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

by Lucky Simms

  She stared at him with her mouth opened slightly, though no words would come out. Billie did know, she had to finally admit to herself, but she wasn’t ready to admit it to Noughton. She knew it as soon as the parcel was in her hands. It had an almost magnetic call to her blood that she could feel through the paper.

  She remembered seeing this in the dining room, though she’d been almost successful in pretending she hadn’t. Seeing it now made her heart beat fast. Mame had expressly forbidden her to touch it. Not just to move or disturb it, but to even touch it. By the grave expression on her face, Billie knew that this was no warning to a child to not be clumsy. There was danger just in touching it.

  She knew Mame hadn’t given it to Noughto, and certainly hadn’t intended for her to have it. Every voice in her head was screaming for her to drop it and run away.

  But the mirror felt warm. It felt comforting, like something she was supposed to cradle and keep close. She felt a certain fondness for it, now that she thought of it. It seemed perfectly natural that it was in her care after everything it had been through. And it wasn’t right to leave it all alone in that dusty museum Mame called a dining room, was it? Not if it had a place of real use in her world?

  After everything she had seen in the last weeks, she knew she was finally finding her place. Sometimes it was applause, but sometimes it was just the bald looks of gratitude her patrons gave her. She could help them. She was helping them. And the blood mirror, she felt certain, could make that even better.

  Funny what you could talk yourself into, she thought.

  THINGS FALL APART

  Madear had been sad, and she wouldn’t tell Riddick about it. At night, she pulled his arm over her shoulder like a blanket and slept fretfully inside the curve of his body. In the mornings, she woke up early and stared at the light coming between the curtains, and at the plastic flowers on the bureau.

  Riddick understood what she was feeling, but he didn’t understand why. “Aw babe,” he found himself saying all the time, “everything is all right. You just take your time. What about a movie or something?”

  Madear didn’t have to beg him to tell her that he loved her. He could feel her heart breaking and did his best to reassure her. But it was constant, and it was exhausting.

  “Maybe you want to visit your uncle?” he suggested.

  “Billie is off now, maybe you want to go see her?”

  When he said Billie’s name, he could feel Madear wince.

  “I’m fine,” she muttered. “I’ll go get you some coffee.”

  They always kept coffee in the old office of the motor lodge, though now there was no one manning the counter. Somehow, the polite rules of “finish a pot, start a new one” were habitually obeyed by everyone. It was a miracle of civility.

  Madear held the tiny bottle in her hand. For this, she had given away more of herself than she could account. But it would all be worth it, she was sure.

  She mentally flipped through every night with Riddick she could remember. Every kiss. Every minute she had spent with her arms wrapped around his back and her thighs wrapped around his hips. She remembered their first kiss, how he had literally swept her off her feet. Folding his young, scrawny arms around her behind the Beverage Shed, he tipped her backwards and pressed his sweet, soft lips to hers. It had taken her breath away, and she almost felt like she had never gotten it back.

  She remembered haunting his steps at the carnival when she could, just following as close behind as she dared. He didn’t go to school with them so she had to see him when the carnival was open. Every weekend from April to November, and sometimes weeknights.

  It had taken Riddick two years to notice her, though later she understood that he could feel her the whole time. But it had taken him two years to respond.

  When he did respond, it was like a tidal wave. He seemed to know everything that was in her heart. She had never felt so completely safe in her life. He was loyal and forthright, and would hold her hands and stare at her until she returned his gaze. Meeting eyes with him was like falling into him. He was irresistible to her.

  Even at the time of that first kiss, Madear knew he was her path. That was the journey that made sense, she thought. The only journey worth taking.

  She returned to the small room with two styrofoam cups, and left Riddick’s on top of the bureau. He was in the bathroom so she made the bed in a hurry and dressed, snapping her blonde fringey hair into a headband that matched her uniform apron.

  She was just about to leave when Riddick came out of the bathroom. He smiled and looked at the coffee, then looked at her. She tried to stifle the wave of guilt she felt. It was too late.

  At this moment, Madear could finally understand exactly what he was thinking. She could see the realization dawn on his face. She wished fervently, hysterically, pointlessly that she could back up 30 seconds and not do what she had just done. Riddick backed away and leaned heavily on the sink. He held his hands up in surrender and the color drained from his face.

  “I wish I could explain to you how this feels,” he said simply, but she did know. The expression of betrayal was enough for her.

  Madear had one drawer in the bureau and some things on the bathroom counter. It took just moments to undo everything, their whole life together. She packed her things, and that was it.

  ROADMAPS

  Once you have been somewhere, it is tattooed in your heart. You develop a taste for it, a tether to it. Geography is not just a coincidence. Home is a place. It is where there is a you, even if your body is not there. It is where you are known.

  The act of returning is like shifting sand in a sack. It feels like real motion, but it isn’t. It’s just setting things in a new order, or the same order all over again.

  We are all just tiny blind stones in a sack.

  We are tethered by lighting, vice, and desire.

  Mavis could still feel everyone in her head, like the tiny stones in a sack that she kept inside her. All these voices crying separately, weaving together into something meaningful. Some kind of sing-song. Some kind of hum-drum. Hum, hum, hum.

  Where were the voices? She could find them. They were inside her, and they were the stones in the road. They ran along in ditches and piled up on mile markers. Each was connected to each in a path that led her back. It was so easy to follow. Just go where they tell you.

  All roads lead to home, eventually. They knew she would be back, because that was the only place she really existed. Mother could send her away. She could forbid and forbode, but she could not forbear.

  Oh that was a funny one, she thought. Words, so clever. But real things were actions, and actions were forever.

  And now, on the road, she felt the pull. She felt her worry shifting to gladness, like turning a stone to its other side. Soon, it would all be close. Soon, everything would be returned to order. As it should be.

  Hum hum hum….

  LIGHTNING

  Noughton gave her no instruction, and Billie suspected he didn’t really know how it worked. Or he knew, but he thought it was funnier to just let her figure it out.

  For a couple days, she simply left it on the end of the counter and tried to ignore it. Then she thought maybe it just needed a good cleaning. One thing was for sure; she wasn’t going to bleed on it.

  She polished it as best she could with rags and water. At least the grungy film of old blood was gone from the bowl. It was still badly tarnished, but in places, it seemed dully shiny. She was tempted to get jewelry polish or brasso but maybe Noughton was right - the patina had a certain mystical appeal.

  Everyone’s attitude toward her had shifted slightly. Instead of tolerating her bemusedly as the newbie, they seemed to take a step back. When she was near Noughton, she could feel their eyes on both of them, waiting.

  What the hell were they all waiting for? She wasn’t facing off with him, but that was what they appeared to expect. She felt like someone who had stumbled onto a stage in front of a live studio audience, w
ithout knowing what show she was supposed to be in.

  But not Riddick. He was decidedly hostile. She couldn’t understand it.

  “You know, I’m totally earning my keep here!” she shouted to him as he hurried by for the hundredth time. It had been days since they’d spoken and it was starting to appear like he really was avoiding her.

  He stopped and dramatically threw his head back at the sky, then reluctantly turned toward her.

  “What?”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Riddick walked to her booth and hissed in a stage whisper, “Nobody says you don’t. Everybody says you’re great. OK?”

  “Well, yeah,” she shifted her weight from one hip to the other and resumed polishing the lump of glass. “I feel great.”

  “Yes, you’re great. OK. Can I go now?”

  “No, you can’t. I don’t understand what your attitude is.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze so she persisted. “I know you’re probably going through a lot right now… I heard from Mame...”

  “I’m not,” he hissed. “It’s not me that’s going through anything. I mean yeah life is weird, but that’s not it. It’s that,” he gestured to the Blood Mirror with his chin and made a face. “You are not supposed to have that.”

  “What? Noughton says I am,” she said defensively.

  “And Mame says you’re not. Who are you going to trust?”

  She wasn’t sure. But there was certainly something alluring about it. As she polished it, she felt a certain… feeling for it. Affection. As though it were a sleeping puppy or something. She felt like she knew it.

  “No, that’s wrong,” he asserted, as though he knew just what she was feeling. “Think about it this way - why did Mame keep it from you, and why was Madear willing to risk everything to get it to you? It’s probably filled with evil or something.” He sneered at it disgustedly.

  Billie shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Evil is not a thing that fills anything. Everybody just is what they are.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You do what you want to do, but you know shit here goes from ridiculous to real in a heartbeat.”

  “Yeah,” she said vaguely. He had a point. She leaned down and breathed on it, then rubbed the surface with her rag. Behind the shine, she saw a light. “Whoa, what was that?”

  Riddick stepped back with his hands up defensively. “What? What was what?”

  “In there,” she said, her voice vague with curiosity. “There was a light. I saw it.” She looked at the shutters. “Come here,” she commanded. “Help me close these so I can see better.”

  “I’m not doing that,” he said, and shook his head. His hair tumbled into his eyes.

  She sighed. “Stop being such a baby and come here!”

  Riddick made theatrical gagging noises but complied, jumping the counter and pulling the shutters closed after him. It was stifling in the booth.

  “Shit, it gets really dark in here. Gary did an awesome job building this.”

  “Who’s Gary?”

  “The guess-your-weight guy? Gary?”

  Oh, so that was his name. She leaned over the blob, trying to see it, but there was nothing in the darkness. Maybe Gary really had done an awesome job, because she felt like she was going to suffocate.

  She rubbed the surface with her rag again. Nothing. She leaned down and breathed on it, then rubbed harder.

  “Wait! Did you see that?” Deep inside the mirror, she saw something like lightning, flickering.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Riddick said irritably.

  “Come here,” Billie demanded and reached for his elbow, drawing him closer and breathing onto the surface. The lightning flickered inside the glass. It shot from one side to the other. Billie could feel it in her fingertips, then through her, racing up her arm and down the other side, circling Riddick’s arm where her fingers touched him.

  “Do you see that?” she gasped.

  “No!” he whispered. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Something was happening. Some channel was being tuned in, and he could feel both her swell of clarity and his own. It was magnetic, and terrifying.

  The air of the tiny booth compressed them and seemed to thicken. Riddick faced her, seeing her better now. She was touching the mirror but not looking at it. With her eyes half-closed, her chin raised, she seemed to sway slightly like a blade of grass in a field. Her lips were parted and she breathed softly almost humming.

  Standing just inches from her, he could feel what she was feeling. She was centering herself, aligning all the electricity in her body around a central column. Like a giant radio tower, she was attracting all the lines of electricity around her. Although he doubted she knew it, she was becoming… herself.

  He remembered that first night, years ago and it suddenly occurred to him that he had the whole idea of that memory backwards. That first night, somehow, the kiss had felt so strange because he was remembering this moment, here.

  Her hand was on his arm, but she was still. She opened her eyes and gazed at him placidly, waiting for something, it seemed. He could hear her breath, so even but so very loud. She closed her eyes again and he waited, counted to three, then leaned forward, leaned into her. The sensation of vertigo was nearly overwhelming. He felt like he was being pulled off a high cliff into a void, into nothing. Just falling and falling, into her.

  Riddick slipped his hand behind her neck and held her there. Slowly, deliberately, he found her in the dizzy sensations his mind was broadcasting. He kissed her lower lip, then her upper lip, feeling her warmth and softness as though those were the only reliable sensations in the world anymore.

  She seemed frozen, suspended, but he could hear her - no, he knew what she was feeling. He could feel her desire open in her like a flower. It bloomed. It was so clear and precise a vision, he almost laughed with the joy of it.

  Riddick reached down to the hem of her dress and slipped his hand underneath it. He felt her leg angle outward, into his touch, and at the same time he felt her desire to touch him. That was the impulse that inspired the action, and he was aware of both at the same time.

  Everything he did, he felt mirrored in her sensations and emotions. She was confused, he could feel it. But she was not concerned; she was serene. She was curious, filled with wonder over each touch as they came to her.

  Again he kissed her, deeper. He parted her lips with his tongue and lightly touched the ridge of her teeth. She sighed softly, relaxing and letting him pull her closer.

  He felt her pleasure and her drive to feel more, and was thrilled to oblige. With every kiss, every subtle shift in his weight or hers, he could instantly feel how her body responded to him. Her passion mounted and he felt her pass thresholds of doubt, discarding them like useless possessions.

  Heat sparked across her belly, and she pressed into him. Every touch electrified her further until she was pulsing with desire, feeling pain and hunger and agony but also a placid eagerness, a willingness to fall, to submit.

  He kissed her with more urgency, and she opened her mouth for him. He licked tip of her tongue lightly, then sucked on it gently as she offered it to him. Her lips were full and pliant.

  Then, he really couldn’t wait anymore and he felt - he knew - that she didn’t want him to wait anyway. He slipped his hand up her thigh. She opened her legs. He touched the lace of her panties and felt her through them, hot and moist, and simultaneously felt that in his own mind - the glossy amber desire. It made him want to explode.

  Concentrating on waiting just a little bit more, he pressed his forehead to her forehead. The heat was absolutely stifling. He felt her reach down and push her panties off her thighs, then felt her hesitate. She wanted to touch him - yes! He pushed his hips toward her and she eagerly snapped open his belt, opened the top button and slid her fingers inside his cotton jockey shorts.

  He felt her glee. It made him… proud? He wasn’t sure. It was good.

  Billie slid his jeans down and held him, hard,
in her palm. She stroked him lightly. He shuddered with pleasure as she ran her fingers inquisitively over the silky skin of his rock-hard manhood. Her eyes were still closed.

  “Wait,” he whispered. She stopped. “Billie, look at me.”

  Finally, she opened her eyes. Her chin was lifted and their gazes met immediately. It was like falling into a well. All the vertigo from moments ago played itself out again but this time was different. It was like they were falling together.

  Reaching down, he slid his hand around the back of her knee and pulled it up over his hip. His hand fit easily around the small of her back and he lifted her up, effortlessly lining himself up with her soft, warm entrance.

  And then he was inside of her. Eyes locked, she wouldn’t blink. He felt her relief, and something like a wave of sadness, but not sad at all. More like the wistful completion of something that she had known was always missing from her life, and all the time she had lost while getting to this.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips and he gripped the counter with one hand and the steamy back of her neck with the other. With every thrust it seemed like they were coming together in a way that should have always been their way.

  When he came he wasn’t sure if it was him, or her, or both. Their rhythm slowly increased until it was a crashing orchestra of percussion. He saw nameless colors blooming like fireworks and then dark, panting, darkness. He felt a wave of joy but didn’t know if it was his or hers.

  And then he kissed her again, deep and long. Both hands in her hair, wanting to weep with gratitude or joy. He had always known this moment would come. There had just never been words for it.

  WELL, WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?

  Madear was incredibly, achingly, utterly sorry. She was sorry day and night. In the morning, she woke up shaking her head and casting about for things she could do that very day to set everything right. When she went to bed, she lay there staring at the holes in the ceiling tiles, peering into each one like maybe it held a solution at the bottom.