By a Charm and a Curse(70)
Some roustabouts are directing townies back toward the gates, passing out vouchers to come back another night, so whatever it was must have been bad. A crowd gathers around the base of the haunted house, and an agonizing wailing from that direction hurts my heart. It’s the cry of loss and it’s one I’ve heard before. Then I see the dirt-stained canvas tarp covering a distinctly body-shaped lump on the platform, and the black lines of what has to be blood trailing out from beneath it.
My heart stops for a moment, but restarts when I realize it can’t be Emma, because she wouldn’t be bleeding. As I walk toward the haunted house, a gust of wind picks up a corner of the tarp and I see a familiar thatch of curls.
Sidney.
All the noise in the world comes back, louder and sharper. I turn toward the keening I heard earlier and find Mom. She’s collapsed onto Lars, a shaking mess. Oh God, Sidney. I didn’t like him, and I hated what he did to my mother, but he didn’t deserve to die. And now Mom has to deal with another lost love. I start to cross the yard to get to her, when Lars catches my eye and shakes his head minutely. He mouths two words. Find Emma.
I survey the rest of the area quickly and see Marcel trying to push through the people nearby to get to me. I throw one more look at Lars, torn. I know I should go to Mom, but I also know that if Lars is telling me to find Emma, then I need to find Emma.
The ground feels unsteady beneath my feet as I run toward Marcel. I almost overshoot and crash into him.
“Are you all right?” Marcel asks as he grips my arms to keep me upright. His eyes narrow down to inspect my face, and I struggle to get it together.
I don’t feel fine, but that’s not important. A full bottle of Katarina’s wine and blessings ride through my veins, and neither will stick around for long. If we’re going to break this curse, it has to be now. “Where’s Emma?”
Marcel’s dark eyes harden. “I think the Morettis took her. It can’t be good.”
My heart thumps wildly. “Which way did they go?”
“Right behind you.”
I whirl, and see Lorenzo Moretti’s face a second before his fist connects with my jaw. I’m on the ground, and I don’t know how I got here. My blood is on my tongue and dirt grinds between my teeth. Marcel’s voice is somewhere far above me, and then it goes quiet, packed away in cotton. Everything lurches as someone grabs hold of my ankles and drags me across the uneven earth.
And then, my world goes dark.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Emma
The blackness is complete. The cold is so fierce it sends sharp pangs through my body. I can’t stand another second in this freezer, but I do, and then another, and another.
I keep expecting to pass out, but this body doesn’t need to sleep or breathe, so why would I pass out? I wonder if I would be hyperventilating. Would there still be air to breathe? Would I be dead by now?
The only advantage that I have is this stupid body, so I need to use it. If there is any luck in this universe reserved for me, then this stupid ice cream case is a billion years old and its hinges are nearly rusted through. It’s the only thing I can think of. I scrabble over the ice until my feet are beneath me, and brace myself.
My back hits the lid, and the shock of all that ice makes me pull away as though I’d been burned. I swallow a scream. Outside, I hear angry voices, muffled into incoherence, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. I press up and back, using my legs to push with everything I have.
Shards of ice rain down. I can feel each sliver as it falls. I push harder. There’s a tiny squeak, but it’s enough to give me hope. Again. My legs twitch violently, and my fingers and toes feel like they’re on fire, the pain is so constant. But still I push.
The case rocks to the side, and I tumble as it crashes to the ground. There’s a dull screech as the canvas tent rips. I topple into an alleyway crowded with townies rushing to leave the carnival, but my limbs are twitching so fiercely I can’t stand. Lights streak across my vision and everything is a gauzy haze. A blobby shape bends down and grips my arms and I try to kick but can’t. Then I see my rescuer.
Marcel.
His left eye is so swollen it’s almost closed and there’s a streak of dirt on his cheek to go with it. His eyes are wide and a steady stream of swearing tumbles from his mouth. But then he yells one word and it’s clear as a bell. “Go!”
We run.
The carnival has descended into chaos. Shouts and screams fill the night, and townies rush past us toward the exit. Every time my foot hits the ground, a sharp burning pang runs up phantom veins, but I keep going. Marcel leads me in a twisting path past tents and booths, past faces that aren’t sure whether or not they should stop us, until we burst out into the clearing where all the carnies’ vehicles are parked.
“They have Ben,” Marcel says as he draws in great gasps of air.
The world stops spinning.
“Who does?” I yell, my fingers seeming to behave for the first time in weeks as they grip the front of Marcel’s shirt, forcing him to look me in the eye. “Who has Ben?”
“The Morettis.”
I am still, more full of rage than I’d ever thought a single person could be. “Take me to them.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Emma
Not twenty feet ahead of me, Lorenzo Moretti struggles to heave Ben’s limp body into the trunk of a beat-up Impala. My fingers grip into the fender of the car Marcel and I hide behind, and I swear the metal creaks.