Wild Ride (15 page)

His name is Joe
, Delpha had said, and that had made her treacherously happy. Hell, Joe made her happy. Well, Joe made everybody happy, he was just that kind of guy, but . . .

Demons.

“That was a complete waste of time,” she told herself sternly, and went back to the Fortune-Telling Machine.

L
ater, after an afternoon of particularly heavy drinking in the woods, Ethan went looking for Gus to tell the old man he'd be passing on the evening patrol and found him behind the mermaid statue.

“What're you doin'?” Ethan said, knowing he was slurring his words and not caring.

Gus jerked his head back, banging it on the top of the hatch on the rear of the statue and letting loose a string of curses that would have done a drill sergeant proud.

Ethan looked over Gus's shoulder. A carved wooden cup similar to the one inside the FunFun statue was crammed in there. “Wha's wi' the wood cups?”

“Chalices.” Gus carefully retrieved the cup and lid. “This one's not broken. Means we can put Tura back. But Fufluns—” He shook his head. “Gotta get Mab to fix it.”

“You gonna tell Mab she has to fix a demon prison?”

Gus looked at him, shaking his head in exasperation. “Dreamland's the prison. The chalices are just the cells.”

“Right.” Ethan took out his flask and drank and then stopped.

Ashley was passing by.

She looked sharp-eyed and hot, like she owned the place, exuding sex so strongly that the men who were opening up the rides and the games stopped to look at her as she went past. She owned them, too. Hell, she owned Ethan. He couldn't even hear what Gus was saying anymore.

Gus slammed his hand into Ethan's chest, making the old bullet sear, although it felt funny this time, the pain was duller, probably because of all the booze—

Gus got in his face. “You're not listening—”

“Not the chest,” Ethan said, pronouncing each word as carefully and distinctly as he could. “And I am tired of this demon bullshit.”

He walked away, staggering a little, heading for Ashley, although he could sense he wasn't exactly following a straight trajectory. Ashley was passing the Worm when she suddenly stopped and turned. Her eyes bore into Ethan's, and her smile heated him.

“Well, hey there,” she said softly. There was something about Ashley—Ethan strained his alcohol-fogged brain to remember.

“Hey,” he managed.

“You were awfully friendly with that woman in the Beer Pavilion,” she said, moving closer. “I saw her sitting next to you. You were sitting close.”

“Weaver?” Ethan shook his head and felt dizzy.

“She had her hand on your leg. I saw you. You're with her, aren't you? I could see the connection between you. She's the one for you.”

Ethan shook his head again.
Stop that.
“She's nothin' to me.” He couldn't focus his mind. No blood there, too much alcohol, too much Ashley.

Ashley smiled slowly and then looped her arm into his and tugged. “Then let's go into the Tunnel of Love.”

Ethan followed her to the Tunnel, bumping once into the fence and biting back a curse when a ghost flew at him—fucking ghosts were everywhere—and then Ashley pulled him over and got into the lead swan boat. He tried stepping in and fell, doing a face-plant into her lap.
Slower
, he thought, and pulled himself up and back into his seat, the narrowness of the boat forcing him against her.

“I don't think this is runnin' yet,” he told her, squinting at the empty ticket booth, and then, with a clang, the hook on the underwater cable engaged, and they were propelled forward into the yawning dark mouth of the Tunnel.

Ashley's arm slid around Ethan's shoulder, and he wanted to sink into her, all that softness, all that comfort, all that normal human biology. Then they came to the first diorama, and he saw Adam staring down Eve, who was offering up an apple.

Don' take it
, Ethan thought, and then Ashley leaned in and kissed him, and he thought,
Take it.
She put a hand on the side of his face and
pulled his head so that he was looking directly into her eyes as they moved past the diorama and into the blackness before the next one. She kissed him again, hard this time, with tongue, and he put his hand on her breast and squeezed the fullness just as she put her hand on his chest and pressed. He winced, but then she slid her hand lower and he forgot about the pain. Another diorama slid by, and then another, and then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Antony and Cleopatra.

Ashley pulled her tongue out of his mouth. “Do you want me?”

“Yeah.
Yes.
”

Ashley smiled, and despite the fog of alcohol and lust, the hairs on the back of Ethan's neck tingled. Then she gripped his head with surprising strength, and her eyes flashed blue-green,
glowed
blue-green.

Ethan froze. He couldn't move; he couldn't shake his attention from those glowing eyes.

“Betrayer,” Ashley whispered as she put her hand on his chest. “
Die
, betrayer.”

Blue-green light flowed from her into him, blue-green fog filled his chest, squeezing his heart, the pain from the bullet cutting through the middle of his chest as she possessed him, suffocating him, her laughter echoing inside him.

“No,”
he said, and wrenched back, and then a man in black stood up from behind Cleopatra and fired at Ashley, who jerked away, screaming, blue-green smoke spewing everywhere as she leapt out to disappear into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving Ethan free.

Damn demons
, Ethan thought, and slumped into darkness.

 

M
ab had run out of cleaner for her brushes about an hour before dark and headed to the Dream Cream for a refill. On the way, she glanced out at the gate to the causeway and saw the FunFun statue was back.

Kind of.

She walked toward the statue, her horror growing, until she was standing in front of it. “Sweet baby Jesus,” she said in despair, “what happened to you?”

He'd been so bright and beautiful, that orange-and-gold-checked waistcoat
gleaming, the hand with the flute flung above his head in delight, his other hand gesturing the way into Dreamland, his big yellow glove like a beacon—

Both arms were down at his sides, the metal at his shoulders torn and gaping over the broken wood. The layers of paint and glazes that she'd slaved over were scraped down to the metal in places, pieces of his coat broken off entirely. He was missing a finger. Worst of all was his beautiful face: torn, dented, scraped . . .

“No,” she said, close to crying. “I can't fix you. Nobody can fix you.”

“Looks pretty bad,” a voice said from behind her, and she turned and saw one of the college kids who maintained the park—the turquoise-and-blue-striped shirt gave him away—smiling at the ruined statue.

“Pretty bad?” she said. “Somebody
killed
him.”

He came to stand beside her, and she saw the name embroidered on his pocket:
Sam.
“Got a spare?”

“Sure,” Mab said. “We always keep extra iron-clad statues from a hundred years ago around.
Got a spare?
Are you crazy?”

“Sorry,” Sam said hastily. “Wasn't thinking.”

Mab felt lousy. “No, no, I'm sorry. This isn't your fault.”

“Well, you're upset. You worked hard on this.”

“How do you know?”

“Everybody knows.” Sam looked down into her eyes, smiling crookedly at her. “You saved the park.”

His eyes were brown, nothing remarkable, but Mab felt stirrings. . . .

Stirrings?
Was she insane? She was in love with Joe—

No, she wasn't.

“Do I know you?” she said. “You seem really familiar.”

“I've been working here all year,” he said, hitting her with that crooked grin again.

“And I've been oblivious.” Mab sighed. “Well, it's good to finally meet you, Sam.”

She stuck out her hand and he took it, holding it for a second too long.

“Well,” she said again, a little rattled. “We have to get this out of here. Can you get Gus or Young Fred or Ethan or . . .” She looked at the
seven-foot statue doubtfully. “. . . all of them to put this in the Keep basement?”

“I could help,” Sam offered. “We could do it together.”

He smiled down at her, and his smile was familiar, and she thought,
He's not talking about the statue
, and the stirrings came back.

Jesus, she was getting turned on by college kids.

“I have to go to work,” she told him. “Just call Gus.”

“You bet,” Sam said. “I'll go get him now. You have a good day.”

“Thank you,” Mab said, and felt a little disappointed when he walked off.

She really was losing it.

She looked back at the FunFun, broken and somehow
not there
, not the way he'd been when she'd been restoring him, when just working on him had made her happy. Maybe when they'd mangled him, they really had killed him.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, and patted him for the last time and then went on to the Dream Cream.

 

E
than first became aware of pain. Everywhere. Then the memories flooded back: Ashley's eyes flashing blue-green. The suffocating blue-green pressure in his chest. The man in black shooting her. Demons.

He reached down and felt the scar on his chest, surprised to still be alive, since Tura had squeezed his heart so tightly. Even weirder, the pain wasn't as bad as usual. He heard the murmur of voices, felt softness underneath, saw shiny metal overhead, and knew he was back in Glenda's trailer on the banquette. He opened his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. It was futile. He stuck one foot out and placed it on the floor to anchor himself to reality, then slowly sat up. The murmuring stopped.

Glenda, Gus, Delpha, and Frankie stared at him from across the banquette. Young Fred, sitting slouched against the trailer near the fridge, toasted him with a beer bottle.

Glenda leaned forward. “You all right?”

“Where's the man in black?”

“Who?”

Ethan shook his head, a mistake as he winced in pain. “The man in black. Saved me. Ashley attacked me. She's a demon. She tried to possess me—”

“Really?” Glenda said.
“Who knew?”

“What?” Ethan said, taken aback.

“I have been trying to tell you this and you would not listen and now you almost died and I could just
kill
you!” Glenda got up and went to the refrigerator.

“What man in black?” Young Fred said from the floor.

“This guy who's been in the park,” Ethan said, watching Glenda slam the refrigerator door. “He shot her and there was all this blue-green fog everywhere—”

“Tura,” Delpha said. “If Ashley bled Tura's spirit, she was hit with iron. Your man in black had an iron bullet.” She nodded. “I like that.”

Ethan remembered the round iron bullet in his Kevlar, and the pieces clicked into place: that first night, the man in black had thought he was a demon and shot him. And then he shot Ashley when . . . “Where's Ashley?”

“She wasn't there.” Glenda still looked mad enough to bite nails. “Tura must still have her. And now we have to go find her and put Tura back before she kills again. I know you're hurt and I know you're
drunk
—”

Ethan winced.

“—but the park is full of people who are in danger. We have to go
now
.”

“I got her chalice,” Gus said, pulling the carved wooden cup out of his coat. “We can take her.”

Ethan saw that the old man's eyes were clear, eager even, spoiling for action. “How?”

“Oh, good,
now
you'll listen.” Glenda leaned forward. “Demons are fast, but if we can make them feel emotion, there's a flash in their eyes. When Young Fred shape-changes or throws his voice, he startles the demon into dropping its guard so that Delpha can see the flash. He says, ‘Frustro,' when the demon reacts; and Delpha sees the spirit and says, ‘Specto,' and holds it; and you say, ‘Capio,' and take the son of a bitch; and I say, ‘Redimio,' and bind it, and then Gus says, ‘Servo,' and shuts it back in its chalice to rot until the end of days.”

“Capio,” Ethan said. “And what happens after I say that?”

“It forces the demon to possess you,” Glenda said. “But you have the power to hold it without dying. You have a strong heart, and you can hold on to the demon long enough for the capture.”

Long enough for it to drive that bullet into my heart.

“We can't do it without you, Ethan.”

Her voice was serious, and Ethan knew she was telling the truth. There was a demon killing people, and if he died capturing it, well, he'd die in battle instead of sitting around waiting for a piece of lead to move a couple of millimeters.

“I'm in,” Ethan said. “At least this way I'll know if I'm crazy, too.”

“You're not crazy,” Glenda snapped. “You're
gifted
.”

Lucky me
, Ethan thought, and got up to go demon-hunting.

 

U
p at the Beer Pavilion, working on her second beer, Mab was telling Joe, “It was just a really bad day.”

“How bad?” he said around his hot dog.

“The gate FunFun is
destroyed.
After I saw that I didn't get any work done.” Mab rubbed her forehead. “Nothing. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't think anything, I didn't even get any cards from the machine. All I could think of was the FunFun and what Delpha had said. See, this is why emotion is bad. You can't
work.
”

“What did Delpha say?”

“That there were demons in the park.”