Magic for Nothing

by Seanan McGuire

  “—and you’re pretty good on the trapeze, for a human, and you know things about yōkai, and would it be okay if I kissed you, maybe?”

  I stopped. “Wait, what?”

  Sam blanched. “Okay, that was a lot less smooth than I thought it was going to be. I’m sorry. I’m going to go.”

  “No, seriously, what?” He was still holding my wrists. I stepped closer, pulling my arms toward my body, not to break away, but to force him to mirror the movement. “You want to kiss me?”

  “Um, yes? If that’s not the right answer, I’m willing to try another one.”

  “You know there’s things about me that you don’t know, right? Things you might not like so much when you find them out.”

  Sam shrugged. “There’s things about everyone that I don’t know. I like you. That’s enough for right now, y’know?”

  I did know, funnily enough. My life was a series of moments labeled “right now,” and while this version of now might be coming to an end soon, that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted. Sam was a beautiful man. The trapeze had given him the sort of upper body that most people could only dream about, while genetics had given him even, symmetrical features, dark eyes, and the sort of lips I could absolutely see kissing.

  So I leaned in, and I kissed him.

  Sam only hesitated for a moment before he was kissing me back, letting go of my wrists in order to put his arms around me. We were standing in the middle of the bone yard, and the air smelled like a mix of popcorn, diesel fumes, and bonfire, and that was exactly right; that was what every first kiss should smell like. He wasn’t so tall that I was going to get a crook in my neck, and he wasn’t so short that I felt like an Amazon; instead, I got to tilt my chin back just so, and lean up just so, and kiss him like the girls in the movies always kissed their boys. I got to kiss him like I meant it.

  When we broke apart, his cheeks were flushed, and I was sure mine were even brighter. I could feel the burn prickling in my skin, different from the fire that sometimes flashed through my fingertips. Sam’s hands were pressed against the small of my back, holding me up in a different way, keeping me stable and locked in place.

  “Um,” I said. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” said Sam. He looked as dazed as I felt, like he’d played out this moment in his head, but had never taken it any further: this was as far as he knew the story. “That was nice.”

  “Only nice?” I shook my head. “Nice isn’t good enough. We should try again.”

  “Good point,” he said, and leaned down, and kissed me harder.

  This time, I wasn’t so swept up in “I am kissing this person for the first time” that I couldn’t pay attention to the details, like the way his hands tightened against my back, or the fact that his skin smelled like chalk dust and, distantly, clean, sun-warmed fur, like he was always carrying the memory of his alternate form with him. He was kissing me human, and I wasn’t sure whether that was because he was tense about the idea of kissing me at all or because he wasn’t sure I’d want to kiss him fūri, and in the moment, I didn’t care. He was kissing me. That was all that mattered.

  Again, we pulled apart. Again, his cheeks were bright, and mine were burning, and while we still seemed to be alone, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched from every possible direction.

  “Okay,” I said. “Who told you they’d seen me going into the Tunnel of Love?”

  “Babs,” he said. “She was the ride jock on duty. She wanted me to know that you were going to break my heart.”

  She would have had plenty of time to run and tell him while Margaret and I were floating through the dark, and to be honest, it was almost a relief to hear that she’d left the ride unattended. Eavesdropping on someone inside the Tunnel wasn’t easy, but that didn’t make it impossible—not by any stretch of the imagination. The things Margaret and I had discussed had been vague enough to be unclear. They could still have gotten me in a lot of trouble.

  “I might still break your heart,” I said. “You never know.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a big difference between ‘I had a crush and she turned out to be into townie girls’ and ‘I got to spend time with a great girl and then we broke up,’” he said, before blanching. “Uh, not that I’m saying we’re a couple just because you kissed me, like, I get that it doesn’t work that way, but if you wanted to like, go on a date or something, I would be cool with that. Really cool with that, even.”

  “Where could we go?” I asked. “We’re in the middle of Minnesota.”

  “Well, I don’t know if you were aware, but . . .” Sam leaned conspiratorially close, and whispered, “There’s a carnival in town.”

  I blinked. And then I grinned.

  “Just let me get changed.”

  Okay, so yeah, maybe it was irresponsible for me to decide to go on a date when the Covenant of St. George was breathing down my neck, waiting for me to provide them with evidence that they were allowed to kill everything in sight. But the key word there was “waiting.” The Covenant was waiting for me to find them something they could use to justify what they already knew they wanted to do. They might get tired of waiting and move eventually. They weren’t going to move today. And oh, God, I needed a break.

  I also needed a shower. I’d gone straight from the trapeze to meeting with Margaret, and while it was possible to have fun hanging out and stinking of sweat, it usually required the other people to be sweaty, too. By the end of the average roller derby match, the entire team stank like road kill, and we were fine with that, because it was everyone. Sam, on the other hand, had clearly showered before coming to ask for smooches, and I was not going to meet him for our first date smelling like something had died.

  My tiny slice of RV did not include a shower. I stripped and grabbed the bucket with my soap, shampoo, and loofah before pulling on a bathrobe and stepping into a pair of flip-flops. There were camp showers set up in secluded areas all around the bone yard, with changing tents right outside. It wasn’t the same as a real shower—oh, I missed real showers—but it would get me clean, and the nearest one wasn’t very far away.

  The bone yard was still relatively empty when I stepped out of my RV and made a beeline for the shower. I could get in, scrub myself down, and then—

  Emery was sitting outside the changing tent, smoking a clove cigarette, utterly relaxed. She looked like she’d been there for a while. I stopped. She lowered her cigarette and smiled, the slow, deadly smile of a viper that’s spotted its prey.

  “Ah, Miss Brown,” she said. “I was hoping you’d stop by.”

  Meaning someone had told her about me kissing Sam, and she’d known that if it was going to go any further, I’d be coming for a shower. Yippee. I love people who think like horror movie monsters when approaching social interactions. Oh, no, wait. That other thing. I hate people who treat social interactions as an opportunity to scare the crap out of some innocent young ingénue, namely, me.

  “Well, this is where the shower is, so I guess it was sort of inevitable,” I said, trying not to sound querulous, and failing utterly. “Is the hot water broken?”

  “No, the shower is fine. It’s even unoccupied. What are your intentions toward my grandson?”

  Sweet and to the point. “Right now, to meet him for some carnival rides while not smelling like I just came off the flying trapeze. I’m pretty sure my pits could kill flies at twenty paces.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She leaned forward. “Sam is a special boy. He deserves better than someone who’s going to flirt and then run off on him.”

  “I’m going to do my best not to hear that as you ordering me to put out for your grandson, but if you ever decide to have this conversation again, maybe you should watch your wording,” I said, tone going chilly. “Right now, my intentions are exactly what I just said. He asked if he could kiss me. I sa
id yes. I enjoyed kissing him, so when he suggested a date, I said yes to that, too. He’s smart and funny and good looking, and yeah, I’d like to get to know him a little better, but I’m not planning to marry him, and I’m not planning to break his heart for fun. Anything between those extremes is not actually your business, ma’am. We’re both adults.”

  “He’s only twenty-three.”

  “And I’m only twenty-two. If we break each other’s hearts, it’s a learning experience. At least we’re doing it in an age-appropriate manner.” I wanted to cross my arms and glare. My basket of bathing supplies made that impossible, even as my bathrobe was robbing me of the gravitas I desired. “I get that you want to protect him. He’s your family. Family matters more than anything in the world. I even get that you’re probably pretty wary of me. I’m the new girl, I’m the one who killed Umeko, I’m an unknown quantity. But, ma’am, he’s the one who kissed me. He’s the one who decided I was a risk worth taking. You should respect that.”

  “Delilah was my only child,” said Emery. “Sam’s mother, you understand. I did as well as I could with her, but I was trying to raise a little girl and a carnival at the same time, and sometimes she didn’t get as much of my attention as she needed. I was a Spenser before I married Michael Taylor, and this show is mine by right. People didn’t always see it that way. They were used to listening to my father and his partner, and with both of them gone, the carnival needed me more than my own daughter did.”

  I didn’t say anything. This smacked of confession, and more, of justification; like she had to say this before she could lean one way or the other. She was either going to endorse my date with Sam or forbid it, and if I wanted any hope of the former, I needed to let her talk.

  “Delilah would have been a little wild anyway—Spenser blood—but she rebelled by rejecting everything I was. Went off to school, got a business degree, went to China to work for an electronics company as their liaison to the American business world, and met a man who swept her off her feet, literally. She knew what he was when she got involved with him. She didn’t think they could have babies together. When she found out she was pregnant, she was on the next plane home. First time she ever asked me for anything. She asked me to take care of her son, because she couldn’t. There was no place in her world for a baby, much less a baby with such unique needs. I’m all he’s ever had.”

  There was a quiet finality in her words: she had said her piece. I looked her squarely in the eye and said, “You’ve done an amazing job. He’s a great guy. A little prickly with new people, but so am I, so I don’t have a problem with that. Now let him do an amazing job. Let him try something new.”

  “‘Something new’ being you?”

  “For now.” I shrugged. “I won’t be with this show forever. But I’m a great gateway to the wonderful world of dating. He’s twenty-three. Let him get started.”

  “How do you know I haven’t?”

  “Because this is the first girl speech. I’m assuming he’s messed around with some of the carnie girls—he didn’t kiss like it was his first time—but he’s never really dated, or you wouldn’t be talking to me like this.”

  Emery was silent for a long moment before she said, “He’s all I have. Delilah taught me my lesson. This carnival, this show, it doesn’t matter nearly as much as my family.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll respect that. I’m not playing with him. But how’s he going to feel if I say I can’t go for a ride on the bumper cars because his grandmother said no? He gets to make his own choices. He chose to ask me.”

  “Be gentle with him.” Emery stood. “I won’t forgive you if you’re not.”

  “That’s all right, ma’am,” I said. “I won’t forgive myself.”

  Emery looked at me thoughtfully. Then she nodded, as much to herself as to me, and walked away, leaving me alone in front of the changing tent.

  “Well, that was bracing,” I muttered, and ducked inside.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to scrub my body, wash my hair, towel-dry my hair to a point where I felt comfortable braiding it, and bolt back to my RV. The mice cheered at my appearance, cheered at the sight of me putting on a nice dress and sturdy black Doc Martens, and cheered one more time as I was rocketing out the door, letting it slam behind me. I kept running as I hit the bone yard, navigating it faster than I ever had. Fifteen minutes to shower, another five to change, plus however long I’d been talking to Emery. That was enough to make me worry that Sam thought I’d ditched him, or—

  He was standing next to the canvas flap separating us from the rest of the show, and he grinned at the sight of me. He’d changed, too, trading his usual bulky sweater and sweatpants for jeans, a tight white shirt, and a denim jacket. He was even wearing shoes. I blinked, slowing as I approached, until I stopped in front of him.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Sam?” I asked.

  “Arm,” he replied. Obligingly, I stuck out my right arm. He fastened a rainbow wristband around my wrist before holding up his left hand to show me that he was wearing the same. “All-ride pass. Sure, we can ride for free anyway, but this way, we look like locals.”

  “Most people want to run away to join the circus, not the townies,” I said.

  Sam’s grin widened. “Most people aren’t us. See? I’m even in costume for the occasion.”

  “Very striking,” I said. “The shoes are a nice touch. Why do you own shoes?”

  “Sometimes Grandma sends me to the grocery store.” I must have made a face at the mention of Emery because Sam paused, looking at me carefully, before he sighed and asked, “Did she corner you already?”

  I chuckled weakly. “Before I could even make it to the shower.”

  “She always worries about me getting my heart broken, but she’s the reason most of the girls my age won’t even look at me twice.” Sam leaned in to kiss my forehead. “I’ve managed to date more than she thinks I have, and I’m not as breakable as she makes me out to be.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m here, aren’t I? If you were the frail little flower she thinks you are, I’d be in my RV, writing you a nice ‘it’s not you, it’s me, I’m afraid of breaking you’ note.”

  “Cool. Just so we’re clear.” Sam offered me his arm. “Would you like to go to the carnival?”

  I slipped my arm into his, locking them together and holding on tight. “I would love to.”

  For most of my life, if I’ve been at a carnival, I’ve been there because I belonged. Either I was summering with the Campbells or pretending with Spenser and Smith, but I was never a townie girl, never just an attendee; I saw the nuts and bolts, not the beautiful facades. The illusion wasn’t for me. But as I held Sam’s arm and he led me through the narrow canvas tunnel running behind the attractions to the front gate, I started to wonder what it would be like if they were for me. If they were designed to titillate and delight the townie girl I’d never been, but sometimes dreamed of being, when I was tired of being banged around by every preternatural creature this side of the prime meridian.

  We emerged at the front of the show, popping out of the canvas a few feet to the left of the admissions booth. The man on duty was familiar in the vague “I’ve seen you around” sense, and he smirked as Sam and I walked past, Sam holding up his arm to show his glittering wristband.

  “Your date’s a cheap-ass, honey,” called the man.

  “I’m okay with that,” I called back.

  Sam looked theatrically hurt. “I am not a cheap-ass,” he said. “This is good for every ride we have. Oh, and here.” He dug into his pocket before handing me two more wristbands, one red, the other candy-striped in red and white. “Concessions and games. See? I’m not a cheap-ass. Only the best shit I can get for free by asking my grandmother to give it to me.”

  I snorted. “I think you just gave the definition of cheap-ass, dude.” But I fastened the wris
tbands to either side of the glittery unlimited rides band. It was an oddly touching gesture. Sam could have gotten any of those things by being Emery’s grandson; even the things that wouldn’t be available to all carnies, like open access to the games, were there for the boss’s kid. All he had to do was hold his hand out and it would be filled. The fact that he’d actually acquired the wristbands meant he wanted this to be just the two of us, without the specter of who he was hanging over our heads.

  It was nice. Neither one of us was bringing our family on this date—although in my case, it was because he thought my entire family was dead.

  We strolled arm in arm onto the carnival grounds, which began with a large circular area ringed in sideshow attractions and booths selling concessions and souvenirs of all sorts. The Ferris wheel rose majestically in the middle of it all, stretching toward the sky. We both looked at it with our own flavor of longing before agreeing, through a silent glance and a mutual nod, to come back later, when the crowds had thinned. Ferris wheels are always magical, but there’s something about riding on one that’s mostly empty that changes the experience. We walked on.

  Ananta was outside her snake tent, an albino python wrapped around her shoulders, several nearby children watching with wide, fascinated eyes. She grinned when she saw the wristbands we were wearing, and called, “You’ve proven your sincerity by offering access to our entire show. Now prove your bravery by leading your girl into my den, where serpents slither and sincerity is tested!”

  Sam laughed before looking at me and asking, “You wanna see some snakes?”

  “Just glad I know it’s not a metaphor,” I said, and laughed at the look on his face. “Let’s go.”

  The inside of Ananta’s attraction was dark and cool and smelled faintly rich, that deep reptile smell I will always associate, on some level, with my brother Alex. But the reptiles were thriving; even I knew enough to know that. Two-headed corn snakes, great, lazy pythons, and quick, scampering lizards lined the walls. There was a tank filled with waxy-looking tree frogs the size of my fist.