Carnival Masquerade

A Little Forest Novel

by

Jessica Grace Coleman

Copyright © Jessica Grace Coleman 2013

Published by Darker Times

Stafford, UK.

Ebook Edition September 2015

Distributed by Smashwords

Jessica Grace Coleman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author and/or publisher.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or localities is entirely coincidental.

To my Auntie Sheila, for all her encouragement

Also Available From Jessica Grace Coleman

Little Forest Series

The Former World

Memento Mori

The Exalted

Carnival Masquerade

The Gloaming

Short Story Collections

Grown By The Wicked Moon

Non-Fiction

Creative Ways To Start Creative Writing

Volumes 1, 2 & 3

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Disclaimer

Want a Free Book?

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Also Available from Jessica Grace Coleman

Prologue

God, I wanted to go home.

Thinking of him, I shook my head and took a step towards the Big Top. As before, the whole place seemed totally deserted.

The fact that the others were somewhere near was comforting, but not comforting enough. A lot was riding on me, and although I was no stranger to that feeling – it had pretty much been the same with The Exalted when I’d been in charge of everyone – this seemed different. This seemed a whole lot worse, because this time, it was just one person I was fighting for. The thought made me want to throw up right there on the Common.

After about another minute or so of slowly walking towards the tents, I found myself in front of the Big Top. The sick feeling was still there, but I tried to ignore it; now was not the time to freak out. Taking a deep breath, I tried to pull myself together.

Without another thought, I pushed open the thick material that formed the doorway and entered the huge tent.

I was immediately unnerved. Most of the inside of the tent was in complete darkness – which was worrying enough – but even more disturbing were the two huge spotlights, focused on the ring, marking out two distinct spots in the gloom.

Well, I guess I knew where my place was.

Glancing around but still seeing no one, I made my way over to the performance area, stepping into the ring and walking over to where one of the spotlights was shining.

It was hot under the lights – and blinding – and I wondered how the performers put up with it every night. It would do my head in.

Before I’d had chance to think any more along that completely irrelevant line, the curtain from the backstage area opened and the shadowy figure of a man stepped into the tent.

My heart jumped; every time I saw him these days, I saw both the man I used to know and the strange, exhausting-looking thing he’d become. To say that the sight of him confused me was a vast understatement.

He smiled when he saw me, and one for one agonising second, my heart leapt in hope.

Then he opened his mouth. I guess this means it’s show time? He gestured to the lights and the empty tent, walking to take his place under the other spotlight as he smiled again. On his thin, bony face it looked like a sneer.

Hoping my voice wasn’t going to come out all trembling and pathetic, I opened my mouth to speak. Well, whisper. It was all I could manage. What do you want with me?

He shrugged, staring straight at me without blinking. Isn’t it obvious?

I just about found the energy to shake my head. None of this was obvious.

He looked me up and down as his sneer intensified.

I want you to die.

Chapter One

The idea of control is a strange thing.

Authority, manipulation, power: all of these words conjure up a wide array of concepts, ranging from the mundane (the authority of school teachers), to the slightly odd (scientists making people conform just because they’re wearing a white coat), to the just plain bizarre (cult leaders brainwashing hundreds of people – believe me, it happens; I’ve had first-hand experience).

As a gazer – one who sees dead people – and as someone whose surname is ‘Powers’, you’d think I’d be able to hold my own, be able to exercise at least some authority over people, or at least over the dead. Well, you’d be wrong.

I have no control whatsoever over spectres or when they decide to appear to me; I can just about summon one of them every so often, but I can’t send them away. They have control over me. In turn, the portals they use to get from the Former World to the Modern World (our world), have control over them. It’s a sinister kind of food chain – or power chain, if you will – and I’m at the very bottom.

So who’s at the top?

Who has control over the Former World? Ah, that old chestnut. I was beginning to think I’d never know, not unless I could somehow infiltrate the police or the government or whoever the hell knew what happened to the Former World in 1921, when spectres stopped being able to ascend to the ‘next level’ and got well and truly stuck in the murky middle. And that would never happen, because the police and the government have control over… well, over pretty much everyone.

When people have power over you (whether they realise it or not), it’s impossible to be equals. Firstly, take my great-grandmother, Elizabeth Fairblood (now deceased). When she was alive, her husband George led an angry mob against three generations of her family, eventually leading to the death of two of them (my grandmother Mary, then a baby, was the only one who escaped). Now dead himself, George still has control over Elizabeth. He took her life – even if it was indirectly – and now he has power over her for all of eternity. Great, right?

Secondly, take my best friend, Will Wolseley. Actually, no… don’t. You’ll soon see what happens to him, and in turn you’ll see why my mind is currently so preoccupied with the idea of control, with thoughts of power and whether or not it’s possible to break through the hold that someone has over you.

The thought of Will Wolseley brings me onto something else. There are a lot of people in my life (my insane birth mother being one of them) whom I don’t know much about. I don’t know who they really are, what they’re thinking… anything. This can come as something of a shock if you previously thought you did know them, but it also gets you thinking, gets you digging a bit deeper.

Do I really know myself that well? The scary answer to that question would be… no. I don’t know how far my powers go, or how far they’ll extend to in the future. I don’t know why I was given them or what I’m really supposed to do with them. Half the time I don’t even know if I can trust myself: can I trust my instincts? Can I trust my own eyes? Can I trust my mind?

Can I trust anyone?

The scary answer to that question is that I have absolutely no idea.

It’s a hard enough thing to figure out under normal circumstances, but what if you’re constantly surrounded by people who hide their real identities? Who cover up who they really are? Who go around, living their entire lives while wearing masks to conceal their true selves? How do you know what to do then? How do you know what’s real? How do you know when someone is being themselves, or if they’re being controlled somehow – by their friends, their family, their enemies? Or just their own fear?

The amount of questions floating around my mind was enough to drive anyone crazy.

For now, I think I’ll just try and get myself under control.

Easier said than done.

***

The bright sunlight pouring in through the lounge windows of Cherry Tree House illuminated the open-plan living area, casting light on scattered notepads, pens, laptops, tablets, phones, biscuit packets, and an endless sea of mugs.

The Little Forest Investigations team were having their weekly meeting and so far we’d covered a wide range of interesting topics, from what films were currently showing at the Picture House, to which was the best pub in Willowton, and then, finally, to how many chocolate hobnobs Connor could fit in his mouth at once (four, in case you were wondering – a pathetic effort if you ask me). Not only was this incredibly unproductive, but it was fast becoming the norm.

The past three weeks – since the whole Exalted thing had come to a rather interesting climax at the Little Forest Castle – had seen our LFI gang go from being absolutely focused on the impending doom of Harold Knight, to not really knowing what to do with ourselves. There was stuff to do, important stuff, but it all seemed like too much effort so soon after the events surrounding The Exalted.

I held my hand up to my face, shielding my eyes from the sun, and turned to the group. Rach Williams – now over her little phase of being brainwashed – was sitting on the big squishy sofa next to her boyfriend, Max Rivers. Max had stayed at Cherry Tree House while his girlfriend was off being a cult member, but he’d now moved back in with Rach and her parents. Connor Maguire – a tall Irish guy who could stop a girl’s heart with one of his cheeky winks – was sitting on the armchair, and my sister and housemate, Veronica Summers, was on the floor next to her current boyfriend, prison officer Chris Canyon.

Chris didn’t usually join us for our LFI meetings (he knew of the Former World but generally didn’t like to get involved), but we were down a member and he’d agreed to step in.

The member who wasn’t there was Will Wolseley, my other housemate and best friend. Until recently, that’s all he’d been to me, but a badly-timed crush had caused me to see him in a different light.

Unfortunately, at the moment, I couldn’t see him at all. He was on holiday in Spain with his parents, and although I missed him like crazy, I was happy he had the chance to get away from Little Forest for a bit. The whole Exalted thing had been bad for him: his girlfriend, Ruth, had nearly been killed by the cult leader and, therefore, was no longer his girlfriend. She had blamed Will (and me) for the whole thing, and she didn’t want anything more to do with him, which I was secretly pleased about; she wasn’t exactly a very nice person.

It was strange that the group seemed to be getting less done when he wasn’t there; Will was usually the first person to make the meeting go off the rails. He often got side-tracked by thinking about famous dead people he’d like me to meet, or he’d get so distracted by playing with Keaton – my black and white cat – that he wouldn’t hear a word anyone said.

Keaton suddenly jumped onto my lap and meowed at me. Laughing, I stroked his head. Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon.

There was a loud clearing of a throat. An Irish throat. Beth? You talkin’ to your cat again? Connor was looking at me pointedly, and with his fitted black jeans and green V-neck t-shirt, he was looking far too handsome to be hanging out with the likes of the LFI gang. He was tall with longish dark hair, dark eyes, and an accent to die for.

Connor and I had very nearly died together in the Great Specton Woods at the hands of a local farmer. That farmer had actually turned out to be mine and V’s grandfather (we were both adopted, by different families), and he’d actually been working under the influence of his long-dead wife, Doris.

Did I mention that my life was insanely complicated?

Trying to clear my head, I rolled my eyes at Connor. Yes, I am. What of it?

He smiled cheekily as he shrugged. Nothin’, nothin’.

Ignoring Connor, I sighed and pulled my battered notebook towards me. I was one of the only members of LFI who didn’t own a tablet computer, and with Will away – the only other person who didn’t own one – I felt like someone from the dark ages. But it was easier to carry around than my hefty laptop, and there was something comforting about using just a piece of paper and a pen… it reminded me of being at school, back before we even knew what a laptop was, and before I could see dead people. Before cults kept popping up all over the damn place.

With everyone looking at me, I decided I’d better take charge of the meeting. Alright, maybe we should recap. The first thing we need to do is find out who cast the spell at the castle.

Murmuring echoed around the large room. An unknown resident of Little Forest (or possibly from the surrounding villages) had cast a powerful spell on Harold Knight – who was at that point possessing the body of Daniel Fields, the local primary school head teacher. Having all been around the back of the castle at the time, no one in LFI had seen who’d done it, and it had been driving me mad ever since.

Veronica put her mug down and turned to me. "But why do we need to know who it was? It’s done, it helped, but it’s over now." V shrugged while looking around at the others. Her short brown bob was a bit longer than she usually wore it, and her typically make-up plastered face was looking more natural these days. I suspected it was because of Chris – this generally happened when she had a boyfriend; her insanely high-maintenance beauty routine usually took a back seat once she’d snagged a man. If they broke up, I could guarantee she’d head straight for the hairdressers and then to the shopping centre to stock up on new cosmetics. Her fashion style was just as intact as ever, though; in skinny blue jeans, high-heeled black boots and a fitted black jacket, she looked ready to hit the catwalk.

I stared at V in disbelief. I loved her to pieces – she’d been my best friend long before we found out we were sisters – but sometimes she was ridiculously short-sighted. Are you kidding? Aren’t you dying to know who it is? Who has that much power?

She shrugged. Does it matter?

I groaned. "Of course it matters! This person – whoever it is – knows about the Former World, and knows about magic… they may have information we could use, or they might be able to help us in the future! They’ve helped us once already, maybe we could be allies."

Chris laughed; he generally laughed at things he didn’t understand, which was most things (when he was around us). He looked like a pretty normal guy – tall, dark hair, conventionally attractive – and that’s exactly what he was. Before he met V and the rest of us, he’d never even considered the possibility that ghouls and ghosts were real. I supposed most people didn’t, generally. Allies? You make this sound like a war!

I thought back to the incident at the castle a few weeks ago. Ruth had nearly died, two members of The New Exalted had already been killed because they’d tried to leave the group, and I’d had to round up as many people as I could to go up against Harold Knight. It was a definite battle, at the very least. I think war is still to come.

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room, one which was eventually broken by Max Rivers, of all people. Max was usually the monosyllabic member of the group, but in the past few months he’d actually started talking around other people, and not just in front of his girlfriend, Rach. He’d also made some other changes; while he still wore black pretty much from head to toe, his long black hair was shiny and healthy, instead of being covered in its usual layers of grease. He’d also had his fringe cut, so it no longer hung over his face, covering up his features; you could now actually see his piercing blue eyes, and he looked a lot less like a grumpy rodent. Which I supposed was always good.

He was currently staring at me, a half-smile on his face. What’s next on the list, Beth?

I smiled back at him, something which I didn’t usually have much cause to do. "Thank you, Max. OK, next… we still need to find out who changed the Former World in 1921. And… you know, why."

There was a chorus of groans from the people around me.

Rach – who was medium height, blonde, pretty, never wore much make-up and never had a bad word to say about anyone – sat forward in her chair. Why don’t you just ask Paul?

I tapped my pen against my notebook. Paul Lawrence was a Detective Sergeant who worked in the nearest town (Willowton), and lived in the nearest city (Birston). His boss, Rick Wood, had tried to kill me a few months ago – yes, people are seemingly always trying to kill me – and he’d since felt a kind of duty to protect me. He knew about the Former World, and he’d been instrumental in helping with The Exalted case and the confrontation with Knight at the castle. He also knew a lot more than he was letting on. It pissed me off.

I’ve tried asking him, but he’s bound by… I don’t know, police red tape or the Official Secrets Act or something. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d made him take some kind of oath.

Rach nodded. OK, is there a third thing?

I looked down at my notebook and sighed. Number three would be ‘find a way to get back to Phase Three’.

V laughed. "Nice and ambitious. We don’t even know what Phase Three is; what if it’s something bad? Somewhere that spectres wouldn’t want to get to anyway?"

I shrugged. "We don’t know that. But the Former World is such a bad place, there couldn’t be something worse waiting for us when we die, surely?" I thought back to my friend Jeremy’s comment about hot pokers up the arse and decided not to share it.

The truth was, the only people who knew what Phase Three was (apparently people ‘in the know’ referred to the Former World as Phase Two) were the spectres who had ascended to it. And that hadn’t happened since 1921.

I’d had the misfortune of experiencing the Former World for myself, and it was a terrifying place. No torture going on, exactly, but the endless grey and the way spectres just drifted along… forever… it was as near to torture as I’d ever witnessed. The problem was that we thought the Former World was meant as a stop-gap, a kind of waiting room before spectres entered Phase Three – whatever that was – but it hadn’t happened for so long, it was starting to look like every single person who ever died was going to be stuck in the Former World like a prisoner.

I vaguely wondered if Phase Two had a limited capacity, then shook my head. Look, I don’t know how feasible it is that we’ll ever know, but I can at least start researching… looking in my magic books and stuff.

There was another silence then; some of the LFI members hadn’t quite got used to the idea of me doing magic. To be honest, I hadn’t quite got used to it yet. Plus, I sucked at it, which didn’t really help things. As I was a gazer, I was supposedly meant to have a natural affinity for all things mystical, but so far, I was totally flunking Magic 101.

Connor broke the silence this time. Anythin’ us non-magic folk can do?

I glanced at my notes. "I thought we could do some interviews to try and find out who did the spell. I’ve made a list of everyone who was at the castle that night – as much as I can remember, anyway – and I’m going to split them between us. I’ll give everyone questions, and we can see how they answer. See what they say, and what they don’t say. I reckon we can figure out who’s lying."

Connor was staring at me like I’d suddenly sprouted an extra head. Jesus. How long is that goin’ to take?

I glared at him. Hey, you asked, Irish.

Connor smiled, winking at me. He had an annoying habit of winking at people; I’m pretty sure he did it at his job (he worked as a bartender at local contemporary bar, ‘Cocktail!’) just to get bigger tips. And it worked – with female and male patrons. I’m only jokin’, Beth. So what questions will be on this survey o’yours?

I don’t know… asking them if they saw anything suspicious that night would be a start.

Connor – and pretty much everyone else – laughed. "You serious? The whole night was feckin’ suspicious."

I tried not to roll my eyes. Fine, then we’ll ask them about the light: if anyone saw it, if they saw where it came from… then just regular questions about beliefs and stuff. Who believes in the afterlife, that kind of thing. See what kind of reaction we get.

This time it was V’s turn to sound incredulous. Ask them if they believe in the afterlife? We’re going to be laughed out of the village.

I shrugged. Just tell them it’s for our… club. A history club or something…

Connor opened his mouth again and I held up my hand to stop him. Enough questions. I’ll come up with the survey and email it to everyone, OK?

There was reluctant mumbling from everyone in the living room, and I found myself wishing – for about the millionth time – that Will was here; he always took my side. I hadn’t realised it until he’d gone, but never mind.

"There is something else. I waited for the expected groans and got them. Terence Todd has been emailing me. A lot."

Chris glanced at the others. Are we supposed to know who Terence Todd is?

Terence is the real name of a certain Marvin the Mystic, I explained. Marvin a.k.a. Terence was a fraudulent medium who’d had such a great time at the castle that he’d forgotten the fact I’d tried to denounce him in public. Apparently he’s seen the error of his ways and wants to work with us to start exposing other fake mediums.

There was complete silence in the living room.

Well… what do you think?

V was shaking her head. Does he even know who ‘us’ is?

I shrugged again. "He knows about our blog, and after the castle he knows we’re definitely something. I think we should hear him out."

Rach sat forward slightly. "But you hated him! You nearly got thrown out of the Birston Evening Theatre because you tried to expose him in front of a crowd of hundreds!"

I tried to ignore the sniggering coming from where Connor was sitting. Yes, but he’s sorry, and he wants to help. So I think we should let him. He could be the ‘face’ of our campaign. It could be called something simple like ‘Say No To Mediums’.

"Campaign?" V’s voice was so high she was in danger of shattering the glass patio doors. It was pretty much how she usually sounded; she was a massive drama queen.

I threw my notebook on the floor, annoyed. I felt like I was fighting a one-sided battle. "Didn’t we start LFI to help people? If we can sort out the fakes from the real mediums, and we can warn people about them, then I think it’d be a good thing."

V nodded slowly. It was clear that everyone was waiting to see what her reaction would be; she was the one who’d come up with the whole ‘Little Forest Investigations’ thing in the first place.

I glared at her, forcing her to speak. Alright, fine. As long as Marvin’s the face of it and not us. I don’t exactly care if people know we’re behind LFI, but Beth obviously does.

I nodded, smiling. We weren’t quite as anonymous as when we started – the incident at the castle had inevitably got some people talking – but I think only a few people had linked us to the LFI website. A lot of the people at the castle (and the ones who’d been brainwashed into being cult members) seemed to have a selective memory of the evening’s events. I just hoped it stayed that way.

Rach leaned forwards. I think it’s a good idea, but ‘Say No To Mediums’? What about the ones who are real? I mean… what about you?

Connor threw me a ‘she’s got you there’ look which I immediately ignored.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and wishing again that Will was here. First thing, I’m not a medium. I may be a gazer, but I don’t charge people to pass messages to the dead. It’s wrong. Plus, I wouldn’t know how to do it without passing out every time… I coughed, thinking back to when I’d summoned a soldier from the First World War and had consequently blacked out. "OK, yes, we know that some are real, but in order for the campaign to work, we can’t tell people that we know that. Plus, not every gazer is registered as a medium, and not all mediums take money off people. If we campaign against the people who charge extortionate amounts of money – whether they’re real or not – it’ll be a good thing. Just because you can see spectres, doesn’t mean you should make money off vulnerable people."

There were a few seconds of silence after my mini speech, a silence which was broken by Connor clapping loudly. Check out Little Miss Morals.

I threw my notebook at him.

***

The meeting went on for a while after that – with me and the gang discussing the ‘Castle Questionnaire’ and the ‘Say No To Mediums’ campaign – and a couple of hours later, it was just Connor and I left. This seemed to happen quite a lot recently; what with V going out with Chris, Rach stuck to Max’s side, and Will either off with Ruth (thankfully not anymore), or on holiday, it usually meant that I was stuck with Connor, and him with me.

Not that I was complaining – it was true that Connor and I had got off to a rocky start (due to a slight mistake on my part of thinking he was a homicidal lunatic), but we were good friends now. Even if he did constantly try to wind me up.

So, you missin’ Will, huh?

I shrugged, not wanting to be dragged into that conversation with Connor.

Although I guess there’s not much to miss with him callin’ you all the feckin’ time, am I right?

I sighed, leaning back into the sofa.

Come on, Powers, you can tell me. What’s wrong?

I shifted position so I could see him better. It’s probably nothing, it’s just I haven’t heard from him for a few days. Neither has V.

Connor laughed. I thought he was callin’ you every day?

He was. Then he stopped.

Understanding filtered into Connor’s face, and he tried to hide his cheeky smile. He wasn’t successful. "Ah, I see."

See? See what?

Well, he was phonin’ you because he was spendin’ his nights on his own, while his parents were gallivantin’ around, right?

I nodded. Yeah… although I can’t for the life of me picture his parents ‘gallivanting around’.

Connor’s smile grew. So, logic would tell us… what?

I groaned and tried to fight the urge to throw a cushion at him. You’re going to say that he obviously isn’t spending his nights on his own, right?

Connor winked. You got it.

I had to admit, the thought had occurred to me… oh, who am I kidding? I’d thought of pretty much nothing else. You think he’s got himself a Spanish girlfriend?

"Well, not necessarily Spanish. It’s a resort, isn’t it? They probably have loads of English tourists there, too. She’s with her parents, bored like Will, they start hangin’ out… you know how it goes."

It took me a couple of seconds to realise that I was shaking my head. No, I don’t think so.

Connor raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really? And why would that be, I wonder?"

This time I did throw the cushion at him. I just meant that it wasn’t so long ago that Ruth Mistry nearly died and then dumped him. It’s going to take him a while to get over that.

You got over Tom Durden dyin’ pretty quickly.

This time I had to fight the urge to throw my glass of water at Connor. Tom Durden had been my first proper relationship, and more