The use of her name, a rarity from Layla, captured Anya's full attention, her eyes widened with anticipation.

  Layla’s voice grew soft but firm, “Despite appearances, Heston is incredibly potent. Engaging him directly could result in your demise. Do you grasp the gravity of this?”

  Before Anya could interject, Layla further emphasized, “I know your nature--to challenge, to question. But now, especially now, you need to heed my words. Heston poses a very real threat to you.”

  “And to the circus?” Anya countered.

  Layla sighed, “He's more an inconvenience to the circus, but to its demonic inhabitants, he’s death incarnate. We need eyes on him. If he approaches our grounds, I must be informed immediately.”

  Anya, ever the inquisitive soul, probed, “But the circus is his ultimate target, correct?”

  Layla's patience was ebbing. Weariness from the recent loss of Maraschino combined with other pressing concerns had her on edge. Without much forethought, she retorted, “No, Anya. He's here because a girl's mutilated body was discovered in Arbor Grove and he fancied playing detective.”

  Anya reeled from Layla’s words, as if they bore a physical weight. “I didn’t--”

  Interrupting sharply, Layla added, “Remember, I see all. You might not have committed the act, but you bore witness. You observed as Jester stripped the skin from your sibling. For all the disdain you express toward me, you too have tasted the corruption power brings.”

  Tears threatened to spill from Anya’s eyes. Face flushed with anger, she snapped, “Fine. I’ll locate your precious wizard.”

  With that, she pivoted and hastily departed from the circus. As she passed, one of the Fly Girls teasingly remarked, “Stay hidden, little mouse,” while balancing on a tightrope anchored behind the ticket counter.

  Layla exhaled deeply, her worries palpable. If anything happens to her, Dominus will surely make me pay the price.

  She had no other options for this task.

  Anya's powers, reminiscent of a demon's, were expanding daily, much like a magic seed rapidly blossoming. Yet, a significant part of her remained human.

  Perhaps human enough to evade Heston's scrutiny.

  It was undeniably risky.

  However, sometimes, one must embrace such risks.

  As of now, Layla stood as the circus's ringleader. Her foremost duty was its protection. And if circumstances altered in the future? That was a bridge she'd cross when she reached it.

  Angry Walk to Danesbridge

  Anya trudged angrily up the desolate road, her boots sinking into the muddy ground with each step. The sky was a deep shade of gray, casting an eerie gloom over the landscape. Her muttered curses echoed through the barren trees that lined the path.

  As she approached the isolated town of Danesbridge, shadows seemed to dance around her, mocking her anger. She kicked at a loose stone with all her might, sending it flying and disappearing into the misty horizon. Despite the chilly autumn weather, Anya wore only a tattered pair of jeans and a threadbare hoodie, concealing her favorite weapon--the jagged jawbone knife--in the oversized pocket. Her appearance may have been unassuming, but there was a dangerous energy radiating from her as she made her way toward whatever fate awaited her at her destination.

  I didn’t let Jester kill Penelope. I was in shock. What was I supposed to do, anyway? Nothing!

  As Anya's thoughts spiraled in her mind, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The night after meeting Dominus, she woke up to find the jawbone knife next to her in bed. And then there was Jester--always lurking in the shadows of her house, at school, during walks. While the entire city was consumed by fear over the missing seventeen people, Anya had found herself fixated on the spirits now visible to her. She could tell that Jester was keeping the malevolent ones at bay.

  But then came the day when Layla appeared in Anya's bathroom mirror and beckoned her to leave home for good. Under the cover of darkness, Anya made her escape, only to stumble upon a chilling scene in Penelope's room. Jester crouched over her younger sister's sleeping form, praising her beauty with each sharp-clawed stroke.

  Anya stood frozen, not out of shock or fear, but out of morbid fascination. Her senses were engulfed in a gothic haze as Jester's claws dug into Penelope's flesh, claiming her as a prized possession in her twisted dreams.

  Anya had always thought of her younger sister as unremarkable, just another face in the crowd. Not cute, or pretty...certainly not beautiful. But as she watched Jester meticulously peel back the skin and reveal the grotesque beauty of death, Anya couldn't help but feel a sick fascination taking hold. But as Penelope's blood dripped from Layla's fingers, Anya's mind swirled with dark thoughts.

  Why did Layla dare to judge and criticize even her own sister? Did she not see the power and potential that lay within Anya? With each passing day, Anya grew more resentful of Layla, who seemed determined to keep her in the shadows.

  But this trip into town was different. It felt like an excuse to get Anya away from the circus for a while. Layla must have known that Anya was meant to take her place as the head of the 'family business,' which is why she constantly belittled Anya's abilities and sent her off to do meaningless tasks with the other freaks.

  But Anya was done playing second fiddle. She would show Layla that she was just as capable, if not more so. And no one would stand in her way, not even her own sister.

  She used the scrying spell that Layla had previously taught her to locate Heston. He was on Seventh Street, heading south. The inn was three roads up. Perfect. Forget about following him. Anya would just wait for the man to return to his room at the inn, and then she would strike.

  Feeling gleeful, she made her way to the inn. The woman behind the counter was easily bedazzled, which meant Anya could go upstairs and to Heston’s room without anyone trying to stop her. She gave the knob a quick test, and it turned.

  Hah! And Layla wanted me to believe this was someone we had to worry about? Maybe the freaks would stumble over him, but considering he didn’t even remember to lock the door, I think I’ve got this in the bag.

  She pushed the door open partway and slipped into the room, planning on testing her mettle against this Heston fellow and proving to Layla that she couldn’t be pushed around any longer. The lights were off… But only for a moment.

  A half-second after the door closed behind Anya, the lights in the room flared to life. “What the--?”

  “Sorry,” said Heston, sounding tired and maybe a little bored. He was perched on the ledge of the windowsill, one foot stretched out in front of him for support. “Were you expecting this to be empty?”

  “You shouldn’t be here! You were going the other way!” Anya took a quick step back, eyes wide with surprise.

  Heston shrugged. “I could feel you coming the moment you stepped out of the circus grounds. What did they do to you? Plant essence in your soul?” He reached up and tapped one of his earrings. “I think it’s a little better if we keep it in containers. Otherwise it gets spoiled, like bad leftovers.”

  Anya shook her head. “There’s no way you could see me--I--it doesn’t matter.” She reached into herself, focusing the way Layla had taught her. “Charmed once, charmed twice, you’ll listen now and be polite!”

  The world around her shimmered. Heston looked up at the ceiling, brows raised in a sleepy sort of amusement. He pulled away from the windowsill, shoving one hand into the pocket of his baggy pants and holding the other out. A strange force gathered at the tip of each finger.

  The shimmer in the air was drawn down into the force's pockets and vanished entirely. “I mean, that’s cute. It’s a bit basic for the circus though, isn’t it?”

  “How did you do that?” Anya demanded. “That’s supposed to work. She said it always worked!”

  “She lied. Or at least, she was wrong. She probably did expect it to work. Most people aren’t like me.” Heston flicked his wrist. The power was shot straight back at Anya. She could feel when it slammed into her chest, all but exploding inside of her. Her very being was warped by the magic. It settled into her veins, her bones, her heart.

  Heston pointed to the ground and Anya dropped to her knees, a wretched sob bursting from her throat. She tried to struggle back against it, pushing, trying to get to her feet--but she couldn’t. The magic had her thoroughly embroiled in Heston’s will.

  She was stuck there.

  “Let me go!” she shouted.

  “Stop talking.” Heston rubbed at an ear with his palm, making his face. “You’re being too loud. Dottie hates when her guests are noisy, and I’m already set to be on her bad side, considering the stain that shapeshifter left.”

  Anya's mouth snapped shut with so much force it made her teeth ache. Her eyes went wide. She found that she couldn’t even make muffled shouts of protest. She shook her head, fear bringing tears to her eyes.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought, panic sitting in her chest like a weight. It felt like she was drowning beneath Heston’s will. If he told her to die right then and there, Anya was certain that her body would have listened.

  But he didn’t.

  He glided towards her, his movements fluid and controlled. His hunched back made him seem like a creature from another realm. With a sinister smile, he crouched down in front of her, his knees contorted at unnatural angles and his arms hanging limply over them. She couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over her as she realized that this was no game--she was at the mercy of a being beyond her understanding.

  “Let’s just make this quick and easy for the both of us, alright?” Heston growled. “The night’s going to be long enough as it is.”

  Anya could do nothing but stare at him and hope her death would at least be painless.

  “Do you work for the circus?”

  Anya tried to protest but the words tumbled out between her lips unbidden. “Yes, I do. I’m training to become a...heart.”

  A quiet laugh--along with a spray of spittle--escaped his lips. “A heart, huh? That sounds like it’s going to be a lot of work. I wouldn’t want a gig like that.” He tilted his head to the side. “I know what you’re thinking. Hest, this looks like a lot of work too.” He sighed. “It is. That’s how I know I wouldn’t want to take whatever you’re doing on my own shoulders.”

  Anya's voice was silenced, no matter how desperately she tried to speak. Her throat constricted with unspoken words, her vocal cords paralyzed with fear.

  Heston's question hung in the air like a dark omen: "Did the Phantom Circus claim the people of Arbor Grove?"

  Anya fought against it, her jaw popping and tongue pushing against the roof of her mouth in protest. But she couldn't escape the inevitable truth, her body betraying her with a trembling nod.

  And when he asked about Oat Mill, she could only nod again, her whole being consumed by her nervousness.

  Heston's eyes narrowed. "So, you're not in the mood for a chat? A pity. That's usually more entertaining. You're not just a vessel of forced essence. You must have learned to control it. Otherwise, you'd be singing your secrets to me like a sparrow."

  Anya, her thoughts a bitter storm, corrected him silently: Sparrows don’t sing. She couldn't muster the words, but a scornful sound escaped her throat.

  Heston chuckled. "Noted. You’re part of something much larger, aren’t you? But you're not going to reveal what I need. It's obvious you don't even know."

  Fury surged within her, overpowering her fear. If she could, she would have spat at him in defiance.

  Heston, meeting her gaze, demanded, "Name your Mistress and you're free to go."

  A blaze of hatred scorched Anya's soul. Despite her struggle, the word was wrenched from her, as if she were a mere puppet: "Layla."

  "Layla," Heston echoed, closing his eyes briefly. "No, the name doesn't ring any bells, even through the fog of my memory. I don't believe our paths have crossed." He stood, his knee emitting a harsh pop. Massaging his neck, he looked down at her. "So, someone named Layla is abducting people in the night."

  Panic clutched Anya's heart, her pulse racing with dread.

  After a moment's contemplation, Heston concluded, "I doubt there's more you could tell me." He maneuvered around her, opened the door, and lifted the spell. "Off you go, then."

  Anya didn’t hesitate to question his motives for releasing her. She stumbled to her feet and bolted. Rushing down the stairs, through the lobby, she emerged into the brisk afternoon of a picturesque October day.

  Her feet pounded the pavement, fleeing the inn, then the town itself. As the circus loomed before her, it no longer represented sanctuary. What would Layla do when she discovered Anya's betrayal?

  Driven by fear, Anya attempted her first blink. Standing at the circus gate, the ticket booth in sight, she channeled every shred of her energy, willing the world around her to shift, to dissolve entirely.

  Anya experienced a sensation unlike anything before, more unsettling than her initial journey with Layla. The world seemed to consume her, plunging her into an abyss before ejecting her into utter blackness. She landed roughly, her knees crashing against wooden flooring, hands smarting from the impact.

  With a groan, she arched her back, attempting to ease the discomfort.

  "Look at you," Dominus remarked. "Boldly entering uninvited."

  Anya leaped up, whirling around to meet Dominus for the first time. He sat regally on a throne crafted from human bones and gold, resembling fire solidified into metal. The wooden floor stretched beneath him, surrounded by an endless sky that warped like the interior of a dome.

  "I've redecorated," Dominus declared. "Grew weary of the church bell's incessant tolling. Lately, I've been finding many things tiresome."

  Anya's voice trembled with apology. "I'm sorry," she stammered, eyes reverting to the floor in respect, mindful of Dominus's disdain for direct gazes. "I aimed for Layla's room but ended up here. I apologize!"

  "Don't grovel," he chided. "I don't appreciate such behavior in my assistants."

  Quickly, Anya brushed away her tears, struggling to appear composed.

  The peculiar scent of the room, akin to charred oxygen, filled her lungs. She rose, striving to project a semblance of confidence.

  Yet, the overwhelming presence of the Dark Master unsettled her. Layla, in comparison, seemed inconsequential.

  Anya squared her shoulders, albeit without looking directly at him.

  "I've made a mistake," she confessed. "I was--"

  "I'm aware," he interrupted.

  Naturally, Dominus would have observed everything. Anya cursed herself for botching a straightforward task. Her mind raced, conjuring dreadful scenarios of retribution.

  She had witnessed Jester's gruesome reward; her own punishment might be far worse.

  Her heart pounded fiercely. Dominus inhaled deeply. "Fear has a distinct aroma, and it suits you. However, you needn't be concerned."

  "Not concerned?" Anya ventured a glance at him, her gaze halting at his chest, too intimidated to meet his eyes.

  "Correct. You are destined to be the circus's new heartbeat, its masterful ringleader guiding souls to me." He ran his fingers through Anya's hair, a gesture far from comforting yet compelling all the same.

  "I've grown fond of you, Anya. And now this mess isn't yours to clean."

  Nighttime Attractions

  As the afternoon wore on, with the sun dipping closer to the horizon, the Phantom Circus prepared for its evening stagecraft. The main acts would commence at six, under the cloak of night. As winter's grip tightened, these performances would begin earlier, just as dusk settled in.

  The atmosphere was still subdued when Heston approached. A rotund man with a luxuriant goatee manned the ticket booth, where a modest queue of about a dozen patrons had formed.

  A warding spell, subtle yet potent, hovered at the circus's perimeter. It triggered a flicker of recognition in Heston's mind. The striking red and gold tents, the soaring Fly Girl poles, even the familiar face in the ticket booth--he had encountered this very circus before!

  A muted exclamation escaped him, a sound of surprise and realization. The mists of forgetfulness began to dissipate.

  "Layla of the Phantom Circus," he murmured under his breath, repeating the mantra. With each utterance, the earring he wore pulsed faintly, illuminating his recollections.

  I remember now! Heston's thoughts surged with triumph. He discreetly veered off the main path, pretending to adjust his shoelaces, ensuring his epiphany didn't draw unwanted attention. In Texas, while tracking a chupacabra, this circus had been nearby. Heston recalled sensing an oddity but had restrained his curiosity, focusing solely on the immediate threat.

  Yet, in the aftermath, the circus had slipped from his memory, as if erased. Why had his enchantment failed him? Proximity to the circus at the time could have weakened it, or perhaps a recently acquired charm or encounter with a demon had disrupted the spell?

  His fragmented recollections, battling against the enforced amnesia, pieced together the truth.

  Most likely, it was a blend of both factors--his proximity to the circus and the influence of his other supernatural encounters--that had allowed reality to seep through the cracks of his forgotten memories.

  Rising to his feet, Heston checked his gear. His backpack remained at home, but his deep pockets were laden with smaller charms, complementing the array of bracelets weighing down his wrists. Each of his fingers bore at least two rings, a testament to his readiness for whatever mysteries lay within the circus, including its protective ward.

  Approaching the ward, Heston casually touched the earring he wore. "Layla grants me entry," he murmured.

  At his words, the ward yielded effortlessly, parting like a curtain of water, allowing Heston unobstructed passage into the Phantom Circus. The ticket booth attendant spared him no special attention--an ordinary occurrence, as wizards typically couldn't breach such barriers unnoticed.