by Sarina Dorie
“Thanks,” I said, “But I don’t think the Oregon Country Fair is my kind of thing.”
“How can it not be your kind of thing? You have pink hair, honey. You need the fair. It’s your calling. Your people await.”
I thought about Daisy’s tarot card reading with the death card. Had the card alluded to Joel’s heart attack and almost dying, or was it a change in my life? What exactly had happened at the fair all those years ago when Missy had gone missing for five hours?
I wanted to ask my mother, but every time I tried, she changed the subject. She wouldn’t talk about witches or magic, but I’d always had a feeling they’d played a role in my sister’s disappearance—in the way Missy had suddenly changed after the fair. When I tried to talk to Mom about the raven people and that conversation I thought I’d overheard, she said it had been my imagination. Maybe it had. It was so long ago. My memories of that day were hazy.
Every time I asked too many questions she diverted my attention. She made me try a cookie she had made with organic ingredients from the garden or a smoothie. I hated how I let her distract me.
“Look, I’m desperate,” Yamil said. “One of my performers cancelled at the last minute. I have less than a week to fill four spots. I usually have backups, but someone from another stage snatched them up. I need a performer. I can tell you’d be good.”
“That really is nice of you to offer.” I felt bad for him. He was in a tough situation. “I’ll think about it.”
“You make tips. Plus, you get a free event pass and a meal ticket. People will commit a felony to get an overnight pass to the fair.”
I laughed. So I had heard.
“Here’s my card.” He placed it in my hand. “Promise me to at least think about it.”
“Okay.” It wasn’t like I’d just sold my soul to the devil. I hadn’t agreed to go to the fair.
One of the pigeons on the sidewalk next to me teetered as if it was drunk and plopped into the grass. Even as people tried to walk by, the group of birds didn’t move out of the way. They were placid and complacent. Just like I was after I drank Mom’s smoothies. I’d never wondered what she put in her shakes besides kale, strawberries and other organic produce from her garden. My head usually wasn’t clear enough to ask questions.
I wasn’t going to let my mom distract me with baked goods or smoothies anymore. It was time I learned the truth about what was going on. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time.
CHAPTER TEN
Mommy Dearest
I still hadn’t decided whether I wanted to take the job performing at the fair as I rode my bike home from the market. The breeze rushed against my face and cooled the sweat under my tank top. As I dismounted in the driveway of my mom’s house, I noticed a crow perched on the gate of the white picket fence at the side of the house where I usually parked my bike. It watched me with unblinking eyes.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I paused. Was it a crow, or a raven? I couldn’t tell.
For the briefest moment, it reminded me of that strange woman sitting on the wooden fence at Oregon Country Fair years ago, her costumed bird feet uncannily realistic. My mom had said something to the woman, but so much time had passed, and I couldn’t remember their conversation anymore.
I’d seen hundreds of blackbirds since then. Never had one creeped me out like this. Usually I parked my bike on the other side of the fence. Today I left the bike in the driveway between my mom’s station wagon and the garage, grabbed my bag and easel from the basket, and backed away. I didn’t feel safe until I’d made it inside the door and locked it. Only then did I sigh in relief.
The house smelled like chili and cornbread, attesting to my mom’s presence somewhere in the house. But the house didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t place my finger on what it was, but something felt off. The cozy embrace of the house that made it feel like home was absent.
I dropped my easel and bag of drawing supplies on the floor of the entryway. Cheery sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains of the living room. The breeze from outside made the shadows of spiky plants on the windowsills dance across the floor. Each shadow stretched toward me like long fingers. Several of Mom’s plants were dried and brown, and her prized orchids shriveled. I hadn’t noticed the dead flowers that morning. It wasn’t like Mom not to take care of her plants.
My stomach churned.
As I passed the couch and television and approached the kitchen, I heard my mom’s voice. Thinking she was on the phone, I followed the sound to find her.
She stood at the back door to the garden, turned away from me. The solid wood door was ajar, and she peeked out. “I told you not to come here,” she said.
“If your wards aren’t strong enough to keep me out of your garden, they aren’t strong enough to protect her from Fae either.” The man’s British accent was a clipped monotone. “She’s slipping. Again.”
My spine stiffened. It sounded like the school district psychologist. But what would he be doing here? And why was he talking about wards? Psych wards? He was a shrink. That would make sense. More sense than the other meaning for that word. I knew from reading fantasy novels wards were spells of protection, but my mom didn’t read fantasy. And that district psychologist didn’t strike me as a D & D fan either.
“You need to leave,” Mom said.
“She’s seen too much,” he said. “The most logical solution is to wipe her memories like I did for the Morties at that school. If you release all your enchantments on her, I can do so.”
Morties? I’d never heard that term before. Had I heard him correctly? It sounded like he was talking about the students. About the old man who had witnessed the fire and tentacles. Morties. Mortals?
I held my breath. I prayed they weren’t talking about me, but in my heart, I knew they were.
“Stay away from her,” Mom hissed.
The air around the door wavered like summer heat rising from blacktop. The dust motes around my mom shimmered in the light from the kitchen window. Her hair looked even redder, her skin viridian in the light.
“I’m not going to hurt her. Just drain her powers,” the man said. “It’s better this way. For everyone.”
“I’m not going to let you turn my daughter into a brain-dead vegetable,” she shouted.
There was something familiar about this. Drain her powers. I’d heard someone talk about this before. My arms prickled with goosebumps.
I crept closer. “Mom?”
She glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide, guilty, like she’d been caught with her hand in a box of non-organic, store-bought cookies. “Stay back,” she said. She made a motion with her hand that reminded me of sign language.
I halted.
“Is that her?” the man asked. “Let me see her. I can help her.”
“No,” Mom said to the person behind the door. With obvious effort, she tried to close it. “Go away. Now isn’t a good time for me. I have—I have visitors. Morties.”
There was that word again.
I wanted to step forward and help her, but my shoes felt as though they were glued to the floor, not so different from that day outside the school with the “gas leak.” I wrenched one foot free of a shoe and nearly fell over.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
Mom raised her voice. “Lucifer, I need you!”
The cat ran past me in a streak of teeth and claws and shot out the door. Something thumped on the other side and Lucifer yowled. Our cat had a thing about attacking people’s faces, but I’d never seen him come when called. Or attack on command.
Mom slammed the door closed and locked it.
“Bloody hell,” the man cursed outside.
A figure clad in dark gray rushed by the window above the kitchen sink, heading toward the side of the house. He had dark hair and wore a tweed suit, but that was all I saw over Mom’s windowsill garden. He could have been the school district psy
chologist. It was difficult to tell from the way he twisted and turned, probably trying to free himself from Lucifer’s claws. The cat had attached himself to the man’s head like the face-hugger in Alien.
I wrenched my other foot free of my sneaker and ran to the kitchen window.
“Clarissa, stay back,” Mom said. “I don’t know what he’s capable of.”
I didn’t know if she meant our cat or the man. I didn’t see the man out the window. I ran to the living room to see if I could get a better look at him, but he was gone.
I only realized how much tension I held in my body once my heart started to slow and my muscles relaxed. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Mom leaned against the door, her shoulders slumped. Dark circles ringed her eyes.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Who was that?”
“No one. A homeless man. He was mentally ill.”
“Mom, don’t lie to me. That was the psychologist who works for Skinnersville School District.” I ran into him whenever unexplained phenomena manifested in my life: the frogs, the bananas, and the school gym explosion. Maybe he had been there other times as well. I tried to think back, but was distracted by my mom’s lame excuse.
“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “He was a homeless man who wanted money.” Her voice was soothing, calming in the way it always was when I was frazzled.
I crossed my arms. I didn’t believe her for a minute. But getting information from her was like pulling dandelions with bare hands.
“What did you do to your hair?” she asked. “Isn’t that color going to make it difficult for job interviews?”
She was as much of a master of misdirection as any illusionist. The only difference was that I saw through her tricks. I wondered why I could recognize it for what it was today.
“It’s temporary.” I’d dyed my hair that morning after she’d gone to work at Green Thumb Landscaping. “And I’m not going to be interviewing for any schools until I get my license.” I cleared my throat. “Mom, we need to talk about what that man said earlier.”
She sank into a chair. “Man? What man?” She made a small gesture with her hand down at her side, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. “Would you mind setting the table for me?”
I yanked the silverware drawer open and gathered cutlery and napkins. “I heard what he said about draining my powers and wiping away my memories. Why would he say that?”
“I told you, he wasn’t right in the head.” Her smile stretched tight across her cheeks. “Are you hungry? Did you drink your smoothie today? Let’s get some chili in you.”
I hated it when she tried to change the subject like this. “I’ve seen him at schools. Every time something strange happens, he’s there. The other night, I thought I saw him. After my date—”
Mom’s eyes brows shot up. “What date? I thought you were meeting a friend.”
Warmth drained from my face. This was the problem with lying. You had to remember your lies.
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.” I ladled chili into a bowl. “A man followed me. Something weird happened.”
She sat bolt upright. “Oh?”
“Are you going to tell me who he is and what he wants?”
She made another motion with her hand under the table. Her brow crinkled in concentration. The perfume of basil and parsley momentarily overpowered the fragrance of chili and cornbread before dissipating.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
I wondered if she’d always been this horrible of a liar. I sprinkled cheese and plopped sour cream on her chili, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
“Is that some kind of magic?” I asked.
“Of course not!”
The man had said he wanted her to dissolve her enchantments on me. I removed the cornbread from the oven. “How about you tell me what’s really going on?”
She rubbed her temples, watching me work. Fatigue weighed down her frame.
“Weird things have been happening,” I said. “I think you know why.”
Her lips pressed into a line.
I wasn’t getting anywhere with her. I switched tactics. “I was offered a gig for next weekend.” I set her bowl on the table.
I didn’t tell her it wasn’t a paying gig. She already had enough fodder against the fair. Most performers would have killed to be invited to Oregon Country Fair like I had, even if I was just filling in. It was such a cool event; the free admission and meal ticket were payment enough. If I didn’t take the job, I was certain Yamil would find someone else.
“For your art?” Mom asked. “Good for you!”
“Yeah, my art.” I hated lying, but making her worry was even worse. I didn’t want her to think I was dabbling in magic.
“Another kid’s party? Caricatures?” She smiled warmly. She probably thought she had succeeded in changing the subject.
I hesitated, drawing out the suspense. “At the fair.” I returned to the stove to cut up the cornbread, the delicate golden squares crumbling under the force of the spatula.
“The county fair?” She glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall above her Kiss me, I’m Irish apron. “Lane County Fair isn’t for another three weeks.”
“Country fair,” I said casually as I ladled chili into my bowl and sprinkled cheese on top. “Oregon Country Fair.” That one letter made the world of difference. The county fair was full of pigs, amusement park rides, and country music. O.C.F. was a bohemian music festival for the alternative crowd.
That one letter made the smile slip from my mom’s face.
“Oh no, not that! Anything but that!” She stood up, knocking her cutlery and napkin to the floor.
“Why not?” I said. “Why don’t you want me to go?”
Her face turned ashen. “You know why.”
“Do I? You always change the subject when I try to ask you about it.” I picked up her spoon and knife, placed them in the sink, and set out more cutlery.
“That place is full of all kinds of unsavory characters. It’s a magnet for weirdos,” she said. “How about some cilantro? You like cilantro on your chili.”
She was such a hypocrite. The fair was full of harmless, pot-smoking hippies like her friends, and people who dressed in fun costumes—artists and creative people. She’d made me so skittish about it, I’d only attended once after my teenage years with friends in college. I’d been anxious about going back, even with other adults. Once I’d arrived, my apprehensions had melted away. The atmosphere was like a second home: magical and fantastical, with colorful art everywhere. The woodland park felt like a fairy sanctuary. I loved the variety of music and venders.
It was filled with people like me. I yearned to return.
I would have gone last summer and the year before, but I’d been working at an art summer camp. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, I was tempted. Still, I had a feeling that the magic cropping up in my life might be a dangerous combination with a festival that already felt like a gateway to a fantasy world.
“Mom—” I started.
“You can’t. Tell them you’re busy.” Her hands fluttered in the air, nervous like birds that didn’t know where to fly.
“I’m not busy. This is a job, and I need work.”
“Yes, you can be busy. You are busy.” She paced the length of the kitchen. “I’ve arranged a special girl’s day out for us. At the spa. I forgot to tell you. You can’t take this job.”
I took in a deep breath and said the words I knew I needed to say, even if it hurt her. “Missy was fourteen. She was just a kid.” I turned away, preparing my bowl with extra sour cream. “I’m an adult. Security has improved. I can handle going to the fair alone. Nothing bad is going to happen to me… . Unless you know something I don’t.”
“Remember that girl in the news last year who camped at the fair?”
I remembered. Last summer, a twe
nty-year-old had been raped and murdered at one of the campgrounds outside the fair. It was horrible enough, but it struck home harder that I had also been twenty at the time. No one had heard her scream over the loud music and all-night partying.
“That wasn’t the work of normal people. It was … the kind of people I tried to keep you kids away from.” She whispered the words, her expression pained. One would have thought I was pulling teeth from her mouth, not words.
“Witches?” I asked.
Mom went on. “Do you remember that old lady who tried to lure your sister away with the promise of gingerbread?”
Finally, we were getting somewhere!
“Not really,” I said. “Who was that woman?”
I hadn’t seen the lady close up, only heard about her from Missy. That woman was the reason Missy had come to distrust and hate me. And the woman hadn’t been incorrect. I had caused Missy’s death. We should have listened to her. My poor sister. My insides felt as though they were shriveling up. I didn’t feel like eating.
Mom bit her lip. “That woman was one of those people. One of those bad people.”
I pressed on. “That time our family went to the fair and that lady tried to abduct Missy, that was about the time she started to, you know, change.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You said it was all hormones and just a phase she was going through. That was why she stopped being nice to me. But it wasn’t. It was because of that lady, what she said to her. What happened to Missy?”
Mom took a big bite of chili. “Mmmm. Yum. How’s the chili?”
“Okay. Don’t tell me.” I set my bowl on the table. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine when I go to the fair. I promise I won’t accept candy from strangers.”
“I won’t let you go.” She clenched the spoon in her hand. “Promise me you won’t go.”
“Give me a good reason. A real reason. I want the truth.”
She nodded. “The truth.” She waved a hand at my chili. “Have a bite and tell me what you think.”
I stirred my cheese, but I didn’t eat any. I waited for her to tell me what had happened.