The Carnival of Lost Souls : A Handcuff Kid Novel (8 page)

“Couldn’t you just work for him at the carnival?” Jack asked. “You could help him with his act.”

“The deal doesn’t work that way.” Against the professor’s pale face, his dark eyes gleamed like an animal’s at night. He turned to speak into Jack’s ear so that he could be heard over the din of the carnival. “I was around your age at the time. What did I know? I signed a contract, and I had no way out.” The professor grabbed Jack’s arm. “My only option was to figure out a way to escape the clutches of the Amazing Mussini and keep my soul.”

“But you’re here
now
. And that happened a long time ago. So you must’ve done it.”

The Ferris wheel rounded the top of the circle, and Jack and the professor drifted backward on the ride. Jack’s stomach dropped. He was falling with nothing but a slim metal bar to hold on to. He felt the same way about the professor’s story. But the professor was still sitting right next to him, so it couldn’t be true. The ride careened upward again, grinding to a halt at the top of the Ferris wheel, swaying above the world of the carnival. A wave of dizziness swept over Jack as he stared at the ground. Jack shook it off and listened to the professor.

“I haven’t told you everything. The contract gave me fifty years to enjoy the knowledge of the secret.” The professor jerked his long legs and the cart swayed wildly from side to side, about to tip. The ride began another circle, gliding up and around. “I had time to learn all I needed to know to escape Mussini. And that’s why I asked for you! A boy who knew magic. It was my only chance to escape, and now it is
your
only chance.”

Jack remembered that first day when he and Mildred stood outside of the professor’s house, and she told him the professor wanted a child who liked magic. She thought Jack was perfect for the professor. She probably thought they could become friends and perform magic tricks. But the professor had his own plans for Jack. The ride ground to a halt at the bottom. The professor rose
out of the box and stood on the platform, and Jack leaped out beside him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack raced up behind the professor and pulled on his sleeve. He let go as a trail of ideas connected in his head. Magic, but not real magic—trick-of-the-eye magic. A strange answer clicked into place. “The trunk was a trick?” Jack whispered to himself, not entirely sure what he was saying. The professor had baited him with the trunk—the one he had opened. The fragile illusion of a home, family, and love was disintegrating right before his eyes, like a speck of stardust falling from the sky. Jack wanted to say something, but he was too stunned.

Concheta hurried over, waving frantically as if they had just arrived home from a journey to a far-off place. “You were so high up in the sky, like twinkling stars. I was afraid for you,
mi chico
.” Concheta ruffled his hair. “I didn’t want you to fall and break into pieces on the ground.”

“Me neither, Concheta.”

When they got home, the professor went straight to his office, and Jack ran upstairs. He had to get away and think about what the professor said and what it meant. While lying on his bed, in the dark room, loud voices echoed up from downstairs. Then toenails clipped across the wood floor, and when he let his hand fall over the side
of the bed, Little Miss B.’s wet tongue licked his fingers. The professor was shouting and Concheta wailed and screeched. On the Richter scale of domestic disturbance this was a 4.5, not bad. But still, he hadn’t expected it, not here, and certainly not between the professor and Concheta. His heart jumped. Nothing good ever lasted long.

Without turning the lights on, Jack eased down the stairs. Concheta’s voice filtered in from the kitchen. She made a little whimpering sound when she saw Jack standing in the doorway. “Oh,
mi chico
. You shouldn’t be here. Go back up to your room.”

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“It’s all my fault.” Shaking her hands, Concheta looked up at the ceiling as if she was talking to someone above her. “
¿Qué? ¿Qué
?”

“It’s ‘cause I opened the box, right?” Jack headed toward the office. It was his fault they were fighting, not Concheta’s. “The professor found out and now he’s mad.”

“No! Don’t go in there.
He’s
in there.” Concheta pulled on Jack’s sleeve.

“Who’s in there?” Jack stopped in his tracks. She didn’t mean the professor. Now
that
piece of information got his attention. “No way.”

Concheta’s lip quivered. “It’s the magician.”

The infamous, soul-stealing magician was in the house. Thrill-laced fear pulled Jack toward the professor’s
office. “I’ll be right back.” He broke free from Concheta’s grasp. “I gotta check it out.”

The door to the professor’s office was shut. Jack eased down the hallway, kneeled outside the door, and pressed his ear close to the wood. He watched the slip of light under the door frame as shadows spun, and then he heard a dark, raspy voice. A tingle ran up his spine. A loud
thump
came from behind the door, then the rattle of a key being forced into a lock. A harsh voice boomed behind the door.

“Your plan worked, Professor. I must admit, no one has weaseled his way out of one of my contracts until you.”

“The fact that our deal is done and the boy goes in my place is all I care about. I want this over with and quick. Take him and get out of my house.” The professor was losing his cool, his voice quaking with a mix of anger and nerves.

“It will be my pleasure to take him off your hands. You never were father material.” The sound of boot heels scraping across wood made Jack jump.

“Please give me a few minutes to collect him,” the professor said. “No need to scare the boy.”

“Hurry up. I’m anxious to get back to the forest.”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He jumped to his feet and ran up the stairs to his room. He snatched his duffel bag from the floor of his closet, threw open his dresser drawer, and stuffed all his clothes in his bag. His hands were
shaking. He grabbed his Houdini book and his straitjacket and stuffed them in, too—everything he owned. A door slammed, followed by footsteps pounding up the stairs. He only had a few seconds before the professor reached his room. Panicking, Jack yanked his handcuffs out of the drawer, and they scattered across the floor. As he bent down to pick them up, the professor barged through the door.

The professor circled Jack like a tiger stalking a gazelle. “You broke your word. I told you there would be consequences.” The once-kind professor stood before him now as a predator. His eyes narrowed, his expression hardened.

Jack backed away from him and said, “Yes! I did it, OK. I broke my word. What do you want me to say?”

“We are so much alike. I knew you would want to know the secret and open the box, just like I did. I baited the trap and you took it.”

In that raw moment, Jack realized that none of it was real—his own room, the dinners, the games, and the presents—they were all part of the professor’s plan. But worst of all, Jack had fallen for it. He broke the law of magic, and believed in the illusion. Shame and anger burned in his throat. “We’re nothing alike. I’m not a liar. You were supposed to be my foster father and take care of me. But you’re nothing but a con man.”

The professor smirked. “It took me years to create the trick—one with consequences. We had an agreement—just
like a signed contract—and my idea was to lure you into my office with this magic box; if you opened it, you broke our deal. Now you will take my place.”

“But you studied magic!” Jack pleaded, trying to grasp what was happening. “You had fifty years to learn how to escape the contract.”

“Exactly. I finally figured out a way to beat Mussini.” The professor raised his voice and glided closer to Jack, never taking his eyes off him.

“What did you come up with?” Jack stood trembling in the darkness of the room, wearing his faded jeans and favorite worn-out blue sweatshirt, but he already knew the answer.

“You!” the professor yelled.

“You traded me to Mussini to save your own skin.” Jack’s voice caught in his throat. “I thought you were my friend.”

But really Jack had wanted more than a friend, like Mildred had said; he had hoped that the professor could be his mentor and protector. Jack didn’t know what hurt worse, falling for the professor’s trap, or the ache in his heart for believing—for the first time—that he had been loved. The professor never wanted him. He was just using him in his escape plan. Jack stared at the professor and finally the man looked up.

“You must go with Mussini into his world and pay my debt with your young soul. Now collect your things.”

Jack shook his head and glanced at his duffel, trying to think about his next move and talk at the same time. “You can’t just trade people’s souls.”

“Yes, you can.” The professor balled up his fists. “It’s done!”

“I’m not sticking around. I’ll just call Mildred and get out of here.”

“Don’t argue with me.” Ignoring his pleas, the professor grabbed Jack’s handcuffs from his hands and shoved them into his duffel. “You will need all of your clever tricks and manacle dexterity where you’re headed. Mussini lives in a dangerous land.”

Jack’s mind raced, seeking out an escape route. Glancing at the window high above the ground, he knew his only way out was down the stairs and out the door. “I told you, I’m not going
anywhere
with
anyone
.” Jack tried to push the professor aside, but the professor grabbed him by the arm. “Get out of my way!” Jack broke free and took off, running down the stairs.

The professor chased after him. “You belong to the magician now!”

Jack darted to the front door, but when he grabbed the doorknob, it was bolted shut. He spun around, but the professor had already made it down to the landing. The professor held his arm tightly. He was trapped. Concheta paced back and forth at the foot of the stairs, tears streaming down her small brown cheeks. The tips
of her fingers almost touched Jack’s face as she looked at him like it would be for the last time. He had seen that look many, many times before. Then two words drifted clearly from her lips. “
Los muertos
.” She almost whispered the ghostly words; he had to strain to hear her.

Jack’s knowledge of Spanish consisted of “hello,” “good-bye,” and enough food items to order off the menu at Taco Bell.
Los muertos, los what? Los muertos, los muertos
… It sounded familiar. He remembered his sixth-grade Spanish class and the skeletons they made for Halloween. The class decorated the room with white cut-out bony limbs pasted onto black paper.

Concheta wiggled her way in between Jack and the professor and dug into Jack’s duffel. Her small fingers snatched a pair of handcuffs from the bag and slapped them onto his wrist, securing the other end to the banister. “Let them try and take you now. Hide the key,
mi chico
! Hide the key!” Concheta made the sign of the cross, kissed the rosary that hung around her sweaty neck, and scuttled through the house to the back door.

“That’s not going to stop them,” the professor yelled after her. He turned to Jack. “Mussini and his minions are coming for you.”

“Minions?” Jack’s voice cracked. Jack yanked and pulled at the cuff. She had twisted the clasp so tightly that there was no give, no play between his wrist bone and the hard steel.

And then it hit him. Jack remembered the warning from the kids in the park: the occult, the grave robbers, and ghosts—
los muertos
.

The professor’s dark gaze locked on to him and he said, “She’s right. It is
los muertos
, my boy.”

Jack’s throat was dry. He could barely say the words. “The dead.”

“Go with them to their domain. This is your destiny now.” The professor let go of Jack’s arm and vanished down the hallway, leaving the Handcuff Kid alone in the stairwell.

“Come back!” Jack screamed, yanking on the handcuff locking him to the banister. “Don’t leave me here!” The house echoed with his voice. “Stupid jerk!” Hot tears welled up in his eyes. The front door slammed shut, and the house was suddenly quiet. “Stupid handcuff!” Jack coughed and punched the wall. Resting his forehead against the banister, he tried to calm himself down.

Jack thought about a show he saw on the nature channel about bear attacks. The worst thing a person could do was run, because bears are surprisingly fast runners, not lumbering Yogi Bear snatching a picnic basket. Curling up into a ball like a pathetic baby was a person’s only chance. Jack heard heavy footsteps coming from the professor’s office. A hundred tiny currents of fear rippled through his body, waiting for the swipe of the claws, for the bear to rip his guts out and miles
of intestines to fall onto the floor.
Get a grip
, he thought. Whatever was coming for him, he still had a chance to get away. He had to try.

Jack snatched the shim from his shoe and went to work on the cuff attached to the banister, not the wrist one, so the cuffs would still be with him when they opened. He slipped the shim inside the lock, but his hands were sweaty and it was hard to get ahold of the slim piece of metal. The hallway disappeared as he stared into the small keyhole. He tried to think backward. He felt the groove, the small lip of metal. He pressed lightly as if touching delicate skin and then waited for it to catch,
shhhh
. He drove in the metal tip. It worked, like it always did for him, and now he could get out of there.

Jack unhooked the cuff from the banister. His arm fell to his side, the steel brushing against his jeans. He turned around and froze, unable to take another step. The dark figure of the Amazing Mussini appeared in the doorway of the professor’s office. Darkness engulfed the hallway. Cold air wrapped around Jack as if encasing him in wet sheets.