Dark Heart of Magic (7 page)

“I
t's too early for this,” I grumbled. “
Way
too early.”

It was seven o'clock the next morning, and I was lying in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, watching Oscar zip around the room putting clothes into a black duffel bag sitting on the couch. The pixie had been up for an hour already, rustling around in my closet, flying from here, into the bathroom, and back out again, and muttering to himself all the while.

“Why can't they start the tournament at a reasonable hour?” I grumbled again. “Like noon-thirty.”

Oscar stopped in midair and slapped his hands on his hips. The pixie had ditched his formal cowboy getup from last night in favor of a black T-shirt boasting the Sinclairs' white hand-and-sword crest, faded jeans with holes in the knees, and black cowboy boots. A black cavalier hat with a plume of white feathers perched on his head, while a tiny black cloak fluttered around his shoulders. It was an odd mix of redneck and ren-faire. He'd even dressed up Tiny in a matching hat and cloak, although the tortoise had already knocked the hat off his head and was busy sniffing the feathers to see if they were edible.

“The tournament starts so early because it is an entire day of
awesome
,” Oscar said. “Trust me. You're going to love it. Now get your lazy
tuchas
out of bed, cupcake—unless you don't want any breakfast bacon.”

“Are you crazy? I always want breakfast bacon, and noon bacon, and afternoon bacon—”

Oscar threw a black T-shirt with the white hand-and-sword crest at me, hitting me in the chest and silencing my argument. A pair of matching black athletic shorts followed a few seconds later, landing on top of my head.

“Don't make me bean you in the face with your own socks and sneakers,” he warned.

Bullied by a six-inch-tall pixie at seven in the morning. Yep, my life as a mobster was certainly a glamorous one.

“Do you want any bacon or not?” Oscar snapped.

And just like that, he won. I groaned and crawled out of bed.

 

After a quick breakfast that was extra heavy on the bacon, I went outside and got into the back of an SUV, along with Devon and Felix. Angelo was driving, with Mo in the front passenger's seat. Another SUV rolling down the driveway in front of us held Claudia, Reginald, Oscar, and some of the guards chosen to compete in the tournament, including Vance Groves, who'd been as arrogant and insufferable as ever at breakfast, showing off some of his fighting moves for his friends. Behind us, several more cars held other members of the Family, everyone from the Midway workers to the other guards to the pixies.

“What's with the convoy?” I asked.

Mo glanced over his shoulder at me. “The tournament is a big deal to all the Families. Practically everyone attends all the rounds, except for the bare minimum of folks needed to work the booths, patrol the Midway, or watch over the compounds on the mountain.”

“Even then, the guards and all the other workers take shifts so that everyone has a chance to see at least part of the tournament,” Angelo chimed in. “It's almost like a minivacation for everyone in the Families, and we all try to put aside our differences. At least while the tournament is going on.”

“And after that?” I asked.

Mo grinned. “Then it's back to business, blood, and battles as usual, kid.”

I snorted. I would expect nothing less from the Families. It was amazing they could call a truce long enough to hold the tournament in the first place.

Angelo drove down the mountain, but instead of heading for the Midway, he took a different route, snaking around the tourist area and heading toward the outskirts of town. He drove over the lochness bridge, slowing down long enough for Devon and me to fling several handfuls of quarters out the windows to pay the toll for all the Sinclair vehicles crossing the span today. I peered out the windows, but I didn't see any long black tentacles, rippling water, or other signs of the lochness. Then again, it was early. Perhaps the monster hadn't roused itself from its watery bed on the bottom of the river yet. At least someone got to sleep in today.

Angelo drove on. A couple of miles later, the cracked sidewalks, abandoned warehouses, and dilapidated buildings gave way to rolling hills covered with grassy lawns and dense thickets of trees. In the distance, I spotted a wide swath of white sand and the dark blue waters of Bloodiron Lake.

A wooden sign planted in one of the lawns featured a carving of a red boat sitting on blue waves, announcing that we were entering the Cloudburst Falls Fairgrounds and Recreation Area. My heart twisted in my chest. My mom used to bring me out here every summer to swim in the lake, play on the beach, and hike the trails in the surrounding forests, but I hadn't been here since her death four years ago.

Angelo turned into a paved lot and parked the car. We all got out, with Devon and me grabbing our duffel bags, which held extra clothes and shoes, along with the weapons we would be using in the tournament. My mom's black-blade sword was stuffed into my bag, while Devon had his father, Lawrence's sword, the hilt engraved with the Sinclair hand-and-sword crest. Angelo, Mo, and Felix grabbed some other bags filled with supplies out of the SUV, and we all headed toward the fairgrounds.

The fairgrounds spread across several acres, with the evergreen woods rising up all around them like soldiers protecting a precious jewel. Gray cobblestone paths led from the parking lots to the fairgrounds, winding past vendors selling everything from sunscreen to replica black blades to hats covered with Family crests. Food carts also clustered along the paths, and the smells of cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip cookies, and deep-fried fudge filled the air, making my mouth water and stomach rumble, even though we'd just finished breakfast an hour ago. Wooden booths offered spectators the chance to try their hands at carnival games, like a ring toss with plastic lochness tentacles as the targets. As part of a strong man test, a kid was enthusiastically beating a plastic bat on top of a fake tree troll head. The harmless game reminded me of the murdered monster we'd found yesterday. And just like that, my appetite vanished.

We moved past the carts and game booths and fell in with the crowd streaming toward the center of the fairgrounds. Gold, silver, and bronze cuffs flashed on many wrists, but there was more mixing between the members of the Families than usual, and everyone seemed to be in a cheery mood, laughing, smiling, and teasing their friends and everyone else they knew. The tournament hadn't started yet, which meant that everyone still had a chance to win. I wondered how long the collective goodwill would last once people started being eliminated.

The main drag of the fairgrounds led into a large, circular stadium, with gray stone bleachers rising up all around it, and private, glassed-in boxes set at the very tops. Each of the private boxes boasted a flag bearing the crest and colors of the Family it belonged to. The Sinclair box was directly across the stadium from the Draconi one. Naturally.

Five tents had been set up around the stadium entrance, close to a waist-high, chain-link fence that circled the grassy field that would serve as the competition area. Each tent was patterned with a Family crest and topped by a matching flag, while a sixth, much larger tent, done in neutral white fabric, perched off to one side.

Angelo, Mo, Felix, Devon, and I headed for the Sinclair tent. Just as Angelo and Mo had said, practically everyone in the Families had turned out for the tournament, and many folks wearing Family T-shirts and hats were already perched on the bleachers, noshing on nachos and buffalo wings, and waiting for the action to start. Workers moved back and forth across the stadium floor, carrying hurdles, balance beams, and more, setting up what looked like an obstacle course.

Flocks of tourists had also come out for the tournament. I could tell they were tourist rubes by the cameras hanging around their necks and the way many used their cameras and phones to snap photos of everything around them, including the pixies zipping through the air like swarms of bees, their translucent wings shimmering in the morning sunlight, carrying ice cream cones that were twice their size.

I snorted. From their constant photo snapping and excited chatter, you'd think that the tourists had never seen pixies before, but the creatures were everywhere, just like all the other monsters that the rubes came to Cloudburst Falls to gawk at. Our town just happened to have more magic and monsters than anywhere else. At least, that's what the tourism officials claimed.

We reached the Sinclair tent and stepped through the opening. Chairs had been set up inside, along with tables full of food and drinks and several oscillating fans to combat the day's growing heat. Reginald stood in the center of the tent, wearing another one of his black tweed suits and directing the pixies, who were passing out bottles of water. Claudia was sitting by herself along one of the walls, checking her phone.

Angelo, Mo, and Felix split off to see if Reginald needed any help, but Devon and I didn't get five steps into the tent before people started coming up to us and talking about the tournament. For once, I didn't mind the attention. The mood was light and happy, and everyone was back-slapping, high-fiving, and wishing all the competitors good luck.

“Ready to choke, Lila?” a snide voice murmured in my ear. “Because that's exactly what you're going to do today.”

Well, not everyone.

Vance stepped up beside me, a smug grin stretching across his handsome face. He made a slow slashing gesture with his finger across his throat, then raised his hands to his neck and started making fake choking sounds.

I gave him a sweet smile in return. “If you don't move along, I'm going to shove my fist into your throat and make you choke for real.”

Vance dropped his hands and glared at me, and I glared right back at him.

Devon stepped in between us. “Good luck, Vance,” he said in a pointed tone.

Vance rolled his eyes. “I don't need luck. That's for all the other losers here.”

Devon's face hardened at the insult. “Well, I guess we'll see who the real losers are at the end of the tournament.”

“Whatever, dude.” Vance rolled his eyes again and moved over to his friends, who were clustered around one of the drink tables.

“What a jackass,” Devon muttered.

“No argument here.”

We moved deeper into the tent, both of us giving and receiving more well-wishes. I might be supercynical, but even I had to admit that the camaraderie was . . . nice. It made me feel like I truly was a member of the Family and part of something bigger and more important than just myself.

It made me proud to be a Sinclair.

“Isn't this great!” Oscar said, zooming over to me, his violet eyes bright with excitement.

I eyed the caramel apple in his hand, which was about twice the size of his entire body. “I think that you've had too much sugar already. You're worse than a little kid when you get all hopped up on it.”

“Too much sugar?” Oscar said, his voice high and twangy. “Too much sugar? There is no such thing!”

He took another bite of his apple, and his wings started twitching even faster than before, making the black cape flutter around his shoulders. Oscar gave me a manic grin, then zoomed off to chatter to another pixie.

Devon was talking to a couple of the other competitors, so I wandered over to where Mo was standing along one of the tent walls, scribbling on a notepad. Several pens were stuck through the brim of his white straw hat, while still more pens bristled in the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, which was black and patterned with white orchids.

“What are you doing?”

Mo's eyes never left his notepad. “Overseeing some friendly wagers about the tournament—for the good of the Family, of course.”

“You mean you've gone from pawnbroker to bookie.”

The corner of his mouth lifted up in a sly smile. “Can't get anything past you, kid.”

“Just be sure I get my cut.”

Mo arched an eyebrow. “Would
I
try to cheat
you
out of money that I've made betting on you?”

“Absolutely.”

He grinned. “You know me too well, Lila.”

I laughed.

The cheery conversation went on for several more minutes, until Claudia put her phone away, rose to her feet, and strolled to the center of the tent. Devon handed his sword to her, and she twirled the Sinclair Family black blade around in her hand. Everyone stopped what they were doing, quieted down, and faced her. She straightened to her full height, her green gaze sweeping back and forth over everyone gathered here. Beyond the fabric walls, the murmur of the crowd continued, but everything was still and silent in here.

“No matter what happens in the tournament, who wins and who loses, I want you all to know how very proud I am that you are members of my Family,” Claudia said, looking at each one of us in turn.

My eyes locked with hers, and her warm pride filled my chest. She really was happy to call us her Family, in more ways than one, and it wasn't just some pep talk to get us excited for the tournament.

“That being said,” Claudia continued, a wry smile curving her lips, “if we manage to show the other Families how strong we are by excelling in the tournament, well, I wouldn't be opposed to that either. Would any of you?”

We all grinned back at her.

Claudia raised her black blade, her hand holding the sword high, mimicking her Family crest. “To the Sinclairs!”

“To the Sinclairs!” we all roared back to her.

 

There were more cheers, laughs, and well-wishes; then Devon and I filed out of the tent with the other competitors. Vance made kissy noises when I walked past, but I ignored him. Devon was right. Vance was a total jackass.