Page 17 of Carnival’s Playground

Dutch grabs the master handle, takes a breath, and shoves it hard into the upright position. The contacts slam shut with a heavy clack. The starter solenoid kicks, the diesel engine turns over twice with a rough cough, and then the north generator roars to life. The exhaust coughs a clean puff of gray smoke, settling into a deep, rhythmic, iron-throated thrum. No smoke. No sparks. The voltage meter needle snaps upright and pins itself dead center on the green. Dutch lets out a low breath and stares at the gauges like he is watching a miracle unfold. "She's purring," he says.

"Told you," I grunt, gathering my tools and shoving them back into the leather roll. "Get Petey to walk the north line and confirm every bulb from the ticket booth to the graveyard is burning clean."

The shed door creaks, and Avery steps back in, wiping a streak of black grease off her neck with the back of her hand. Outside the small window, the string lights across the midway flicker once, twice, and then blaze into brilliant amber and crimson against the gloomy afternoon sky.

"South’s holding steady at sixty percent capacity," she murmurs, her chest rising and falling beneath her damp shirt. "Midway’s lit. Haunt path is fully juiced."

"We're in business," Dutch rumbles, dragging both hands over his face in raw relief. "Christ Almighty, you two just saved the opening night of this extension. I'm going to find a cigarette." Dutch clears out, leaving the two of us standing in the cramped, oil-scented haze of the shed. The steady roar of the generator fills the room, but between Avery and me, the silence is deafening.

She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, crossing her arms, her eyes dark, heavy, and locked dead onto mine. "Not bad for a nomad," she murmurs, the sass softened by a raw, unshielded edge that makes my blood run hot.

"Told you I wasn't going anywhere," I reply, stepping closer until I'm towering over her, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin, close enough to catch the rapid flutter of the pulse at the hollow of her throat. "I don't make promises I can't back up with a wrench."

"Is that right?" Her chin tilts up, defiant, daring me, but her breath catches when my knuckles graze the edge of her jaw, leaving a faint smudge of grease against her pale skin.

"That's right, spitfire." My voice is a low gravel scrape. "You’re stuck with me for two more weeks. Get used to it."

"Maybe I don't mind being stuck," she whispers, her lips parting slightly, the tension between us stretched so damn tight it’s about to snap.

Before I can close the last two inches between our mouths, the two-way radio clipped to Dutch's spare belt on the workbench screeches with violent static, shattering the moment into jagged pieces. "Dutch! Carnival! Anyone copy?!" Petey’s voice screams through the speaker, completely unhinged and ragged with terror. "We’ve got a catastrophic failure on the main aerial rig! The center cable's unraveling… get to the big top right fucking now!"

CHAPTER NINE

AVERY

The radio call sends ice straight through my veins, and I'm moving before I even register the words fully.

"That's Marcy on the wire act." I'm already sprinting for the door, heart slamming against my ribs. "She's got the seven o'clock rehearsal right now," I call back, not waiting for confirmation.

"Avery, wait." Carnival's right behind me, longer legs eating up the ground fast enough that he catches me before I clear the equipment yard. "We don't know what we're walking into," he warns, hand closing around my elbow.

"I know Marcy's forty feet up on a wire with nothing but a safety line between her and a concrete floor." I don't slow down, don't look back, just keep running toward the big top with its peaked canvas glowing faint against the darkening sky. "That's enough for me to move fast," I insist, pulling free.

Dutch's boots pound gravel somewhere behind us, radio still crackling static and half words I can't make sense of. We hit the big top's side entrance together, and the sight inside stops my heart cold.

Marcy hangs suspended near the top of the tent, one hand gripping the wire, the other clawing at a safety harness that's twisted wrong around her hip. Below her, the rigging crew stands frozen, faces tilted up, mouths open but nobody moving.

"Somebody get me answers." I shove past a gawking stagehand, voice cracking sharp through the tent. "What happened?" I demand, scanning the rigging above.

"Cable slipped." One of the riggers, a wiry guy named Frank, points a shaking finger up at the mess of ropes and pulleys near the ceiling. "She was running her routine and the tension line just gave out halfway through," he explains, panic riding every word.

"Gave out how?" Carnival's already moving toward the rigging station, eyes scanning the pulley system with the kind of focus that makes my stomach settle just slightly.

"I don't know, man, it just went slack." Frank's voice rises higher, desperation creeping in. "One second it's holding tight, the next she's swinging free," he insists, shaking his head.

"Marcy, can you hear me?" I cup my hands around my mouth, tilting my head back until my neck aches.

"I hear you." Her voice comes down thin and strained, but steady enough that relief floods through me for half a second. "Harness caught on something. I can't get it loose," she calls down, fear threading through every word.

"Don't try to force it." Carnival's voice cuts across the tent, calm in a way that settles something jagged in my chest. "Moving wrong could make it worse. Just hold tight and breathe," he instructs, already moving toward the ladder, his boots hitting the rungs hard and fast.

"Easy for you to say." Marcy's laugh comes out shaky, but it's a laugh, which means she's still got fight in her.

"Dutch, keep your eyes on that pulley system," Carnival barks, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Watch the mainline tension. If it starts to slip, you signal me immediately."

"What do you need from me?" I'm right at the base of the ladder, looking for any way to be useful instead of standing here feeling helpless.

"Get everyone else clear of the landing zone." He doesn't look down, focus locked upward on the tangle of cable near Marcy's harness. "If this comes loose wrong, I don't want anybody standing where she might fall," he warns, voice steady despite the height.