42. Piper

42

PIPER

JANUARY 3, 12:35 A.M.

It catches fast, snaking from the chair up to the papier-maché canopy, giving the throne a burning crown. Marty looks on, stunned, and for a moment, I'm just as rooted to the spot, watching it burn.

Then Lily races past Marty and down the steps of the float, and I snap out of it. This isn't just destruction for destruction's sake. It's our chance to escape.

I run after her, April and Vivian right behind me, as Marty scrambles for one of the fire extinguishers stashed on the floats to prevent this exact catastrophe. I jump down to the warehouse floor, a wild laugh rushing out of me. Because Lily was right. They made their little kingdom out of paper. It was always going to burn.

I glance back up at the float, where Marty is spraying the fire, his eyes wide with panic. He turns, seeing us, and I watch the battle playing out behind his stare: stop the blaze, or catch the runaway girls?

"Come on," Lily urges.

She's running toward the next float, lighter in hand. I spot April making her way toward one of the tractors at the center of the warehouse, the ones that pull the floats on Mardi Gras Day. April reaches down to pick up something beside it, and when I realize what it is, my heart almost stops.

A gas canister.

Not only is the kingdom made of paper, but they literally gave us the accelerant.

April sloshes gas onto the nearest float, the sharp smell reaching deep into my nose. Taking April's lead, Lily searches for another gas canister, and I glance over my shoulder at the float. Vivian hasn't made it down yet. She's still hovering on the steps, watching Coach.

"Vivian," I call. "Let's go."

"We can't leave him here," she says.

But Marty has gotten control of the fire on the throne, leaving it a blackened husk, and now he's running toward her.

"Vivian," I urge.

She leaps off the float as April hands me another canister. I take it, running deeper into the warehouse, pouring gas as I go. Haphazard, careless, no goal except destruction. Behind me, I hear a fire roar to life.

I stop when I get to the Fool's Float.

The flames are raging around us, close enough that I can feel the heat on my skin, but for a moment, I'm frozen, lost in the memories of this float.

When we were small, Wyatt and I used to watch the parade from our Mardi Gras ladder—the ones parents buy and line up on the streets to give their kids a coveted view, higher than everyone else who didn't have the funds or the foresight. Mom stood on the rungs behind us, ready to keep us safe if we stretched our hands out too far to catch the good throws. Not that we needed to worry—because as soon as Dad saw us, he'd toss us a plastic bag full of all the best stuff: stuffed animals and feathered spears, light-up footballs and Moon Pies. I loved how it felt, being up so high, knowing that, even though he was hidden by the mask, all the other kids could tell that that was our dad up there, saving all the best stuff for us. That he was special, so we were special.

But he wasn't. He was just trapped in a gilded cage of his own making, pulling us in with him because he thought it made us safe.

I rear back and throw the rest of the gasoline over the float. Lily's right behind me with the lighter, and it ignites. Flames crawl from the jester's face to the baubles at the end of its hat and then stretch even farther, licking at the gold leaf and the decorative flowers dotting the float's rim, making the petals shrivel and curl.

"Stop!"

I spin back around at Marty's agonized shout. He stands in the center of the warehouse, drenched in sweat, his button-down rumpled.

We're all spread out around the rows of floats, taking in the havoc we've wrought. Most of the floats have caught fire, the flames spreading from one to the other with the speed and viciousness of Southern gossip, climbing all the way up to the golden Deus flags dangling from the ceiling, one for each year of the parade. The whole room is thick with the smell of gasoline, smoke, and melting plastic.

There's a wailing sound somewhere in the distance, and it takes me a moment to recognize it. Sirens, growing closer.

Marty coughs, taking another haggard step toward us.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he demands. "Centuries of history. Your family legacy, and you've destroyed it. You'll pay for this. You'll—"

There's a sizzling sound, a mechanical buzz, and then a new angry burst of flame on the warehouse wall, and I remember that this kingdom isn't just made of paper. There are outlets, wiring, all of it as dusty and outdated as the warehouse itself.

"We need to get out," I yell. "Now!"

No one hesitates. The four of us race toward the exit as fire crackles and pops behind us, sparks falling, and still, even as we're running for our lives, I have this fierce, inexplicable thought that I've never felt freer. Three unruly Maids and their vicious Queen, leaving the burning castle behind them, letting it crumble.

The sirens are closer now, red and blue lights flashing through the warehouse door. Just before I get there, I risk a look behind me. Marty stands a few feet away, staring up at the throne, which is burning again, the fire untamable. My stomach lurches as I realize Coach Reed is still up there. Maybe still breathing, still fighting against the drugs Marty forced into his system.

I watch the same realization hit him, twisting his face with horror.

At least, I think it's Coach he's thinking of. Because, as I watch him take it all in—the flames, the floats, the ruined kingdom he never got to rule—there's a part of me that wonders if those are the things he really can't leave behind.

It's a part of me that I choose to silence, snuffing it out like a flame pinched between my fingers. I tell myself it's his son he's thinking about, the chance to save a life, even if it won't make up for the one they took, as he turns and runs back into the burning warehouse.

And then I sprint outside without looking back.