by Hannah Marae
“I hate it here,” Lazarus groaned.
Eden playfully shoved him on the arm. “C’mon, Laz. It’ll be fun!” If she craned her neck, she could see the festival entrance far down the line. Further ahead, she could just make out the curve of a Ferris wheel.
“We’re not here to have fun,” he grumbled.
As if she could have forgotten. The connection sigil was brighter than ever, so bright the pink light had begun to seep through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. And she could feel it, beating as strongly as if she held Mab’s heart to her chest.
Being so close sent sparks of anxiety shooting through her. Not only would they need a way into the house, but they would also need to figure out how to get Mab out of the Good Night. It was possible. Regardless of what Lazarus claimed, Eden had to believe that. She could only hope he wouldn’t be too upset when he found out.
“Yeah.” Zeke threw open his door and climbed out. “But there’s no reason we can’t have fun while we investigate. Corn dogs, anyone?”
They made their way across the lot to the entrance. Paying the fare, they stepped through the turnstiles, emerging onto a wide, paved path crowded with people. Along both sides sat colorful booths and tents. A cinnamon coffee scent clung to the air, coming from a stand with a long line curving off to the side. Music blared from a tent with a miniature racetrack and a herd of raucous children brandishing remote controls. Snagging a map from the kiosk, Lazarus made his way to the grassy area between two booths.
He studied the map while Zeke tried to peek over his shoulder. “They have a petting zoo?” he exclaimed, making a grab for the map.
Lazarus shifted away, throwing him an admonishing look. “I don’t see anything about Laurent. I think we’ll have to get out there and actually look.”
“We could ask someone,” Eden suggested. Surely somebody around here could point out where Madame Laurent was lurking, and it had to be faster than wandering the festival and hoping they stumbled across something.
“We could,” Lazarus conceded, “but I’d prefer to lay low.”
While she had to appreciate his newfound dedication to her cause, Eden couldn’t help but chuckle. “Her name was on a flier, Lazarus. Asking about her won’t turn any heads.”
“But in the meantime,” Zeke piped in, “snacks?”
Lazarus folded the map and tucked it into his back pocket. “You ate breakfast an hour ago.”
“It’s almost lunch!” Zeke protested, voice going whiny. He looked around, spotting the nearby coffee stand’s waning line. “I’ve got a serious caffeine withdrawal too. I’ll be right back.”
“You chugged an entire mocha in the truck!” Lazarus said, but Zeke was already walking away. “This is going to be a long day.”
Ten minutes later, Eden and Lazarus waited as Zeke tossed the empty coffee cup in the trash and set his sights on a cotton candy vendor. He purchased a big bag of blue fluff and shoved it in his mouth as they walked past a carnival ride line.
“Want some?” Zeke held out the bag.
Eden shook her head—she felt too jittery for sweets—and Lazarus stared him down until Zeke shrugged and pulled the bag back in. Her stomach roiled at the thought of food; she couldn’t even eat breakfast that morning. After days of traveling across the country, hoping for news at every turn, clinging to any scrap of information she could find, Eden was almost there. She had set out into the unknown, endured the visions that plagued her, and found Josephine Laurent. Now, Mab was close, she just knew it, and she would not—could not—rest until she found her.
Walking through the festival was strange. All around Eden, happy people streamed through the walkways, crowding in front of food vendors and waiting in snaking lines. The air seemed injected with happiness. It made Eden wish they weren’t here under such dour circumstances. She could imagine herself screaming on the Tilt-A-Whirl with Zeke or dragging Lazarus for a spin around the carousel. She could picture him, large and gangly, sitting on one of the tiny horses with a defeated glare on his face.
Briefly, Eden wondered if they could come back here after everything was said and done. It was a wistful thought, the idea of walking the paths with Lazarus while Zeke and Mab joked around or played with Hades. She knew they’d get along famously. They were so much alike.
As much as the fantasy warmed her, she needed to be realistic. Chances were they would flee this town and never look back. And after . . . well, she didn’t want to think about after.
They found Madame Laurent’s tent between a souvenir shop and a booth selling all manner of kitschy arcane trinkets. Even from across the pathway, Eden could tell that everything was fake. The sigils were simplified, radiating not even a hint of power. Trinkets Eden sat alongside potions and tonics that she assumed were meant to evoke earth magic. All of it fake.
“I don’t know if the shop is run by Laurent,” Eden said in a low voice. They settled on a bench across the path, taking the opportunity to scope out the area. “But it’s all fake.”
“Fake?” Lazarus repeated as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Fake.” Eden shifted a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s all charms and chintzy crap. Exactly what you’d expect in a tourist trap like this.”
Lazarus leaned back on the bench. Beside him, Zeke hunched forward over his bag of cotton candy, digging into its depths for the last tufts of blue. Somewhere distant, a song filtered out of a scratchy speaker, punctuated by the delighted shrieks coming from the nearby bumper cars.
“Maybe she’s not the real deal,” Zeke offered.
Lazarus bit his lip. “Or she’s just really capitalizing on the mage thing. Why spell real objects when fakes will do just as well in a crowd like this?” He gestured at the people lined up outside Laurent’s tent.
“In any case, the warding on the house was real.” Eden stood, turning back to the bench. She paced the short length of it, tapping her shoes against the pavement. Lazarus shifted his long legs out of her way. “All the more reason to be careful. Zeke, why don’t you go in and see what you can find out.”
“Got it.”
“Wait,” Eden protested, stopping in front of Lazarus. “I’m going in there too.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a great idea. You could sense the warding in the house, and you could tell all the souvenirs were fake. If you can sense her, then I’m guessing she can sense you.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Eden replied. “I can sense her wards because they carry a large amount of power. The souvenirs hold nothing. And I highly doubt she can sense me back; I don’t have that much power to work with.”
“Plus,” Zeke added, “we’re like a dozen yards away. If she could sense Eden, she probably already knows she’s here.”
“Fine,” Lazarus conceded. “When you go in there, don’t give anything away. Be like everyone else, just someone here to enjoy the festival and have their fortune told.”
“How’re we supposed to find out about Mab, then?” Zeke asked.
“Drop in vague questions about a trade or something like that. Hints. All we need to do is get a sense for if she’s actually cutting deals.”
“We could also listen in on other people in line,” Eden realized. “Maybe some of them are here to make a deal.”
“Exactly,” Lazarus agreed. “See, you’ve got this.”
Eden and Zeke walked across the path to join the line. Lazarus refused to join them, citing a need for at least one of them to remain anonymous. Eden thought this was true, but she also suspected he had no desire to have his fortune told. She knew Laz had his secrets, and he would never give them up to a mage. He’d made that abundantly clear.
The line moved slowly, and she tried to take advantage. She pulled out her phone and kept her head down, but her ears were sharp, and her attention was everywhere. The people around her were mostly chattering about the festival. A group of students in university tees planned their evening—apparently, there was a wine bar on the oth
er side of the grounds—and a pair of friends chatted about love advice. Eden realized that no one intent on making a deal would broadcast it aloud.
The line shuffled forward, and suddenly there was no one ahead. Eden jumped as the tent flap swung open, a dazed-looking man coming out, followed by a small woman with dark copper skin and an elfin face.
Without a word, the woman ushered Zeke into the tent. He turned to give Eden a reassuring grin and a dorky thumbs-up before disappearing inside. Eden caught a glimpse of a low table, and a swoop of shining blonde hair as the flap slipped closed.
Eden tapped her foot as she waited. She turned to see the line behind her had grown. If she craned her neck to see through the crowd, she could spot Lazarus back on the bench, looking at least as nervous as she felt. He leaned forward, bare forearms resting on his knees, phone clasped in his hands. As she watched, Eden realized his foot was tapping at the same pace as her own. Just seeing him, knowing he was there even with a wall of people separating them, made her feel better.
As if sensing her eyes on him, Lazarus looked up, immediately finding her gaze. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he straightened and nodded knowingly. Without thinking, Eden mimicked Zeke’s thumbs-up, her cheeks reddening as Lazarus laughed.
When Zeke finally emerged, his easy grin was replaced by a tight frown. Eden gave him a questioning look, but he just shook his head. “I’ll be close,” he said as he brushed past.
She turned to watch him disappear into the crowd as the elfin attendant beckoned her forward. Steeling herself, Eden took a breath and stepped into the tent.
Her intention was to observe everything she could within the tent’s interior, spotting any wards that might have been hidden within. But as she sat on a low chair before the small round table, the only thing Eden could see was Josephine Laurent. Try as she might, she could not tear her eyes away.
The woman was statuesque from her towering height and lithe limbs to her pale, wide face that was strong and beautiful, completely bare of cosmetics. Her white-blonde hair was artfully coiffed, a black dress buttoned up her long neck. She was like marble come to life, a figure hidden in cold stone.
“I was wondering when I’d see you,” Laurent spoke in a clear, lilting voice.
“W-what?” Eden stammered, her mouth suddenly dry.
The woman tilted her head to the side, lips curling into a predatory smile. “You’re a mage.”
“Yes,” Eden answered immediately, as if by command.
Flushing, she looked away. Why did she do that? Frantically, she glanced around the room, looking for a ward of compulsion or truth. But the wards were either well hidden or not present.
“I could sense your power the moment you approached,”
Laurent explained. “It’s quite lovely. I couldn’t wait to meet you.”
“Um, thanks?” Eden wasn’t sure how to respond. Compulsion or not, she quickly realized that Josephine Laurent was not likely someone to be fooled by a lie.
Folding her long-fingered hands on the table, the mage went on, “Your friend, on the other hand, is something else entirely.”
A hunter, Eden thought. Again, she knew better than to deny the fact. She met the other mage’s gaze, racking her mind for some way to gain a measure of control over the situation. It was ironic, she realized, that the air was filled with the smells of lavender and rosemary, scents to promote serenity and calm. She felt anything but calm, her heart hammering behind her ribs, palms clammy and hot.
Laurent smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let on that I knew.” Tilting her head back, she gave a breathy chuckle. “He was so sneaky. Or, he tried to be. He came to me, asking questions, hinting at a deal. Sure, there’s an air of desperation about him, but it’s nothing I can help him with, so I sent him on his way. I was distracted, honestly, at the flicker of power that bobbed ever so nervously right outside my door.” Leaning forward, Josephine drummed her long, unpainted fingernails against the table. “Now tell me, mage to mage, what can I do for you?”
Eden hesitated. There was a dance to be performed, a repartee between mages. Josephine leaned forward, black-swathed arm draped across the table and a gleam in her pale blue eyes that made Eden shiver. If anyone was coming out on top, it was Josephine Laurent. They both knew that.
The only option she had in this game was to refuse to play.
Squaring her shoulders, Eden held her head high. “I’m looking for Mab Fielding.”
“Ah.” If there was even an inkling of surprise, Josephine masked it well. She clicked her pointed nails against the table and withdrew her hand. The corner of her lip twisted in amusement. “I must say, I am disappointed. But . . .” From below the table, she produced a crisp black card with a silver script. “Come by the house this evening, and we’ll talk about Mabel Fielding.”
Zeke walked down the exterior corridor, passing a row of closed doors and curtained windows. Evening was falling over Booker, the sun dipping below the horizon. There was only an hour until their meeting at Josephine Laurent’s manor, but Zeke tried not to think about that.
He was on a mission.
It took a lot to get Lazarus on board with the plan. Even now, several hours after Eden had emerged from the tent with a stricken look in her eyes and a black card held loosely in her hand, he was still prickly. When Zeke had seen her walking across the crowded path, he’d assumed the worst. If you asked Laz, the worst was precisely what happened. After all, Eden had foregone all sense of subtlety, immediately spilling the fact that she was looking for Mab. That knowledge sent Lazarus fuming. He stomped back to the truck, and Eden stomped after him. It was only when she told him that she was going whether he liked it or not that he caved. When Zeke reminded him that he wasn’t technically the boss, Lazarus gave him a sour look and threw an uncharacteristically rude gesture in his direction.
He didn’t like it any more than Laz did. Laurent gave him the shivers and not in a good way. But there was no way in hell Zeke was letting Eden go in there alone. That might’ve been the only thing he and Lazarus actually agreed on.
The only good out of this situation was that the two were too busy bickering to ask how Zeke’s own conversation with the mage went. He was grateful for that. To say Laurent creeped him out was an understatement. Something about her was deeply unnerving, a sense that she stared at him and inside him, into his soul. When her pale blue eyes locked onto him, Zeke knew straight away that she knew things about him that he was ignorant of. And when she smiled, he knew she would tell him . . . for a price.
After ten minutes of circling the motel, he finally found an alcove with a vending machine humming within. He stepped up to it, bright blue light sliding over his face. Jamming in his card, Zeke scratched absently at his chin before jabbing at the buttons. With a hum and a clank, a tall can came barreling down the tube. He grabbed it, pressed it to his forehead, and sighed. Turning around, he cracked the can open and finished it before he got back to the room.
Shortly later, Zeke and Eden hopped in the truck, leaving Lazarus behind in the motel room with a six-pack and Hades for company. The beer was Zeke’s idea, meant as both a peace offering and a means for Laz to mellow out. He didn’t think it would accomplish either.
After a quiet drive across town, Zeke pulled into the driveway of 1 Cadence Lane. He turned off the truck and palmed the key, stopping to rub at his arm. The stitches were really starting to itch. It was driving him crazy.
“Are you ready for this?”
Eden stared straight ahead at the house on the other side of the windshield. She seemed lost, in thought or maybe grief, hands clasped nervously as she picked at her cuticles. Zeke knew she had to be wondering if Mab was inside. If she was all right. With any luck, they were about to find out.
“I’m ready,” she answered, still staring out the window.
Reaching out, Zeke took her hand. “I mean really ready.” He looked to the house, all lost in shadow, the windows dimly glowing from a light deep within. W
hen he turned back to Eden, she was staring at him. Sighing, he released her hand. “Look, we don’t know what we’re going to find in there. For all we know, it could be a trap. Hell, we might even end up having to fight our way out.”
“It won’t come to that.”
Zeke shook his head. “You don’t know how many times we’ve had to—”
“No,” Eden cut him off, her voice low and sad. “I mean it can’t come to that. Zeke, if this goes wrong, I don’t think fighting will be an option.”
This had to be a bad idea. A month ago, Zeke would have never believed he’d willingly step into a mage’s lair, certainly not without Lazarus. He wasn’t a coward—far from it, or so he liked to believe—but even he felt a moment’s hesitation. But then Zeke looked at Eden, nervously chewing her lip, one hand wrapped around the door handle, just as scared as he was.
Rolling his shoulders, Zeke turned to look at the house. He sucked in a breath and held it before letting it out in one quick whoosh. “Well, what’re we waiting for? Let’s get this party started.”
“Zeke?” She looked at him, eyes glinting in the darkness. A clouded expression passed over her, a look that he could not decipher. Then it was gone, her lips pulling into a grateful smile. “Thanks. For everything.”
The manor’s front door was opened by an impeccably dressed man of indeterminate age. Eden looked up into strangely dim eyes, much like the elfin-faced girl back at the fair. Beside her, Zeke craned his neck to peek past the man and into the manor’s shadowy interior.
Taking a breath, Eden gave him her name. “We’re expected,” she explained, probably unnecessarily. She had a feeling not many people who came to this place were unexpected.
“Of course,” the man said with a smile that was a bit too wide. He took a sharp step back and to the side. “Madame Laurent will meet you in the parlor. If you’ll follow me?”