Page 24 of Torn

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be tucking so much away.”

“I’m just Anger,” he bites out.

“Of course you are. And I’m just Merry.” She swivels around him while assessing their surroundings. “We need ambience.” She curbs the board, glances at the stars, and communicates her wish for a charitable sprinkle of magic.

In response, the Carnival of Stars wakes up. Not the whole amusement park, but select areas flare with lollipop shades of ultramarine and magenta, and puckering heliotrope bulbs that outline pentagram-shaped attractions. Even better, the speakers synchronize with her player, throwing the tinkle of a keyboard, the pluck of a guitar, and the ping of a xylophone into the air.

To humans, the setting appears dormant. To archers, the place is alive.

Only the two of them can see and hear the change. Silently, Merry thanks the stars. Her mission to woo and win a deity’s heart sets into motion.

Satisfied with the effect, she orders, “Now, get rid of the weapons.”

Anger stiffens, speaks between clenched teeth. “Are you mad?”

“You have me confused with Malice. I’m not indignant yet, but I will be if you don’t disarm yourself this instant.”

“Like hell, I will—”

“How short is that fuse? Are you about to throw a tantrum?”

“No, but—”

“Outstanding.” Merry steals his weapons, ignores his protests, and sets the burdens on a bench, then pushes her skateboard onto the lawn as well. “Which thrill shall we explore first?”

“Merry—”

“Oh, look!” she announces in feigned surprise. “The Constellation Carousel! What a coincidence, for we’ve meandered right back to it, or we merely haven’t gone that far. I’ve been too distracted by your magnanimous glower to notice. I get Sagittarius!” She races toward the whirligig, leaps onto the platform, and climbs above her ride. The archer figurine has a seat across the arrow shaft, which is nocked to a drawn bow, a clever arrangement and creatively designed for patrons.

It takes a few seconds for Anger to get moving. After checking the vicinity, he steps onto the dais, twisting sideways to pass between patient Capricorn and sensitive Pisces, the Henley shifting over his photogenic torso. In spite of himself, he inspects the options, outwardly sulking that she’s called shotgun on the most appropriate option.

He’d likely prefer bull-headed Taurus as an alternative. But that creature is located elsewhere on the carousel, away from her, which won’t do.

Merry settles onto Sagittarius’s violet arrow. “Need help?”

“Thank you, but I can choose my own mount.” But he doesn’t. He stands there, appraising the painted figures, the overhead bulbs accentuating his features.

Merry bites back laughter at the sight of this deity overwhelmed by the selection. Anger’s taking the task seriously for somebody who hadn’t wanted to join her. It’s a scrapbook moment, meant for commemoration and keepsakes.

She wishes that she had a camera.

She wishes that cameras could capture deities in the first place.

Merry points to the Capricorn goat, which earns her a nose crinkle. “What’s the matter?” she teases. “Afraid you’ll fall off?”

“I’ll have you know that humor is overrated,” Anger says.

“Haven’t you ever played before? Purely for fun?”

“No.”

“Not even in the Peaks?”

“No.”

“Ever wanted to?”

“No.”

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