Then I glanced to the right, dozens of bobbing balloons catching my eye.
Perfect.
The guy running the balloon dart attraction was too busy flirting with a redheaded girl I vaguely recognized from the pageant sign-ups today to notice me sneak up alongside the booth and snatch a few darts from the side. Their tips weren’t all that sharp—that had to be a lawsuit in waiting—but I figured they’d do in a pinch. And when I saw a deserted spork lying on the ground, I grabbed that, too, grimacing as I wiped it off on my jeans. Desperate times clearly called for desperate measures.
Heading back to the Fun House, I saw that it was still deserted, people walking by it like it wasn’t even there.
Taking a deep breath, I slid the darts into my pocket, keeping the spork in my hand.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s do this.”
The Fun House had never been one of my favorite parts of the fair. I’d only gone in it once when I was about nine. Leigh-Anne had gone with me, holding my hand the whole time, pointing out how silly we looked in the distorted mirrors, giggling about how fake the lime-green skeleton dangling from a doorway was. Afterward, she’d told me I was obviously the bravest third-grader in the state of Alabama, and we’d gone to get another cotton candy as a reward.
I kept that memory in mind now as I slowly made my way through the deserted Fun House. It was eerily quiet, the only sound the creaking boards underneath my feet and my own breath sawing in my ears. What exactly was going to happen here? Were more brainwashed people going to jump me? Ugh, fighting off frat boys had been terrible, but fighting off carnies? Yeah, I definitely wanted to take a pass on that.
There were a few lights scattered here and there, but it was still dim enough that I had trouble making out the room I was in. Or was it rooms? I felt like I’d gone through a doorway, but I wasn’t sure.
I turned left, only to run into a wall, but when I turned back the way I’d come, there was a wall there, too. Disoriented, I turned again, passing through a door narrow enough to scrape my shoulders.
I was in a bigger room now, but it was even darker, and I wiped my free hand on the seat of my pants, wishing my heart weren’t thundering in my ears.
From the corner of my eye, I saw something move, and I whirled around, spork raised high, only to drop my arm immediately when I saw who was standing in front of me.
My parents were wearing the same clothes I’d seen them in earlier this evening, Dad in his sweatshirt and jeans, Mom already in her pajamas. They had their arms wrapped around each other, their eyes huge and faces almost gray.
“Harper!” my mom screamed, and I rushed forward, the spork falling from my suddenly numb fingers. Not my parents. The school had been bad enough, but if Alexander or the Ephors hurt my parents—
I reached out, but instead of grabbing my parents, my hands hit hard, cold glass. One of the mirrors. Confused, I stumbled back, only to watch Mom and Dad vanish, my own reflection staring back at me. I looked as gray and panicked as they had, my hair coming loose from its braid, my lips parted with the force of my breathing.
Another movement, and I spun again, this time seeing Bee across the room, still in her T-shirt and jeans. Even though I’d told her to leave, I practically sagged with relief when I saw she was there. “It’s some kind of illusion thing,” I told her. “Making me see things, and—”
My words broke off in a shriek as something suddenly thrust through Bee’s right side. I saw the glint of light on metal, the circle of red that began to spread across her shirt, her mouth open in a silent scream.
“Bee!” I practically threw myself across the room, only to come up hard against another mirror. Now Bee was gone, and I could only see myself again.
Panting, I turned in a circle, looking all around me. Earlier it had seemed like there were two mirrors, but now it was like the entire room was lined in them, reflecting dozens of me, all terrified, all confused. And then I wasn’t in the glass anymore. It was my parents again, crying out for me even though I couldn’t hear them. It was Bee, a sword through her back; Ryan, lying in a pool of blood like Saylor at Magnolia House; my aunts, their eyes blank, their minds not their own. Even Leigh-Anne was there, dressed the same as she was that night we’d gone through the Fun House all those years ago. She was pale, but smiling like she always had been, and for some reason, that hurt the most.
Swirling pictures of people I loved, scared or hurt or dead, appeared over and over again until I wanted to put my hands over my eyes and curl up on the floor. I’d been prepared to fight someone, but this? This was more than anyone could handle, superpowers or not. The room seemed to have gotten colder, so cold I was shaking, and I felt like my mind was going to snap.
A glow filled the room, coming from somewhere at the end of the corridor, and when I made myself open my eyes, I saw that there was one more horrible vision for me to take in.
David floated a few feet ahead of me, but I knew it wasn’t actually David. It was another illusion. But it didn’t feel fake. It felt entirely too real, watching him as he looked down at me, his face blank, his eyes nothing but glowing orbs.
Then suddenly I stood in front of me. I wasn’t dressed like I was tonight—jeans, T-shirt, cardigan—but in a dress. A white one that looked like my Cotillion dress, but couldn’t be, since I’d burned that thing. It had still had splashes of blood on it, and every time I’d looked at it, I’d remembered what happened to Saylor, how although I’d saved David that night, I’d lost so much else.
The me in the mirror was standing right behind David, and she was crying. Of course, the me not in the mirror was crying now, too, because I’d seen what was in the other me’s hand.
A knife.
Not any knife, but a dagger, the blade shiny and bright, the hilt intricately carved. Somehow I knew that this was a ceremonial dagger, something special.
Something only used on one occasion.
I watched golden light spill from David’s fingertips, his eyes, his mouth. I watched the me in the mirror step closer to him, one hand going to his hair, the hair that he always tugged and pulled when he was nervous.
The Harper in the mirror was tugging his hair now, too, but only to pull his head back.
The blade caught the light, almost sparkling and looking strangely beautiful.
It came to rest under David’s chin, and I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling a jolt as the other Harper’s gaze met mine. Her eyes were bloodshot and wet, but her expression was firm as she watched me.