Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

ways, life is like a circus. It’s colorful and loud. It’s full of dizzying highs and plummeting lows. It’s got its fair share of clowns. And it often…leaves you hanging.

“In this elimination, you’ll be contending with your very own circus, Magic Mansion-style. Today, each of you will be a ‘circus of one’ in a timed challenge. First, it’s up the bleachers where, at the top, you’ll find a calliope. Play a note to announce your circus has come to town, then run back down and proceed to the refreshments.”

Monty turned to the bouncy house. “Next, it’s a trip through the attractions—complete with popcorn.” An assistant opened the front panel to reveal the blowup pen was filled with foam packing peanuts. “Once you’ve had your fill, it’s into the pool to slake your thirst with a refreshing frozen drink.

“Your goal is to complete these tasks in the least amount of time, racking up the fewest seconds on the scoreboard. And then, it’s showtime. And your performance…could change everything.”

Everyone looked to the trapezes.

“Each trapeze is marked with a name. Find yours, jump up, grasp the bar with your hands, and hang on. Every second you’re able to stay on your trapeze is a second you’ll be able to use strategically to adjust your score. Are you ready?”

“Flexed arms on the trapeze,” Kevin asked, “or locked elbows?”

“‘Are you ready’ was a rhetorical question,” Iain called out, striding up with a clipboard. “Here are the actual rules.” He guided an assistant through the course, showing everyone specifically which marks they needed to hit, ending with the trapeze dangle. While they watched, wardrobe assistants replaced their shoes with gymnastic flats so no one popped the bouncy house with a heel or a spur. “And on the trapeze,” Iain told Kevin, after he consulted with each of his phones, “straight arms. This isn’t a chin-up challenge. Questions? No? Okay, Monty, go ahead.”

“One more thing.” Monty indicated the scoreboard, which now showed six positions—with a white line above the bottom two. “Someone who falls below this line…will be going home. So move fast, and hold on tight.”

Ricardo’s focus was all on the bleacher stairs. He could take them, no problem. But Sue, beside him, was readying herself too. She was a strong runner, with long legs. And speaking of long legs, John would probably make short work of—

An airhorn sounded, and Monty shouted, “Go!”

Ricardo ran.

John was off like a rocket, bounding up the bleacher stairs like they were regular stair-steps. Petite Jia fell behind quickly. Ricardo pounded up the metal seats neck and neck with Kevin and Sue. A blat of a calliope, and John was already on his way down, huffing, “Be careful,” at Ricardo on his way past.

Up top, Sue slapped the calliope keyboard first, then Ricardo, and right on his heels, Kevin. But Kevin didn’t stay in fourth place for long—he gained ground on the way back down the bleachers, and pulled ahead of Ricardo. The calliope bleated above them as Jia finally gained the top, while poor Bev was still struggling up, one step at a time.

The bouncy house was rocking by the time Ricardo leaped into the packing peanuts. It looked as if it should have been easy enough to power through them, especially since the guy who’d demonstrated the stunt had done it in a less than a minute. But the demo guy hadn’t had three other flailing magicians in there with him. Ricardo took a step, and someone else fell, bouncing him off his feet. Ricardo didn’t go down, exactly, with packing peanuts surrounding him on all sides. But neither could he lever himself up. Everywhere he tried to push off, with either a hand or a foot, he only sank deeper into the packing foam.

Finally, unable to think of any other way to propel himself toward the bouncy house exit, he attempted to swim. The foam peanuts geysered up in a whispery crunch. Someone else fell—or maybe the same someone—and the displaced force caused a wave that rippled through the fake popcorn. Ricardo found himself propelled forward, and suddenly the exit was in sight. He clawed toward it, foam susurrating all around him, when behind him a distinct crack sounded, followed by a gasp and a curse.

Ricardo realized he’d never heard John say, “Fuck,” before.

He turned to look, flailed, and smacked his hand against the vinyl wall. Unlike the packing peanuts, which only sifted away under his grasp, the wall had some grip to it. Not a lot—it was flexible, after all. But enough. Splay-fingered and glad for the sweat on his palms that allowed him to stick, Ricardo dragged himself along the inflatable wall until he came to the gap. In a spill of packing foam, he tumbled down the exit slide and onto the lawn…the first one out.

He allowed himself only the smallest glance behind him—Kevin and John were bursting out of the popcorn foam, though who was gaining leverage by holding on to whom was unclear.

Then John brushed away the packing peanuts that were clinging to his face, and Ricardo saw it was covered in blood.

Paralysis locked Ricardo in place, until he saw John had no intention of stopping—and neither did Kevin. Ricardo turned and ran toward the pool, but the momentary hesitation had cost him. Kevin drew abreast of him by the time they reached the edge of the pool. John not only passed them, but launched himself into the slushy red water with a powerful jump that carried him nearly a quarter of the way across the pool’s length.

Ricardo did his best to imitate the maneuver, and actually had a moment, mid-air, when he thought he might gain ground on Kevin by virtue of being more aerodynamic.

And then he hit the water…and the cold hit him.

A 55-degree ice rink was one thing. A 55-degree swimming pool was another. He burst out of the water, gasping, but the cold was like a fist that locked his ribs tight to his lungs, squeezing out his breath.