The Carnival of Lost Souls : A Handcuff Kid Novel (30 page)

Jack flicked his sleeve back. “The river!” Jack yelled, knowing the mark would show him the way. The arrow rose up on his skin, spun wildly, and stopped as the Black River appeared on the compass. Mussini’s pursuit continued, and he was gaining on him, so Jack leaned into the horse’s neck, urging her on. Racing through the tangled woods, Jack finally heard music and saw the city lights.

Jack slowed as he entered the city, and jumped off his horse. He was engulfed in crowds of the wildly costumed
dead. He hid among them and waited for Mussini to catch a glimpse of him before taking off down one of the docks. Jack was pretty sure that Mussini knew that he was setting a trap for him, so he had to be ready. How was he going to defeat a person who was bigger, stronger, and meaner than he was? Then he remembered his first day in the Forest of the Dead and how the gang had trapped the pig.

Jack ran for the bridge, but he stopped short and climbed up a rickety rain gutter that leaned against the old tavern. He scurried up the side and perched on the rooftop.

From up there, he could see Mussini pushing through the crowds of dead. Music filled the streets, and the dead whirled and danced. A highly annoyed Mussini was swept up in a jostling current of dead merrymakers spinning to the flow of music.

He forced his way through the crowd and strode toward the building where Jack was perched. It was just like catching a pig, Jack told himself. A large, muscular pig that could kill him, but still.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out his secret weapon, his only chance: the devil’s handcuffs. He had kept them after the show and was surprised that no one, not even Mussini, tried to take them from him.

Mussini yelled his name over and over. It was Jack’s cue to get ready. Mussini was coming, the gold mask
thrown from his face, exposing the desperate man behind the magic.

“Come out and show yourself!”

Mussini stepped into place. Jack’s mentor and nemesis was right beneath him. Something shifted inside him. Jack was the hawk now—the predator taking control. Magic took guts, but it also took control. After stepping onto the stage every night, he knew that he was capable of more than just tricks and magic. He had become a believer in his own bravery. He was worthy—fight-worthy, trick-worthy, magic-worthy. All he had to do now was jump.

Jack threw his legs over the side of the roof and leaped onto Mussini’s shoulders, sliding down the front of the magician, easily getting one cuff on. As it snapped around his thick wrist, Mussini went wild, bucking like a bull. The magician knew what Jack was trying to do and kept his other hand out of reach; no matter how hard Jack struggled, he couldn’t clench Mussini’s wrists together.

Mussini pulled at Jack with his one hand, holding the other high into the air. They spun and struggled. Jack’s body ached; his muscles shook. He wasn’t strong enough to topple him, so he pulled Mussini along, dragging him toward the bridge.

The two stumbled as Mussini tired of the game. He reached his free arm toward Jack and muttered a magical
phrase. At his command a half-dozen snakes poured from beneath his sleeves and wove their slender venomous bodies around Jack’s arms and legs. Jack thrashed wildly, flinging and shaking himself free of the deadly reptiles.

“You aren’t scared, are you? Would you prefer rats or spiders next?” Mussini taunted. “I’ve still got better tricks than you!”

“And you’re still trapped in one of them.” Jack wrenched on the devil’s handcuffs, refusing to let go.

“Hold still, or I’ll tear you limb from scrawny limb!”

Jack faltered, sweat-soaked and exhausted. Size and strength were not on his side, neither was experience or skill. Courage and bravery were not enough to stop the magician.

Jack struggled to his feet and edged his way closer to the bridge. The pulsing crowds of dancing and laughing dead had grown around them, sweeping them up until they were halfway across the bridge.

When he was in position, Jack stopped struggling and fell to his knees at the feet of the giant magician. Mussini raised his huge arm, the golden handcuff attached and Jack still hanging on to the other end.

“You little weasel, slapping my own cuffs on me. You’re lucky I’m a patient man, but it’s wearing thin.”

Mussini twisted Jack’s wrist until it seared with pain. He winced and squirmed in Mussini’s grasp. As Jack hung on to the handcuffs, dangling and staring up at
his sweat-stained armpit, he realized one thing: Mussini really stunk. Then he realized something else: Mussini had a weakness. He still had a beating heart. Maybe Jack wasn’t defeated after all.

Jack grabbed for the ledge and leaned over the stony side. The Black River roared and crashed beneath him like a raging, living thing. Jack breathed in the cool night air and let the music of the dead wash over his face. His mind spun. He steadied himself. Ready.

“Stop it. Stop this blasted game!” Mussini yelled, but it was too late. Jack was too close to the edge. Holding on to his half of the golden handcuffs with one hand, he stepped over the side and let gravity take him.

He fell. His body rushed toward the water and suddenly stopped in midair as Mussini’s weight and strength kept them from both going over. A burst of agony shot through Jack’s arm, burning in his shoulder as his arm bore the weight of his whole body.

The devil’s handcuffs sprung to life; the golden metal tightened around Jack’s fingers as he tried to hold on. The metal tore into his skin. The Black River licked at his heels; splashes of icy coldness stung his hot face. Jack screamed as he dangled beneath the bridge.

“Help me!” Jack yelled. “Please, Mussini! I don’t want to die!”

Instinctively, Mussini reached for the boy and grabbed him with both hands and pulled him to safety. Jack knew
that deep down Mussini liked him and cared for him, maybe even like a son. He wouldn’t let him fall, and that simple act of kindness was his undoing. Jack groped for the ledge, and through the haze of pain in his arm he slapped the other cuff on Mussini’s empty wrist. Jack had tricked Mussini with the man’s own kind heart.

Mussini pulled the boy up by his shirt and tossed him to the ground with both hands. Jack fell on his back and scrambled to his feet, clearing Mussini by a few arm lengths.

“You little punk. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

Jack leaned on the bridge, gasping for breath. “I learned a lot of that cleverness from you.”

“The game is done. Come back to camp. I can offer you everything—fame, fortune, and eternal life. You will be the star of the show—the greatest magician ever—greater than me, greater than your Houdini.” Mussini held his hands out to Jack, begging him. The golden cuffs cinched around the magician’s wrists shined like an offering. He dropped to one knee.
Very convincing, very theatrical
, Jack thought. Mussini was always a showman, always laying a trap. Jack hesitated.

Mussini caught his eye. “The mark is the first of many gifts that I can offer you. I will teach you everything I know. You can follow in my footsteps and run the show. You’re a special boy. No one on the
other side
can offer you what I can.”

Jack stared down at his tattoo. He could learn so much from Mussini, for whom magic sparked and flowed so easily—a powerful magician, respected and awed. He would finally have his mentor, teacher, and dad. He could learn to do magical things, not just handcuff tricks. He could stay with Jabber and Violet and be a real magician, like Mussini. More importantly he would have a home and a family.

But trust was a labyrinth Jack was still learning to navigate. And though Mussini offered him many wondrous things—fame and adventure, magic and a family, in the end the magic was just an illusion, the family was stolen and forced. Mussini’s world wasn’t real, but half-alive, barely breathing. Jack couldn’t bring himself to trust the magician—a man whose whole life and death was based on a lie, no matter how beautiful and magical the lie may be. Jack knew that if he stayed, he would die, and he didn’t want to end up like Skimmer, stealing pretty things from the dead, seeking fool’s gold to feel valuable.

Mussini had one thing right—it would be much easier to stay. The real world was tough, and Jack didn’t have a Mussini out there to take care of him and encourage him. He would have to brave the real world on his own. But if the best magic was man-made, then so, too, was bravery, and he knew that he would have to trust himself. He didn’t need a magic compass to get through life.

He thought of T-Ray and Boxer frantically clawing
their way through the earth to escape the forest. Maybe he would never be like Houdini, but one thing he could achieve was to be around people who cared about him. For the first time Jack had true friends, and he wasn’t about to let them down.

“I can’t stay. I won’t. I don’t believe in you or your magic.” Jack swallowed. It was the worst thing he could think of to say to the magician. “I won’t fall for your tricks. Your word is as real as your magic. You promised Jabber the show first, and now you promise it to me. If I stay with you, I’ll end up with a knife in my back. No thanks. I want to go home to the real world, where I belong.”

A dark cloud of anger passed over Mussini’s eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, because I’ve got a vindictive streak in me, bordering a bit on the obsessive. If you step one foot out of the forest, I won’t rest until we meet again. And as you can see from the mark, there is nowhere in the world you can hide from me.” Mussini advanced, blocking Jack’s path to his horse.

Panic pulsed through his tired body. Jack thought fast. “There is only one way out of those cuffs. You know it, and I know it. And it’s with the key.”

Mussini struggled in the grasp of the golden manacles. “Do I look like a fool? I helped design these handcuffs.” His body tensed. His biceps bulged against the twisting magic.

“Then you’ll be lucky to get out of them by morning.” Jack pulled the golden key that fit the golden handcuffs from a chain around his neck. Mussini winced, his eyes trained on the key. Jack rubbed the key between his fingers.

“Don’t you think I kept a spare?”

Jack had to risk it. There was no way Mussini had the key, especially on him. He was bluffing.

“If you have a key, then you won’t need this one.” Jack held it high into the air. He dangled the key over the side of the bridge. Mussini’s whole body jerked toward him. Never trust the dead. Jack smiled and loosened his hold on the chain, letting the key slip a few more inches toward the rushing water. The look of fury on Mussini’s face slowly relaxed. There was only one way out for both of them, and they both knew it.

Sink or swim.

Jack cocked his arm back and threw the key high into the air. The key soared toward the Black River. Mussini barreled down the bridge and dove over the side.

Jack stood back and watched as the Amazing Mussini plunged into the river. The crowd that had gathered around them erupted in applause; they probably thought it was part of a street act. Mussini was a magician to the end. If there was a trick to the devil’s handcuffs, Jack didn’t know it, but if
anyone
could beat the cuffs, it was the Amazing Mussini.

Jack knew that Mussini would make it. He would find the key at the bottom of the river. He would survive in this place. For whatever reason, Mussini was not ready to move on.

When Mussini didn’t surface from the river, Jack ran back to his horse and rode out of the River City. It was nearly dawn and so Halloween was ending. Death Wranglers would be after him now, but he didn’t care. He had done it. He tricked the Amazing Mussini.

The horse raced back toward the wall as the air grew colder, and thin black shadows raced alongside him. Spirits flew through the sky like dark winged birds, and Jack thought he saw something chasing him. He urged the horse on. The wall glowed with fire ahead of him. He was so close. But then the horse spooked, rearing up on her hind legs, throwing Jack to the ground. He tried to grab the reins but the horse bolted, pulling Jack a few feet before he let go. He was facedown in the leaves. Alone.

Jack crawled to his knees and saw what spooked the horse, and the sight took his breath away. For standing a few feet in the distance was a shimmering, magical beast. At first glance, he thought it was a horse, but then he saw its body and face. It was a woman with long golden hair cascading around her upper body, which was attached to the body of a horse. A centaur! Was this the beautiful, magical gift that Mussini traded to the Death Wranglers?
The horse moved closer to him and she spoke, “Run, human. My master comes for you.”

Jack was tired of running, tired of being strong, and tired of resisting. The magic of the forest was so amazing. He wanted to collapse right there and stare at the beautiful beast. But his friends were counting on him. Jack struggled to his feet and started to run the rest of the way. It felt like he had already run for miles. Suddenly he froze. Torchlights approached like fireflies, hovering closer and closer—Death Wranglers, swarms of them, in between him and the wall. Jack was trapped.

The wind stung Jack’s face. The Death Wranglers closed in. There was only one way out: He had to go down into the earth, into the labyrinth. A torch burned off to his right, indicating a trapdoor in the forest floor. There was no time to think about what might be down there. Jack had to take the gamble that on this night there were more Death Wranglers above ground than below.