Page 26 of The Sin Eater
“I’m not.” He shows me the gloves he’s got stuffed in his pocket without taking his eyes off the road. “Although I’ll admit that this might have been Jett’s idea.”
“Oh my fucking god,” I groan. “Seriously? I’m not sure I’d take Jett’s advice on anything besides coffee and donuts.”
“They don’t sell donuts.”
I roll my eyes. “Can I smoke in here?”
“No.” There’s a chuckle under that one firm word and the combination makes me want to pant like a dog. The things this man does to me.
Flustered, I fish around in my pocket and pull out an emergency Dum-Dum. “I’d offer to share but I only got one.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Keeping my mouth busy helps calm my nerves, at least until he goes and asks me why I smoke. “Isn’t vaping safer?”
“That’s between me and my god,” I say.
His gaze slides in my direction. “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”
“Keep your eyes on the road.” I do not want to get into this here and now. Talking about God, or worse, telling him I smoke so I’ll find an early grave, will not get me laid.
He takes the hint and between hospital gossip and James Smith, we fill the time on the way out to Marymoor Park. Safe topics. Nothing too personal. I don’t even bring up Dorothy May. If I’d wanted to show off my classic ride, we could have taken her out for a spin. I don’t let just anybody ride in Dorothy May, and I’m not quite ready to admit Damon is more than anybody.
Sure. Keep telling yourself that, dumbass.
It’s dark enough that Damon’s driving with his headlights on, even though it’s just after four p.m. When we cross Lake Washington, the clouds hang so low it’s hard to tell where they end and the water begins. Traffic’s not too bad and we roll into Marymoor Park without having run out of things to say. The park’s right off 520, though we wind around one of the Lake Sammamish Parkways to get to the parking lot, which has a few open spaces.
And right there, sure as shit, is a carnival.
There are some tennis courts near the parking lot, and past them what looks like baseball diamonds. The carnival itself is onwhat are probably soccer fields. “Wonder how they got permits for that?”
Damon climbs out of the car, shaking his head. It’s raining—of course it’s raining—the kind of tiny droplets that seep down under your clothes no matter how well-wrapped you are. I shiver in anticipation, and not in a good way.
Most of my attention, though, is on the entrance to the carnival. There’s an archway lit by bands of neon, with a ticket box on one side. Everything behind it is covered in shadows, which is more than a little creepy. There’s movement in the darkness, and there are a few people in line at the ticket box, so I stifle my doubts and follow Damon to the line.
When it’s our turn, we’re greeted by a young woman with an eyepatch and a ruffled blouse straight out of some pirate fantasy. She grins, showing off a black front tooth, and asks us for ten dollars each. Damon hands her a twenty, and with her head at a different angle, it’s obvious her tooth might not just be black. She might have an actual gap where her front tooth should be.
Or maybe I’m freaking out for no good reason. The closer we get to the threshold between the parking lot and... whatever’s going on in there, the weirder the vibe is. I cross my arms, rubbing from shoulder to elbow.
“You okay?” Damon asks. The raindrops sprinkled in his hair glitter under the arch’s neon.
“We can still back out. I’ll pay you back for the admission.”
His grin makes it plain that he has all his teeth, and somehow that comforts me. “Come on. This’ll be fun.”
He takes my hand and gives me a little tug. I don’t resist—much—then give in to the path of least resistance. This carnival thing is the fastest way for us to be rubbin’ bellies, so let’s get ‘er done.
Just like that, we’re through the archway and into...
A much warmer place. One with no rain, and a source of light that I can’t find. It’s not daylight, exactly, but it’s a fuckton brighter than it was outside. And warm.Warm. That’s the thing that surprises me most. I exhale, suffused with a feeling of... safety.
“This ain’t normal.”
“What do you mean?” Damon pulls off his gloves, his smile breaking into a laugh. “It’s like that Meow Wolf installation I went to in Vegas. We’re obviously in some kind of building and this is all... art.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind,” I mutter, half-convinced I should try to escape. Vague feelings of safety only go so far, and this place is weird as fuck.
We’re interrupted by the tallest dude I’ve seen in a good long while, and while some of his height could be attributed to his top hat, those long legs contribute their fair share.