“A carnival, a festival, a fair—American humans love a fair.” Adante pulled something from the pocket of his robe, a single sheet of paper that I recognized, with a sudden falling sensation, the instant he unfolded it. He raised the flyer with a flourish and a fanged grin.

“Or how about a hoopla?”

Twenty-Nine

The Lesser of Two Evils

The ride home was quiet.

The darkness outside the car was broken only by the occasional streak of moonlight cutting through a break in the trees, as Lina sliced and swerved through a forested stretch of road. Her driving was expert, her every motion on the wheel and the gear shift utterly controlled. But her face was a storm of emotions, wild and enraged. She spoke aloud, though not to us and not in complete sentences.

“Should have known . . . conclave this close to Iowa . . . too convenient . . . planned this all along . . . Blood monsters . . .”

In contrast, Reg sat still and silent in the shadowy back seat, his steady breathing the only proof he was even alive. It wasn’t long before I went crazy in the space between and blurted out, “Well? Let’s have it, then!”

Lina frowned. “Have what?”

“You’re both mad at me, right? But what was I supposed to do? They’re taking the town, with or without us. At least this way, we get what we want too.”

“You’re being shrill” was Reg’s calm response.

“And selfish?” I asked.

“He didn’t say that,” Lina said.

“He thought it.”

“It sounds like maybe you thought it.”

I huffed and stared out the window to avoid her gaze. Wisdom came with age and all that, but I was quickly learning that Ancients could be know-it-alls.

It was me who responded when Adante presented his plan, me who spoke first when Reg and Lina fell silent, and me who filled in the gaps the Elders needed to stake their claim on Nowhere. It had to be me. My name was on the flyer.

I’d known the second I’d seen the paper in Adante’s hand that it was the reason we’d been given a second chance. They saw my name in the list of committee contacts—an insider who could ensure their plan succeeded. The Halloween Hoopla flyer promised a party where everyone is invited, but the Elders wanted to know if everyone actually attended. I confirmed for them that it was a whole-town shindig, which they called an ideal scenario for a migration event.

I shivered in the passenger seat of Lina’s car, remembering how the ranking council members casually discussed plans to dispatch teams to deal with the old and infirm, or any other outliers who may not attend.

Lina had not hid her opposition, practically spitting as she argued. “This won’t work. The event ends when night falls.”

“I can push the awards until after dark,” I’d said.

“Charlie!”