Dust girl

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr. Basie with a smile that was as bright as any Shake had ever used against me, “me and the boys would like to do our version of ‘The Midnight Special.’ And as an extra treat, we have Fairyland’s very own Callie LeRoux to sing for us. Miss Callie?”

Applause rose up all around me. I had to let go of Jack’s hand. He dropped into a chair beside the piano. My grandparents’ approval poured over me as I stepped up to the microphone. I was adding to the current of music and magic. They were happy about that. They wanted me to sweep all these people away and be swept away myself.

The microphone was big and square and shining black and silver in the fairy lights. I thought about Mama’s humming as she moved around the Imperial, singing a song about wishing for freedom. I thought about the hobo families in the train yard. I thought about Jack’s hand in mine as we ran from Bull Morgan, and how Jack always seemed to know which way to go.

I opened my mouth, and I sang.

“Let the Midnight Special shine a light on me…”

The current of magic around me doubled. I wasn’t just in it now, I was truly a part of it. I could feel the people dance. I could feel their love and their happiness to have all their wishes fulfilled, and how that good feeling meant more than anything in the world. More than life itself.

“Ain’t nothin’ on the table, ain’t nothin’ in the pan…”

Mr. Basie played. It was the tune I knew, but it leapt and danced all on its own, the meaning of the words hidden down deep behind the syncopation. The music had power, but not from the fairy magic. Mr. Basie was right; this wasn’t their song. This wasn’t a happy dance tune. This was a song of the dust and the trains and everybody trapped on the work gangs, wishing they would lose their chains. This was the song my mama sang to me, wishing for my papa to come home.

“Yonder come Miss Lucy. How in the world do you know?”

I swayed and I turned, dancing there all on my own. On the floor, someone faltered, and someone fell. I turned again, not fighting the current, letting it carry me around. Like the words, the power of this song was hidden deep down, but I could feel it. It was an entirely different spark from the fairy power. It burned, burned as bright as the matches and the cigarettes the musicians brought in with them.

“She come to see the governor. She gonna free her man…”

I grabbed the cigarette burning in the tray, and I stabbed that nasty thing hard against Mr. Basie’s sheet music. The sharp smell of smoke hit me a second before the yellow flame jumped up.

Mr. Basie jumped up too.

“Fire!” he yelled. “Fire!”

I snatched the paper. Heat bit my fingertips. But I didn’t wave the flame out; I ran for the curtains rippling behind the bandstand and dropped the burning paper on the floor. The heavy velveteen caught, and the flames started licking their way up the dark fabric.

The musicians took up Mr. Basie’s shout. “Fire! Fire!” They grabbed their instruments and ran for the doors.

Slowly, the dancers staggered to a halt. They blinked. I felt the moment every one of them smelled the smoke, and the moment they saw the flames chewing on the curtains.

They screamed. They screamed and broke and ran, following the musicians racing for the big open doors.

“Stop!” shouted a bass voice. It was Grandfather, on his feet in front of his throne. “Stop!”

But fire is stronger than magic, and it was spreading. It was licking across the curtains. One of the trumpet players tripped over his chair, and a bunch of chairs and papers and drinks spilled across the bandstand. The liquid hit the burning curtains, and blue alcohol flames leapt up from the floor. The pavilion was burning, and the crowd was shoving its way out the doors, past the point where any glamour, any wishing magic could call them back.

“Time to go, Jack.” I grabbed his hand. He blinked too, and looked at me, really looked at me. He was still sick and gray and weak, but he was back. He stumbled to his feet behind me.

The doorway was clogged with struggling people. There was no getting out that way. But there were windows. I jerked open the curtains and saw the bright lights of the midway. Jack and I knew what to do with windows.

Jack yanked off his tuxedo jacket and I pressed my hand right up against his, lacing our fingers. He got the idea and wrapped the jacket around both our arms, tying us together.

“On three!” I reached for my magic. Jack reached for the last of his strength. “One, two, three!”

“STOP!” The force of wish and will tumbled over us, but it was too late. Together, we punched out that sparkling glass. The world key turned, and turned again. I grabbed Jack’s shoulders, pulled us forward, and we fell.

And we kept on falling.

25

The Little Black Train’s a-Comin’

We fell through a blaze of color. We tumbled and pinged and slammed back and forth. Jack screamed. I screamed. I wanted to pull out my powers and stop the storm. But if I did, we’d stop flying. We’d be stuck in whatever world this was. Their world.

I let us fall.

We hit the boardwalk hard. I screamed some more, and Jack cussed and groaned. I couldn’t see straight. The crazy colors we fell through had blinded me. But then I smelled the smoke and cotton candy. I heard the other screams, and something in my brain beyond all the magic jerked itself upright and took me with it. The world cleared, and we were in the amusement park again.

The white pavilion was burning down. People streamed out of the building, adding their screams to the roar of the fire. There were sirens and bells clanging, and everybody who wasn’t running away from the fire was running toward it to watch the show and cheer it on. A fire engine thundered up the boardwalk, and men in heavy coats and red helmets swarmed out and started shouting orders.

“We made it,” gasped Jack. He was doubled over, his hand pressed against his belly. “We made it.”

But I looked up and saw the green-skinned carnival barker who’d given me my ring. The goblin from the test- of-strength tower sat on the counter at his right hand, and they both had their beady fairy eyes trained on me.

“Not yet, we haven’t,” I said, more to myself than to Jack. We were back in the tunnel, the passage between. I grabbed Jack’s arm. “Come on, we got to get to the outside gate.”

But Jack staggered forward two steps and sank to his knees.

“I can’t…,” he gasped. “I can’t…”

He had to. I looked around us and spied an abandoned cart advertising soda pop, five cents a bottle. I reached into its cooler, grabbed a bottle of root beer, and used the opener. I felt no magic or glamour around it, and I ran back to Jack.

He turned the bottle up and drank that root beer like he meant to down it in a single gulp. The screams had lessened, but the smoke was filling the air around us and firelight flickered on the boards. White sparks flew overhead, and the artificial lights all winked. There was just the fire now.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I murmured, hoping Jack wouldn’t hear me over all the other noise.

But that was a mistake. Because that was me making a wish.

Thhhheeeerrrre shhhheeee issss… It was the voice again, the soft, beautiful, deep voice that had followed me from that first awful day when I’d wished so hard to get out of Slow Run.

No. Oh, no, no, no, not here! “Get up, Jack! They’re coming!”

Jack surged to his feet. He followed me as I ran through the heat and the flickering firelight. The stupid Mary Janes pinched my toes, and the slick leather soles skidded against the boards, making me stumble.

“Calliope!” a woman’s voice called. “Calliope, where are you going, child? Come home!”

Hearing the sound of my name was like slamming up against a brick wall. I couldn’t go forward. It hurt. My feet turned, skidding and sloppy under me.