Midway Relics and Dying Breeds: A Tor.Com Original by Seanan McGuire Read Free Book Online

balance between them. “Don’t be ashamed to ask for help.”
    “What, and have you teasing me about it for the next three seasons?”
    She shrugged, showing me a quick, gap-toothed grin, before she went back to handling the press of townies who were anxious for their little taste of carnival. I waved a reader over my head, trying to attract more of the prepaid attendees to my side of the booth. Some of them also wanted to buy tickets for the midway attractions, but that was easier; I had a clear conversion rate for those, and if I made a mistake and credited someone’s ID with too many tickets, no one would ever notice. Our tickets were the ultimate in disposable currencies, good for one night only, gone as soon as we pulled up stakes. As long as the gate was good and the ticket sales were roughly equivalent to the number of tickets exchanged, we weren’t going to be looked at too closely.
    It wasn’t until the clock began sliding toward midnight and the end of carnival time that my brown-haired cousin turned to me and said, “You’re free to go. I can handle the rest of the take without you, and you’ll be more of a hindrance than a help when it comes time to settle out.”
    Meaning she was planning to claim part of my work share for her own. Not enough to make me look delinquent—that would have been cheating family, and while I won’t pretend that we’re above that kind of thing, I hadn’t earned it from her. Still, there was no need to make it too easy. Tilting my head, I asked, “What’s your price?”
    That earned me another of her gap-toothed smiles, and she replied, “I claim twenty percent of your take.”
    Eminently fair, especially given that this was her work area, and she’d been covering for my mistakes all evening. Still … “Twenty-five, and if anyone asks, I stayed here with you all the way through shutdown.”
    “Done,” she said. “I’ll key you in when I lock the numbers.”
    Meaning I didn’t even need to come back to the booth to officially end my shift. “Deal,” I said, sticking out my hand. She gripped it firmly, and we shook to seal our bargain.
    She smiled again as I was pulling away, but there was something wistful about her expression, something that hadn’t been there when we were dealing with the seemingly endless rush of townies. “You don’t even remember my name, do you, cousin?”
    “No. I’m sorry.” Telling her the truth made my stomach twinge a little, despite the fact that there was no point in lying to her now. We’d shaken on it. She wouldn’t break a formal bargain, not even if I was the only witness.
    “It’s all right. I didn’t expect you to.” She turned back to the register. I stayed where I was for a moment before I realized that she had no intention of telling me. Cheeks burning, I slipped out of the back flap, leaving her to her work.
    The night was cool and the air was sweet with the smell of cotton candy and hot popcorn. The hot dog cart and the samosa stand would be shut down by now; most people switched to what they thought of as dessert foods after about eleven, like that would somehow justify the extra calories. I stayed where I was, breathing in that sweet air and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the difference in illumination. The entry gate was placed far enough away that the attractions were like glowing phantoms, close enough to see but far enough away to seem unreachable without passing some invisible barrier. That, too, was a science, part of the great and secret art of The Perfect Carnival, which could be aspired to if never quite achieved.
    Finally, when my eyes had switched themselves from the bright light of the tent to the colored lights of the midway, I began to move. I kept to the edge of our apportioned space, walking through shadows. Anyone who saw me would know me for a carnie; we share a certain carriage, a way of moving when the show is on. It’s half strut, half saunter, and all business, and no townie has ever