trippy,” she says, cheeks flushed.

  “I know they have lights,” Jin complains. “Why not turn them on?”

  “Stealth mode,” I say. The barge deck is wide and crowded, and the stink of smoke from the sparklers lingers. “We should split up. Check things out. Report back.”

  “Please remember the last time we were on a boat together, we had to jump for our lives,” Jin says gravely. “Let’s try not to do that again. Okay?” We agree, and Jin and Hannah head in opposite directions while I cut down the middle. For a supposed market, there does not look like anything is for sale. There are no tables or display cases or anything. It’s possible we just got on a random barge for a midnight river tour. That would be funny but also bad.

  When I can get a look at the passengers’ faces, their expressions are all the same. Serene, patient, relaxed, as if they have done this before. But maybe if you deal in magical mythical potentially dangerous treasures, nothing is surprising anymore?

  I weave through the ethereal people. Some are young, maybe a few years older than us, and others are quite elderly and wrinkled. No one has their face buried in a smartphone. In fact, I don’t see a single glowing rectangle. Maybe it’s frowned upon? Or illegal even? But I get the sense the whole market is illegal, so would people willing to break rules be worrying about them? Whatever the reason, heads are up and the passengers are quietly watching the dark world of water whiz by.

  Wind in my face indicates that we are moving down the river at a good clip, slipping between the round end of Brooklyn and Staten Island, leaving the city lights behind us. Chop on the water sends the barge surfing up and down the waves. We are out in open ocean. Are barges meant for seafaring? I thought they hauled garbage around and stuff. I’m holding on to the rail to steady myself when a boy about my age staggers up next to me, his face an unnatural shade of green.

  “Watch out,” he groans. “Gotta puke.” Gross! I jump to one side as the boy barfs over the edge. “Oh. That’s the worst. Uh-oh. More.” I close my eyes and wait for the retching sounds to subside. When I open them, the boy is slumped over the railing, about to pitch headfirst into the water. Did he pass out? Instinctively, I grab the back of his shirt and haul him back onto the deck. He collapses in a heap at my feet, where I nudge him with a toe to make sure he’s breathing. After a moment, he wipes his mouth on the bottom hem of his T-shirt, leaving a brown smear right through the words Chappaqua Country Day, written in bright red.

  Chappaqua Country Day? I know that school. Why do I know that school? My brain lurches around, looking for the connection. “Is that your school?” I ask, gesturing at the shirt.

  The boy glances down as if he forgot what he was wearing. “What? Oh. Yeah.”

  But before I can ask for details, the boat lurches and I step right on the boy’s knee. “Ow!”

  “Sorry!” I offer him a hand up. He dusts himself off, except he can’t do much with the smear on his T-shirt.

  “You should know that I wasn’t really going to fall overboard,” he says, eyeing me. “I had it under control. Like, totally.”

  You totally didn’t, but if that idea embarrasses you, then fine, I think to myself. I smile benignly. Another boy, a carbon copy of Barf Boy in the same school T-shirt, appears out of the gloom.

  “Dude,” he says. “We thought you bought it.”

  Barf Boy punches his friend in the biceps, hard. The friend winces. “I’m fine,” Barf Boy says. “Let’s go.” He does not even glance at me as he disappears into the crowd. Well, that wasn’t very polite. I saved his life, after all. This is what I’m thinking when the barge suddenly slows and explodes once again with light.

  It is utterly transformed. Flickering candles are strung above our heads, and glass crystals drip like raindrops alongside them. Mirrors line the wheelhouse and reflect the kaleidoscope of colors thrown off by an old-school disco ball dangling from the masthead light. Music blasts from unseen speakers. Waiters dressed in smart black-and-white uniforms move among the guests with trays of food and frosty drinks. Some passengers throw off layers, revealing party outfits that glitter and shimmer as much as the barge herself does. A woman with silver hair, dressed in a sequined jumpsuit, with what must be a thousand strands of glittering beads around her neck, jumps up on an overturned packing crate, microphone clutched in her hand. She sparkles so brightly, it’s like looking directly into the sun.

  “My lovelies!” Sparkle Lady bellows. “Welcome to the Midnight Market! And, more importantly, welcome to international waters, where the only law is… there is no law!” Everyone cheers. Some people jump up and down and clap their hands like Santa Claus just popped out of the chimney. “And remember, folks, what happens in international waters stays in international waters.” A roar of laughter rises from the crowd. It’s clear they love her, hanging on her every word. “Oh, how I’ve missed you! I could stand up here all night and catch up, but I won’t. We have curated an extraordinary collection of items for you this year, and I know you are anxious to see them. Remember you can beg, barter, or buy, but that is between you and the seller.”

  While she’s talking, another barge of about the same
size appears out of the shadows and maneuvers into position beside us. “And as you can see, we are ready to receive you. Happy shopping, my people.” At the wave of her hand, the new barge extends a gangplank linking the two boats together. The second barge is the actual market.

  Suddenly beside me, Jin whispers, “This is kind of overwhelming.” He twists his Paul bracelet frantically.

  “Yeah,” I agree. I didn’t know what to expect, but I know it wasn’t this.

  Hannah emerges from the crowd. “This is wild,” she says breathlessly. “What is the word when something is so beyond amazing that it might actually break the space-time continuum and change life as we know it forever?”

  “Really cool?” Jin suggests.

  Hannah rolls her eyes. “Thanks. Brilliant. And why are you guys just standing here? Let’s get the Helm!” She yanks us toward the people queuing to board the second barge.

  As we shove our way into the line, I notice Barf Boy a few yards away. I also notice Jin notice Barf Boy. And when he does, all the color drains from his face.

  CHAPTER 33 SHOP LIKE YOU MEAN IT

  THE SECOND BARGE IS MORE like an upscale flea market, very orderly in contrast to the three-ring circus currently raging on the other boat, if you don’t count the inflatable lifeboats, big bundles of black rubber stowed along the railings. It’s a lot of lifeboats. I mean, safety first and all, but what do they think is going to happen? There are a number of burly security guards circulating on deck.

  As we step off the gangway, a man in a tuxedo reminds us to mind our manners. “Violence will get you thrown overboard,” he states as if he is a flight attendant instructing the passengers on how to buckle their seat belts. “And no rescue will be provided.”