Beautiful Darkness

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “Professor Ashcroft must have mentioned her.”

  Carlton Eaton’s voice blared over the loudspeaker as he fussed with the portable mic. He always announced the winners because the only thing he loved more than opening everyone’s mail was the spotlight. “If y’all will bear with me, folks, we got some technical difficulties… hold on now… can someone call Red? How am I supposed to know how to fix a darn microphone? Shoot, it’s hotter than Hades in here.” He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Carlton Eaton never managed to remember when the microphone was on.

  Amma stood proudly to his right, in her best dress, with the tiny violets all over it, holding her prizewinning sweet potato pie. Mrs. Snow and Mrs. Asher were next to her, holding their own creations. They were already dressed for the Mother-Daughter Peach Pageant that started right after Pies. They were equally frightening in their respective aqua and pink pageant mother gowns, which made them look like aging prom dates from the eighties. Thankfully, Mrs. Lincoln was not in the pageant, so she stood next to Mrs. Asher in one of her standard church dresses, holding her famous chess pie. It was still hard to look at Link’s mom without remembering the insanity of Lena’s last birthday. You don’t see your girlfriend’s mother stepping out of your best friend’s mom’s body too many nights of the year. When I saw Mrs. Lincoln now, that’s what I thought of—the moment Sarafine emerged like a snake shedding its skin. I shuddered.

  Link elbowed me. “Dude, look at Savannah. She’s got the crown on and everything. She sure knows how to milk it.”

  Savannah, Emily, and Eden were sitting in the front row with the rest of the Peach Pageant contestants, sweating away in their tackiest pageant evening wear. Savannah was in yards of glittery Gatlin peach, with her rhinestone Peach Princess crown balanced perfectly on her head, even though the train of her dress kept snagging on the bottom of her cheap metal folding chair. Little Miss, the local dress shop, probably had to special-order it for her all the way from Orlando.

  Liv edged her way closer to me, eyeing the cultural phenomenon that was Savannah Snow. “Is she the queen of Southern Crusty, then?” Liv’s eyes twinkled, and I tried to imagine how strange this all must look to an outsider.

  I almost smiled. “Just about.”

  “I didn’t realize baking was so important to Americans. Anthropologically speaking.”

  “I don’t know about other places, but in the South, women take their baking seriously. And this is the biggest pie-baking contest in Gatlin County.”

  “Ethan, over here!” Aunt Mercy was waving her handkerchief in one hand and carrying her infamous coconut pie in the other. Thelma was walking behind her, shoving people aside with Aunt Mercy’s wheelchair. Every year Aunt Mercy entered the contest, and every year she got an honorable mention for her coconut pie, even though she’d forgotten how to make it about twenty years ago, and none of the judges were brave enough to taste it.

  Aunt Grace and Aunt Prue were arm in arm, dragging Aunt Prue’s Yorkshire terrier, Harlon James, behind them.

  “Well, fancy seein’ you here, Ethan. Did you come ta see Mercy win her ribbon?”

  “Of course he did, Grace. What else would he be doin’ in a tent fulla old ladies?”

  I wanted to introduce Liv, but the Sisters didn’t give me a chance. They kept talking over one another. I should’ve known Aunt Prue would take care of that for me. “Who’s this, Ethan? Your new girlfriend?”

  Aunt Mercy adjusted her spectacles. “What happened ta the other one? The Duchannes girl, with the dark hair?”

  Aunt Prue looked at her suspiciously. “Well, Mercy, that’s jus’ none a our concern. You shouldn’t be askin’ anything about it. She mighta up and left him.”

  “Why would she do that? Ethan, you didn’t ask that girl ta get nekkid, did ya?”

  Aunt Prue gasped. “Mercy Lynne! If the Good Lord doesn’t strike us all down on account a that talk…”

  Liv looked dizzy. She obviously wasn’t used to following the banter of three hundred-year-old women with thick Upcountry accents and fractured grammar.

  “Nobody tried—nobody left anyone. Everything is fine between Lena and me,” I lied. Even though they’d find out the truth the next time they went to church, if their hearing aids were turned up high enough to hear the gossip. “This is Liv, Marian’s summer research assistant. We work together at the library. Liv, this is Aunt Grace, Aunt Mercy, and Aunt Prudence, my great-great-aunts.”

  “Don’t you be addin’ any extra greats in there.” Aunt Prue pulled herself up a little straighter.

  “That’s her name. Lena! It was on the tip a my tongue.” Aunt Mercy smiled at Liv.

  Liv smiled back. “Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

  Carlton Eaton tapped on the mic just in time. “All right, y’all, I think we can get started.”

  “Girls, we need ta get up ta the front. They’ll be callin’ my name in no time.” Aunt Mercy was already working her way through the aisles, rolling forward like an army tank. “We’ll see you in two shakes of a rabbit’s tail, Sweet Meat.”

  People filed into the tent from all three entrances, and Lacy Beecham and Elsie Wilks, the winners of Casseroles and Barbeque, took their places next to the stage, holding their blue ribbons. Barbeque was a big category, even bigger than Chili, so Mrs. Wilks was about as puffed up as I’d ever seen her.

  I watched Amma’s face, so proud, not glancing at one of those women even once. Then I watched it darken, and she looked off toward one side of the tent.

  Link ribbed me again. “Hey, lookit. I mean, you know, the Look.” We followed Amma’s stinkeye to the far corner of the tent. When I saw who she was looking at, I tensed.

  Lena was slouching against one of the tent poles, eyes on the stage. I knew she couldn’t have cared less about a pie-baking contest, unless she was here to root for Amma. And from the looks of it, Amma didn’t think that’s why Lena was here.

  Amma shook her head at Lena, ever so slightly.

  Lena looked away.

  Maybe she was looking for me, though I was probably the last person she wanted to see right now. So what was she doing here?

  Link grabbed my arm. “It’s—she’s—”

  Lena glanced across to the pole opposite her. Ridley leaned against the pole in a pink miniskirt, unwrapping a lollipop. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, like she actually cared about who was going to win. I knew she didn’t, because the only thing she cared about was causing trouble. Since there were about two hundred people too many in the tent, this seemed about as good a place for trouble as any.

  Carlton Eaton’s voice echoed over the crowd. “Testin’, testin’. Can y’all hear me? All right, then, on to Cream Pies. We have ourselves a close one this year, folks. Had myself the pleasure a tastin’ a few a these pies, and I’m here to tell you every single one a ’em’s a winner in my O-pinion. But I reckon we can only have one first-place winner here tonight, so let’s see who it’s gonna be.” Carlton fumbled with the first envelope, ripping the paper loudly. “Here it is, folks, our third-place winner is… Tricia Asher’s Creamsicle Pie.” Mrs. Asher scowled for a millisecond, then flashed her phony smile.

  I kept my eyes locked on Ridley. She had to be up to something. Ridley didn’t give a crap about pie, or anything that happened in Gatlin. Ridley turned and nodded toward the back of the tent. I looked behind me.

  Caster Boy was watching with a smile. He was standing by the rear entrance, his eyes on the finalists. Ridley turned her attention back to the stage and slowly, deliberately, began sucking on her lollipop. Never a good sign.

  Lena!

  Lena didn’t even blink. Her hair began to twist in the stagnant air, blowing in what I knew was the Casting Breeze. I don’t know if it was the heat or the close quarters or the grim look on Amma’s face, but I was starting to worry. What were Ridley and John up to, and why was Lena Casting here? Whatever they were trying to do, Lena must be tryin
g to counteract it.

  Then I figured it out. Amma wasn’t the only one dealing out the Look like a bad spread of cards. Ridley and John were staring down Amma, too. Was Ridley stupid enough to mess with Amma? Was anyone?

  Ridley held up the lollipop as if to answer.

  “Uh-oh.” Link stared. “We should probably get outta here.”

  “Why don’t you take Liv to the Ferris Wheel?” I said, trying to catch Link’s eye. “I think things are going to be pretty boring for a while.”

  “Now we’ve reached the most excitin’ part a the judgin’,” said Carlton Eaton, as if on cue. “All right, y’all, this is it. Let’s see which one a these here ladies is gonna be takin’ home a second-place ribbon and five hundred dollars’ worth a brand new bakeware, or a first-place ribbon and seven hundred fifty dollars, compliments a Southern Crusty. ’Cause if it ain’t Southern Crusty, it ain’t the South, and it ain’t Crusty—” Carlton Eaton never finished, because before he could say the words, something else came out—

  Of the pies.

  The pie tins began to move, and it took people a few seconds to realize what was happening, before they started screaming. Grubs and maggots and palmetto bugs, Carolina cockroaches, started crawling out of the pies. It was as if all the hate and lies and hypocrisy of the whole town—of Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Asher and Mrs. Snow, the principal of Jackson High, and the DAR and the PTA and every church auxiliary, all rolled into one—had been baked into those pies, and now it was coming to life. Bugs were pouring out of every pie onstage, more bugs than the pie tins could possibly hold.

  Every pie except Amma’s. She shook her head, her eyes narrowing into slits like some kind of challenge. Hordes of cream-covered grubs and roaches hit the floor around the contestants’ feet. But the trail of scurrying insects diverged in a neatly forking path around Amma.

  Mrs. Snow reacted first. She hurled her pie, sticky fruit-covered bugs rocketing into the air and landing all over the front row. Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Asher followed suit, maggots raining down on the Peach Pageant contestants’ satin dresses. Savannah started screaming, not fake screaming but real, bloodcurdling screams. Everywhere you looked, there were pie-covered worms and people trying not to puke at the sight of them. Some were more successful than others. I saw Principal Harper doubled over a trash can by the exit, getting rid of a whole day’s worth of funnel cake. If Ridley was looking to stir up trouble, she had succeeded.

  Liv looked ill. Link tried to push forward into the crowd, most likely to rescue his mom. He had been doing that a lot lately, and considering how unrescuable his mother was, I had to give him credit.

  Liv grabbed my arm as the crowd surged forward toward the exits.

  “Liv, get out of here. Go out that way. Everyone’s heading for the sides.” I pointed to the back exit of the tent. John Breed was still standing there, smiling at his handiwork, his green eyes fixed on the stage. Green eyes or not, he wasn’t one of the good guys.

  Link was on the stage brushing worms and bugs off his mother, who was completely hysterical. I worked my way closer to the front.

  “Somebody help me!” Mrs. Snow looked like someone in a horror movie, terrified and screaming, her dress alive with squirming bugs. Even I didn’t hate her enough to wish this on her.

  I caught a glimpse of Ridley, sucking away on her lollipop, bringing bugs to life with every lick. I didn’t know she could pull off something this big by herself, but then again she had Caster Boy to help her.

  Lena, what’s happening?

  Amma was still standing on the stage, looking like she could bring down the whole tent with a single look. Bugs and worms were crawling over each other at her feet, but not one was brave enough to touch Amma. Even the bugs knew better. She was staring down at Lena, her eyes narrow and her jaw tight, as she had been from the moment the first grub crawled its way out of Mrs. Lincoln’s chess pie. “You fixin’ to make me do this now?”

  Lena stood at the edge of the tent, her hair still twisting in the Casting Breeze, the corners of her mouth upturned into the smallest shadow of a smile. I recognized it for what it was. Satisfaction.

  Now everyone knows what’s really in their pies.

  Lena hadn’t been trying to stop them. She was part of it.

  Lena! Stop!

  But there was no stopping now. This was payback for the Guardian Angels and the Disciplinary Committee meeting, for every token casserole left at the gates of Ravenwood and every pitying look, for every insincere sentiment offered by the folks of Gatlin. Lena was handing it right back as if she’d saved every bit, storing it all up until it exploded in their faces. I guess this was her way of saying good-bye.

  Amma spoke to Lena as if they were the only people in the tent. “Enough, child. You can’t get what you want from these folks. Sorry from a sorry town is nothin’ but a whole lot more a the same. A pie tin fulla nothin’.”

  Aunt Prue’s voice pierced the din. “Good Lord, help! Grace is havin’ a heart attack!” Aunt Grace was lying on the ground, unconscious. Grayson Petty was kneeling over her, taking her pulse while Aunt Prue and Aunt Mercy batted palmetto bugs away from their sister.

  “I said enough!” Amma roared from the stage, and as I ran for Aunt Grace, I could’ve sworn the tent was going to come down on top of us.

  As I bent down to help, I saw Amma pull something out of her pocketbook and hold it high above her head. The One-Eyed Menace, our old wooden spoon, in its full glory. Amma brought it down on the table in front of her with a crack.

  “Oww!” Across the room, Ridley winced and the lollipop dropped right out of her hand, rolling across the dirt as if Amma had smashed it with the Menace itself.

  In that second, everything stopped.

  I looked over to Lena, but she was gone. The spell, or whatever it was, was broken. The palmetto bugs scampered out of the tent, leaving only the grubs and worms behind.

  And me, leaning over Aunt Grace to make sure she was breathing.

  Lena, what have you done?

  Link followed me out of the tent, confused as usual. “I don’t get it. Why would Lena help Ridley and Caster Boy pull a stunt like that? Someone coulda really gotten hurt.”

  I scanned the rides closest to us to see if there was any sign of Lena or Ridley. But I didn’t see them, just the 4-H volunteers fanning old women and handing out plastic cups of water to the victims of the pie-baking contest from hell.

  “You mean, like my Aunt Grace?”

  Link yanked on his shorts to make sure they were grub-free. “I thought she was a goner. Lucky she just fainted. Probably the heat.”

  “Yeah. Lucky.” But I didn’t feel lucky. I was too angry. I had to find Lena, even if she didn’t want to be found. She was going to have to tell me why she would terrorize everyone in that tent to get even with—who? A few aging beauty queens? Link’s mom, who was just aging? It was something Ridley would do, not Lena.

  It was getting dark, and Link scanned the crowd through the flashing lights and hysterical church ladies. “Where’d Liv go? Wasn’t she with you?”

  “I don’t know. I told her to go out the back when the bugfest started.”

  Link cringed at the word bug. “Should we look for her?”

  There was a group of people in line at the Fun House, so I headed that way. “I get the impression Liv knows how to take care of herself. I think this is something we have to do on our own.”

  “Right on.”

  We turned the corner a few yards from the entrance to the Tunnel of Love. Ridley, Lena, and John were standing in front of the dingy plastic cars painted to look like gondolas. Lena was standing in the middle, a leather jacket slung over her shoulders. Only she didn’t have a leather jacket. John did.

  I called her name, without even thinking. “Lena!”

  Leave me alone, Ethan.

  No. What were you thinking?

  I wasn’t thinking. I was finally doing something.

  Yeah. Something stupid.

  Don’
t tell me you’re on their side now.

  I was walking fast. Link struggled to keep up with me. “You’re gonna start a fight, aren’t you? Man, I hope Caster Boy doesn’t set us on fire or turn us into statues or somethin’.” Link was usually up for a fight. Even though he was skinny, he was almost as tall as me, and twice as crazy. But the prospect of fighting a Supernatural didn’t have the same appeal. We’d been burned on that one before.

  I wanted to let him off the hook. “I’ve got this. Go find Liv.”

  “No way, dude. I’ve got your back.”

  When we got to the gondolas, John stepped forward protectively, in front of the girls, as if we were the ones they needed to be protected from.

  Ethan, get out of here.

  I could hear the fear in her voice, but this time I was the one who didn’t answer.

  “Hey, Boyfriend, how’s it goin’?” Ridley smiled and unwrapped a blue lollipop.

  “Screw you, Ridley.”

  She noticed Link behind me, and her smile changed. “Hiya, Hot Rod. You wanna take a ride through the Tunnel of Love?” Ridley tried to sound playful, but she sounded nervous instead.

  Link grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward him, almost like he really was her boyfriend. “What did you think you were doin’ back there? You coulda gotten someone killed. Ethan’s four-hundred-year-old aunt almost had a heart attack.”

  Ridley snatched her arm back. “It was only a few bugs. Don’t be so melodramatic. I think I liked you better when you were a little more compliant.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  Lena stepped out from behind John. “What happened? Is your aunt okay?” She seemed like my Lena again, kind and concerned, but I didn’t trust her anymore. A few minutes ago, she was taking down the women she hated and everyone else in the tent with them, and now she was the girl I kissed behind the ticket booth. It didn’t add up.

  “What were you doing back there? How could you help them?” I didn’t realize how mad I was until I heard myself yelling. But John did.

  He slammed his palm against my chest, and I stumbled back.