Page 58 of Everything She Does Is Magic

Grace looks at me with genuine malice. She’s still in this, all the way committed. The way we’ve staged it, she looks like the one who magically destroyed the vines, breaking free of my hold. She said this would be herCarriemoment, covered in blood and out for revenge. She wanted it to come off like she’s snapped, like whatever my character has done is bringing out some unexplained power in her.

She plays it perfectly, her desire to get me back so believable that it isn’t difficult for me to rise, lunging at the guests in the room like they might be my next target instead. I chase them out of the skeleton room and into the final hallway before theexit.

This time their screams are real.

Grace pretends to pull me back—to catch me.

“Run!” she tells the guests. “Save yourselves!”

And they do. They run like they’re truly scared I might do something to them. Or Grace might.

When we return to the skeleton room, we’re both still so in it that we don’t say anything at all. We’re standing side by side, breathing hard, in utter disbelief.

The skeleton rises from his bed to greet us.

We laugh. Only a little. Low and proud.

“It really worked,” I whisper.

“That wasamazing,” Grace says. “They were actually scared. I can’t believe the vines caught on fire. It looked so cool. That was Matt Bautista, Isaac Diaz, and some other guys I didn’t recognize.”

I didn’t know any of them, but Grace goes on to tell me about their reactions in more detail as we set up our act again, waiting for the next group to come through. Apparently, Matt had tears in his eyes at one point. Isaac was holding on to his jeans when he ran out, like something had happened.

Grace pats my back again. “They completely believed it.”

We hear the next group approaching, and we hurry into position. I find myself even more committed, certain now that this will work. The fire doesn’t catch again, but the effect is still cool when the plants turn to dust.

It’s the most rigorous magic practice I’ve had in a long time, and I know with certainty that it’s also the most consistent magic I’ve ever done, the same way I know when food tastes particularly good or when music is well written. It’s a soul-deep satisfaction that makes me wish there was a Doyle here to seeme.

I don’t want to give this up, I realize.

This power makes me who I am. And I like it about myself.

The groups start coming through closer together. At one point, the entire bedroom is packed with people, and I don’t even have to chase them out. They start running when the vines disintegrate, the youngest kid among them screaming with genuine terror.

It’s such an adrenaline high that I don’t even notice the Holtzenbergs enter. Not until Grace is tugging on my hand, whispering my name over and over. Both of Kyle’s parents are struggling to get their ghost costumes off their heads to see us in full.

“Go,” I whisper, shoving Grace toward the hole in the tent. She thinks I’m following right behind her, but once she’s through, I mend the tear in the tent.

It’s only me who will take the fall.

The Holtzenbergs get free of their bedsheet costumes right as I finish patching up the hole. I’ve been practicing magic so much that I don’t even have to think hard to do it. I’m already centered, already steady. The rest of the Doyles really should see this. They would be amazed at how one night in this haunted house has done more for my training than several years in their homes.

Maybe it would be enough to let me into the coven without a protector. Maybe I’m the one who could teachthema thing ortwo.

“Excuse me,” Mrs.Holtzenberg says. When I turn to face her, she screams. Probably because I’m covered in blood and wearing a weird gown inside this haunted house that’s only ever had two bedsheet ghosts and some old animatronics.

“I’m not a real killer,” I tell her for some reason. This doesn’t make it any better.

“Kevin!” she shouts.

Her husband grabs my arm like I’m the kind of trouble that needs apprehending. Which I guess I sort of am. He drags me toward the back of the haunted house.

“We’re taking you to thetent,” he says, like I know what that means. We’re already in a tent.

I don’t bother to resist. The only time I even lift my head is when we get back outside, and I catch sight of Grace along the edge of the fence. She starts forward like she’s going to sacrifice herself too, and I shake my head. She’s not going down with me.

Turns out that the tent is some sort of makeshift security center. There’s one older man in here, not a cop but an employee of some security firm, wearing their logo on his ill-fitting polo as he eats a hot dog while watching a fuzzy livestream of various corners of the carnival on an iPad. He can’t be watching very closely, since Grace and I snuck in without notice.