Beck scanned the paint. Not all the graffiti was responsive to the black light, so that the parts that did glow lit up like ancient runes. A pattern of squares and angles and dots.
“Where did that code go?” yelled Sierra.
Tossing aside the frog, Beck started searching for the paper boat with the code on it as the clown cackled.“Are we having fun yet? I hope you never leave!”
The voice faded, the lights brightened again, and the glow-in-thedark paint disappeared.
Sierra cursed.
“Has it been ten minutes already?” said Carter, glancing at the clock. “No, it’s only been five. I guess it happens every five minutes. Which means . . . we have to wait another five minutes to know what it said.”
“‘Watch your step,’” said Adi. “Whatever that means. Now, can we figure out these stuffed animals? God, this room is a literal nightmare.”
Beck looked at him, baffled. “Watch your step?”
“That’s what it said.” Adi took in his teammates’ surprised looks. “I told you I memorized pigpen cipher when I was a kid.”
“Right,” said Beck. “What I was going to say before Bozo started taunting us is that every stuffed animal is a different color. What if we have to put them on the corresponding tiles?” He grabbed the frog and set it on a floor tile by the door, which immediately lit up the same forest green. When Beck moved away, the tile stayed lit.
“Brilliant,” whispered Sierra, and Beck preened. “Everyone, let’s get these tiles lit up!”
The next few minutes were chaos as they grabbed purple elephants and orange whales and blue koalas, debating if this red chihuahua was more maroon red or brick red, and whether this yellow tile matched the mustard-yellow python or the goldish-yellow hippo.They soon realized that they only had it right when the square stayed lit once they stepped off.
Beck had just picked up a lime-green chameleon when Carter shouted, “Last one!” and slammed a violet unicorn down on the final square. The second mirror popped open, revealing yet another creepy clown head, its mouth wide open in a fist-sized hole.
“But what about this one?” said Beck, holding up the lizard.
They looked at him, at the chameleon, then at the scattered stuffies.
“Maybe we need it for something later?” suggested Carter.
“Check it for additional clues,” said Sierra.
He flipped over the toy and spotted a zipper down its stomach. Sure enough, when he opened it, he found two narrow cylinders inside. He plucked them out. “A mini flashlight,” he said, “and a scroll.” He unrolled the thick paper, revealing a long message in cursive writing, but written as a mirror image.
Beck’s nose wrinkled. “That’s a headache waiting to happen. But hold on, I can figure it out.” He squinted. “ ‘Are we feeling . . . nervous . . . ,’ugh, this is going to take forever.”
“Hold it up to the mirror,” said Adi, but when Beck held it up to the remaining mirror, the distortion from the reflection only made it worse. “Or we can come back to that later,” he amended. “There might be normal mirrors in the next room.”
“At least we have a black light now,” said Carter, flicking on the flashlight and shining it over the graffiti. The message written in runes jumped out at them. “And what about this guy?” She turned to the clown face with the newly opened mouth.
The lights went out again. Beck groaned, holding back the urge to spit out the disgusting chemical flavor as the clown droned on. It really felt like they were doing well this round—if it weren’t for these annoying interruptions, they’d probably be finished.
After the clown had made its vaguely threatening statement and its laughter had faded away, the lights returned to reveal Sierra standing in front of the clown head on the wall, eyeing it like she was facing her mortal enemy. “If this thing bites off my hand,” she said, “I fully expect you all to chip in part of your prize money to get me a kick-ass prosthetic.” Then she took a deep breath and plunged her hand into the clown’s mouth.
Beck almost expected Sierra to start screaming, or some awful guillotine blade to come crashing down, or—
“I got something!” Sierra shouted, just as jets of air blew from the clown’s eyes into her face and a burst of confetti came shooting out of the clown’s nose, swirling around Sierra like a tornado. She screamed—like, an actualscream—and jumped back, tripping on a pink fox and falling onto her rear end.
“Are you okay?” Carter asked, crouching beside her.
Sierra looked about ready to murder someone as she held up a key. “Dandy,” she growled. “Let’s get out of here.”
Carter snatched the key out of her hand and slotted it into the padlock under the final mirror. It swung open. Beck perked up, thinking this could be it—the escape! For the semifinals, that had to be a record time.
But . . . no. Beyond the mirror was a circular tunnel at waist height. The carnival music was louder coming through it.
“I’m going in!” said Beck, throwing himself into the tunnel. Sierra followed, but the moment they were both inside, the tunnel began to turn like a corkscrew, sending Sierra crashing.
