Carnival Souls

To Catch a Kelpie

           

With her negative emotions in a state of flux at the moment, Lira refused to talk to Owen or Genzel while they waited for night to fall. She sat with her back to the dying fire, drawing designs in the sand with the tip of her knife.

She was having trouble figuring out what she felt about Genzel and his story. Owen seemed content enough to forgive and move on, but a bad taste still lingered in her mouth. It was odd, she thought, for someone who's father left him to be so understanding about what Genzel had done. Then again, maybe it came down to the simple fact that Genzel had never left. Even in death or limbo or whatever he was, the old man was still with his family.

Weird family.

She finished her main spiral in the sand and began to branch off it in lazy curls, the knife tip making no noise as it dragged through the powder.

So why did it bother her so much? Why care? Because she didn't believe he wanted to help? No, that wasn't it. He had gone through a lot of trouble to give them a chance to speak to Zabaria—the fat lot of good it did them. Regardless, he had helped. Perhaps he wanted freedom for his soul as well, though she wasn't sure he deserved it.

A small, miniscule if she wanted to be honest, part of her even felt bad for Bebinn. She could see how someone could turn into a witch after their own father sold them off.

Lira dropped her knife. The broad side of the blade struck the ground and scattered the sand, ruining her meandering artwork.

She knew why she was mad. It was Genzel's fault she was stuck here, a servant to his ruthless daughter. His own selfish actions in life had set in motion the chain of events that had led to her being trapped in the spirit world.

She looked over her shoulder at the old man, who was conversing in hushed tones with Owen, and felt a fresh wave of anger. If not for him, she would be sleeping in her own bed instead of on the shore of a dark lake that shouldn't exist, desperately trying to get back home. She wouldn't be responsible for hundreds of children whose fates she would never know.

Her fingers shook as she picked up the knife once more. He was the reason why so many lives had altered course. Anger to rival that of what she had felt when she first arrived in the carnival coursed through her in time with her heartbeat and she grit her teeth against the roil in her stomach. She gripped the knife, now stuck point-down in the sand, harder to ground herself.

She would go along with the old man because she had to, because right now it was her best option. Bust as far as she was concerned he would never deserve absolution.

"Lira," Owen called from the fire. "It's time."

###

Lira crouched among a clump of reeds next to Genzel. Her muscles were tense, both from his proximity and the thought of what they were about to do. Sweat made her grip on the neck of the violin slippery and a wayward stalk kept poking her in the eye.

"Are we sure this is going to work?" she hissed between the reeds. Genzel silenced her with a hand and pointed to where Owen was walking along the beach, only inches away from the dark water. He was barefoot again, the black sand obscuring his feet. Lira couldn't see his face, but his balled fists were a clear indication of his uneasiness.

She didn't blame him; she would be uneasy too if she were playing bait.

Owen stopped several yards away from their hiding place and pivoted to walk into the water. The water sloshed around his ankles, coming to a rest at mid-calf when he paused. Lira knew a knife was concealed in a pocket of his rolled pants, but Genzel had ordered him not to use it unless absolutely necessary. A finger touched the pocket he must have stowed it in in an unconscious act of reassurance.