CHAPTER TWELVE
A floating candle drifts dangerously close to Beam’s head. She lets out a disappointed burp, then asks, “Will the Tampering even work this year? The carousel didn’t seem to like us today.”
I swat the candle away before it lights the soft browns of her hair on fire. It is always so lovely to see the ghosts come to life, like a precious black-and-white movie rendered in color for an evening.
“I don’t know,” I say, pulling on my dress. It’s pale blue, hanging just off my shoulders and flaring from my hips down to the ground in shimmering ruffles. It’s a chilly evening, but with a trusted shawl, heated tents, and the presence of so many warm bodies, I’ll be okay.
Besides, it’s the eclipse, and the very nature of the day sets my senses alight in the most wonderful way.
Next to me, Valentin is picking through my trunk in search of something she likes. She picks up a rose-colored long-sleeve dress with a slit that ends half-way up her thigh.
“What’s the Tampering?” she asks, turning the dress this way and that, before deeming it appropriate, tucking it under her arm.
“Another ritual that comes with the eclipse,” I explain, recalling that she was asleep when most of us were preparing for tonight. “It’s the one evening we’re allowed to have fun. We’re given one chance to interfere with a timeline.”
Valentin frowns. “Mess with time?”
“It’s all low stakes,” I explain. “We can’t do anything major, like stop a war or the spread of a disease. Sometimes, Everest will veto a suggestion we think is appropriate, and it usually turns out that its implications are larger than we predicted.”
“Like when Ender wanted to let a murderer into a home,” Beam says, wine-dazed.
Valentin looks supremely concerned.
I sigh. “He thought the man looked cold and lonely, and his vote was to slip the keys to a home under the welcome mat. Naturally, that would have been a bad idea.”
“He shouldn’t have won that vote anyways,” Beam grumbles. Occasionally, she forgets that she isn’t a ghost-ghost on this night, so when she flops over, expecting to float midair, a look of surprise fills her face when she falls smack into the bed. I toss a pillow at her.
“So you all vote for what you’ll tamper with?” Valentin asks.
“A ‘vote’ might be too tame a word for what you’re about to witness.”
Beam throws the pillow back at me as I’m putting silver hoops into my ears. “Every ghost is allowed a visit in the carousel. We can explore, find stories we want to propose a change to, and then we fight over it for a few hours.”
“We won’t have that long tonight; we need to be ready to scry at the height of the eclipse,” I warn Beam. “Do you have your idea picked?”
Beam nods proudly. “And this year, I will win.”
Oh, how I hate to break it to her.
“That sounds…lovely,” Valentin says, coiffing her braids. “Is it just Everest who decides whether something is feasible?”
“For as long as we’ve been here, yes,” I say, taking one last look in the mirror. “I believe his siblings have partaken in the past.” A long, long-ago past.
It’s remarkable how quickly Valentin has eased into the rhythm of things.
The atmosphere at the fair can get frenetic leading up to the eclipse and, considering the state of the carousel and her unexpected visit here, everything feels more manic and charged.
There’s a hint of tension to her face, but curiosity, too.
It’s impressive, her ability to take things in stride, and I’m giddy at the prospect of experiencing the evening through her.
I offer her my arm. “Come on. Let’s show you real magic.”
Valentin gasps the moment we step out of my tent, and I grin from ear to ear at the wonder melting off her in rivulets, every bit of it deserved. The fair is a marvel on the night of the eclipse.
Every tent is a soft poppy red, aglow with a yellow warmth, and strings of fairy-lights hang down the drapery.
Floating candles bob along invisible string, lighting the cobblestone path through snow-paved grass all the way to the main tent, where the festivities take place.
All around us, ghosts appear in vivid colors, enthralled by the momentary retention of their senses.
It’s effervescent, seeing everyone grasp onto life so tightly on this one night.
To appreciate the things I have every day and often take for granted.
Stolen kisses, clandestine touches. The ability to feel one another, to demonstrate affection beyond words spoken with conviction.
More than anything else, this night makes us all feel human again. Each eclipse, I contend with just how far I am from the mortal woman who stumbled into the carousel in a fit of desperation, and tonight is particularly jarring because I have a first-row seat to Valentin’s very human perspective.
“Oh, my god,” Valentin says, her head tilting upwards. A shimmering aurora borealis, dyed purple and green, billows above our heads.
“The eclipse aurora is in a league of its own,” I admit, staring as a red corona splatters across the canvas of the night, which is illuminated by the full moon, yet to be eclipsed.
“This is…” she says, swallowing hard. “I have this ache, this wish that someone were here to see this with me. But I don’t know who.”
I give her hand a light squeeze, remembering just how much I missed my parents during my first eclipse.
My mother would’ve been enchanted by the sky, while my father, ever the gourmand, would’ve sampled every bit of the fair’s delicacies.
“It’ll come back to you. We’ll make sure of it tonight. But there’s so much more left to see.”
And that there is. As we weave through the crowds, there are platters of food and drinks, all conjured by the fair on this fine night.
Plates of exotic cheeses, fruit, and skewered meats that smell of delectable spices are passed around.
Ender made an impassioned request for doner kebab one eclipse, and it’s become a staple ever since.
Valentin lets out a moan of pleasure as she takes a bite of my favorite hors d’oeuvre: a goat cheese and fig ball.
Another plate passes by us, clustered with flutes filled with a dark red liquid. I snatch her wrist before she takes it.
“This is much stronger than what you’re used to,” I say quietly. “I won’t stop you, but I always wished someone did me the courtesy of a warning.”
Valentin squints at me. “I know that look. What did you do?”
I think of guttural laughter while looking through a telescope.
The taste of wine mixed with spice and magic, massaging my senses, turning lights and sounds into a midnight euphony.
I’d wanted to touch everything, everyone, and a razor-sharp memory slices through me of drawing stars on Everest’s cheek.
Slurring, “You have a lot of freckles,” as his eyes glittered brighter than the bonfire. “And your skin is so soft.”
No, I’m definitely not thinking of that first eclipse. “Things I regret.”
“I’ll say,” Beam mutters, crunching on a roasted chestnut, and I give her a light smack on the head.
“Well, we’re scrying later, and I’d rather be in the right state of mind,” Valentin says. Wise woman. I knew I liked her.
Geneva appears behind me. “Took you all long enough!”
Her face is relaxed and flushed pink in a way that tells me exactly how many glasses of that wine she’s had.
Keshav trails behind her, demure and sober, but they’re both dressed to the nines.
She’s in a sharply cut sky-blue pant suit with a matching hat, while he’s in a dark grey coat, black trousers, and has a soft cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck.
“We didn’t want to rush Val,” Beam protests.
Keshav leans in to kiss Valentin on the cheek. “Of course not. That wouldn’t do. Happy eclipse, my dears. You both look lovely.”
“You look great, yourself,” I say, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him. It’s so nice, being able to feel the love of these people for a day, to bask in their affection.
Beam’s hand slips into mine. “Can we rush now? Everyone’s headed over.”
“I wouldn’t dare keep us any longer,” Valentin says, taking Beam’s other hand.
We head after the stream of people, down the path to the carousel.
Chatter overlays the swing of jazz music, rippling through the air.
It’s hard to see past all the suddenly solid heads.
It’s the one time my eye isn’t instantly drawn to the ethereal turquoise, cold as winter’s heart.
Not with so many faces, awash with joy and color, alight under the aurora and a thousand burning candles.
Geneva elbows us a path forward, and we blaze past spirited hellos and embraces on our way to the front.
I don’t realize I’m searching for him until I see him.
Everest stands across from us, in a vivacious conversation with two people.
My breath hitches as I take in the sight of him.
He’s opted for an elevated version of his usual look, a deep black shirt that clings to the hard lines of his chest, and equally dark trousers.
The candlelight makes everything about him more beautiful: the sharp cut of his jaw, the angelic gleam in his hair.
He tilts his head back in laughter, and for a moment, I don’t see anyone else.
As if he senses me, our eyes lock across the raucous carousing.
“It’s incredible seeing everyone out here,” Valentin says, taking in the crowd. “Do they always look so…?”
“Unbearably good-looking?” I mutter. The ghosts do have an unearthly aura to them tonight, a glow under their flesh.
“You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?”
Of course he hears that.