Beautiful Darkness (Caster Chronicles 2)

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’.”