He stood and held out the label, pointing at the words.
Justice leaned forward. “Mari, you read it wrong. It says, ‘Drink me for your pleasure.’”
“Exactly.” The clown rolled his eyes and pulled the stopper free.
He handed the bottle to me. I sniffed the liquid. “It smells like green apples and . . . mint.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is this poison?”
I didn’t know of any poisons that smelled like this, but you never knew.
The clown rolled his eyes. “Why would I poison you? You finally came after me, didn’t you? Did Jagger send you? Harry?”
Wait a minute.
I narrowed my eyes and took in the clown’s features. Standing, he only came up to my chest. He had a wide, square face, a squished nose, and brown eyes that were too large and too close together to be human.
I gasped. “Slipshot! You’re the new slipshot?—”
The clown clapped slowly. “Real nice. Genius. Congratulations. You figured it out.”
“You’ve been here for years?—”
“Yes. So many long, miserable, spawn-of-hell years.”
Justice snorted. “This guy’s funny.”
“Uh-huh. I’m a bag of laughs. Look. Drink up. It’ll make the show real interesting.”
“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t so sure. There was something odd about this slipshot. For one thing, he didn’t seem as happy as everyone else. He actually seemed pretty miserable. “Maybe you should have some desserts. Or . . . a pipe. Would you like a pipe?” I asked, feeling a bit sorry for him.
“Look. Mari. It’s Mari, right?”
I nodded.
“And Justice.”
Justice stared at him. He had a light in his eyes that I knew meant he was wondering whether or not he was going to have to stab a clown.
“I’ve been here years. I know the ropes. If you really want to enjoy the show, you drink the juice. Here—I’ll show you. That way, you know it isn’t poison.” He tilted back the bottle, pursed his lips, and took a small sip.
I waited for him to explode or collapse or turn into a worm. None of that happened. He just let out a long exhale, wiped his lips, and smiled.
“Oooh. Look at that.” He stared at the field. “It’s beautiful!”
“What?” There was nothing in the field. It was completely empty.
“The show! You have to drink the juice to see the festival. Everyone else can see it. You’ll love it. It’s . . .” He looked back at me. “It’ll make you so happy.”
My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. I wanted more cakes. I wanted more pastries. My mouth was dry, and I wanted another pipe. I was hot. I wanted to strip out of my underwear and my bra. I stared at the green bottle. If I drank that, would it make me happy? If I could see the festival show, would I be even happier still?
I reached for the bottle, then I tipped it back and sipped.
The cool liquid coated my mouth, sparkling through me with an effervescent rush. I handed it to Justice and smiled.
“It’s good,” I said, a rush of dizziness washing through me.
He frowned at the bottle. “You sure?”
I nodded, my head floaty and numb. “Yeah.”
