Glock, wanting to get this over with once and for all. But she couldn’t find it. Not enough light.
But then she spotted the knife on the floor and dove for it — but just as the fingers of her free hand brushed the blade — Mikola grabbed the handle and brought the knife up, furiously swiping at her. The blade caught her cheek and she dropped the stun gun, reaching for her face, blood gushing between her fingers.
But Mikola was still trembling from the shock of the stun gun and dropped the knife before he could do any more damage.
Anna jumped to her feet and kicked at him, connecting with bone, then turned and ran for the stairs, her shoulder and cheek on fire, blood leaking from the wounds. She took the steps two at a time and saw Evan standing in the center of the mirror maze, staring at hundreds of his own reflection, not knowing where to go.
Anna grabbed hold of him and swept him up into her arms, heading for the maze as Mikola roared behind her, running up the steps, about to go into a diving tackle, when A shotgun blast rang out, shattering a mirror, shards flying and — Anna threw herself to the floor, covering Evan with her body, as Pope stepped through the hole he’d made and fired again, sending a charge straight into Mikola’s chest.
The gypsy flew backwards, tumbling down the hole, his greasy red baseball cap fluttering onto his lifeless body.
4 7
“ It’s wrong,” McBride said. She seemed delirious. “It’s all wrong.”
It had taken two more shotgun blasts to get them out of the mirror maze quickly.
When they reached the lobby, Pope took Evan from McBride’s arms and set him down, then yanked his shirt off, bunched it up, and shoved it against her cheek, which was bleeding pretty badly.
The shoulder would have to wait.
“You weren’t supposed to kill him,” McBride said.
Pope tucked the 590 under his arm. “Give me your phone.”
When she didn’t respond, he reached into her pocket and pulled it out, dialing 911.
A moment later the operator came on the line. “We have a shooting death,” he said, “at the abandoned Big Mountain amusement park in Allenwood. And another person down with major injuries.”
“It was supposed to be me,” McBride said. “I was the one who was supposed to kill him.”
“We’re near the roller coaster, in front of the house of mirrors. Get an ambulance out here right away.”
He hung up, McBride still babbling. “You remember what Madam Zala told me? It isn’t over. His soul will move on to the next life.”
“Maybe she’s wrong.”
“No, no. He’s evil, Danny. This isn’t over. He’s still-”
Pope grabbed her shoulders. “I can’t worry about what might happen twenty years from now. He’s dead and you’re alive. That’s all that matters to me. You’re alive. And so is Evan.” He released her and took Evan’s hand. “Now let’s get out of here.”
They moved to the entranceway doors, and Pope pushed them wide, stepping into the sunlight, which seemed brighter than before. Then he turned, looking at McBride’s shoulder.
“It’s a clean puncture, not bleeding too bad. The ambulance should be here any minute.”
“I’m afraid that will be too late,” a voice said.
Pope turned sharply.
Standing in the shade of the roller coaster, his nose broken, a pistol in hand — was Arturo.
“I saw the phone on the ground and thought I had lost you,” he said. “But all good things come to those who wait.” He smiled. “Mr. Troy sends his regards.”
And as Pope reacted, fumbling for his shotgun, Arturo pointed the pistol at him and pulled the trigger.
Anna saw the bullet hit in slow motion.
It tore into Pope’s chest, spinning him sideways. Blood erupted and he went down hard as — the stranger shifted his gaze to Anna and — she dove toward Evan, knocking him aside, reaching for the Mossberg 590, which hadn’t yet hit the ground, as — the stranger squeezed the trigger, the bullet blowing past Anna and Evan, hitting the pavement behind them.
Anna’s hands grabbed the 590, which wasn’t a light and easy weapon to handle, by any means, as — the stranger adjusted his angle and squeezed the trigger a third time, and — Anna rolled, narrowly avoiding the hit, then pumped the barrel and came up firing, knowing the Mossberg only held five rounds and that four had already been expended. If this shot didn’t connect, she was dead-and so was Evan.
The shotgun roared, bucking hard against Anna’s already-wounded shoulder, pain reverberating through her body as the charge flew, and she had no idea if she’d hit anything, until she was on the ground, and realized the stranger had stopped firing.
Fighting against her pain, she scrambled to her feet and saw him lying about five yards away.
Half of his face was missing.
Motherfucker.
“Evan?” she shouted, and the boy started to cry again.
Anna turned and saw him sitting on the ground nearby, banged up, but still in one piece.
Then there was a groan behind her and she spun around, moving to Pope, who lay on his back on the mottled pavement, his chest bloody, his breathing ragged and labored, his eyes staring blankly at the sky.
“I think I’m hit,” he said, and she fell to her knees beside him, grabbing his hand — Oh, god, oh, god — but there was nothing she could do for him, he’d be gone soon, and tears flooded her eyes as she looked down at him, not knowing what to say, wanting desperately to rewind the clock, to take it all back — and then his eyes shifted slightly, as if he’d seen something in some far-off place.
He said, “Ben?”
— then stopped breathing, stopped moving, all the gears grinding to an abrupt halt.
Anna just sat there, tears falling, not quite believing what had happened here, not wanting to let go. Evan was still crying, too, but she couldn’t find the strength to move, couldn’t go to him, as sirens wailed in the distance, signaling that help was on its way.
But what did it matter?
Pope was gone, Evan’s family wiped out, Susan in jail, little Jillian Carpenter taken long before her time, and all Anna could claim in return was a small scrap of her gypsy soul.
Red Cap had won. He may have been lying at the bottom of those steps, but he still had most of their soul and would carry it on to another life, another time.
And when he realized who he was and what he needed to do, it would start all over again. She would never be free.
Never.
But then it suddenly occurred to Anna.
Time.
What if she could rewind the clock?
What if she could take it all back?
What is the harm, Mikola had said, in simply looking into the mirrors and asking that they take you where you wish to go?
Just like Peabody and Sherman. Her own personal wayback machine.
Was it possible?
Could it be done?
She was, after all, Chavi Zala, the gypsy witch, one of the most powerful chovihanis the Zala family had ever seen.
All she had to do, Madam Zala had told her, was look beyond her reflection, and when she ceased to see herself, she’d see the world, all the way back to its beginning, and forward, to eternity.
And suddenly Anna knew where she needed to go. What moment in time. The only moment where she knew
