It didn't help much.

  Layla still nearly fell down the stairs. Her feet weren't working right. She meant to take a step, but they dragged over the ground, sending her staggering about as though she were drunk. Heston wrapped an arm around her waist, looking around with wide eyes.

  The humans were paying them no mind, but every single employee at the circus had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. No one made a move against Layla; they must have already been given directives not to act out. But they watched, knowing.

  Her powers had been revoked. Her connection to the circus had been changed. The Boss had stripped her of all authority over this domain, meaning the security wards had turned on her. They curled through her, pulse pounding, mouth watering with the agony of it.

  No one said anything.

  No one so much as turned away from her.

  They were mystified on some level, Layla was certain. Who would ever expect the heart to be ripped out of the chest of a still-living thing? Or maybe they weren't.

  She had killed the demon who ran the circus before her. No one was killing her today, but it was almost the same. With her absence from this place, Anya would take over.

  Another wave of agony crashed down over her. She choked on her own agonized groan. The exit of the circus was in sight. The ticket taker had stepped out of his booth so he could watch as Layla was assisted out of the circus by what appeared to be a particularly kind-hearted human.

  "I don't know what's wrong with her," Heston lied as he approached. "She just started screaming! You have to help!"

  The ticket taker pointed toward the road that led away from the Phantom Circus. "Best take her into town. Nothing we can do for her all the way out here."

  “I walked,” he insisted, playing the part of a startled bystander well. “Can you drive us?”

  “Best walk fast,” the ticket-taker replied, his gaze seeming to settle on Layla rather than Heston. “Nothing I can do.”

  Was that a dismissal of Layla or an apology for being unable to help? Layla couldn’t discern. More importantly, she didn’t care. The end of the wards was in sight, ten, maybe twenty feet away. She pulled away from Heston and staggered toward it, her stocking-clad feet digging into the loamy soil of the field, churning it up behind her.

  Focusing on the point in the distance where she knew the barrier ended, she pushed forward, Heston standing behind her, wide-eyed.

  The ticket taker called out, “Maybe she doesn’t need your help. You might want to just get back inside, sonny.”

  “That’s... awful,” Heston responded, choosing his words with care. “The town's a long walk. She doesn't look like she can make it.”

  “Well, you go on back inside,” the ticket-taker suggested, still under the impression that Heston was merely a normal human. “I’ll make sure she gets there.”

  Their conversation faded into the background. The pain in Layla crescendoed, muting all other sounds. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel. The only thing that existed for her was the breach in the barrier. She pushed forward, staggering, and as she crossed it, she collapsed onto her knees, exhaling breathily.

  Her palms pressed into the ground, fingers curling into the soft earth. Her forehead pressed to the grass, which brushed harshly against her skin. Every part of her body ached, but the fiery agony had subsided, leaving a deep bruise in its wake.

  Gradually, Layla's breathing normalized, her heartbeat steadied. She sensed someone watching her. Managing to pull herself up slightly, she turned and met the gaze of the ticket-taker.

  Heston had disappeared, likely back inside the circus. He could only maintain the pretense of a concerned citizen for so long. Humans rarely showed such care for strangers, and his continued insistence would have drawn suspicion.

  Layla didn’t blame him for leaving.

  Layla's resolve hardened as she cast one final, lingering glance at the Phantom Circus. The vibrant hues of the tents, once symbols of her dominion and power, now stood as mere echoes of a past she was leaving behind. With each slow, deliberate step, the distance between her and the circus widened, severing the last ties to her former life.

  The pain of her departure was substantial, a mixture of loss and liberation that coursed through her veins. Yet, as she wiped the remnants of tears from her cheeks, a new determination took root within her. The physical wounds she bore were a testament to her resilience, reminders of her ability to endure and adapt.

  With a breath drawn deep into her lungs, Layla felt a newfound stability settle within her. The raw ache in her chest, both physical and emotional, promised to heal over time, just as the superficial marks of her own frantic claws would fade. She was a creature of extraordinary power and resilience, and this was but a minor setback in the grand tapestry of her existence.

  The Phantom Circus, with its grandeur and spectacle, had been her realm, her universe. But now, as she turned her back on it, Layla realized it had also been her prison. The glamour she cast over herself was not just a mask to hide her tattered attire; it was a symbol of her transformation, a declaration of her newfound freedom.

  As she walked away, the corners of her mouth curled into a faint smile, not borne of sorrow, but of anticipation. The loss of her old home was not an end, but a gateway to uncharted beginnings. Layla's story was far from over; it was entering a new, exhilarating chapter. With each step, she embraced the vast, open possibilities that lay before her, ready to forge her path and shape her destiny with the same fiery will that had always defined her. The circus was behind her now, but the world lay open, ready for the taking. And Layla was more than ready to claim it.

  Circus Intrigue

  Heston speedily moved away from the front of the circus upon reentering. With the ticket-taker and most of the staff preoccupied watching Layla, he easily blended in with the crowd. A few murmured expressions of sympathy for the poor girl allowed him to unobtrusively navigate toward an unexplored area of the grounds.

  The situation was clear to Heston. The leader of the circus, whom Heston suspected he could identify, had evidently grown tired of Layla's surreptitious activities. Since the circus was bonded with its owner and its "heart," the connection likely worked both ways, as Heston had just witnessed.

  With Layla deposed as the heart of the circus and no longer its ringleader, Heston realized time was against him. Once a new superior assumed control, the loyalties of the ward would likely change, potentially expelling him from the circus.

  He quickened his pace through the food court, sparing only a brief glance at the burger cart and the less-frequented stalls beyond. Night had fully descended, and the majority of the crowd was drifting toward the big top. It appeared the age-old adage was proving accurate even without Layla's presence.

  The show must go on.

  Heston, increasingly conspicuous amid the dwindling crowd, approached a vendor's stall. The vendor, a gaunt figure with disconcertingly large knuckles, apologetically informed him, "Sorry, sir! We're all heading to assist with the main show. You'll need to return tomorrow for a chance at these fine prizes!"

  "Do you close the outer areas during the big-top show?" Heston inquired.

  "Absolutely," replied the vendor, his large, bright eyes giving him an almost chihuahua-like appearance. "The whole crew pitches in for the main event. It's the crown jewel of the Phantom Circus."

  "Understood, thanks," Heston responded, pointing down the aisle lined with stalls and booths leading to the forest. "If I continue this way, will it lead me back to the big top? I want to plan my visit for tomorrow."

  "The paths all circle back to the big top," the vendor chuckled, confirming Heston's query.

  Expressing his gratitude, Heston moved on. The setup was impressively authentic, resembling a genuine circus, yet as the vendor had indicated, it was shutting down for the night's primary event. Heston was redirected toward the big top twice more by passing workers. Just as he began to navigate the path leading there, a sudden, intense pain struck his temples.

  The pain that struck him was distinctly different from Layla's ordeal; a more generalized ward aimed at all wizards, manifesting as an excruciating migraine. Gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes shut, he abruptly veered right, heading toward the forest.

  He had immediately recognized that the forest was not a natural formation, but he also discerned that the wizard-repelling wards did not extend into the tree-laden area. Heston hypothesized that the artificial forest would eventually blend into a real one, as was common in such magical constructs.

  Casting a quick glance around to ensure he was unobserved, Heston noted the absence of anyone nearby; everyone seemed drawn toward the grandeur of the red and gold big top. This observation allowed him to slip unnoticed into the shelter of the trees.

  As soon as he crossed the threshold into their shadowy embrace, the intense pain in his head diminished to a manageable throbbing. A sigh of relief escaped him, and he massaged his temple, shifting his attention to navigating the twisted underbrush weaving between the trunks.

  Navigating cautiously, Heston carefully plucked at the vine-like growths ensnaring his legs. The thorns clung tenaciously to the fabric of his pants, leaving them irreparably snagged. As he moved further from the circus, the agonizing headache subsided, granting him much-needed clarity of thought.

  He raised a hand to tap his earring, channeling its energy to assess his surroundings. The forest around him, while tangible and real, was unmistakably unnatural. He noticed eyes occasionally peering at him from high branches, but Heston surmised they were likely part of an illusion, meant to convey danger without posing a real threat.

  "Alright, I think we have a bit of time to figure out our next steps," Heston muttered to himself. He came across an old log, its surface blanketed in lush, deep green moss and surrounded by clumps of deer moss at its base. Testing it with a nudge of his boot, he found it firm enough, and seated himself, taking a moment to regroup.

  Reflecting on the recent events, Heston acknowledged that while things hadn't unfolded as he had hoped, they could have been significantly worse. He was intact--all limbs, bones, and blood were accounted for, and the headache was almost entirely gone. He just needed to bide his time now, waiting for Layla to regroup and rejoin him.

  Sharp Turn

  Once the excruciating pain subsided, Layla veered sharply away from both the forest and the road leading to Danesbridge. She navigated down an embankment, the rough earth tearing at her stockings. The delicate fabric soaked instantly upon contact with the thick sludge at the embankment's base.

  The late October chill, more biting as night fell, seeped through her, starting from her mud-soaked feet and ascending through her legs to her knees. Shivering, Layla persevered, climbing the opposite embankment with determination.

  At the top, she encountered a three-rung wooden fence, its wide spacing more a marker of property than a barrier for livestock. She maneuvered awkwardly between the bottom and middle rungs, the wood scraping painfully across her back, but she continued without faltering.

  Her stockings, now beyond repair, brushed against the taller grass on this side of the fence. The grass, neatly trimmed at the edges, gave way to a dense cornfield. The green stalks, packed tightly together, obscured any view beyond, forming an impenetrable green wall. Aware of the sharpness of drying corn leaves, Layla cautiously proceeded, ensuring each step was taken with care.

  As Layla navigated the dense cornfield, her arms swept the stalks aside, a motion reminiscent of moving through water. Despite her burning urge to run, to create as much distance as she could from the Phantom Circus, she knew better than to give in to panic.

  She was acutely aware of the implications of her lost status as the heart of the circus. It undoubtedly meant that Anya, the young girl, would now find herself bound to the circus, just as Layla had been, confined by its invisible barriers. Layla knew that if she moved quickly and far enough, she might avoid the wrath of the Dark Master and his minions in pursuit.

  The cornfield, with its tall and stiff leaves, resisted her passage. The leaves rustled and swayed with each determined push, yet Layla was thankful for one thing--the field was devoid of malevolent corn spirits, their red eyes hungry for human flesh. Despite the seemingly endless expanse of corn, Layla persevered until she finally emerged on the other side.

  Above her, the night sky opened up, adorned with twinkling stars and a moon waning towards a waxing crescent. Layla knew its light would soon diminish entirely, and she aimed to be far away by then, lost to the darkness, free from the circus's grasp.

  Dominus relished a moonless night.

  The zombies always went feral then, too.

  Layla inhaled deeply, summoning her magic to dissolve the layers of illusion that veiled her true form. Initially, she released the glamour concealing the injuries marring her chest and the tattered remnants of her top. Following this, she dispelled the enchantment that masked her non-human features, revealing the horns intricately entwined in her hair and her eyes, which blazed like hellfire against the backdrop of the dark night sky.

  Typically, Layla never found it necessary to go beyond this level of transformation. She rarely ventured outside the circus and preferred to move about by blinking, a method she favored for its swiftness and discretion. However, such travel could be traced from the underworld, and Layla's intended journey was to far-off, unexplored places.

  Therefore, she had to relinquish the final layer of her disguise.

  As she stripped away the last vestige of her glamour, two immense, leathery wings unfolded from her back. Each wing terminated in a lethal spine, sharp enough to cleave through flesh effortlessly, yet positioned awkwardly enough to render intentional use challenging.

  The wings were impressively vast, capable of enveloping Layla's entire figure, a necessity for flight in her human form. Layla hadn't taken to the skies in some time, which was evident in her initial ascent. Her wings flapped unevenly, betraying a slight unsteadiness as she reacquainted herself with the sensation of flight. As she rose from the ground, her body aligned with her wings, she gradually steadied, slicing through the air with growing confidence.

  The brisk night air enveloped Layla as she soared. She circled the cornfield at a low altitude, ensuring her stability, before ascending higher into the sky. A sense of sweet liberation engulfed her; she felt the immense pressure and exhilaration as the shackles of the circus dissolved, leaving her in a state of boundless freedom.

  To Layla, if this was intended as punishment, the boss had sorely miscalculated. In her eyes, it was nothing short of a magnificent boon!

  A laugh, unrestrained and joyous, escaped her. "I'm free! Finally free from it all!" she exclaimed, the words spilling forth in an exuberant rush. Her smile stretched so wide it brought a pleasant ache to her cheeks. Although the moon was absent, cloaked in darkness, it mattered little to her.

  Above, the stars shimmered with such intensity that Layla felt as if she could extend her hand and pluck her wishes straight from the celestial canvas--her own dream now a reality.

  "Goodbye, my darlings," she called out jubilantly, well aware that her voice couldn't reach the inhabitants of the circus below. "Farewell, and good riddance!" The words echoed in the open expanse as she soared onward, embracing her newfound freedom under the starlit sky.

  Layla's laugh, high-pitched and filled with exhilaration, rang through the air as she embraced her newfound freedom, soaring away from the circus with a determined fervor. It struck her that she had been granted an opportunity to chart the course of her eternal existence, and ignoring such a chance would be nothing short of folly.

  Below her, the landscape transformed into a mosaic of greens and browns, the fields resembling a vast patchwork quilt. Black ribbons of roads sliced through the tapestry, while smaller dirt paths meandered like delicate stitches and seams. Danesbridge appeared briefly as a cluster of light amid the enveloping darkness, but Layla had no desire to linger in the vicinity of the Phantom Circus, let alone remain in the same state.

  Northward she decided to venture. Despite the inevitable chill, Layla saw the colder climate as advantageous. Anya, unaccustomed to leading the circus, had already voiced her discomfort with the cooler weather; she would likely steer the circus toward a region with a gentler fall.

  Basking in a sense of triumph, Layla's satisfaction was abruptly disrupted by an unexpected, heavy tension that materialized in her chest. It felt as if a massive weight had suddenly been thrust upon her, causing her body to jolt involuntarily. This unforeseen burden forced her mighty wings to beat with doubled effort, struggling to reclaim the altitude she had lost.

  Layla's hand instinctively went to her chest, fingers gently tracing the surface. Though the self-inflicted scratches had scabbed over, a tender sting still resonated at her touch. “This isn’t Dominus’s magic…” she murmured to herself, a furrow forming between her brows. This was neither the work of a demon nor a witch's spell.

  Realization dawned upon her as she considered the possibility of being observed from below, perhaps by some rogue wizard seeking confrontation. But then the memory of her pact with Heston surfaced, a commitment to confront the circus and seek justice.

  Layla's eyes dropped to her hand, noting the pact's burn marks now glowing a more intense red than before. The frigid air numbed some of the discomfort, but each link-shaped scar seemed to pulsate with a vivid, inflammatory warmth.

  Pacts, Layla knew, carried their own weight and restrictions. Until she fulfilled her end of the bargain with Heston, some aspects of her power would remain constrained. This explained the persistent, unnatural heaviness in her chest and why some of her magical abilities felt diminished.

  Resigned, Layla descended gracefully onto a sturdy branch of a large oak tree. The remnants of her stockings snagged against the rough bark as she strode along the branch to its slender end, her gaze drawn back toward the distant lights of the Phantom Circus.