"So? Let them question! This isn't about them, Anya. For once in your life, you can make a decision based on your own desires, your own needs. Why would you let them continue to control you?"

  "I... I hadn't looked at it that way." Deep in thought, Anya bit her lower lip. After a moment of contemplation, she nodded decisively. "Alright, let's do it."

  Layla held onto her new acolyte's hand, placing it against her own upturned palm. She then aligned the blade of her bone knife with Anya's hand. "With this pact, you pledge your heart to the Phantom Circus, and in return, I promise you unparalleled power."

  Over the years, Layla found simpler pacts to be the most effective. The more clauses and conditions added to a pact, the more potential there was for loopholes. She believed in keeping things straightforward.

  Anya’s eyes clouded over, and she gave a nod of understanding.

  Layla instructed, "Repeat after me, dear. Speak the words. Make the vow."

  Anya nodded again.

  "With this pact, I pledge my heart to the Phantom Circus, and you promise me unparalleled power."

  Anya echoed. The atmosphere seemed to ripple slightly.

  Without hesitation, Layla applied pressure with the knife, slicing through Anya's skin. Drawing the blade from the base of Anya's pinky to the fleshy part below her thumb, bright red blood welled up from the cut.

  Distressed, Anya let out a cry, attempting to retract her hand. However, Layla's firm grip prevented her from doing so. Layla then smeared Anya's blood across her own palm, pressing down on the fresh wound. The cloudiness dissipated from the girl's eyes.

  Overwhelmed by fear and pain, Anya tried to resist. "Stop it!" she pleaded. As tears streamed down her face and her glasses went askew, Layla briefly held onto her, then let her go. As Anya collapsed onto the floor, Layla shed the disguise she typically maintained around humans.

  She stood over Anya, radiating demonic magnificence. Her eyes blazed with the fires of hell, and a scarified pentagram marked her forehead. Her hair, which once merely seemed styled around the base of her horns, was now truly a part of them. A brief flash revealed phantom wings, bat-like and almost translucent.

  Anya's eyes widened in shock. Propping herself on her forearms, she looked up with a mix of horror and awe.

  "Then the pact is sealed," Layla declared. As the wings faded, her demonic appearance gave way to her regular guise. Admiring the crimson shade of Anya's blood on her hand, Layla unhesitatingly licked it clean. "Your heart is now pledged to the Phantom Circus."

  Anya moved her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  "Tell me, Anya," Layla inquired with genuine curiosity, "does your fear spark regret? Or can you still sense the pull of the circus?" Layla had her suspicions. While the circus might have chosen this girl, suggesting potential within, Layla harbored reservations. It wasn't really doubt. Perhaps 'bitterness' described it better. Layla was loath to believe that someone like Anya might possess the prowess to command this circus as she did. It felt like an affront.

  "I... I'm scared," Anya confessed, getting to her knees and inspecting her bleeding hand. "But I'm also excited. I don't regret it."

  Layla pondered. "A curious response."

  "Is that not the answer you expected?"

  "I wasn't anticipating any specific answer," Layla responded, albeit untruthfully. She gestured for Anya to stand. "But I've certainly heard less favorable ones."

  As Anya stood, she seemed unsure of what to do with her bleeding hand. Layla, slightly annoyed, grabbed a kerchief from a counter behind her and pressed it against the wound. "Don't just let it bleed, dear. Clean it up." She patted Anya's cheek. "Now, if you're eager for a taste of power, follow me."

  "I thought we were...here? There's more to show me?"

  "I only needed my knife," Layla replied, picking a black rose from the counter and tucking it near the base of her styled hair, shadowing an unseen horn. "Let's go."

  Together, they ventured back into the circus. To Layla, guiding a newcomer through the unseen layers of the circus was both an annoyance and a thrill.

  What was it like when Layla first joined the circus? The memories were so distant that she couldn't recall. Unlike Anya, she had never been human. Layla had always been acquainted with Hell and its master.

  Perhaps there wasn’t a traditional "joining" of the circus for her. Had she been specifically fashioned for her dominion here? The details remained hazy, and there was no time to ponder. The tour was paramount, especially the journey into Freak Show Alley.

  As Layla stepped onto the shadowed pathway and gestured, the lights illuminated the scene. The nearest exhibit showcased what looked like a snake, now transformed into a spirit. This peculiar entity had a long, limbless form. While it coiled around a branch much like a snake, it had two vaguely humanoid heads instead of the snake ones. These heads merged into elongated necks, crafting the entity's serpentine body.

  Anya, shocked, exclaimed, “What is that? I don’t understand. It was a snake before."

  “Once disguised as a snake. But us freaks can't always flaunt our true selves, can we?” Layla replied, fingers brushing the cage bars. “It's a spirit. Perhaps you’ve encountered one before.”

  Anya's eyes widened. “Maybe I did! After that dream yesterday, I woke up to find something unfamiliar in my room. It wasn't quite like this, but it wasn’t human either.”

  “Then greater forces guided you to this circus,” Layla responded, conveniently omitting her role in the event. “I sensed this connection the instant I met you.”

  Anya lowered her gaze, her face flushed.

  “Come closer,” beckoned Layla. “Meet our unique residents.”

  “Residents?” Anya stepped over to the cage.

  The snake spirit within was notably lackluster. With its vampiric traits, it fed on the blood of both humans and animals. The feeding team had attended to its meal earlier, which explained its current lethargic state. So sated was the creature that it took no notice of Anya's injured hand, still bound in the kerchief.

  “This circus is not just for entertainment. We are a refuge for freaks and spirits, and we serve an immense power from the depths of Hell,” Layla proclaimed. “You've made your pledge, and so have I. But to truly embed yourself in the essence of this circus, as a performer, as a figurehead, as an entity surpassing mere humanity, you must demonstrate your commitment."

  “Okay,” Anya responded, her voice full of trepidation. “What does that involve?”

  “We require human souls, Anya,” Layla declared.

  Anya, with her large glasses amplifying her shock, gazed at her. “What?”

  “Human,” Layla reiterated, emphasizing each word, “Souls.”

  Anya remained stunned, her mouth agape in disbelief.

  Layla continued, “You need to present us with worthy offerings. Something that will manifest your allegiance to my overseer--Dominus.”

  “You mean, people for you to..." Anya's voice faded to a hush, "kill?”

  “Precisely,” Layla confirmed bluntly. She felt no compulsion to sugarcoat the truth. After all, Anya had already made her commitment. There was no going back. Now, she would either rise to the expectations set for her or crumble and become fodder for the more voracious entities housed within the circus confines.

  “I...” Anya's eyes shifted back to the spirit in the cage. “Are all the creatures here like that?”

  “Mostly,” Layla responded. “Some are more sinister, some less intimidating. However, that isn't a definitive answer, Anya. Time is ticking by.” She oscillated a finger in rhythm, emulating the swing of a pendulum. “Are you prepared to fully immerse yourself into the very soul of this magnificent circus?”

  “I…” Anya lowered her gaze to the ground, then hesitantly peered up at Layla from beneath her glasses. “I guess so.”

  “That's not concrete. Do you 'guess' so...or are you certain?”

  Straightening herself, Anya asserted with unexpected conviction, “I'm certain.”

  “In that case,” Layla instructed, “present a significant offering when you come back on Monday. Prove to the circus that you possess the strength to be its core.”

  Sore Hand, Easy Escape

  That night, Anya slipped back into her room undetected, much to her relief. She awoke to find her hand so sore that she could hardly flex her fingers. Throughout Sunday, she tried evading her parents, which turned out to be surprisingly easy since they didn't often interact much with either of their children.

  Penelope, still quite young, was ushered onto the white-painted bus for her Sunday School in the morning. Their mother claimed she had errands like grocery shopping but was engrossed in her phone the entire time, hinting that it might be work-related.

  Just as Daddy feigned ignorance about smoking cigars at the country club, Mom pretended she never worked on Sundays. Honesty wasn't their strong suit.

  Given this backdrop, it wasn’t shocking that Anya had adopted a similar tendency toward dishonesty. Perhaps it wasn’t worth pondering anymore.

  Anya spent her day in her room, feigning being buried in homework. When dinner time came, Daddy prepared a meal and promptly left without mentioning his destination. Anya managed to keep her injured hand a secret until Monday's breakfast.

  Upon noticing the wound, Mother exclaimed, “What happened to you?”

  Reaching across the table, she grabbed Anya's hand. Overconfident from successfully hiding her injury the day before, Anya hadn’t prepared a lie. Caught off guard, she stared blankly at her mother.

  Quickly interjecting, Penelope said, “My bad. I broke a glass last night, and Anya helped clean it up.”

  Anya, shocked, but grateful for the save, followed up with, “We didn’t mention it because we thought you'd be upset.”

  “It seems infected,” Mother noted, then added, “Which glass? Not one of my special rose ones, I hope?”

  “No,” replied Penelope. “Just a mug. I was making tea.”

  Daddy chimed in, “You're lucky you weren’t scalded.”

  “I know.” Penelope, using her fork, loaded her toast with eggs. She quickly devoured it, ignoring Momma's rebuke for her lack of table manners. Getting up, she said, “I don't want to be late. I’m heading out to wait for the bus.”

  She left before Anya could even ask why she had stepped in to help.

  The remainder of breakfast consisted of Anya receiving a lecture about her negligence and her decision to keep the broken glass incident a secret. Eager to escape, she was relieved to board the school bus.

  The high school bus wasn’t packed. Many of her peers either owned cars or knew someone who did. Given a choice, most would prefer carpooling over taking the bus. However, Anya lacked friends to carpool with, and her parents had no plans to allow her to get a license, let alone a car, in the foreseeable future.

  She didn’t even have a learner’s permit.

  Settling in the back row of the bus, Anya retrieved a book from her bag. Despite her attempts, she couldn't concentrate on the words. They seemed elusive. Her thoughts repeatedly drifted to the impending task.

  She had to persuade someone she knew to attend the Phantom Circus that evening.

  Biting her lower lip, Anya soon gave up on reading. She carefully returned the book to her bag and leaned against the window, observing the blur of houses, small stores, and unfamiliar or unfriendly faces that constituted her town.

  Was it truly daunting to select someone from this crowd? To acknowledge that these people, who barely knew or disliked her, might meet a grim fate?

  By the time the bus pulled into school, Anya was convinced it wouldn't be so difficult. The real question was: Who? And even more critically: How?

  Concentration eluded her during her first class, AP Algebra. It wasn’t that the numbers were complex; they just couldn’t engage her. As Mr. Harris went on about the equation on the board, Anya found herself scribbling notes. As she jotted down her thoughts, inspiration struck.

  Who? The answer was straightforward. Jessica. Charlie. Savannah. Those who had betrayed or been malicious toward her. A wave of excitement overtook her. She cast her eyes down to her note, flipped it over, and began writing.

  CHEAP WEED - MEET BEHIND CLOWN SHOW.

  Did the circus even have a clown show? It was irrelevant. Anya’s role was simply to lure them in, and Layla would handle the rest. She knew Charlie had been searching for a new supplier since his former dealer, Markus, had graduated and relocated to Nevada.

  Perhaps he could persuade Jessica to accompany him, but what if she declined? Absently, Anya chewed on her pen's cap. Her back teeth clenched around it. She exhaled sharply.

  What did Jessica like?

  To be honest, Anya had no clue.

  And Savannah?

  It seemed she couldn't quite pin down an answer for her either. Years ago--be it ten, five, or even just two years prior--Anya would have known without hesitation. But the Savannah of today was a different person.

  She relished in cruelty. She took pleasure in ridiculing Anya. And she reveled in projecting an image of the school's most unattainable ice queen, even though Anya was certain that Savannah still displayed her collection of Littlest Pet Shop toys in her room.

  In the end, she opted to jot down a variety of ideas. Anything that might pique the curiosity of teenagers. After all, her mission might be personal, but Layla hadn't specified that it had to be.

  The goal was simple: deliver a sacrifice. One? Two? Maybe more? In retrospect, Anya realized she should have sought more clarity. But the revelation of magic and spirits had so overwhelmed her that probing the ringleader for details had completely slipped her mind.

  GHOST CHALLENGE: STAY AT THE CIRCUS AFTER DARK AND SEE IF YOU CAN FIND HER. I SAW HER IN THE FUN HOUSE.

  Also...

  FOR A GOOD TIME: FIND ME AT PHANTOM CIRCUS. I’LL HAVE A ROSE IN MY HAIR.

  And...

  HEY SAV, HEARD YOU WERE TOO CHICKEN TO RIDE THE TILT-A-WHIRL. WHAT’S UP WITH THAT?

  Anya endeavored to vary her handwriting for each note, altering how she penned her Ts and Ys and transitioning from cursive, to hasty scribbles, to bold block letters.

  She strategically placed the first two notes around school, in locations where she knew Charlie liked to relax and by Jessica's preferred library computer. The third, she slipped directly into Savannah’s locker, smirking at the thought of potentially unsettling the self-proclaimed Queen Bee.

  By midday, it was lunchtime.

  Anya entered the cafeteria, her eyes naturally drifting to the table she'd frequented all year. Charlie and Savannah were already there, with Jessica notably absent. Nervously, she adjusted her glasses.

  Even if her former friends missed the notes, Anya had diligently spread rumors throughout the day to entice students to visit the circus that evening.

  Drawing a deep breath, she decided against joining them.

  Instead, she joined the queue for lunch, scanning the cafeteria as she inched closer to the lunch lady, Miss Trinity. An empty table near the exit seemed like a good spot for today.

  When it was her turn, she handed over her lunch money.

  Miss Trinity was a slender woman. Her bushy ash-blonde hair barely stayed within the confines of her hair net, and her nose protruded sharply, reminiscent of a beak. She offered Anya a smile as she served her meal, adding an extra pudding cup onto the tray.

  "You look like you could use this," remarked Miss Trinity.

  "What?"

  "Your hand. That's quite the nasty cut you've got there," she observed, nodding toward Anya’s injury.

  Feeling a bit embarrassed, Anya replied, "It took a while to stop bleeding."

  "Sugary food heals everything," Miss Trinity declared, motioning her to move on.

  Anya quickly made her way to the empty table she had spotted earlier. She wanted to believe that Savannah was watching her, curious about her choice to sit alone. However, upon glancing in their direction, she realized Jessica had just arrived, and no one seemed to have taken any notice of her absence.

  While it didn't exactly dampen her spirits, the indifference fueled her hope that all three of them would show up at the circus that evening. She wasn't entirely sure what "harvesting a sacrifice" entailed, but that was inconsequential. If there was anyone deserving of a sinister fate, it was those three.

  So good riddance.

  Failed Initiative

  "Make them leave or you'll get no reprieve," one of the protesters bellowed outside city hall. Sally Leek sported a shirt showcasing the emblem of her company, an organization established to champion animal welfare. Regrettably, like many grassroots initiatives conceived in someone's spare bedroom, this one hadn't achieved much success.

  Under her leadership, the town's kill shelter was closed, leading to an influx of animals at neighboring shelters. They soon became overwhelmed, often turning away even those bringing in sick or injured animals. The rise in the feral cat population was testament to this mishandling.

  Furthermore, her crusade against purported animal 'abuse' at the local groomer fell on deaf ears. Firstly, because no actual mistreatment occurred, and secondly, the clientele of the groomer appreciated their services, like fur trimming, nail clipping, and ear cleaning.

  Nevertheless, Sally believed this protest would be her group's big breakthrough.

  At least, that's what Mayor Grant had been told by his relations officer. He had listened to the people outside chanting the same phrase all day. They wouldn't leave until they got what they wanted, and that was for the Phantom Circus to leave.

  Mayor Grant was an older gentleman. He had vied for control of this office his entire life. Generally, he faced minor issues, dealt with few troublemakers, and had hoped this pattern would continue throughout the remainder of his career.

  "Tell me," Mayor Grant began, speaking with his hands clasped in front of his mouth, "is there any merit to this? Do they have a solid basis for their complaint?"

  "I don’t believe they need a legitimate reason to protest," said Terrance Wheatly, the mayor's assistant. He was a lean man with slicked-back hair and a missing front tooth. He seemed stuck in the eighties, evident by the shoulder pads in his suit.