Page 26 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “No, you’re just the one who has nothing better to do than pick on people who actually have something worth doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a hot shower.” And after that, I’ve got to meet the ringleader of his own circus—Alfie, the one-man show. Should be thrilling.

As I walk away, I hear Ophelia’s voice call out, “Mudslide, you’re still nothing more than a mess waiting to happen!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “Tell me something I don’t know,” I toss over my shoulder with a wave of my hand, not bothering to look back.

After returning the supplies and securing the closet, I head back to my dorm, the cool air already biting at my skin as I take a quick shower and throw on a hoodie and pants. The chill that lingers in the evening air makes my breath visible, a sign of fall creeping in early.

I make my way toward Club Bedlam, the familiar black and white striped circus tent looming ahead, the wind picking up and carrying the faint scent of wet leaves. As I tug the curtain aside to enter, I’m greeted by complete darkness. That’s odd. Usually, the place is lit up, a flurry of string lights casting a warm glow across the space.

Alfie better not have somehow messed up another magic trick and caused us to lose power, or I swear I’ll never let him live it down.

I take a cautious step forward, my hand outstretched to feel my way through the darkness. Then, without warning, a single candle ignites, and my foot halts in place. More and more candles ignite, illuminating the entire center ring of the circus tent in unison. How did Alfie do that?

I notice a figure draped in a black cloak, in the center of the room, holding the candle that was first lit when this ordeal started. In the dim light, I can just make out a tuft of curly red hair sticking out from under the hood.

“What are you doing, Alfie?” I ask with a smile.

“This is not Alfie,” the person responds in a deeper voice, but it’s clear to me that they are him.

I chuckle and take a step closer, no longer hesitant.

“Alex Prescott,” Alfie continues in his disguised voice. “You have successfully endured all the trials and tests, and are now deemed worthy to become an official member of Club Bedlam.”

I raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress the grin that spreads across my face. “An initiation ceremony? Really? I thought I was already a member.” After all, I’d done as he’d asked. I’d found the door that key fit. Ironically, it was the same door that led me to find the winning flag at the masquerade ball.

“Silence!” Alfie booms, struggling to maintain his serious demeanor. “The initiate shall not speak unless spoken to!”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as he continues his dramatic performance. He raises the candle high, but all I can focus on are the freckles on his partially covered face, which seem to glow in the candlelight like a constellation of stars. It’s hard to take him seriously when his face is practically lit up like a map.

“Alex Prescott, you have proven yourself worthy through trials of wit, courage, and alarming amounts of fountain scrubbing. Do you solemnly swear to uphold the sacred traditions of Club Bedlam? To keep our secrets, support your fellow misfits andmagicians, and most importantly, to never, ever take yourself too seriously?”

I can’t resist playing along. Placing my hand over my heart, I reply with mock solemnity, “I solemnly swear.”

“Then by the power vested in me, Alfie Fitzgerald—I mean, by the ancient and mysterious founder of Club Bedlam—I hereby declare you, Alex Prescott, an official member!”

Alfie dramatically sweeps off his cloak, revealing his lanky frame dressed in a ridiculous mishmash of circus attire: a dark velvety top hat with a silky white ribbon, a polka-dot bowtie, and what appears to be a tutu over his pants. He flashes a wide grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Welcome to the family!” he exclaims, dropping the deep voice entirely.

Suddenly, the tent explodes with light and sound. The strung-up lights flicker to life, multicolored and twinkling as they intermix with the usual orange glowing bulbs. Confetti rains down from above, and I find myself laughing as I brush the colorful paper from my hair.

“What’s with the tutu?” I ask between laughs.

Alfie twirls, making it flare out. “What, this old thing? I just threw it on,” he says with a wink. “But seriously, it’s all part of the grand tradition. Each new member gets to add their own flair to the initiation outfit. Yours truly chose the tutu.”

I raise an inquisitive eyebrow. “So I’ll be the second person to join this…unique group?”

“Technically, the third,” he corrects me.

Oh yeah, there was that girl who said she would come back after nine months, but never did.

“So what do I get to add?” I ask, curious.

“Whatever you’d like.” Alfie claps his hands together. “But first, we must have refreshments to celebrate!”

He snaps his fingers, and with a dramatic flourish, a table laden with an assortment of sweets and drinks begins to descend from the ceiling. But halfway down, it stops, suspended in mid-air. Alfie’s face lights up with a sheepish grin as he rushes over to yank the lever. The table jerks and squeaks, wobbling before finally thudding to a stop at its destination.

I shake my head, resisting the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all as I approach the table. There’s an eclectic mix of treats: colorful cupcakes with swirled frosting, a tower of chocolate-covered strawberries, and what appears to be a bowl of jelly beans in every flavor imaginable. In the center stands a punch bowl filled with a fizzing, iridescent liquid that changes color every few seconds.

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