Sara tossed back her blonde hair. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d never date. There’s always something wrong with them, isn’t there?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you ever think maybe the problem’s with you?”
She tried to hide her hurt from Sara’s words. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “For whatever reason, I haven’t met a man who interests me.” Regardless of whether they were a set-up from Sara or someone of her own choosing, each boy she had dated in high school and college hadn’t measured up. She wasn’t sure to what standard she held them, but they all fell short, even if she didn’t know exactly what she sought in a partner.
Sara sniffed. “Yeah, well, you’d better change, or you’ll end up alone.”
Emily glared at her friend. “That’s fine with me. I like being alone.”
“Well, fine then. I’ll leave you alone.” Sara hurried after Ron and
Troy
, who had disappeared into the next chamber, not bothering to look back as she moved from Emily’s sight.
Emily watched her go, regretting the small argument. She had no desire to be alone in this funhouse. With feet frozen to the spot, she knew the only way out was through the funhouse or back through the barrel. She glanced through the spinning barrel—careful not to fixate on the colors this time—and saw a new group preparing to enter.
She forced her feet forward, moving from the dark entryway to the next chamber, freezing when she saw hundreds of clones surrounding her. Emily almost cried out before realizing it was the hall of mirrors. Her eyes focused on a short, fat image of her, and she imagined how it must be for the man taking the tickets. Damn
Troy
for being such a jerk. People like him must make the man’s life even more miserable.
She walked straight through the room, determined to escape the funhouse in record time. “Humph.” Her breath left her when she ran into a wall directly in front of her. She blinked, trying to figure out why it was in the middle of the room. It took a long moment to realize it must be a maze of mirrors. She cursed under her breath and felt for the edge of the glass. The space next to it was empty air, so she slid around the mirror. “Why does it have to be so dark?” she whispered, reassured by the sound of her voice.
She held out a hand to find the next mirror and was able to take several steps before running into it. Emily felt for the edge and gasped as her finger caught on a sharp edge. She pulled away quickly and examined the wound under the meager light. A glass shard extended from her index finger, and she grimaced while yanking it out.
Emily searched in her pocket for a tissue and found a napkin she had stuffed there after their dinner of corn dogs and cotton candy. She wound it around the wound and eased past the next obstacle. To her relief, she entered a black-light room. She glanced at the walls, curious to see what other patrons had written with the special markers hanging in midair from steel lines attached to the ceiling.
Lifetimes of waiting, Emily…
You’re mine now.
It’s to die for.
She rolled her eyes at their silly messages. “Very funny, guys,” she called out, hoping they could hear her. Briefly tempted to write a less than complimentary reply to them, she held back, knowing
Troy
, Ron and Sara wouldn’t read her words unless they went through again.
She glanced at the messages once more as she exited the room and froze.
Eternity, Emily.
She frowned, certain that hadn’t been there when she looked at the walls a second ago. She took a deep breath and relaxed, knowing her friends were responsible. Since Sara was angry with her, who knew what kind of tricks they might play. She scanned the room, searching for
Troy
, Sara or Ron hiding in a corner, but she was the only one in the small room. She took another deep breath, trying to restore her calm. The message had been there all along. In her distressed state, she had simply missed it the first time.
She hurried from the room, stopping in front of the stairs. She eyed them cautiously, expecting them to start shaking. They were probably motion-activated. She grasped the railings on each side, dropping the napkin wrapped around her finger. Emily bent to pick it up, but the stairs started to rattle, distracting her. She held onto the rails and climbed up each step. About halfway up, she realized they always trembled to the left, then back to the right before pausing for a moment. She counted the intervals before taking another step. As soon as she had it timed, she was able to walk up the remainder without fear of falling.
Emily emerged into the second level and gasped. The room was spinning. She reached out to grasp anything for support, but there was nothing to hold on to. Her head began to spin, and she grew nauseated. Several seconds later, she realized she wasn’t actually moving. The room was round like a barrel, except for the walkway under her feet, which was flat, straight, and stationary. She concentrated on walking the thin strip of wood and ignoring the spinning walls and ceiling as she made her way through the room.
Emily was more cautious when she entered the next room, freezing when she heard a scream in the room in front of her. It sounded like Sara. Ron’s voice followed quickly, but not
Troy
’s. “Must be scary,” she whispered, preparing herself.
The brightly lit room featured more lurid paintings, similar to those decorating the exterior of the funhouse. Stereotypical vampires drained women in various states of undress, as monsters of all kinds watched or went about their own scary activities. Frankenstein dragged the gnawed-on, severed leg of a villager behind him. She lifted her eyebrows at that, not remembering anything from her literature class about Frankie being a cannibal. Emily forced herself to view the drawings objectively and systematically eliminate any fear they inspired.
She calmed herself and was almost out of the room prior to realizing every vampire in the mural was the same one from the front of the funhouse. He still appeared sinister and full of dark knowledge, but also charismatic. She blinked when she found herself drifting from the doorway to a picture, touching it reverently, as if she weren’t controlling her own hand. The vampire held a willing victim in his arms. She wore a light-brown jacket and jeans. Her brown hair flowed over the white of his shirt, and her blissful expression belied the pain she must feel from the gaping wound on her neck. He held her with tender cruelty, seeming enamored with her upturned face. She had Emily’s features.
She blinked and looked again, frowning. The girl in the vampire’s arms had long black hair and dark green eyes. The victim looked nothing like her. “Losing it.” She shook her head and hurried from the mural room.
Emily took two steps into the next room and paused. There was nothing at all in the room, except a bare bulb hanging from a chain on the ceiling. It wasn’t bright enough to show anything in detail, except the fact that there was nothing to show in detail.
They must have run out of money when they got to this room—either that, or the trick was so terrifying, they didn’t need window-dressing. She shrugged and walked on, waiting for whatever had frightened Sara and Ron into screaming. Emily was determined to be prepared, but still screamed when the floor opened under her when she stepped on a trapdoor.
She went flying down a chute, and it wasn’t until she landed on a soft foam floor that she realized the conveyance was a twisting slide. Her entire body trembled, and she had a hard time gaining her feet. She could hear her heartbeat racing in her ears and clutched her chest, as if trying to keep her heart from escaping.
When her knees were steady, Emily moved across the spongy floor. The owner of the funhouse was in the business of scaring people, but what she had gone through was beyond fun. She should have her father sue the company. It was too bad he was a tax attorney.
She opened a heavy metal door, expecting it to lead her outside the funhouse. Instead, she entered another room. This one had soft carpeting of indeterminate color, dark walls and a metal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. The illumination was dim, with a pinkish cast.
How had they gotten all this into one portable trailer? The better question was, why had they gone to the trouble to add this room? Emily moved slowly, not certain what to expect. It was logical that the climax should have been the unexpected drop and slide. Whatever finished out the experience must be bordering on truly terrifying.
She saw a misshapen bundle ahead and tensed, preparing for whatever the designer of the funhouse had dreamed up to scare her. She kept walking, trying to determine what was on the floor, until she heard a sound behind her. Emily turned, expecting the group who had followed her. Instead, the man who had modeled for all the vampire pictures stood in front of her. His features were just as perfect, but the light lent his skin the illusion of a flush. He wore a white flowing shirt tucked into black trousers. His hair had grown out from the short length in the paintings, but he was obviously the same person. She found her voice trapped in her throat as fear crawled up her esophagus and strangled her from the inside. She took a few steps back.
He followed, walking toward her slowly. “Have you enjoyed my funhouse, Emily?”
She shook her head.
He took another step forward. The carpet muted the click of the low heels on his leather boots. “Why not?”
Emily coughed, clearing her throat. “I don’t like to be scared.” She frowned when she realized he knew her name. “How did—”
He smiled, but the quick slash of his lips appeared to hold little amusement. “You were frightened?”
She nodded. “I was terrified. Especially with the last part.”
He smiled. “The slide. It always increases the adrenaline.”
“Uh-huh.” She scanned the room around her, wondering if the owner interrogated everyone who paid to enter his funhouse. Had he gotten her name from Sara when he cornered them? “I’ve had enough fear today. How do I get out of here?”
He took two more steps forward, until he stood in front of her. “Silly girl.” He reached out to touch her face.
Emily jerked away, taking a step back. She tripped over something on the floor and fell backward. Her eyes widened when she found herself sprawled across
Troy
. His lifeless eyes stared up at her. His mouth hung open in an aborted scream, and an expression of terror would remain frozen forever on his face.
“Forgive my attendant. He hasn’t disposed of the remains of my most recent meal yet.” The man stepped forward and lifted Emily into his arms.
She struggled to pull away, straining against his hold. “Where’s Sara?”
He licked his lips. “Delicious. The adrenaline always gives the blood such perfect flavor.”
Emily whimpered, even as she redoubled her efforts to escape his hold.
“Look into my eyes, Emily.”
She shook her head, forcing her gaze to remain on
Troy
’s dead body. She knew she mustn’t look into his eyes. Every instinct in her protested doing so.
“I’ve waited a long time for you,” he whispered, pressing his mouth against her ear, perilously close to her carotid artery. “An eternity, Emily.”
Her eyes widened when the deformed ticket taker shuffled into the room through a door off to the side. His eyes were sad when he met hers.
“Tried to warn me,” she whispered.
The deformed man squealed with pain, and a new sore appeared on his face, weeping clear fluid.
“Yes. He was foolish to risk more of my punishment, having experienced so much in the past.” The man lifted her hand to lick the thin trail of blood from her finger.
Emily reflexively watched the action, grimacing. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes and instantly felt as if she was gazing into the spinning barrel again. Only this time, there was no green to counteract the red. Only the bright crimson of fresh blood, coupled with the dark reddish-brown of dried blood. It was as if his eyes had sucked her into a whirlpool. Her body struggled to move closer to him, and her mind had no control over her actions.
She whimpered when he broke eye contact and lowered his head to her neck. She wanted to push him away, but her arms remained limp at her side. Only her head moved, tilting backward to allow him better access. A protest formed in the back of her throat when his teeth pricked her neck, but she couldn’t voice it. The wounds throbbed with heat, but not pain. Instead, a surge of ecstasy swept over her. Soft sucking sounds broke the silence, and she mentally cringed to know he was drinking her blood, even as her body clamored for more of the sensual sensations his bite evoked.
Her head spun incessantly, and she felt like she had fallen into a never-ending hole. Her eyes closed, and their conversation seemed to come from a long distance.
“Prepare for travel. We’ll be leaving in a matter of minutes.”
“What of the funhouse, Master Vallsade?”
“Leave it.”
“But—”
“It served its purpose. I’ve found what I sought.”
He caressed her face, and his fingers transmitted slivers of ice through her skin wherever he touched.
“The change has begun. She’ll be ready for travel as soon as she dies.”
Emily struggled to keep her eyes open. Someone shoved something against her mouth, and thick liquid trickled inside. She tried to spit out the coppery solution, but her mouth refused to obey her brain’s command. The viscous substance slid down her throat with no impediment. Even her gag reflex didn’t respond.