“Even then, the guards and all the other workers take shifts so that everyone has a chance to see at least part of the tournament,” Angelo chimed in. “It’s almost like a minivacation for everyone in the Families, and we all try to put aside our differences. At least while the tournament is going on.”

“And after that?” I asked.

Mo grinned. “Then it’s back to business, blood, and battles as usual, kid.”

I snorted. I would expect nothing less from the Families. It was amazing they could call a truce long enough to hold the tournament in the first place.

Angelo drove down the mountain, but instead of heading for the Midway, he took a different route, snaking around the tourist area and heading toward the outskirts of town. He drove over the lochness bridge, slowing down long enough for Devon and me to fling several handfuls of quarters out the windows to pay the toll for all the Sinclair vehicles crossing the span today. I peered out the windows, but I didn’t see any long black tentacles, rippling water, or other signs of the lochness. Then again, it was early. Perhaps the monster hadn’t roused itself from its watery bed on the bottom of the river yet. At least someone got to sleep in today.

Angelo drove on. A couple of miles later, the cracked sidewalks, abandoned warehouses, and dilapidated buildings gave way to rolling hills covered with grassy lawns and dense thickets of trees. In the distance, I spotted a wide swath of white sand and the dark blue waters of Bloodiron Lake.

A wooden sign planted in one of the lawns featured a carving of a red boat sitting on blue waves, announcing that we were entering the Cloudburst Falls Fairgrounds and Recreation Area. My heart twisted in my chest. My mom used to bring me out here every summer to swim in the lake, play on the beach, and hike the trails in the surrounding forests, but I hadn’t been here since her death four years ago.

Angelo turned into a paved lot and parked the car. We all got out, with Devon and me grabbing our duffel bags, which held extra clothes and shoes, along with the weapons we would be using in the tournament. My mom’s black-blade sword was stuffed into my bag, while Devon had his father, Lawrence’s sword, the hilt engraved with the Sinclair hand-and-sword crest. Angelo, Mo, and Felix grabbed some other bags filled with supplies out of the SUV, and we all headed toward the fairgrounds.

The fairgrounds spread across several acres, with the evergreen woods rising up all around them like soldiers protecting a precious jewel. Gray cobblestone paths led from the parking lots to the fairgrounds, winding past vendors selling everything from sunscreen to replica black blades to hats covered with Family crests. Food carts also clustered along the paths, and the smells of cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip cookies, and deep-fried fudge filled the air, making my mouth water and stomach rumble, even though we’d just finished breakfast an hour ago. Wooden booths offered spectators the chance to try their hands at carnival games, like a ring toss with plastic lochness tentacles as the targets. As part of a strong man test, a kid was enthusiastically beating a plastic bat on top of a fake tree troll head. The harmless game reminded me of the murdered monster we’d found yesterday. And just like that, my appetite vanished.

We moved past the carts and game booths and fell in with the crowd streaming toward the center of the fairgrounds. Gold, silver, and bronze cuffs flashed on many wrists, but there was more mixing between the members of the Families than usual, and everyone seemed to be in a cheery mood, laughing, smiling, and teasing their friends and everyone else they knew. The tournament hadn’t started yet, which meant that everyone still had a chance to win. I wondered how long the collective goodwill would last once people started being eliminated.

The main drag of the fairgrounds led into a large, circular stadium, with gray stone bleachers rising up all around it, and private, glassed-in boxes set at the very tops. Each of the private boxes boasted a flag bearing the crest and colors of the Family it belonged to. The Sinclair box was directly across the stadium from the Draconi one. Naturally.

Five tents had been set up around the stadium entrance, close to a waist-high, chain-link fence that circled the grassy field that would serve as the competition area. Each tent was patterned with a Family crest and topped by a matching flag, while a sixth, much larger tent, done in neutral white fabric, perched off to one side.

Angelo, Mo, Felix, Devon, and I headed for the Sinclair tent. Just as Angelo and Mo had said, practically everyone in the Families had turned out for the tournament, and many folks wearing Family T-shirts and hats were already perched on the bleachers, noshing on nachos and buffalo wings, and waiting for the action to start. Workers moved back and forth across the stadium floor, carrying hurdles, balance beams, and more, setting up what looked like an obstacle course.

Flocks of tourists had also come out for the tournament. I could tell they were tourist rubes by the cameras hanging around their necks and the way many used their cameras and phones to snap photos of everything around them, including the pixies zipping through the air like swarms of bees, their translucent wings shimmering in the morning sunlight, carrying ice cream cones that were twice their size.

I snorted. From their constant photo snapping and excited chatter, you’d think that the tourists had never seen pixies before, but the creatures were everywhere, just like all the other monsters that the rubes came to Cloudburst Falls to gawk at. Our town just happened to have more magic and monsters than anywhere else. At least, that’s what the tourism officials claimed.

We reached the Sinclair tent and stepped through the opening. Chairs had been set up inside, along with tables full of food and drinks and several oscillating fans to combat the day’s growing heat. Reginald stood in the center of the tent, wearing another one of his black tweed suits and directing the pixies, who were passing out bottles of water. Claudia was sitting by herself along one of the walls, checking her phone.

Angelo, Mo, and Felix split off to see if Reginald needed any help, but Devon and I didn’t get five steps into the tent before people started coming up to us and talking about the tournament. For once, I didn’t mind the attention. The mood was light and happy, and everyone was back-slapping, high-fiving, and wishing all the competitors good luck.

“Ready to choke, Lila?” a snide voice murmured in my ear. “Because that’s exactly what you’re going to do today.”

Well, not everyone.

Vance stepped up beside me, a smug grin stretching across his handsome face. He made a slow slashing gesture with his finger across his throat, then raised his hands to his neck and started making fake choking sounds.