The Blood Mirror: New Adult Paranormal Suspense (Burntown Carnival Book 1)

by Lucky Simms

  The boy turned toward her. “Well, nobody’s complained so far.” She giggled. He continued. “What about you? You’ve never been to the kissing booth?”

  Madear gasped. “No! Haha, no way. I don’t want herpes or anything like that.” She snorted and reddened, looking down.

  He turned to Billie. “And you? Have you been to the booths? Have you had your first kiss yet?”

  Billie fixed him in her gaze. “No, I have not been to the booths.” She crossed her arms. “And I have been kissed, of course, thank you very much.”

  Madear giggled. “She has.”

  He took a step closer. “Oh really then? A woman of experience?” Billie rolled her eyes. He continued. “I like that. You could probably show me a thing or two, right?”

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s nothing I could teach a professional like you.”

  He took another step. “Well how would I know that? What if I’m missing out? What if I’m doing it all wrong?”

  Billie uncrossed her legs and pressed her back into the clapboard wall of the Beverage Shed. “Um,” she stammered, “I’m sure you’re doing it just fine.”

  Another half step and he was very close. She could smell his sweat and it thrilled some secret center part of her. She felt her pulse throbbing in her neck and her ears started hearing rushing water from nowhere.

  “But what if I’m not?” He was whispering now. “You should help me out.”

  Billie looked up into his unblinking eyes. Her mouth went dry. “What do you mean?” she whispered hoarsely.

  He took forever to answer. “You should kiss me.”

  “No way!” Madear blurted out, but Billie hadn’t decided yet. She was staring at his upper lip, how it was a pale pink-beige, just barely gleaming like with chapstick or something. His lips were parted slightly. His breath was vaguely minty from the gum.

  Billie kept her eyes open and leaned into the six inches that separated her face from his, pausing just before their lips touched. She stayed there for a few seconds and then closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose.

  At first she wasn’t sure they were touching, but then she felt him lean closer and cover her mouth with his. He didn’t move much and he didn’t touch her with his hands, just stood there with his mouth covering hers, soft lips pressing down, touching her front teeth just barely, for what seemed like forever.

  Billie inhaled him and pushed forward, reaching to her tiptoes, opening her mouth just a little and wishing she could feel his tongue. He made the smallest sound and then closed his mouth softly around her lower lip, then her upper lip, then backed away. Too soon. That was too fast.

  When she opened her eyes he looked confused, like he was considering something she’d said. He stared at her as though they’d just been through a meaningful, complicated conversation, one that had left him with questions. Too many questions. Then, inexplicably, he looked angry. It passed in a moment but she was sure she saw it.

  Madear breathed, “No. Way.”

  The boy shook his head like he was clearing it. He turned to her and forced a smile to his lips. “Your turn!” he declared boldly and stepped toward her, gathering her in his ropy arms and executing a semi-graceful dip, then laying one on her, all dramatic-like. Madear’s arms wrapped around his back.

  Billie couldn’t help but feel jealous. She didn’t get his arms around her. She didn’t get much at all. It was over so fast. But something in the middle of her was unfolding like a flower, something that ached. Something that had a color she couldn’t see.

  That’s not what kissing Jase was like. Not remotely.

  “I think you ladies owe me about $20, by my count,” came a deep voice. Billie jumped and turned to see Noughton, the manager of the carnival. She had seen him in town from time to time, and everyone gave him a wide berth. Years ago, her mother said he was magic. What she meant by that, exactly, Billie didn’t know.

  The boy stood and set Madear back on her feet, who immediately turned the color of a barn side and started coughing violently. He held her shoulder to steady her but looked at Noughton.

  “I’m on break,” he muttered without confidence.

  Noughton crossed his arms across his thick chest. “My problem is not with you, Riddick. I am already aware you possess no self-control. My problem is with these young ladies.” He looked from Billie to Madear with a scowl. He waved the boy off with his hand, pointing to the booths. The boy shot one last look at Billie, one last strangely electric moment of eye contact, then turned and slouched off toward the midway games.

  Madear looked at Billie. She mouthed the words: Riddick? Oh my god!

  “What do you want to do about this?” Noughton asked. The girls snapped to attention but said nothing.

  “Do you have the money?”

  The girls shook their heads.

  “I thought not. I’ve seen you nearly every night this summer and you barely have more than $5 to spend at any time. That’s not really what a carnival is for, you see? It’s for paying customers, you see?”

  The girls nodded.

  “And don’t you think if I drove you back to town and talked to your parents, they would be shocked by your smoking?”

  The girls nodded, their cheeks reddening with shame.

  “That’s really disgusting. It really is.”

  The girls nodded obediently.

  Noughton stood up straight and looked around, flaring his nostrils, appearing to think.

  “Well, do you have anything you could trade?”

  Billie was instantly terrified. If he thought the were going to… She would scream. There had to be a hundred people within earshot, and she could definitely scream. She’d read a story once about a girl who was forced to give a blowjob to some old guy in a McDonald’s bathroom on the Interstate. She had sworn to herself at that moment: if that ever happened to her, she would just bite the guy’s dick right off. She would. She reminded herself of this now.

  Noughton chuckled to himself like he heard her.

  “You do, I bet. You have something shiny, maybe? Something you could never use? Maybe back at your grandma’s house?”

  “My grandma’s house,” Billie squeaked, obviously startled. She cursed herself for being so obvious. How did he know Mame?

  “I know you, Billie. And I know Mame, better than she will ever admit to you, I bet.” He had a low rumbling laugh in his chest, but Billie was beginning to suspect much of this was theater. No real danger here.

  “Maybe you should work off the debt in the kissing booth,” Noughton suggested nonchalantly. Madear gasped. He laughed. “You have a real talent, I think. A real future.”

  Billie edged away from the back of the shed. If they weren’t in real trouble, then she didn’t feel like being played with any more. She tried to catch Madear’s eye to signal that they should leave.

  Noughton stepped in front to block her way. He said, “Billie, I’ll let you both off. You can work here. Then you’ll have money for walking around and I won’t have to throw you out.”

  “Work here?”

  “Yes. You. Work here. For me. For money,” he said slowly. He was getting irritable, Madear could tell.

  Billie shook her head. “I already told you, I’m not kissing people for money. You already have a girl, and besides, that is disgusting.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “You seemed to like it a moment ago, yes? Didn’t you? Or maybe you’re not yet convinced. Fair enough, then. How about telling the future? I need a new psychic. Lu Blue seems to have taken ill or something. She has stopped talking.”

  “Stopped talking?” squeaked Madear. “Why?”

  He ignored her. “Try it. I think you will enjoy earning your keep instead of mooching and stealing.”

  Billie put her hands on her hips. “I am no kind of psychic, and I am no kind of liar. I’m not going to sit in a lame zip-up tent and try to tell people their fortunes all night. That is just weird.” She was sorry to hear about Lu Blue though. She remembered he
r from card night at Mame’s house. She could drink like a fish and smoked cigars on the porch with Mavis.

  Noughton seemed prepared to relent. “All right. I will think on it further. Because you do owe me now, girls.” He pointed at each of them in turn. Madear swallowed loudly, like a cartoon character. “Let me ask you a question, Billie. Eight or four?”

  This made no sense. “What?”

  “I was just wondering. Just think for a second. Pick one.”

  Billie snorted impatiently but when she thought about them side by side, the eight was sharp, and the four was not. The eight was green. The four was withering.

  “Eight, I guess.”

  Noughton said nothing, and smiled broadly. The crowd continued to go by behind him, including a little boy and his family. The mother carried a huge, fluffy wad of pink cotton candy on a paper cone. The father was giving a person-sized, purple stuffed bear a piggy back ride. The head lolled back hilariously and each time it did, the little boy skipped and jumped to push it back upright.

  Trailing right after them and coming into view was a sullen, curly-headed little girl in a yellow sundress tied in bows at the shoulders. She towed a balloon on a string behind her, and the balloon rotated slowly toward Billie. It had a number on it. The number was 8.

  FUN AND SWEET

  June, 2004

  Madear was thrilled to have Billie back for the summer, beyond thrilled really. She spent weeks before June on her off nights, assembling all their childhood pictures into scrapbooks. She cut the edges of paper scraps into zigzags with pinking shears. She stamped words like FUN! and SWEET! among the photos of field trips and family picnics and set everything at angles to each other. It looked satisfyingly festive.

  She told everybody who came into the donut shop that Billie would be home soon. At the bottom of the whiteboard with the daily specials - apple crumbcake on Tuesdays, bearclaws on Wednesdays, two 4 one Fridays - there was a number with no label. That number was how many days it would be until Billie came back, and she told everyone so they would know.

  She told Riddick too, but she told him last. When she did, she made sure she was facing him full on so she could see every nuance of his facial expression and body posture. If he showed any signs of being smitten with Billie, Madear would instantly know.

  The ladies at the hair salon knew. The cashiers at the Farm and Fleet knew. The librarians knew. Everybody knew. They were just short of having a parade, but don’t think for a second that she hadn’t wondered if they could throw one together.

  Madear had grown tired and slightly embarrassed by the dusty plastic flower arrangement - if it even deserved to be called that - on top of the bureau in Riddick’s room at the motor lodge. Sometimes in the morning she woke early and just stared at it for long minutes, trying to imagine if it had ever looked nice, even when it was new. Or, maybe there was a certain kind of person who could have believed it looked nice, and she could see it through their eyes? But really, it was unimaginable. This thing had never even attempted to be beautiful, and she couldn’t quite make an excuse for why it existed.

  Madear rolled over and looked at Riddick’s sleeping face. His cheeks were slack. His jaw was dark with thick, even stubble. She loved how that felt on her cheek in the morning. She cuddled up close to him and sighed, trying to rouse him.

  Riddick turned toward her, opened his eyes a little and groaned dramatically. “Oh come onnnnn,” he complained. “A man needs to sleep.”

  Madear snuggled closer. “Not you, Riddick. You’re a superhero,” she giggled. She pressed herself all along the side of his body and wiggled slightly like a happy puppy. Her free hand ran down the length of his muscular, taut chest to the front of his cotton boxer shorts. She could feel him begin to harden and planted tiny kisses behind his ear while she stroked him gently.

  The alarm suddenly went off. The radio blared too-loud pop music into the dusty air. Riddick kissed the top of her head briskly and hopped out of bed. He pushed one hand absentmindedly into his shorts to adjust himself and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Madear pouted. Foiled again.

  She heard the pathetically under-pressured shower start and the jingle of the metal rings as the shower curtain was pushed back, then pulled closed again. With a dramatic sigh, she heaved her legs over the side of the lumpy mattress and stood, tugging her cheap but trashy purple nightgown over her hips. She reached into the top and rearranged her bosom for maximum cleavage too.

  Making the bed took just a few seconds but she managed to drag it out, tucking everything in just so. She brushed her teeth and used her fingers to more attractively distribute her hair without combing it too obviously. She refolded her clothes on the chair but didn’t put them back on, not yet.

  Rubbing smudges of mascara from under her eyes, Madear finally pronounced herself fit for viewing. She opened the drapes and left the white curtains closed to filter the sunlight, then wandered back to the sink outside the door for the shower and leaned on it.

  After a minute or two more, the water shut off and she heard the curtain open.

  “Do you have a big day today?” she yelled brightly through the closed door.

  “Uhhhh,” came his voice. “Yeah I guess. For a Thursday. We are doing a tag-team spectacle around dinner time. Gotta get the flyers out, find some jackasses to fight with.”

  She nodded. “Oh yeah, yeah. Of course.”

  Madear pushed her toes through the filthy carpet. She looked around and settled her gaze on the plastic flowers again. How disgusting. Why not just get some flowers? Real ones? That would be nice.

  The door swung open. Riddick looked startled for a second to see her so close, then he shifted, trying to get to the sink behind her to finish.

  She stepped aside. He started spraying shaving cream into his palm. She loved watching him shave, loved the smell and the strong softness after he was done.

  “Um, Riddick?”

  “Yeah, babe.” He stared into the mirror with his chin up and lathered his cheek.

  She pretended she didn’t hear him and took a half step back. “Um, Riddick?”

  “Yeah, babe.” She didn’t answer. He looked over at her in the mirror, then turned fully around and faced her.

  “What is it?” He still had shaving cream in his hand and one half of his face.

  “Billie is coming home this weekend, that’s all. I’m so happy. Isn’t that great?” She searched his face, watched his whole body. He shifted his weight to one side, but she couldn’t tell if that meant anything. He kept her gaze. His face was… pleasant. Totally pleasant.

  He turned back around and resumed lathering up his cheeks. “So I guess that means you’ll probably be off all summer, huh? You guys will resume being joined at the hip?”

  “Aw, no! Of course not, baby,” she said and skipped up behind him. He had a towel wrapped over his hips but drops of water still clung to his freckled shoulder blades and the backs of his arms. She leaned her head against the furrow that his spine made, feeling the muscles work as he moved his arms as he his cheeks and chin.

  Riddick rapped the disposable razor smartly against the side of the sink to clear it, then jiggled it under the stream of water from the tap. “Well, don’t get too crazy,” he mock-warned, continuing the draw the razor along his handsome jaw with a soft scraping noise that Madear found so irresistibly sexy. “I know how you guys are. I can barely hear myself think over your chatter when you get together. It’s like you’re 14 all over again.”

  He finished up and wiped his chin on a towel from the bar next to the sink, then turned around and kissed her on the top of her head again.

  “I have to get going, dear Madear. Be sweet.” Riddick whipped the towel off and dropped it on the corner of the bed. He pulled fresh jockey shorts on, two white socks, and jeans from the back of the chair that still had the belt in them from last night. Madear waited patiently for her goodbye kiss. It wasn’t a lot, but it was better than nothing, she figured.

  R
iddick scanned the room for a mostly-clean tshirt, grabbed a black one from the small table near the bed, and left with it tucked in his back pocket. At the door, he raised a hand and waved.

  She listened to the door close and stifled a tantrum-quality pout, but was too proud to run after him and beg for a goodbye kiss. What kind of girl would do that, anyway? She had some self-respect, after all.

  Glumly, she dragged the nightie over her head and reached for her clothes at the back of the chair.

  BETTER REACH

  He wanted to break into a run, but kept his steps even over the scrabble and choke-grass field. His legs pumped forward impatiently, eager to feel their own strength, eager to let loose and just vault across the field.

  The sun felt amazing on his chest and the back of his neck. It had been a long winter and cold spring, and the last few weeks of warmth made everyone finally believe summer might eventually come. He could vaguely hear the honeybees floating through the flowering clover and garlic mustard.

  So Billie was coming home, so what? He would hardly run into her. Last year she came to the carnival exactly twice, and both times were on the arm of Jase who had shot to six feet halfway through the end of senior year.

  They made a cute couple. Both dark-haired, dark-eyed. Both slender. Around the time Jase was securing his basketball scholarship, Billie had developed a figure. Riddick saw her one night in a cornflower blue halter dress near the potions bar. The wind blew her skirt to the top of her tanned thighs and Riddick thought he might swallow his tongue.

  She didn’t see him, and he turned on his heel and left.

  So in all likelihood, he would not run into her this summer much, if at all. And he had so much going for him now. Nature finally gifted him with reach and a lower center of gravity. That gave him a fighting advantage, and he could turn around the habit he’d developed over the last two years of getting his ass kicked every night in the ring. After racking up a few wins here and there, more townies were willing to sign up to tussle with him.